Page 12 of The Lover's Eye
“This old house was in need of laughter, I assure you.”He offered his arm to her.“Would you care to see it?”
She stared at his arm for a moment, but met his eye as she slipped her hand through the crook of his elbow.
They moved slowly through the house, Isobel filled with compliments for the elaborate Corinthian columns in the dining room and the rich threads of the drawing room’s tapestries.
“I thank you, but none of the praise is owed to me,” Giles said as they ambled the perimeter of the breakfast room.“My mother, and my grandmother before her, are responsible for all you see.I haven’t touched so much as vase since my parents passed.”
Isobel looked up at him, as if taking his measure.“I think that’s good of you.”
Giles found himself ducking his chin like a bashful schoolboy, and cleared his throat.“What is your home like?You’re from Cumberland, you say?”
They started out of the room, appraising a collection of ceramics in the entry hall.“Oh, Ridgeway House is the typical country home.I have always found it perfectly comfortable, but it does not boast this amount of detailing.The best part is the grounds.And the library, of course.”
As time had passed, Isobel’s hand grew more comfortable on his arm, and she unconsciously squeezed it as they climbed a few stairs.
Giles tried, rather unsuccessfully, to ignore this.“Do you spend a good deal of time outdoors?”
“Yes,” Isobel admitted.“More than I should, according to everyone of my acquaintance.They fear for my petticoats and my complexion more than my happiness.”
Giles couldn’t prevent a smile.“Ah, I do not think one can spend too much time in nature.But if that is your way, you may appreciate this room as much as I do.”
They stepped into the central hall, and Isobel’s jaw gaped.
The room stretched upward to encompass both stories of the house, and glass panes in the coved ceiling let in a wash of bright light, spilling it over the stone balustrade and archways.The room itself was empty, but the four arched walls depicted vibrant scenes of the Northumberland landscape and a plethora of native plants.
“This art is enchanting,” Isobel breathed, detaching from his arm to walk around the space.Giles took this opportunity to watch her, committing the sight of her to memory.
“The artist did such wonderful work.Why, this poppy looks real enough to touch, and this nightshade almost prettier than the real thing!”
Her small laugh echoed, and Giles walked up behind her.“My favorite is the bed of red campion,” he said, pointing up and over her shoulder.“I enjoy coming here in the winter.It is the closest replacement I know of for the summer gardens.”
Isobel smiled, tilting her face toward his.She was close.Much too close.“Do you have many gardens here, Lord Trevelyan?”
Rather than attempt words, Giles arched a brow and offered his arm in silent invitation.
At the south side of the house, a set of doors opened on a broad portico.Their view was largely one of undisrupted snow, but the prominence of a wall, a pond, and several mature trees could be made out.
“A walled garden?”Isobel asked, the disbelief palpable in her voice.
Giles felt a surge of pride in his chest.“Yes.”
“If I thought my father would not kill me, I should walk it this very minute.”
He huffed a laugh, enjoying the strength that had mounted in her voice.Isobel looked at him, her eyes glimmering with pleasure.“What?”she asked a little self-consciously.
“I was only thinking how your father is in Kittwick.”
♦
When Isobel returned to the portico doors, wearing as many fur-lined layers as Betsey could wrap around her, Trevelyan was waiting for her.He had donned a caped greatcoat of fawn-colored wool, a beaver hat, and gloves.Isobel was a little relieved for the large, boxy coat.
All throughout their tour of Cambo House, she’d been subject to the hard muscles of his arm under her hand, the sight of his broad shoulders and twinkling, curious eyes.Nothing had been done to conceal those.They landed on her now, with a warm smile to match.
“I hope I wasn’t too forward in my suggestion,” he said.“If you do not wish—”
“Oh, no,” Isobel interrupted.“Nothing settles my mind like a walk.”
As they stepped outside, the sting of cold air assailing their warm skin and burning their lungs, Isobel was sprung with a feeling of liveliness.A low thrum of not-unpleasant tension hummed in her belly, a faint heightening of all her senses.It was warm, unusual.And more than a little frightening.She never felt this way at home.
