Chapter 6 - William #3
Even though he knew its provenance, it seemed the kind of thing young ladies might repeat to impress their guests, and William was determined that his sisters' newfound largesse wouldn't turn them into snobs.
"Mr. Abeer did an excellent job," Lily said, surveying the room.
William nodded. The room was rich with layered details.
Here, a brass statue of a woodland nymph added interest to a polished mahogany table; there, a wooden box inlaid with bone rested atop a stack of leather-bound books.
It was an obvious show of wealth, though it was done in a tasteful, cultured way.
It appeared as if a nobleman of exquisite taste had spent a lifetime travelling the world and collecting the interesting bits and bobs he found.
It didn’t look like a museum, either—the lush tasseled curtains softened the large windows, and the velvet pillows upon the chairs and sofas invited one to sit.
None of it looked too new. None of it was gauche. It was exactly what William had asked for. The only thing he wasn't quite sure about was a set of gold candlesticks on the far server.
That seems a bit much, he thought. Gold candlesticks, indeed.
How would Mrs. Dunn keep the servants from stealing them? Where did one even find such a thing? Silver was quite good enough, but—
"Ooh, those are beautiful." Beatrice noted his gaze and hurried over to inspect them. "Do you think they’re real?"
"Knowing Abeer’s taste? Absolutely."
The room was grand enough for the king himself to come visit, which perhaps was a problem. William hadn't wanted the king to feel at home here. Then again, William had never been one to quibble over details—a pair of candlesticks couldn't make all that much of a difference in the end.
William glanced at the ornate clock once more. "It’s time for dinner. We shouldn't keep Mrs. Dunn waiting any longer. We can explore the rest of the house later."
"Absolutely not, William." Margaret’s eyes widened with alarm. "I want to see my bedroom. I won't be able to sit still at the table if I haven't."
Claire said, "It's a challenge to get her to sit still even when she's not looking forward to something."
William smiled at Margaret to soften the sharp edges of Claire's statement. "Very well. Up the stairs, then."
Margaret and Beatrice ran ahead. One of them—Margaret, probably—shrieked with giggles as they pounded up the stairs. Lily followed behind, only a bit more sedately. Even Claire hurried forward, as if her unimpressed behavior had just been an act after all.
William smiled and followed. His sisters' bedrooms were the one place in the house where he had given his opinion freely and often. Even still, he had known that Abeer would take his instructions and run with them. He was eager to see how it had turned out.
He stood in the center of the upstairs parlor, a large hall that acted as a landing off of his sisters' eight bedrooms. Each of them had their own sitting area within their bedrooms, but this was a communal space for all of them, done in pale washes of mint, down to the floral wallpaper, the taffeta curtains, and the velvet sofas.
Here and there, a delicate ivory brocade chair softened the space. All the furnishings were unabashedly feminine. Even the woodwork was finely carved to hint at lace and flowers. William felt a bit like a lummox—the proverbial bull in the china shop.
There was a shrill squeal of glee from Margaret's room, and Lily popped from her own bedroom to hurry over and look at her sister's. William joined them, leaning in the doorway.
Margaret flung herself across the bed coverings as if she was too overwhelmed by her joy to stand any longer. "It's perfect."
William had to agree; Abeer had outdone himself. Margaret's bedroom was done in shades of the palest pink. If the room had been a dress, the coloring couldn’t have been more perfect for her.
Margaret scrabbled up to examine a pillow, then she stood in the center of the bed, studying the underside of the canopy.
"It's the story of Guinevere and Lancelot.” She gave a little jump before flopping down onto her back.
Lily sat at the edge of the bed and smiled, repositioning the pillow that Margaret had thrown askew in her delight.
Margaret floundered in the thick featherbed, then righted herself and slid from the bed to the floor. She whirled to take in her elegant writing desk and the comfortable sitting area before the fireplace with wide eyes.
"What about your bedroom, Lily?" she finally said.
"It's beautiful, though I barely got a chance to enjoy it; I had to come see what you were squealing about," she teased.
“Let’s go.”
Margaret charged out the door; William barely escaped having his shoulder knocked and followed them across the hallway.
"It's beautiful," Margaret exclaimed. "Just like you."
Abeer had captured Lily's personality in a room. Everything was soft, done in pale peach, and looked as beautiful and gracious as the lady who’d live there.
Lily smiled. "William, it might be more difficult to marry us off now—you perhaps have enticed us to stay here with you forever."
“I don’t mind. If you grow too bothersome, I’ll ship you off to one of my other houses.”
Despite his words, he meant what he said about not caring whether they all left or not—he only wanted them to have the option of a good marriage.
Beatrice appeared in the doorway next to William. She touched his elbow gently. "Thank you, William. My room is beautiful.”
“I haven't seen it yet. Do you mind?"
She shook her head.
Her room was next door to Lily's. The bed coverings were deep purple and the furniture was polished wood.
It wasn't nearly as soft as the other rooms were, but he thought it suited Beatrice better for it.
Beatrice, though one of the younger lot, was tough enough to stand up to Claire.
It would have been silly to do her room in pale pastels.
He left his three other sisters exclaiming amongst themselves about their respective bedrooms and sought out Claire, who’d been markedly absent from her sisters' joy. He found her standing at the window of her bedroom, looking out at the back garden.
Claire's bedroom was done in navy blue, with rich brocade armchairs and elegant but simple trim on the curtains. William thought it quite looked like her—regal and a bit imposing. He knocked on the doorframe; she turned.
"Do you like it?"
"Yes, thank you." She frowned.
"What is it, Claire?"
"Are you sure you can afford it?"
Her eyebrows lifted, her mouth pinched as if she'd somehow admitted too much by the question. But considering what she'd been through the past years, he didn't blame her in the least.
He nodded. “This expense was but a small dent, easily recovered.”
He wasn’t lying. He wasn’t as smooth or as gracious as some other gentlemen, but he seemed to be naturally gifted at making money.
"I don't want to have two brothers of the same ilk," she said, turning back to the window.
The insinuation that he was anything like their late brother was one of the only things that truly upset William, and it was as if Claire knew it. She was always poking at that sore spot between them. He opened his mouth to deliver a scathing reply.
It was a good thing, then, that Lily appeared suddenly at his side. "It's all so lovely, William. You shouldn't have gone to so much trouble."
In the distance, Margaret squealed. He guessed that she’d just discovered the dedicated bathing room attached to her bedroom.
Beatrice joined them in the open doorway. She nodded at Claire, who still frowned near the window. "Really, Claire—contain your excitement. Behave with a little decorum."
Claire ignored her completely. Beatrice narrowed her eyes as if irritated she hadn't provoked her sister with the jibe.
"Let's go down to dinner," he said.
His sisters were much like sailors in some aspects. If a fight was brewing, food was often the solution. On the staircase, Margaret appeared at his elbow.
"Brother," she said, "can I have a parrot?"
"A parrot? Whatever for?"
"As a pet, of course."
"No," he said staunchly. "No parrots. They're a frightful mess, and they're noisy."
It was the one thing he’d hated about India—the endless squawking of the jungle birds that sometimes made him feel as if he'd go mad.
"Very well. What about a pet chicken?"
"That's still a bird, Margaret."
"Perhaps a puppy then?"
"Perhaps.”
"Wonderful." Margaret ran down the rest of the staircase and disappeared in the direction of the dining room.
"She played you for a fool, brother." Claire offered a cold smile. "She never wanted a bird at all."