Beauty So Rare, A (A Belmont Mansion Novel Book #2) (18 page)

His hands were large, but not as rough and calloused as she’d expected. Nor was there dirt beneath his nails. His fingers were like those of a pianist, and she wondered whether he played. Then remembering his occupation, she realized he’d probably never had opportunity to learn. Though she shouldn’t be quick to judge. Aunt Adelicia took pride in hiring her gardeners from the finest garden houses and estates in Europe. Who knew what education the men received in their training?

And based upon what she’d seen of
this
man’s skills, she wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Marcus Geoffrey executed a flawless sonata.

“So tell me,” he said, peering around at her. “What lured you into town today? Anything I might need to know about?”

Humor edged his voice, and she smiled at his feeble attempt to learn more about the building she’d rented. “Oh, this and that. Various errands. I went to the bakery again.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Without me?”

She nodded, feeling his chin all but resting on the top of her head. “And the doughnuts were even better than the other day.”

He laughed again, and she liked the sound of it up close. The resonant rumble in his chest.

The sun wouldn’t set for another two hours. But already, to the east, the barest hint of a thumbnail moon graced the horizon, the pale sliver overeager to begin its nightly trek.

Eleanor had to admit, this was much better than walking, and she liked that Marcus didn’t feel compelled to fill the silence.

He guided the horse through the massive columns of chiseled limestone marking the entrance to Belmont, and the peacefulness and beauty of the setting made it feel as though they were entering another world. Which they were in a sense, when contrasted with what she’d seen today.

She thought of Naomi and her son. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask how old he was. She hoped the bread and cheese would be enough until morning. And though she hadn’t mentioned anything to Naomi, she was already making plans for breakfast and lunch tomorrow.

Marcus shifted behind her, and Eleanor glanced back.

“Are you all right back there? Not about to fall off, are you?”

“I’m fine, madam. I’m simply . . . enjoying the view.”

She liked that he wasn’t addressing her as “your ladyship” anymore. It proved that, though the man was arrogant, he was teachable. That said a lot.

“Oh!” she whispered, squeezing his arm. “Look!” She nodded toward a doe and two fawns grazing a short distance off the road. The doe raised its head, senses alert, as they passed but didn’t bolt. Neither did her young.
Beautiful
 . . .

“So,” she said, keeping her voice quiet. “What were
you
doing in town today? Another errand for Mrs. Cheatham?”

“I . . . had business to tend to. But I’ve been eager to get back here. A special flower I grafted is due to bloom any day now. Three plants, actually. With several blooms.”

“A flower . . .” She raised an eyebrow. “Grafted how?”

“Your aunt requested a rose in a most . . . particular color. A blush pink, like that of first dawn,” he said, as though repeating instructions verbatim. “But not too light. And with the slightest hint of purple.”

Eleanor laughed, knowing whom he was mimicking and able to imagine the inflections in her aunt’s voice. But she was also impressed. “You can do that? With flowers, I mean. Create such specific colors?”

“And shapes and sizes of petals, and stems. We can determine whether the blossom will be of a more delicate variety, or heartier. But it follows . . . the heartier it is, typically the less aesthetically pleasing.”

Eleanor nodded, the familiar descriptions
handsome
and
sturdy
coming to mind. But what captured her attention most was the passion in his voice.

“It’s been a challenge,” he continued, “creating a blossom that will be beautiful enough to satisfy Mrs. Cheatham’s taste, while also assuring it possesses the traits to endure the elements. She requested that it bloom in the front garden throughout the summer. So, in full sun.”

“And how long does it take to . . .
develop
a flower like this?”

“It’s taken years, of course, to acquire the knowledge we have thus far, which is considerable. So—”

“So the more you’ve learned, the faster the process has become.”

“You would think so. But that’s not necessarily the case. So many variables influence the outcome of each grafting.”

He leaned closer as he spoke, his arms tightening around her. Eleanor guessed it was an unconscious gesture on his part, and couldn’t decide whether she was pleased or perturbed that the gesture wasn’t more intentional.

“I’m collaborating with a botanist from Massachusetts. We’re grafting trees and other plants, and are sharing our findings, which is immensely helpful. Through experimentation, we select the plants that conform to our designs, and then destroy the others. We segregate the chosen ones so their qualities won’t be lost in breeding with the mass. The law of heredity—like produces like, if you will—is interwoven inextricably with the law of variation, which proposes that no two organisms are ever exactly alike. We’re very close, but we’ve yet to isolate . . .”

Eleanor smiled, listening to him.

He paused, then peered around at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Please continue.”

“You’re laughing at me.”

“I’m not laughing at you.”

“You’re
smiling
.”

Hearing the boyish accusation in his tone
did
tempt her to laugh, and then she couldn’t hold back.

“I’m not laughing at you, Marcus. I’m simply moved by how much you seem to love what you do. And you do, don’t you?”

His hands briefly tightened on the reins. “Yes . . . I do. Since childhood, I’ve been fascinated with nature. But grafting, or . . . gardening,” he said more pointedly, his tone growing more somber, “is actually only part of what I . . .”

He stopped, and she sensed his hesitance again.

“Honestly, Marcus, I want to hear more about this. I find it—”

“No,” he whispered, then pointed ahead. “It’s that.”

She looked up to see a crowd gathered around the conservatory. Servants and workers, at first glance. But on closer inspection, she spotted Dr. Cheatham among them, along with her aunt, who chose that precise moment to look in their direction, her expression anything but pleased.

 13 

E
leanor braced herself for a reprimand—for her having been gone all day,
and
for being with an under gardener, perhaps. Feeling twelve years old again—and resenting it—she accepted Marcus’s assistance down from the horse while considering how to respond.

In the same breath, she reminded herself she was a guest at Belmont. Her aunt’s concern over her whereabouts was understandable . . . and actually warmed her heart, in a way. How long had it been since someone had worried about
her
instead of the other way around?

“Eleanor, my dear, are you all right?” Her aunt grasped her hands. “When Armstead said you insisted on walking back, I was concerned.”

“Yes, Aunt, I’m fine.” Eleanor briefly tightened her grip. “I apologize if I worried you. I went into town and—”

Aunt Adelicia held up her forefinger. “One moment, please, dear. I want to hear
all
about your day, but first . . . Mr. Geoffrey, I’m so glad you have returned. I believe your assistance may be required. There’s an issue with a water pipe.”

“A water pipe?” Marcus secured Regal’s reins to a nearby tree. “How might I be of help with that, madam?”

“Workers are here to fix it, but they’ve mentioned something about a structural issue. Would you be willing to take a look at it? The kitchen no longer has water, and I’m expecting sixteen women tomorrow morning for tea! So please, if you’ll simply . . .”

And just like that, they walked away, and Eleanor found herself standing alone. Without reprimand. Without scolding. Without anyone to hear
all
about her day.

Giving a weary but partly humored sigh, she conceded she was of little to no use in this situation. Much like an under gardener would be. So why had her aunt requested Marcus’s assistance? Then
again, she knew. The man
exuded
confidence. So whether or not he knew anything about the topic at hand—she shook her head—people assumed he did.

She made her way to the mansion, her feet still sore, despite the respite. Almost to the main fountain in the center of the garden, she heard footsteps behind her.

“Eleanor!”

Recognizing the voice, she turned, unexpected anticipation rising inside her. She told herself not to hope, but hope paid her no mind, and when she saw him, she dared imagine that he, too, had felt something similar to what she had on the horseback ride, and was coming to—

“I thought you might need this.” He held up her satchel. “I saw it sitting on the ground back there.”

She looked at the bag, then at him. She’d
told
herself not to hope. “Thank you, Marcus. That’s very kind of you.” She took the satchel and glanced beyond him. “It would seem you have a job ahead of you yet tonight.”

“It would seem.”

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it in a boyish, yet alluring, way. Was there anything about this man that wasn’t attractive?

“But I don’t mind,” he continued. “I’ve never been bothered by darkness. Or close spaces.”

She frowned. “Where will you be going?”

“In the tunnel.”

She frowned.

“There are pipes,” he said, “that extend from the water tower throughout the estate, including up to the mansion. The pipes run through the basement of the conservatory. And there’s a tunnel—a short one—that houses the pipes before they branch out.”

With her gaze, she traced a line from the tower uphill. “Can you walk in it?”

“A little ways. Then you have to stoop, then finally crawl. It’s really not . . .” He eyed her. “Wait. Don’t tell me. . . . You like tunnels?”

“No,” she said quickly, then made a face. “I like . . . exploring.”

He smiled and looked away, shaking his head. “
Du
bist die bezauberndste Frau, die ich kenne.
”

Wishing now that she’d taken four years of German instead of only two, Eleanor cleared her throat. “I beg your pardon, but . . . did you just say I’m a
surprising woman
?”

His smile went slack. “You speak German?”

This response she remembered quite well. “
Nur ein wenig.
” Only a little.

His blue eyes danced. “
Das wird ein Spaß werden, Miss Braddock.
”

She thought fast, working to keep up with him. “Obviously, I know my name. And I think I heard the word for . . .
fun
?”

“You most certainly did, madam.”

“But what was the rest of it?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” He gestured to her skirt. “But if we go exploring in that tunnel, you might get a little dirty.”

She grinned, wishing she knew the German word for
tunnel
. “I’ve never minded a little dirt.”

“
Ja
,” he whispered. “I would have guessed that.” He bowed. “I’d better get back before Mrs. Cheatham comes looking for me.” He turned to go, then stopped, his expression more serious. “I meant to ask you earlier . . . Have you heard from your father? About when he might arrive?”

Eleanor felt her smile fade. “No, I haven’t. But . . . I’m expecting to hear from him soon.”

He held her gaze a little longer than necessary. “Well, I look forward to meeting him when he does.” He inclined his head. “Good night, Eleanor.”

She offered the semblance of a curtsy, wishing she didn’t genuinely like this man as much as she did. “
Gute Nacht,
Marcus.”

Later that night a knock sounded on Eleanor’s bedroom door.

“Eleanor, dear?” came a soft whisper. “It’s Aunt Adelicia. Are you still awake?”

Eleanor laid aside her book, nudged back the bedcovers, and slipped into her robe as she crossed the shadows. The door creaked as she opened it. “Yes, I was just reading. Please . . .” She stepped back. “Come in. Is everything all right?”

Her aunt entered, carrying a lamp, and gently touched her cheek. “I’m sorry to visit so late, and yes, everything is fine. But you disappeared so quickly after dinner, I wanted to make certain
you
were all right.”

“Yes, I’m well.” Eleanor gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs by the window and then sat opposite her. “I was simply weary after the long day. Retiring early to read proved to be too much of a temptation.”

Her aunt nodded. “Quiet moments are to be treasured, and seem to
come so infrequently these days.” A dark eyebrow shot up. “Especially with all the rigmarole going on down at the water tower.”

“Was the leak easily repaired?”

“Thanks to Mr. Geoffrey! I’m beginning to question whether there’s anything that man can’t do. I’m grateful he’s here.”

Eleanor smiled, having had much the same thought. On both counts.

“But, dear”—her aunt leaned forward—“I truly want to hear about your day, and learn how you’re faring. I do so want you to be happy here with us.”

Having had time to reflect on the events of the day, as well as her aunt’s generous invitation to live at Belmont, Eleanor knew how she wanted to answer that question. “I actually had a wonderful day today, thank you. And I’d love to share the details with you. But first I need to tell you about the building I rented.”

Aunt Adelicia offered a nod, one that was a tad cautious, if Eleanor read her right.

“It
does
exist. Though you were correct, in a way. The property was not as it had been described in the advertisement. The verbiage the proprietor chose was most definitely colored by personal bias.”

“The seller’s perspective always is, my dear.”

“But I’ve spoken with him about the possibility of my money being returned.”

“And?”

“And he agreed that, if he could rent the building within the three-month time frame, he would refund the prorated portion of my payment.”

“I admire you for broaching that possibility with him, Eleanor. But I would also warn you not to cast your hope in that corner. Chances are good that anyone else seeking to rent that property will demand to see it first”—Eleanor felt a sting, yet couldn’t argue with the truth—“and when they do, I predict they’ll take their money elsewhere.”

“Which is why,” Eleanor quickly added, “I spent a portion of the day interviewing and hiring someone to clean the property.” She decided to forego sharing how she’d spent the better part of her day cleaning the building herself. Aunt Adelicia would neither understand nor appreciate that fact.

Aunt Adelicia’s brow knit, and Eleanor hurried to offer support for her decision.

“My thought was that if the building were cleaner, more presentable, not layered in dust and grime, the chances of it being quickly
rented would be greatly enhanced.” Seeing no visible sign of approval in her aunt’s expression, she rushed on, intentionally leaving out the building’s location. “The structure seems quite sound. None of the windows are broken, and it has a large—”

“Eleanor,” her aunt said softly.

Eleanor closed her mouth, resisting the urge to look away. Imagining what lecture was forthcoming, she almost wished now that she’d pretended to be asleep. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Your decision”—Aunt Adelicia regarded her—“shows excellent judgment.”

Eleanor blinked, not certain she’d heard correctly.

“Far better to spend a little,” her aunt continued, “with the chance of regaining the larger portion, than to certainly lose it all by doing nothing. And if the building doesn’t rent, you haven’t spent that much. And what’s more, you will have left the property better than when you found it. Which is always an admirable goal. Well done, my dear.”

Never in a hundred lifetimes could Eleanor have imagined how good it would feel to have Adelicia Acklen Cheatham’s approval. She thanked her just as another detail popped into her head. “This will likely necessitate my going into town each day, at least for a while. To . . . supervise. Will that present a problem?”

“Not at all. Simply ask Zeke or Eli to arrange a carriage for you. And do be certain to visit the Nashville Women’s League while you’re in town. I spoke with the league’s chair, Mrs. Holbrook, and she said she didn’t think you had been by yet.”

“No, I haven’t. But I will. Very soon.” Especially now that she knew a Mrs. Holbrook was watching for her. “Thank you again, Aunt Adelicia.”

“You’re most welcome. And now . . .” Her aunt reached into the pocket of her dressing gown and pulled out an envelope. “I have one more thing I need to speak with you about this evening.”

Eleanor glanced at the envelope, sensing this was the real reason her aunt had knocked on her door.

“I had planned on telling you about this sometime later, Eleanor, but, I fear—” Aunt Adelicia looked down, fingering the stationery. “Certain events have forced my hand.”

Eleanor’s heart lurched. “Did Dr. Crawford write you? Is it about Papa?”

Her aunt lifted her gaze, her eyes swiftly widening. “No, no, my dear. It’s nothing like that. This isn’t about your father. Well . . .” She lifted a hand. “It’s not directly about him. Although he
was
the motivation
behind the plot, you might say. I think you’re going to be quite pleased, though, once you hear what I’m about to tell you.”

Though doubting that, Eleanor found her curiosity piqued.

“Over a year ago, your father wrote to me requesting that, when the time was right, I lend my assistance in arranging a secure future for you. I’ve already stated to you that I’m committed to doing just that.”

Eleanor stared, not liking the direction their conversation was taking.

“Considering our close family relations and my long-standing affinity for you, dear . . . I most happily agreed to your father’s request. And . . .” Smiling, her aunt reached over and covered her hand. “Within a fortnight, or a month at the most, a very nice gentleman will be calling on you, here, at Belmont. He desires to take you to dinner . . . with the intent of becoming acquainted with you.
Much
better acquainted.”

Eleanor winced. “Oh, Aunt Adelicia . . . you didn’t.”

“I most certainly did. The gentleman’s name is Lawrence Hockley, and he’s a widower with no children. I’ve known him for the better part of fifteen years and can speak to his character and steadfastness. I knew his wife too, God rest her soul. She was a kind and quiet woman who died during the war. An illness of some sort, as I remember. Lawrence . . . Mr.
Hockley
, has been in Europe these recent months and wasn’t expecting to return until spring. However, business in the States demands his attention, so”—her aunt’s eyes sparkled in the glow of lamplight—“he’ll be returning soon.”