Page 12 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
As she looked about the room, she noticed dirt on a windowsill. The windows in the room were partially open, ostensibly to let any fumes from the chemicals used in repairing the plaster to exit the room.
She frowned. “How peculiar to see dirt on the windowsill. Perhaps someone climbed in the window?”
Her father walked forward to examine the sill. “How strange. I’m not sure why one of the workers would climb through the window. I’ll ask the foreman to speak with the laborers about not doing so in the future.”
She studied the ceiling a moment. “The medallions merely look stained by woodsmoke.”
“Well done. I agree.” Her father pointed to the nearby fireplace. “One of the floral paterae end blocks on the frieze appears to have been removed and then lodged back into place.”
“I can see what you mean,” she replied after moving to get a better view of the fireplace. “That is unfortunate. It will take a skilled craftsman to complete a flawless restoration.”
The butler entered the room and crossed to her father. “His Grace thought perhaps a written history of the hall might be useful.” The man handed a sizable leather-bound book to her father. “The history was recorded by several of the duchesses.”
“Thank you. I’m sure it will be invaluable.”
The butler bowed and exited the drawing room.
“Oh my!” Marina couldn’t contain her glee as she peered at the tome in her father’s hands. “It is rare that we are given a first account of the history of a house.”
Her father handed her the book with a chuckle. “I’ll see you for dinner.”
“Yes, yes,” she replied with a vague wave of her hand, making her way out of the room, eager to return to the dower house and wade into the history of Barton Hall.
* * * * *
Preston met with Sir Joseph the next morning after his ride and subsequent breakfast. He’d not returned the evening before until well after supper, happy to see that all work had finished for the day.
“This is quite a good drawing,” he said to the architect as he looked over the sketch of the hall’s roof. “Which tradesman drew it?”
“My daughter sketched it from a draft the roofing foreman made. She is far more skilled with a pencil than I am.”
“You never hinted that your assistant was a woman,” he replied idly, not looking up.
The architect replied blandly, “Marina has been my apprentice for the last few years. She is nearly indispensable. Although there is still some resistance to her working beside me, she knows a great deal about architecture.”
“I believe you worked on Thurston Castle?” he asked, handing the sketch back to Sir Joseph.
The other man nodded. “Yes. Alongside Sir Jeffry. After my daughter finished several years of schooling with a tutor, she joined me in my work.”
Determined not to think about the pert young woman, Preston got to his feet. “You mentioned some additional work was needed in the drawing room?”
Sir Joseph followed him from the library into the chamber next door.
“Do you see this block of wood with floral carvings?” The architect stood near the fireplace and pointed to the left side. “It is a paterae and has been removed and lodged back into place.”
“My former steward was inspecting the house for rot. He may have caused the damage.” He studied the frieze of the fireplace.
Sir Joseph replied, “That would explain the loose paneling in several rooms.”
Despite his interest in architecture, he listened with half an ear as the man described which rooms had loose paneling.
Preston hadn’t seen any sign of Marina Davies that morning. She’d probably want to avoid him now that he’d seen her without her spectacles, restrictive hairstyle, arms crossed, or that notebook covering her chest. He felt heat flood his limbs.
He allowed the man to finish speaking before saying, “If that is all, I have correspondence to see to.”
The housekeeper sought him out soon after he returned to the library.
“Your Grace.”
