Page 86 of A Winter By the Sea
The three spoke for a few moments longer, then Sarah turned to greet the vicar. Suddenly, James took Emily’s handand pulled her through a curtained door she had not even realized was there. Together they climbed a curved, sconce-lit stairway.
“Where are we going?” Her question came out as a laughing whisper.
“You said you wanted a tour.”
True, though she had not thought he’d really meant it.
Reaching the first floor above, he led her through double doors into a large room with many tall, narrow windows topped with velvety swags and tied-back curtains. Moonlight spilled in through them onto the patterned carpet. French doors led to a terrace, their many panes of glass allowing in yet more moonbeams. Large mirrors in gilt frames also reflected the light so the room seemed illuminated even though no candles were lit and the fire in the hearth had burned to embers. Matching chaise longues faced the fire. A tall upright cabinet piano stood at one wall, and an elegant writing desk on the other. On it sat a birdcage, swathed in white cloth as its feathered occupants slept.
Looking around, Emily quietly observed, “This is a lovely room.”
“I agree. The duchess favors it.”
“I can see why.” Emily would love to curl up on one of the chaise longues with a cup of tea and a thick book.
He led her next to a room with simple furnishings and a larger desk. “The duke uses this as his study. I spend a lot of time here.”
“It’s freezing.”
James nodded. “His bedchamber is even colder.”
Emily stood at the window. “Look.” She pointed. “You can see our house from here.”
He came to stand next to her, shoulder to shoulder. “Yes. I glance over often while at work and think of you there.”
She turned to him in surprise.
He gazed down at her. Moonlight painted his features in muted light and shadow. She leaned closer, eyes locked on his.
A squat mantel clock tick, tick, ticked as they stood there, mere inches apart. Then he took her hand. “There’s more.”
He led her up a narrower set of stairs leading to the higher floor. “The nursery is up here. And several of the servants sleep here as well.”
“Then let’s be quiet,” she whispered. “I’d hate to wake the princess.”
He pointed out the room in question, and they tiptoed past. It was quite dark—despite faint light from the landing lamp and a small window at the far end of the corridor. Perhaps they ought to have brought a candle.
Ahead, a golden glow showed from beneath one of the doors.
“Ah. Herr Eckardt is working,” James said and softly knocked.
A man in his late thirties opened the door. “Ah, Herr Thomson!” He said something more in another language—German, she assumed.
James replied in the same tongue and then turned to make the introductions. She heard her own name in an incomprehensible string of words. Then James said to her, “Sebastian Eckardt came from Bavaria with Their Royal Highnesses to paint and sketch. He understands a little English but speaks almost none.”
Emily dipped a curtsy to the man. He opened the door wider, and they both stepped into the room. Inside, an easel stood near the window, with many candle lamps arranged nearby.
Mr. Thomson asked him something in German, and the older man shook his head, gesturing to the easel.
“What is he saying?” Emily whispered.
“He says large parties do not interest him. No one sits still and there is no focal point.”
Seeing the twinkle in the man’s eyes, Emily chuckled.
“May I?” She gestured to a few pieces on a narrow side table, propped up against the wall.
The artist nodded.
