Page 15 of Play On

I get ready, grab breakfast, and then head to the library. When Bella was here, she took a look at the books and spotted some rare finds right off the bat. So I’m going to sort through them and catalogue them. Seeing that we have thousands of books, this should more than keep me occupied.

And hopefully keep me from thinking about Noah Darby.

The house hasn’t opened for the day for visitors yet, so it’s nice and quiet. I can hear clocks ticking and the sound of my shoes against the marble floor as I walk. I pass by other rooms that are part of the Wintersmith Hall tour: the state dining room, with its rich mahogany table set for twenty-four people with our family’s china and silver cutlery, and the saloons, showing off ornate crown moulding and marble sculptures.

Whilst these rooms are lovely, and I have some favourite art pieces in both spaces, my favourite room is the next one.

The library of Wintersmith Hall.

I smile. I love this room. It’s long, with an antique floral rug that covers the floor the entire length and width of the room. It’s so important and fragile, you can only enter with socks on. The dark bookshelves run around the entire space, filled with thousands of books. There’s a lounging area in front of a marble fireplace, with a sofa set and chairs in deep shades of green. On the other side of the room are various wingback chairs forseating, as well as a round mahogany table with chairs and a lamp.

I pause at the edge of the room, taking off my shoes and placing them right inside the entranceway. Then I step across the antique-carpeted floor, the sunlight landing on the pattern and giving it a warm glow.

I pause for a moment, walking around and drinking in the art on the walls. I stop in front of my favourite picture in this room. It’s a portrait of Lady Lily, who was one of the daughters in this house during the Regency period. Why is this my favourite one?

She’s the only Banfield I can find in pictures who has the same red hair as I do.

I study her, with her hair piled up on her head in curls. She’s standing outside in the garden, next to the Cupid fountain, with a white empire-waist dress on. In one hand is a tan-coloured book. I detect a yellow veil on the canvas, which comes from the fact that we have a fireplace in this room. It can be restored, however, and I make a note to have Nicholas put this one in his document of art that needs some love in the house.

I move closer to the portrait of Lady Lily, trailing my finger over the edge of the gilded picture frame. I study her eyes, wondering what her life was like. Did she spend hours reading in this room because it was one of the few acceptable activities for women to do in her time? Did she stare out of these windows like I do, wondering what direction her life would take?

I bite my lip. If she did, it’s because she didn’t have choices like I do.

Yet I feel constricted all the same, as if I only have the same options as Lady Lily did.

Whilst she was held back because of society, I’m held back out of fear.

I decide it’s more interesting to script a story for Lady Lily than think about my own issues. So what is her story, anyway?All I know is what the family tree tells me—she married Lord George, who later became Earl Brooke. Could there be something about her in the archives? I’ve always been more interested in art than letters or diaries, and I’m sure the most interesting family members are used in stories told by the tour guides. I’m making up stuff that doesn’t exist.

Just as I allowed myself to dream of what dating Noah would be like.

I promise myself I’ll be happy and cheerful when the tours start rolling in a few hours, answering the tour guide’s questions about what I’m doing and that, yes, I’m a real-life person who actually is part of the family tree and actually lives here.

I smile. Sometimes when people find this out, they ask for selfies, which makes me laugh. Yes, I’m a lady. Yes, I am a member of the aristocracy. I don’t consider that selfie-worthy, but if it makes a tourist happy, I’ll do it.

I turn back around and walk towards the rows of beautifully bound leather books in rich colours. Behind these, though, in these deep bookshelves, are all kinds of other books. Books from throughout the decades bought by various ancestors. Books that aren’t necessarily historical or display-worthy, but I think they’ll be interesting to inventory all the same.

As I look at the thousands of books, I think of how I want to organise these in a spreadsheet. I want to take pictures, too. Hmm. I’m big on writing things down, so I’ll probably want to jot notes on paper as I work.

I mentally gather up all the things I need and go back through the private entrance to the family portion of the home and head up the staircase, trailing my hand along the banister which has been freshly polished by our housekeeping staff. I swear it’s so shiny, I bet I could see my reflection in it if I stared over it.

I reach the top floor, passing more portraits, but also family pictures, too. Of me and Nicholas and Mum and Dad. I smile as I see one of me and Nicholas at his Cambridge graduation. I remember I was so proud of him, graduating with honours from one of the most challenging universities in the world. As I glance at the picture now, I’m amazed as usual at how he is my twin. We look absolutely nothing alike, and we always shock people when we disclose we’re twins. Nicholas has dark brown hair and brown-gold eyes, whilst I have flaming red hair, a splash of freckles across my nose and cheeks, and blue eyes.

This wing of the house is quiet, as everyone has gone off to work. I reach my bedroom and slide open my desk drawer, retrieving my notebook. I do love a good notebook, and this one is my favourite. It’s a beautiful blue, with flowers embroidered all over it, and I might be a bit obsessed with it. I select a pen and put that with the notebook. Then I undock my laptop and grab that, and finally, my phone off my bedside table.

I feel sick when I see I have a text message from Bella.

Has Noah said something to Camden?

I tap open her message and brace myself as I read:

I had a brilliant idea of something we can work on together. Actually, you’d be helping me if you say yes. I have an event next Thursday in London. I’m reading a book to some children at a primary school, and I think it would be cool to incorporate an art project into it. Except I’m terrible at art, LOL. I thought it might be fun if you would work on the event with me and come up with an art project. I know you’re meeting Noah in London for a date next Friday, so I thought maybe you could come a few days early. Let me know what you think!

I feel sick as I finish reading her message.

She has no idea I backed out of my date with Noah.

I sit down on the edge of my bed, setting my laptop and notebook aside, with a mixture of heaviness and happiness mixing within me at the same time.

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