Chapter 11 #2
Climbing onto the bed using the chair, Lily flopped back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling.
Ornate plasterwork in the shape of interlacing vines twined above her.
The room had once been grand but it needed life breathed back into it.
She would have to speak with Brendan about restoring Ridley House.
Not to mention hiring a proper housekeeper. Would he bring one from Baydon Hall?
She sighed again. There was still so much she did not know about her new life.
Brendan paced the library, uncertain what to do with himself. He had a bride upstairs. The thought still startled him, as though some stranger had married in his stead and left him with the consequences. It was something he would need to grow accustomed to.
Michaels had informed Lily earlier that there was no housekeeper currently in residence, and the revelation had mortified Brendan more than he liked to admit.
He had not taken the time to assess the state of Ridley House beyond his own needs.
It had simply not occurred to him. And now, was there even a maid assigned to attend her?
The house had stood empty for the better part of two decades, with only Michaels and a handful of servants to take care of it until the day that Brendan had shown up and taken residence.
Michaels had then added additional servants, and they had an acceptable cook, but the staff were not accustomed to having a young lady in residence.
Or a lady of any age, for that matter. The staff had been merely maintaining the home and taking care of its solitary resident these past six or seven years.
What did he know of such matters? He had managed no one, simply being an heir who came and went as he pleased.
He was going to need to ask questions of Halmesbury and Richard.
For all intents and purposes, he might as well have been an orphan for his entire adulthood, for the amount of interaction he had had with the late baron.
Perhaps he should set a meeting with his man of business. Perhaps he should discover if he had a man of business and who that might be.
Once a quarter, he had visited the baron’s solicitors to receive his allowance, so truly he did not know.
If someone specifically handled the finances, he would need to find out who that was.
What did a man of business do, as opposed to the solicitors?
And should he write to the incumbent steward at Baydon Hall?
Brendan groaned aloud and dragged his hands through his hair, fingers tightening at his temples.
He strode to the library table, its surface scattered with correspondence that had gone unanswered for months.
Sitting down, he reached for a sheet of paper and dipped a quill into the inkwell.
He needed to make a list. A long one. And once that was complete, he would seek out Halmesbury or Richard to gain some clarity on how to proceed.
It was time to pick up the scattered pieces of his inheritance and understand what it meant to be Baron of Filminster. He had people depending on him now. What that meant in definable terms he had yet to discover, but the discovery could wait no longer.
Lily came down for dinner wearing the same gown she had donned that morning, deciding it was entirely acceptable and not yet ready to relinquish it after such a triumphant debut earlier in the day.
The rich red silk still carried a faint warmth of pride and possibility, and she drew confidence from the memory of Brendan’s gaze.
She had spent the afternoon exploring her new residence, her slippers whispering across faded carpets and creaking floorboards as she moved from room to room.
Every chamber seemed filled with imposing furniture far too large for modern taste, heavy drapes dulled with age, wallpaper curling away in neglected corners, and the occasional moth-eaten tapestry sagging like a forgotten memory.
Her footsteps echoed down long halls punctuated by stiff-shouldered portraits in gilded frames, their stony expressions giving her the distinct impression that none of them approved of her presence.
Of her husband or his sister, the duchess, there was no trace, not a single recent likeness. The youngest portrait appeared to have been painted before the turn of the century.
Their home, she concluded with certainty, was in need of care. And she would see to it.
After opening and closing a dozen wrong doors, she finally discovered the dining room, only to find it empty. Wandering back down the corridor, she noticed a sliver of light beneath one door. The library.
She entered to find Brendan seated at the library table, his shirtsleeves rolled and the surface scattered with books and ledgers. A glass oil lamp flickered nearby, casting amber shadows across the leather bindings and illuminating the thoughtful lines of his face.
“What are you doing?”
Brendan started slightly, straightening up.
“I am not precisely sure. These are the household account books, and I thought I might get familiar with … well … anything. I know nothing about how the Filminster barony is managed, so I have made a list of questions to pursue. This was the first afternoon I have not been consumed with other matters.”
Lily grimaced sympathetically, then slid into the chair beside him.
“We are both rather new at this, are we not? I just explored the house to get some notion of the state of it. Most of it appears untouched. Only the breakfast room, the small drawing room, and your”—she faltered, heat creeping into her cheeks—“your bedchamber seem to be in use.”
Brendan tilted his head, a slow smile spreading. “Did you enter my room, Lily Ridley?”
Her new name in his husky tone made her heart flutter. She dropped her gaze to her folded hands. “I may have.”
“Hmm … You did, or you did not. Which is it?”
“I did,” she admitted quickly. “I wanted to see what it looked like. I went in nearly every room, except the study. I think I found your old room, too.”
Brendan reached across the table, his movement gentle. With one gloved finger, he tilted her chin so their eyes met. His touch was featherlight, yet commanding. “I hope to visit your room, too.”
Lily froze, caught in the moment. The air between them shifted, as though the room itself held its breath. His gaze was steady, brandy-colored and warm, and she saw in it curiosity, affection, and something quietly reverent. Her breath came slower, the edges of the world softening.
Her lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came. She sensed, more than saw, his eyes drop briefly to her mouth before he drew back, the intimacy of the moment receding like the tide.
“We should eat some dinner, I suppose.”
She nodded, though her mind remained on the kiss they had shared earlier that day and the silent question of when the next might come.