Chapter 5 #3
Thoroughly enraptured now, Hetty leaned her elbows on the table, studying the plans closely.
In some distant part of her mind, she heard Howard come in with the drinks and serve them to her guest. Despite her concentration, she was constantly aware of Mr Bramwell, of his proximity, the pleasantly musky, woody scent that tickled her nose, but the plans fascinated her, and she allowed her imagination to conjure the space in her mind.
“Here,” she said with satisfaction, pointing at the layout.
“It’s close to the window, which means if the player is talented, the windows can be opened, and the sound will drift down through the gardens, but it is far enough away from the seating area not to be overwhelming.
You might consider a folding screen too, though, to deaden the sound. ”
Pleased with herself, she turned to him, the smile at her lips quavering as she noticed the look in his eyes.
The usually cool grey was turbulent, studying her with such intensity that her breath caught.
A few tense seconds passed, neither one of them looking away, and then Mr Bramwell cleared his throat.
“An excellent suggestion,” he said briskly, turning away from her and patting his pockets to find his notebook.
Hetty blinked, wondering what had passed between them, what that blistering look in his eyes had meant. She did not know if he’d been happy, furious, curious, or anything else. He was a mystery to her. It was terribly frustrating.
She forced her attention back to the plans.
“This door. Could it be moved over a touch? That way, access to the terrace goes through here, instead of disturbing people taking tea. There’s nothing worse than people filing past you when you are relaxing and indulging in a little heart to heart or sharing the latest on-dits.”
Mr Bramwell leaned over the plans, and for a moment his arm grazed hers. Hetty bit her lip, wondering why such a subtle thing should make her pulse race so fast. It was just his arm, covered this time in layers of cloth, not bare and tanned and—stop it.
“I believe that is possible. I had put it there because of the layout of seating on the terrace. You see, here, it looks better to have the door where it is, but I believe you may be correct. The flow of traffic is more important. I shall examine that in more detail and see if there are any reasons preventing its relocation.”
Hetty nodded, admitting to herself that she had not expected him to be so open to her suggestions. Perhaps she had misjudged him.
“I’m sure Mrs King has such things in hand, but you should also make allowances for a small writing desk.”
“I believe she has already considered that,” he replied with a nod.
“I would also suggest you do not underestimate the amount of space needed to store cloaks and hats and such garments as people dispose of when arriving for a ball. I cannot tell you how many times I have had items returned to me utterly crushed because there was not enough space and everything was piled high, one atop another. I would suggest, as the ceilings are very high, that you use the full height for storage and hanging rails and provide ladders for the staff. You could make cubbyholes and number them to make identification easier. But that way it need not take up any more space, for I realise the building work is quite advanced by now.”
Finally, she saw a glimmer of respect in his eyes. “That answers a question that has been plaguing me for some time. Well done, Lady Henrietta. You have indeed helped.”
Hetty’s heart gave an odd little leap in her chest, pleasure unfurling inside her like petals long denied the sunshine. “Oh.”
He watched her with interest, a trace of cynical amusement quirking his lips.
“What? Did you think me ungracious enough as to not thank you when you are right? I am stubborn, my lady, but I am not a fool.”
Hetty stood straighter, appalled that he should think so.
“No, indeed. I thought nothing of the sort. You were very magnanimous when I was so clumsy in pointing out the difficulty with the retiring rooms in front of everyone. I should probably apologise for that,” she added diffidently.
He laughed, and the sound was deep and thrilling, vibrating inside her. Hetty gazed at him in wonder, wanting nothing more than to provoke such a sound from him again.
“Oh, no. Don’t spoil it,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ve come through this meeting unscathed by some miracle. Let’s not push our luck with apologies.”
Hetty huffed, pretending to be cross with him when she was nothing of the sort.
“Is that all, then?” she asked, rather crestfallen, as she saw he was gathering up the plans and putting them away. The time had gone by too fast, and surely there was far more to look at.
“For today, certainly. I have been up since dawn and I’m weary. I ought not to have presented myself to you at all in such a state of disorder, but you would have your way,” he added dryly.
Hetty pulled a face. “Oh, please. As if I care whether you are a little dusty or your cravat is neatly tied,” she said in disgust, though she had not considered how tired he must be.
“But I am sorry I did not stop to reflect upon what a long day you’ve had.
I should be glad to help you with the other rooms, but you must arrange a time that suits you.
I will make myself available whenever you wish.
” Feeling suddenly gauche and silly, she wondered if he would think her forward for her enthusiasm.
“No apologies,” he reminded her sternly. “And I do not know when would be best, for I am always busy. Are you an early riser, my lady?”
“I can be,” she said at once, adding. “And please call me Hetty.”
He hesitated, his dark brows drawing down. “I don’t believe that would be appropriate.”
“Oh, stuff propriety. You may return to my lady if anyone is about, but it’s such a bother and I hate formality.”
“So I have remarked,” he replied, lips twitching.
“What do you mean by that?” she demanded, bristling a little at what sounded like a criticism.
He paused in the act of fastening the buckles on the leather folder he carried. “Oh, settle your feathers. I only mean that you do not care for your reputation quite as carefully as you probably should. What if I were a fortune hunter set on ruining you?”
“But you are not, and would never do such a vile thing, so that is a pointless argument,” she said hotly.
Something like surprise lit his eyes. “Do you know me so well?”
His voice was suddenly soft and rather intimate, and Hetty realised she did not know him at all.
“N-no, but I am an excellent judge of character,” she replied stubbornly.
He snorted at that. “Then I believe this might be a good time to remind you of our first meeting. You loathed me.”
“No more than you did me,” she countered, putting up her chin. “But I shall admit I was wrong, if you can do likewise, for surely you despised me more than I did you.”
He looked at her then, his expression unreadable once more. “I never despised you, Hetty,” he said before giving a quick bow and leaving her standing alone.
Hetty watched him go, riveted—not by his words—but how he had said them.
It had almost sounded as if despising her had been the last thing on his mind, but…
but she was building castles in the air as usual, she told herself repressively.
There was nothing between her and Mr Bramwell, who was, in any case, quite ineligible.
So, there was no point in allowing herself to even consider—and yet it was too late, for she sat down at the window seat where she could watch his tall, lean figure walking back down the drive, and did just that.