Page 18 of The Scandal of the Deceived Duchess
“Yes,” muttered Amelia more for her own benefit.
The house or mansion fast approaching in the distance was designed in a loosePalladian style. Row upon row of oaks led up to the large structure. Whoever designed the grounds and the home surely had taste. This was the first thing that came to Amelia’s mind the closer the carriage took her between the elegant embrace of the trees lining the lane.
The house’s principal block was a two-storied‘corps de logis,’ the main part of the building when referring to classical houses, mansions or palaces. Two single-story secondary wings, which had obviously been added later, flanked it.
The main building and the wings had hipped roofs with dormers. On the top of the structure, rested a shortspire topped by a gilded statue of something that resembled a man.
Amelia made a mental note to ask Mitchell what the statue of the figure on the roof embodied. Before the thought could fester, she reminded herself that she was not going to speak to him ever again.
Despite herself, she had often caught herself looking at him. This ogling happened at the most inopportune moments. One time, Jonathan had aided the coachmen with a wheel with shattered spokes. His strength and ability had involuntarily taken her breath away. Jonathan had smiled at her when he saw her studying his impressive physique.
Amelia had wandered off after that, seeking misplaced solace in her confused mind. Before she knew it, the voyage continued with Jonathan passing on most of the praise to his black servant.He is quite the gentleman when he wants to be…and a man without his sex’s habitual addiction to praise,she had thought on her way back to the fixed vehicle.
Another time, he had quoted something quite beautiful during dinner.Who was it from? – oh, yes.Such a lovely poem by Lord Byron.A small smile appeared on her face, conquering her lips and coaxing her mouth into a clandestine smile. Amelia silently spoke the words.
“She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express,
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.
And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!”
She remembered that Jonathan had looked at her the entire time while he recited the words. His voice had carried the verses with such eloquence; it had taken her breath away. Of course, the moment had been ruined when he had added his customary patriotic zeal. Jonathan and Jake had found Byron’s newest poem on board a British ship sailing for Jamaica. Amelia had not wanted to be reminded of that.
“We have arrived. Welcome to ‘Fair Weather Heaths’, My family’s ancestral home. It was built in 1765 by my grandfather who sadly died before it was completed. My father finished his legacy, and here we are. Come! Alfred will show you to your quarters,” announced Jonathan, walking up to them and opening the carriage door.
Amelia and Anna stepped out of the transport. Standing nearby was a black man attired in the guise of a butler. “Good afternoon, ladies. My name’s Alfred, and I have the pleasure of escorting you to your rooms.”
Amelia looked all around her as she followed the tall man into the house. Inside, it was the same. All of the maids and footmen were dark skinned. “He has slaves here,” she hissed into Anna’s ear.
