What a Reckless Rogue Needs Part 12

"Well, then, it seems we have struck a bargain."

"We will find the miniature," she said. "I daresay it is in the attic."

"It will be like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack," he said. "I can't afford to spend time looking for it when there is so much else to be done. I have to think about the most urgent business."

"I will help you," she said. "We will work long hours and take time every day to sort through the attic."

He shook his head. "I cannot ask it of you."

"We will find it," she said. "We will go through every trunk, every drawer, every nook and cranny."

"I have nothing to give you in return for all of your a.s.sistance."

"But you already have," she said. "I need occupation." She didn't tell him that the main reason was to keep the bad memories at bay.

He met her gaze. "I feel as if I'm taking advantage of you. It's not as if we're the best of friends."

"But we are not enemies," she said.

"Years ago, you most certainly considered me an enemy."

"Years ago, I was haughty and headstrong. I thought I was invincible."

"No one is invincible," he said, "but you are strong. You always have been."

She'd lost much of her confidence, but Colin's words helped her to see that she was still the woman she'd been before the scandal. There was much she could not change, but she could change the way she felt about herself.

Chapter Five.

Angeline found a well with water and lye soap in the kitchen. She set Agnes to cleaning the marble floors. The maid advised against using sand, as it would scratch the marble.

"I hope you are able to clean the marks," Angeline said.

"I'll put my elbow into it, my lady."

Afterward, Angeline returned upstairs and saw Colin. "What are you doing?"

"I'm off to the attic to search for buried treasure," he said.

"Well, I hope you do not meet up with any pirates."

He arched his brows. "Ahoy, my pretty one. Would you like to walk the plank with me?"

She shook her finger. "No shirking your duties. Back to digging for you."

He made a ridiculous courtly bow and strode away.

Angeline inspected the other bedchambers. Most were similar and varied only in the colors of the bed hangings. Fortunately, the carpets in the bedchambers were in good condition as the heavy draperies kept out the sun. They were dusty, however, and Angeline made a note to instruct Agnes to beat the rugs and the stairwell runner when she finished cleaning the marble floors.

The few paintings in the bedchambers were predominately pastoral scenes. Thus far, she'd seen no family portraits. There were no personal items in any of the rooms. Servants must have moved all of it into the attic.

At a minimum, the bedchambers needed new paint or wall hangings. The draperies kept out the sun, but they were dusty as well. She already knew the drawing room needed new shutters, carpet, and draperies. Fortunately, she'd found no evidence of water damage to the ceilings or near the windows. However, they had very little time to resolve any problems they were likely to uncover. The best she could do in such a short time was to advise him.

Angeline went downstairs to check on Agnes's progress. The maid was on her hands and knees scrubbing.

"Are you able to remove the marks, Agnes?"

"Yes, my lady. It just takes a bit of time."

"Alert me when the floors are dry."

Angeline returned to the drawing room and tried to imagine how the room would appear with paper hangings and new furnishings. The red walls seemed too dark for this small drawing room. Angeline envisioned a gold interior with bright yellow cushions for the furnishings. Gold festooned draperies across the south wall would give the room a dramatic appearance.

Angeline sat on a chair and took out the notebook and pencil. She quickly sketched her ideas in the notebook. Later, she would show it to Colin. Of course, he did not own the property, but at least she could give him an idea of how the drawing room could be transformed. The current carpets must go, but the new ones would have to be purchased in London. All, however, was contingent upon Colin inheriting Sommerall, and that matter was far from resolved.

She ascended the next flight of stairs and opened the middle door. A rocking chair sat in front of the window. This must have been a nursery. In the corner, something was covered by a sheet. When she lifted it, she drew in a sharp, visceral breath.

It was a cradle.

His mother had died while giving birth to a stillborn infant.

Her heart hammered. No wonder the marquess had departed Sommerall in a hurry. The tragic reminders would have been too hard to bear.

Angeline backed away and quit the room immediately. She eased the door shut, but her heart was thumping hard as she pressed her back and hands against the door.

She didn't want Colin to see the cradle.

Agnes walked down the corridor. "My lady, do you want me to clean these rooms?"

"Not today, Agnes. Dust the drawing room, please. The sideboard and furnishings need attention."

After she left, Angeline released her breath. Colin would discover the nursery soon enough, but she didn't want him to see the grim reminder on this first visit. She couldn't imagine the heartache he'd experienced as a child. It struck her that it must have been terrifying for him.

She mustn't let him see her guarding the door. With a deep sigh, she went to the last bedchamber and hoped she would find the miniature.

Ten minutes later, she closed the last bedchamber door and walked down the long corridor. She'd not expected to find the miniature in one of the bedchambers, but she'd not counted on her own disappointment. If he had the miniature in his possession, he would find a measure of peace, because he would be able to see his mother's features.

Was it possible to heal a wound that had left scars after so many years? She needed to believe it was possible-or perhaps more important, he needed to believe it.

"Angeline, wait."

She halted and turned toward him. He'd shed his coat and carried it over his shoulder. His cravat was wrinkled and his shirtsleeves were rolled up, and somehow he managed to appear more devilishly handsome than any man ought.

"Did you make any progress?" she asked.

"I went through the contents of one trunk. Nothing is organized. It appears the servants stuffed whatever they found into the trunks as quickly as possible."

The servants must have found the task distressing. "What did you find?"

"Books with crumbling and missing pages, old letters, quills, handkerchiefs, vases, and skeins of yarn all tumbled together."

Evidently, the servants had been left to their own devices.

"It will be a tremendous ch.o.r.e to sort through," he said.

If the frame for his mother's miniature was made of gold or silver, there was a possibility of theft. She would not broach the distasteful subject to him. If it did not turn up, he would be better off believing it was simply lost.

"We should take time each day to go through the contents," she said. "Whatever you do not wish to keep, we will give away to the servants and tenants."

He put his hands on his hips. "This is a monumental undertaking. How am I to make any headway with the time constraints?"

"Divide and conquer?" she said.

"It's an overwhelming task," he said.

"We will accomplish as much as we are able. I'm confident you will manage it all very well, even after I've departed."

"If this is an attempt to cheer me up, it isn't working."

His cynical facade was no mask. He expected the worst, because he'd experienced a terrible loss at a young age.

"When did you become so optimistic?" he said.

"Since arriving here."

He arched his brows.

She'd meant it, but he looked taken aback. "It was a joke," she said. Truthfully, she'd become a cynic her first year out in society. She'd learned the art of studied ennui, but she'd grown truly bored with the fashion for self-proclaimed misanthropists. All during those years, she'd depended on her sarcastic wit and her father's t.i.tle as a shield. But in the end, none of it had helped. Now she no longer felt like that woman who found everything and everyone boring. It had been nothing but an invisible mask. But her pretense had failed to protect her from wounds. She did not want to remember any of it now, because it reminded her too much of her mistakes, and dwelling on the past would change nothing.

He regarded her with an unnerving expression that made her uncomfortable. She opened the notebook. "What is next on the agenda?" she said with her pencil poised.

"I need to have coal and a tinderbox delivered tomorrow so that I can check the chimneys."

Thank goodness, she'd diverted him. "Perhaps the cook at Deerfield can spare a bit of time to look over the kitchen. I'll speak to Margaret about it."

"Thank you," he said. "Once I determine for certain that the basic structure of the house is sound, I'll see about painting."

"You may wish to consult the architect who drew the plans and hired the workers when we made over the principle rooms at Worthington Abbey. Mr. Rotherby is highly praised for his designs and innovation."

"I suspect his services are beyond my financial means," Colin said.

"There's no harm in listening to his suggestions and getting an estimate for the work. You will not be obliged."

He ran his hand through his hair. "I fear this will be a waste of time."

Her mouth twitched.

He frowned. "What do you find so amusing?"

"Come with me," she said, opening the door to the bedchamber that she a.s.sumed had belonged to his father years ago.

"Angeline, what are you about?"

"There is no need to worry. I've no intention of seducing you."

He sighed theatrically. "What a pity."

"You will have to look elsewhere for sympathy." She took him over to the shaving stand. "Have a look in the gla.s.s."

"My hair is even more of a disheveled, curly mess than usual." He met her gaze in the mirror. "When I was a lad, I used to spit in my hands and try to wet down the curls."

She laughed. "Eww."

"I'm tempted now."

"For whose benefit? I do not care if your hair is standing on end." Liar.

He turned and clutched his hands to his heart. "Woe is me."

She would never tell him that his unruly curls only added to his masculine appeal.

A slow smile tugged at his mouth. It was a knee-weakening, toe-curling rake's smile meant to disarm a lady. She was, of course, impervious to him. Well, maybe not completely.

"You're a bit disheveled, too," he said.

"What?" She walked over to the shaving mirror.

"Got you," he said, laughing.

She spun around. "You're as horrid as a little boy."

"I may be horrid, but I'm no boy."

"You're in luck. I find you mildly tolerable today."

"Lucky me," he said, beginning to close the distance between them.

She tried to ignore the husky note in his voice, but the deep sound hummed inside her. Tension hung in the air, and unbidden, she recalled the way his muscles had strained while he'd wielded that ax. She dared not let him know how he'd affected her.

"I have a confession to make," he said.

Now she couldn't breathe, because he was too close and the scent of him swirled all around her.