Thoroughly Whipped

“I think so,” he said, interrupting my thoughts. He put his hands in his pockets. “I think for the first time, there is hope.”

Hope. Yes, I thought. It’s hope that’s now racing through my veins at a hundred miles an hour.

I moved to the next portrait, Harry beside me. I passed by King, looking handsome in his youth. Then, “Your mom.” A beautiful, tall, slim woman posed by a window for her portrait. Her dark-brown hair was swept up into an updo. Aline Auguste-Sinclair wore long white gloves and a purple dress, and she had Harry’s cerulean blue eyes. “She’s beautiful,” I said, finding my eyes filling with tears. One fell down my cheek. I felt the loss of her presence. For Harry’s sake, even for King’s, but also for mine. I would have loved to have met her.

Harry swept my tears away with his thumbs. Then I moved to the next picture and couldn’t help but smile. My lungs seized, my heart skipped a beat, and I fixed my eyes on the handsome viscount before me. Beside me. “Harry,” I whispered. He was standing in the gardens, the fairy-tale bridge behind him in all its colorful glory. He was dressed in a navy suit, his handsome face illuminating the picture. “It’s incredible.”

“It’s something, all right,” he said, huffing in amusement.

“No, it is,” I said, not allowing him to knock this. “It really is magnificent.”

“Thank you,” he said. Then, “If you like it, then so do I.”

Beaming up at him, I asked, “So what’s next?”

Harry took me to the east wing of the house. It was so far away a light sweat had broken out on my forehead. “No wonder you look like that,” I said, moving my finger up and down. “You have to be fit to live here.”

“This is worth it.” Harry opened the doors and all I saw were books. And not like those in his New York apartment. It was that on crack. That times a million. A room filled from top to bottom with books, books, and even more books.

“Fourteen thousand,” Harry replied when I asked him how many books were in here. There was a desk in the center, then four sofas to relax on and read.

“I’d never leave this room if I lived here.” I ran my hand along the spines. Some of them had to be over three hundred years old.

After practically dragging me from the library, Harry showed me bedrooms where Queen Victoria and Queen Anne had stayed. I saw the music room, which had a piano in the corner. It was there I found out Harry could play. If I hadn’t already been smitten with him, I would have been when he reluctantly played for me.

Next he took us to the old servants’ quarters, and into something called a vegetable scullery.

“There was once a room just to prepare vegetables?”

“Yes.”

“Just to peel potatoes and the like?”

“Yes.”

“Let me get this straight.” I widened my arms. “This entire space was for vegetables?”

“Yes, Faith. I won’t say it again.”

We then entered the pastry room.

“Okay,” I said, “this room was just to prepare pastry?”

“Yes.”

“This entire room?”

Harry rolled his eyes, took me by my elbow and led me from that room and into one with bells. A bell for each room, where the duke or duchess (and anyone else staying there) could ring a bell and a servant would come running.

Harry quickly took me out of the servants’ quarters too when I began lecturing him on the issue I had with civility.

“It’s all so surreal,” I said as we walked down a hidden path to the lake. In the distance I saw the rest of the guests engaged in archery. From where we were, I could see someone who looked like Sally completely ignoring the target, instead taking aim at passing birds.

“I wanted you to see.” He led me to a wooden bridge on a private part of the lake. We sat down on the embankment. The sun was shining and warming my face. Harry took off his cardigan and rolled up his sleeves.

“In New York…” He ran his hand down his face. “I appear a businessman, which of course I am.” He gestured to the fields of trees around us. “But I am also more.” He bowed his head, hiding his face from me. “I suppose I run from this sometimes. Hide who I am so people don’t think something of me that I’m not.” He looked up at me. I saw a plea for understanding in his expression. “But this will all be mine one day. God…” He took a deep breath. “It was not too long ago…” He was referring to his father’s heart attack. I reached for his hand. “After our argument, and then my father’s heart attack, it has put things into perspective for me.”