Chapter Seven
James
Before James knew it, the first crocuses pushed through the cold dirt, bringing hints of spring, despite the bitter winds of late February.
The workers, directed by Ben and Georgiana, had done splendidly.
Last night before they retired, Georgiana had asked him not to look at the drawing room until she had everything ready.
Now, standing outside the closed doors, he felt like a child on Christmas morning.
Her careful and thoughtful work on his home touched his heart in ways that surprised him—a mixture of gratitude and admiration, along with the unfamiliar feeling of being part of a team.
They crossed the grand foyer together, Georgiana’s excitement palpable beside him.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“Show me.”
With dramatic flair, she pushed open the doors to the drawing room.
He stepped inside and stopped abruptly. “Oh, Georgie. It’s perfection.”
“Is it how you remember?”
“It’s better. You kept the essence of the past while updating it beautifully.”
“Do you love it? Truly?” She bounced on her toes, looking absolutely adorable.
“I love it.” He stepped farther into the room, turning slowly to take everything in.
Although it was nearing the end of January, they were experiencing a rare sunny day.
Sunlight spilled through polished windows, illuminating pale blue walls adorned with gilded frames containing landscapes and classical scenes.
A magnificent crystal chandelier hung from the ornately decorated ceiling, where pale blue paint showcased intricate white scrollwork and gold leaf detailing.
The elaborate crown molding featured coral and gold patterns that created a harmonious frame for the entire room.
“We were able to preserve the original crown molding despite the water damage near the eastern corner.” Georgiana moved beside him, speaking in her quiet, sure tone. “The plasterwork above the windows required complete reconstruction, but I followed the pattern from the surviving panel.”
“Glorious,” he murmured.
His gaze drifted to the elegant furnishings.
The round mahogany table with its polished surface reflected the light, surrounded by delicate chairs upholstered in the same pale blue as the walls, their wooden frames highlighted with gold gilt.
Against one wall stood a settee with cream fabric and ornately carved gold trim, flanked by matching side tables.
A terracotta carpet with hexagonal medallion patterns in soft cream covered the floor, its colors warming the cool elegance of the room.
Snowdrops drooped gracefully over the sides of a crystal vase on the center table, their subtle fragrance mingling with the scent of beeswax polish.
“The blue and cream are soothing, don’t you think?” Georgiana asked.
“I agree.”
He turned slowly, absorbing more of the space.
The settee was positioned perfectly for afternoon conversation.
The paintings, restored to their former glory and depicting pastoral scenes and mythological figures, reminded him of happier times.
There would be more of them—he felt more certain of that with every passing day.
“Are you ready to see your bedchambers?” she asked.
He’d been sleeping in the study so that she and her helpers could put the finishing touches on his bedroom. “Lead the way.”
They headed up the newly refinished stairs, the scent of fresh stain filling the air.
“I’m nervous to show you this.” She paused at a heavy oak door, her hand hesitating on the brass handle.
“But you must. I trust you completely.”
The door swung open, and James fell silent.
Where there had once been peeling wallpaper and water stains now stood a room of commanding elegance.
Deep slate-blue walls rose around him, paneled and adorned with gilded moldings that caught the afternoon light.
Elaborate plasterwork panels featured intricate medallion designs, their craftsmanship unmistakable.
His gaze traveled upward to the ceiling, where a circular medallion radiated outward in concentric patterns of carved plaster, centered by a brass chandelier with glowing globe-shaped lights.
“This is…” Words failed him entirely.
“Too much?” She watched his face carefully.
“No. Not at all. Extraordinary is the right word. It’s fit for a king.”
“Or perhaps a lord?”
The bed dominated the space, with an intricately carved headboard featuring metallic accents that echoed the room’s gilded details.
It was dressed in layers of midnight blue coverlets and pillows, a burgundy throw folded precisely at its foot.
A wooden bench, carved with the same attention to detail as the bed, sat at the foot.
Tall windows that had been drafty and bare now wore sumptuous blue velvet curtains with gold tasseled valances. Beside them stood a blue upholstered armchair that looked the perfect place to read or reflect.
The herringbone-patterned wooden floor gleamed beneath an oriental rug in blues and golds. Wall sconces cast a warm glow against the rich walls, complementing the soft light from elegant table lamps placed on ornately carved bedside tables.
“The writing desk was refinished and I’m pleased with how it turned out.” She gestured toward a polished mahogany piece near the window. “The globe belonged to your grandfather, according to Mrs. Ellsworth.”
“Yes, I remember it. And the desk. My father used to write his correspondence there.” He could almost see his father’s careful handwriting, the way he’d pause to consider each word.
James moved slowly into the room, awe washing over him. It was as if she’d looked directly into his soul and created his perfect sanctuary. “How did you do it? It’s exactly what I wanted, even though I didn’t know it myself.”
“Would you like to know where I got my inspiration?” She stood framed in the doorway, her practical blue dress a stark contrast to the opulence surrounding them.
“I would indeed.”
A slight flush colored her cheeks. “This will sound silly, but I thought of your eyes. Their blue is reflected throughout the room.”
“Is this how you see me?” The words escaped before he could stop them.
“Yes. As I said when we spoke about the design initially—elegant yet masculine. Deep blue runs through the core of you, reflected in your eyes.” She paused, her voice growing softer. “Blue’s my favorite color.”
“Is it?” He caught her gaze, his stomach fluttering in a way that had become familiar whenever she looked at him like this.
“I didn’t know it was until I saw the particular hue of your blue eyes. They stir a soul, Lord Ashford.”
The intimacy of standing in his private quarters, of hearing her speak about his eyes, about souls made his chest and other unmentionable parts tighten with longing.
“You stir my soul, Georgie. You’ve made a place for me that feels safe. A room where I can think and dream and plan.” His voice came out rougher than intended. “Thank you.”
“Decorating your haven brought me much joy. I wanted to make it a place reflective of your goodness, your loyalty to those you love and the care you’ve given to the community in the short time you’ve been here.” Her flush deepened. “That you see what I tried to do pleases me to no end.”
“I see you, Georgie. In every part of this room.”
The thought ambushed him, swift and undeniable. He wanted her here with him. In this room. In his bed. The desire was so sudden and fierce it nearly staggered him.
Was he falling in love with his architect?
No. Of course not. It was only that she was lovely and intelligent. He craved her company, but that wasn’t love. Admiration, perhaps. Desire, certainly.
He did not do love. He must remember that, even as every fiber of his being seemed to argue otherwise.
*
By the time they’d made it downstairs to the kitchen, the air was rich with the scents of onion and rosemary, mingling with the yeasty aroma of fresh-baked bread.
Mrs. Honeycutt stood at the stove, ladling stew into bowls with practiced efficiency. Steam rose from the thick, fragrant liquid. James’s stomach growled loudly. Cecily and Ben were already seated, discussing plans for a vegetable garden.
“The working boys have all been fed and are back on the job.” Mrs. Honeycutt waved her ladle at James. “The way they can eat is almost alarming. Lord Ashford, you’re too generous, feeding them a midday meal. They should bring their own dinner and be glad for a warm place to eat it.”
“No man can work on an empty stomach.” James took his seat at the head of the table.
He would be sad when the dining room was complete and he no longer had an excuse to eat downstairs with the people he’d started to think of as family.
Although he was now officially a lord, these were his people. Working people.
“It’s generous of you, my lord,” Ben said. “Everyone’s talking about you in the village. Feeling hopeful about the future for the first time in a decade.”
Cecily rose to help Mrs. Honeycutt bring food to the table.
“Does the lord have to save everyone?” Mrs. Honeycutt asked, though her tone was more fond than cross as she placed a bowl of stew before James.
“Not everyone. But I aim to do what I can to help put food in mouths. With privilege comes responsibility.” His dear Papa had reminded them of that many times when he was a child. He hadn’t thought he’d have privilege again and he had no intention of squandering the gifts that had befallen him.
“Mrs. Honeycutt, this smells like heaven.” Georgiana slipped into her seat. “I shall miss your cooking when we leave.”
When we leave.
He didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“But we have a long time until that day comes,” he said.
Georgiana caught his eye and held his gaze for a moment. He wasn’t sure how to name the feeling that seemed to bind them together—something deeper than friendship, more profound than mere attraction, as if they’d been searching for each other without knowing it.