Page 10 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
“Are you all right, my dear?” her father said when she returned to the dower house and joined him in the drawing room. “You look out of sorts.”
“Merely thinking too much,” she replied with a wan smile.
“Sit down and tell me about your observations of the hall’s roof.”
She informed her father she’d seen no further trouble areas as she made a note of that fact in the project ledger. A few minutes later, their man of all work informed her father the laborers had arrived.
“We will compare notes at tea,” her father said as he exited the drawing room.
As was their routine, her father would meet the workers and explain that he had an assistant they would encounter now and then. Marina, disguised safely behind her spectacles and with her notebook for a shield, would then observe some of the restoration work.
If possible, she and her father would take tea together in the early afternoon and discuss what still had to be accomplished that day.
Marina spent the rest of the morning studying her notes and the provisional restoration schedule her father would work from.
A few minutes before one o’clock, she pulled her hair into a severe hairstyle and donned her spectacles. After tea, she was determined to see where the laborers were currently working in the house.
Her father joined her in the drawing room, and Anne brought in a heavily laden tea tray. The maid had confided to Marina that Cook was rather proud of her baking and enjoyed making various types of biscuits and cakes.
“Are your spectacles for reading, miss?” the maid had asked the evening before.
“They’re a disguise,” she replied with a wink.
“I understand,” Anne replied softly.
She hoped the maid had not experienced any undesired attention in her work. Marina didn’t see the duke as someone who would molest his employees. How did she know that? It was just a feeling. She imagined he had enough women falling over themselves to gain his attention.
“Any progress to report at the hall?” she asked her father.
“The roof has been inspected,” he replied, taking a sip of tea.
“What damage was found?”
“There are several large areas that need to be patched. Tarps have been placed over those spots. Although the weather has been fair, we should be prepared for rain. The plasterers are starting work in the dining room on the ground floor. As expected, the discoloration of the plaster is merely due to age and soot from the fireplace.”
She listened to her father describe the workers. He sounded happy with the men. Her notebook was near her place at the table, ready for a busy afternoon.
“Shall we repair to the drawing room?” Her father stood up from the table, pulling a folded paper from his pocket. “The roofing foreman made a rough drawing of the damage to the roof.”
They moved to the adjoining room, where her father placed the drawing on the octagonal table in the center of the room.
“I’m sure you can make a more pleasing sketch for the duke’s perusal, and one for our own records.”
Under the tutelage of her governess, Marina excelled at drawing and painting.
“I have another meeting with the steward,” her father said distractedly before leaving the room.
Marina had taken to leaving her portable desk and the ledger in the drawing room. She took a seat on the sopha, her materials on either side of her, disappointed to be left behind. There was nothing for it. She was merely an apprentice; she had to remember that.
* * * * *
Perhaps Preston should have listened to his steward and decamped to London while repairs to the hall were being completed. No. He’d been gone from the estate long enough. And although the season was effectively over, he had no desire to be in close proximity to the marriage mart.
In addition to the ducal mansion in London and Barton Hall, he owned a small abbey in Oxfordshire. His maiden aunt, his father’s sister, lived in the house and kept him apprised of the state of the abbey and grounds. The woman was his closest living relative. He hadn’t spent much time in her company as his mother hadn’t gotten on with her sister-in-law.
He decided to finally avail himself of the offered hospitality of his nearest neighbor, Mr. Grayson, a wealthy cit who’d purchased the neighboring estate several years ago. He was a recent widower of an age as Preston’s late father. His two sons, several years younger than Preston, were currently away at school.
“I’m glad you accepted my invitation to supper,” the man said with a broad grin as they sat at table. “How goes the restorations?”
