Leslie Lafoy (15 page)

“No,” she answered, settling into the chair opposite him. “Your poisonous plants were among the first to die from the neglect.”

He was pondering whether or not she’d honestly given the notion serious consideration when she asked, “Was there anything at all to like about the Godwin conservatory? Was the ventilation adequate? Was the lighting good, the heat even?”

“I couldn’t tell beyond it being stifling. There was barely room to walk into it. I had to all but back up to get out. What I know about it structurally is what I was able to discern from walking around the crumbling exterior of it.”

“Ah, that’s it, then,” she said softly, almost as though to herself.

“What’s it?”

She studied him and he could see her choosing not only her words, but a path of some sort. “Lady Caruthers isn’t at all interested in the structure itself,” she finally ventured. “What she wants is a jungle.”

“To have a jungle in London,” Carden countered, “one has to grow it inside a rather large glass box.”

“Agreed. But while
you
care about what the box looks like, Lady Caruthers cares only about what’s inside it.”

He was about to point out that what was inside depended in large measure on what was built around it when she continued. “You said that she wanted the next set of plans done right. What did the first set look like? In a general sense.”

“They’re plans,” he said simply. She arched a brow, silently informing him that it wasn’t nearly as simple as he thought. “Standard engineering drawings,” he clarified. “An idiot could take them and build the structure as long as he could read and competently use a measure.”

“Did you present her with any drawings of how the structure would look when it was lushly, extravagantly stocked with plants?”

“I’m an engineer, not a gardener. How she fills it up is neither my concern nor my responsibility.”

“He has a point,” Barrett offered in his defense, reaching for an apple and a knife.

“That can only be maintained,” Sera instantly contended, “out of sheer stubbornness and at the price of having his plans rejected.”

“Well, I can live without building Lady Caruthers a conservatory,” Carden pointed out a bit more testily than he’d intended. “Her rejection isn’t going to give me any sleepless nights or have us living on the street.”

“Yes, but if you were to give her pretty pictures with lots of green and wild splashes of bright colors, she’d be happy as a lark and would let you build whatever your heart desires. Your pride and reputation needn’t be bruised.”

It occurred to him that he should be bothered by Sera’s ability to see through him so easily, but he wasn’t. He was too interested in the way her mind worked. “You’re quite confident of that, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

“The last few months we were in Belize,” she explained, “what money we had came from the art I was able to sell to the locals and to the travelers that passed through from time to time. The men always preferred the subjects realistically portrayed down to the smallest detail. The women, on the other hand, wanted me to capture their dreams and, in that way, make them real. Effectively making that distinction between what I offered the two types of patrons determined whether or not we ate.”

He couldn’t imagine living like that; hand to mouth, moment to moment, dependent on hawking something of yourself to complete strangers. And yet, to hear Seraphina tell of it, it had been a perfectly manageable state of affairs, a business like any other. It really was a most amazing perspective.

“So Lady Caruthers wants Carden to design her
dream
conservatory.”

“Yes,” she answered, nodding. “And her vision is of the exotic treasures inside the box,
not
the box itself.”

“I’m not an artist, either,” Carden felt obliged to point out. “I’m an architect. I specialize in boxes.”

“Well,” Barrett drawled as he cut himself another slice of apple, “how very fortunate you are that you happen to have an artist in residence.”

Did he honestly care about Lady Caruthers’s damned floral dream? Not really, he had to admit. But there was his pride to consider. He’d never in his life had a proposal rejected. And then there were the benefits to working professionally with Seraphina. Which weren’t altogether professional in their potential.

“I’ll pay you for your services, of course,” he offered, his pulse racing. “Assuming that you’re inclined to do the drawings.”

Her smile was soft and so in contrast to the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “I wouldn’t have broached the subject had I not been willing from the outset to offer my talents to the cause. And while pay isn’t necessary, additional art supplies will be. Mine have become embarrassingly depleted.”

It was a vague feeling, one he couldn’t quite grasp, much less define …

“You know, Card, I have the distinct impression that you’ve been effectively, artfully manipulated. And by—wonder of wonders—a female.”

That was it. He’d all but been taken by the hand and led along. And he’d gone without so much as an inkling of what was happening in the larger scheme of things. And damn Barrett for seeing and understanding it before he had. This wasn’t how things usually went. What was wrong with him? And why the hell wasn’t he angry with Seraphina for having played him like the proverbial fiddle? His conscience quietly suggested that perhaps it was because he knew that he’d deserved it.

“When are you scheduled to present Lady Caruthers with a revised plan?” Sera asked, gracefully moving past his embarrassment.

“Tuesday, next,” he supplied, deciding that the smartest thing to do was focus his present attention on future possibilities. “You’ll need to see my existing plans so that you can incorporate some of the structural features into the drawings, won’t you?”

“Yes, although you may well have to explain to me what it is I’m looking at. I’m an artist, not an engineer.”

She was a good winner, gracious and not inclined to gloat. That made her a better person than almost everyone he knew. Including himself. She was also insightful, genteel, and loin-hardeningly beautiful … Yes, there was no denying it, Seraphina Treadwell came damn close to being feminine perfection. The only thing that kept her from actually achieving it was the sense of formality and distance she kept between them. To have her melt at his touch … And he’d decided that he could be patient about easing past those barriers and seducing her? What had he been thinking?

Whatever answer his conscience might have offered this time was precluded by the sound of Sawyer clearing his throat in the near distance. “Mr. Gauthier has arrived.”

“I didn’t hear any trumpets,” Carden quipped.

“I’m surprised, sir.”

“Thank you, Sawyer. We’ll be along directly,” Sera promised, starting to rise from her seat.

He and Barrett both vaulted to their feet, but he was the first to extend his hand and Barrett was left to deal with packing up the remnants of the lunch basket.

“Ladies!” Sera called toward the rear of the greenhouse as he tucked her arm around his. “It’s time to go! Please put things back in their places and come along!”

In the distance there were flashes of skirts as his nieces hurried to obey. As Barrett hefted up the basket, Carden smiled down at the woman at his side. “I like what you’ve done with the conservatory this morning,” he said. “It feels very different than it did just yesterday. Much more alive.”
He
felt more alive, too, but decided that saying so would be entirely too soppy.

“I’m glad you approve,” she replied happily. “The girls and I will be coming here frequently. I hope you’ll join us as often as you can so that you can watch the progress with us.”

He’d prefer to be with her alone here. He had plans for that chaise. But time with Sera was time with Sera and, for now, he’d take it however he could get it. And to imagine that just over twenty-four hours ago he hadn’t known she existed. At least Fate had been kind enough to send grim news with a gorgeous messenger. He had to be thankful for that.

All three of the girls bounded up, breathless and buoyant.

“Is Aunt Honoria here after all?” Beatrice asked, tugging her stockings up.

“No, darling, she isn’t,” Sera supplied. “We’ll have to muddle through on our own and hope for the best.”

Amanda whirled on him, her eyes bright. “If Aunt Honoria isn’t here to help us choose new dresses, must I have the palest, springiest greens anyway?”

She was asking him? He couldn’t fathom why, but he was willing to find out. “You don’t want green?”

“I’d prefer to have bright red.”

“No,” he declared, seeing where Amanda had hoped to go. He might be a bachelor, but he wasn’t about to allow his nieces to become the kind of women with whom he ever so casually socialized. “Young ladies do not wear red. Of any hue. They wear pastels in the spring and summer and muted shades in the fall and winter. You may have a red dress when—and
only
when—your husband buys it for you.”

Amanda wasn’t happy with the pronouncement and she stomped off, following her sisters and Barrett toward the door. Carden watched her go, thinking that in a few years she was going to be a handful. They weren’t going to be able to let her out of their sight for more than ten seconds at a time. And he suspected that there would be occasions when ten seconds would be eight seconds too many.

“You do know something about choosing female wardrobes,” Sera said softly, calling him from his musing. He’d looked down to meet her gaze before she added, “I’m most impressed, Carden.”

His heart soared ridiculously into his throat. “I’m a male,” he managed to say around it. “I pay very close attention to details.” He paused to swallow. “Seraphina.”

“And thank you for the paternal response to Amanda’s attempt to grow up too quickly. It was perfect.”

“Sometimes I actually get things right,” he admitted with a shrug.

“Yes, you do,” she said, drawing her arm from his and stepping back with a bright smile. “Now, if you will please excuse me, I have no intention whatsoever of allowing you to make even the slightest attempt to do right by
my
wardrobe selections.”

“You don’t trust my taste?” he asked, hoping to keep her engaged in conversation.

“Somehow,” she laughingly replied, turning away, “I doubt very much that you have any experience at choosing clothing suitable for a proper governess.”

She was right, of course. Not that he was going to let her idea of proper stand in his way. He’d bide his time here for a little while and then speak alone with the illustrious Mr. Gauthier. As two men who no doubt shared an appreciation for the female form, they’d be of like minds when it came to clothing Seraphina’s.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Carden wandered over to Sera’s easel. Clearly she wasn’t painting anything real. Nothing in his conservatory looked that alive and healthy. In fact … Yes, it certainly looked as though Sera were making a reasonable attempt to emulate the style of botanical prints that had taken the empire by storm. Every woman who considered herself fashionable had flower pictures nailed to every wall in her home. Colonel Collier’s wife had even put the damned things up in the officers’ mess. Barrett’s mother was an avid collector of them, too. He’d bought her three of them for Christmas last year.

Carden shook his head. Sera wasn’t a bad artist. Technically, he couldn’t fault her on any point. Her sense of proportion and perspective were excellent and her work was generally quite appealing to look at. He didn’t have a doubt as to her ability to paint pictures that Lady Caruthers would love. But he really had hoped that she was more the daring, risk-taking type.

Maybe with time and encouragement, he told himself as he turned and set off to find Mr. Gauthier.

C
HAPTER
9

Carden heard them coming down the stairs; girls seemed to be always chattering about something. He cast a quick glance toward the crates that had been stacked against the library wall since their arrival and hoped that today would be the day he would finally be in the right place at the right time. He’d seen more of Mrs. Blaylock in the last couple of days than he had Seraphina.

Just in case his miserable luck was about to change for the better, he flipped open the drawings he’d placed on the central table and struck a studious pose. From the corner of his eye he saw a flash of ruffle in the doorway. There was a God and He was good.

“Good morning, Uncle Carden,” Beatrice called out as they trooped into the room with Sera, like a good shepherd, trailing behind. “We have come to put away the books.”

“Well, hello, ladies. And how are you today?”

“We’re fine,” Amanda answered for them. “Thank you for asking. And yourself?”

“Never better.”

Sera crossed the threshold and stopped, casting a glance at the table before meeting his gaze and asking, “Are we interrupting? We can come back later.”

“Not at all,” he hastily assured her. “I was just looking at the Caruthers plans.”

The ploy produced precisely the reaction he’d intended. Sera started and then stepped forward, saying, “Would now be a good time to share them with me? The girls are quite capable of putting the books on the shelves without my assistance.”

“If you’d like,” he replied with all the nonchalance he could muster. “That would be fine with me.”

Camille dashed up to all but bounce in front of him. “Mr. Gauthier is bringing some of our new clothes today, Uncle Carden.”

He knew that already and he had a plan for it, too. “Oh, he is? Tell you what,” he said, bending slightly to bring his gaze more even with that of his youngest niece. “When he does, why don’t you all put on your new walking dresses and we’ll go for a stroll in the park to show them off? Would you like that?”

Camille’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “With our parasols!” she gasped. In the next second she was gone, bounding toward her sisters—who were just as wide-eyed, but trying very hard to be more mature about it all.

“The library must be in order before we do anything else, ladies,” Sera announced, coming to stand beside him. “We’ve allowed the clutter to sit for too long already. Mrs. Blaylock has been tolerant for the better part of four days, but I don’t think it’s wise—or very nice—to test her limits any further.