Chapter 4
The study was different from the rest of the house, and it took Phaedra a moment, her eyes surveying the room and its furnishings, to determine what it was exactly that had made her feel thus.
A large walnut desk stood before a pair of tall windows, their burgundy drapes pulled against the night hovering outside.
Ledgers and stationary were neatly organized on the dark surface of the table, gleaming under the light of a shaded lamp.
The walls were all but covered by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the volumes bound in the most elegantly etched leather.
Large stuffed chairs sat before the table, a carved fireplace alight to their side.
It was beautiful in the way everything else in the manor was—the design, the materials, the craftsmanship exquisite. But only as Phaedra sank into the indicated chair, Nathaniel taking his place behind the desk, did she realize what was so different.
Everything, despite the splendor of its making, was chosen for practicality.
There was nothing superfluous, nothing purely ornamental, and Phaedra wondered if it had been Nathaniel’s decision to strip the room of its nonfunctional decor, or if he had indeed inherited it that way.
She wondered if there was anything in the house he had touched.
Changed. Whether he had even wanted to do so.
Her eyes drifted to him seated opposite her, and she tried to shun the gathering image of his father sitting in his place.
And to her own surprise, this time it did not prove difficult.
There seemed to be no question to his youth—his person—as he sat there, his head bent over a document, the hair falling into his eyes hiding the crease forming between his brows.
He worried his lip with his teeth, his fingers drumming lightly as if to the tune of some unknown melody.
“I must thank you for your patience, Miss Mercer,” he said, finally looking up. “And your trust that I would not abuse your confidence.” He smiled as he slid the document in front of her. “Your contract.”
“Thank you.” Phaedra’s own lips curled, and she leaned forward to pick up the paper. Her eyes perused the text as Nathaniel explained the details therein.
“Some of the aspects we have already discussed, others are of a more practical nature. You shall receive a dedicated studio space for your work, and I shall require you to compile a list of materials you shall need. They shall be purchased at my expense, and should you run out of anything or find yourself in need of anything else, you will notify me, and I shall have it acquired for you promptly.”
He waited for her to nod her assent.
“For your efforts,” he went on, “you shall be compensated with a lump sum of 300 pounds paid in advance, as well as 600 pounds per painting produced. And because our endeavor will be of a… highly personal nature, I must ask for your full discretion in regards to what we shall discuss in future.”
Phaedra nodded again, this time mechanically, for her thoughts had been snared into a whirl of disbelief, thoroughly displacing whatever came next.
Did he truly say 600 pounds? Per painting?
Even without the addition of the lump sum, the amount was dumbfounding.
It was far more than generous—it was almost…
outrageous. People did not pay such an amount for a single painting, no matter their wealth nor the talent or fashionable nature of the artist. For the work of old masters, certainly, but she was nowhere near such prestige. And yet…
A sum like that could very well unburden her from every last penny of debt hanging over her.
It could erase all of her worries, free her from every lingering remnant of her past, and give her the opportunities she had always dreamed of.
This could offer her a chance to finally leave, to start a new life, one dedicated to nothing more than her passion.
This could mean her freedom.
Her eyes returned to his. He had stopped speaking, and was, instead, watching her with amusement tucked into the corners of his lips. As if he had recognized the direction her thoughts had taken.
Phaedra squared her shoulders, an odd sense of self-consciousness making her bones feel brittle. She did not like the feeling.
He must have detected the shift within her, for he too straightened in his chair, his expression sobering.
“Please do not misunderstand my intention,” he said.
“I mean no disrespect. Nor do I wish to flaunt what is mine only by circumstance. It is merely that…” He pursed his lips, his eyes roving the room as if he might find adequate words hidden among the beauty within.
He shook his head. “I did not ask for this. Nor do I want it. But now that I do have it…” He released a slow breath.
“I find this an excellent way to make good use of an undesirable situation.”
Phaedra nodded, the knot in her chest loosening a fraction. Yet there was something else, something she could not yet put her finger on, that gnawed on the fringes of her thoughts, telling her there was more here. Some secret purpose that made all of this worth it to him in the end.
Because no one was that generous. Not without cause.
Nathaniel tapped his finger briefly on the tabletop before saying, “There is one more thing.”
She raised her brows, waiting.
“Since you will be residing here for the foreseeable future, I must make clear that the west wing of the house is strictly off-limits. For obvious reasons. Any other rooms you may visit, as well as the garden and the grounds of the estate. Although with the weather we are having, I’m not sure you will find any pleasure outside. ”
Phaedra blinked, pinpricks blooming across her skin despite the heat of the fire beside her. Did he truly say she had free reign of Brackenhurst Hall? Allowed to roam and study and endlessly marvel at all she would find?
“I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Hawthorn,” she said, barely able to hold back the joyous smile threatening her lips. “I am most certain I will find enough to entertain me inside.”
“Very well.” He leaned back in his chair, amusement blinking to life in his eyes.
“As I am aware, artists live with an altogether different notion of time than the mere mortals around them, so I shall not expect your presence at mealtimes. I would, of course, be very much pleased to have your company, but I do understand if you would find yourself otherwise engaged. And should you be hungry or need anything at all, my staff is available for your every request.”
Phaedra placed the document back onto the table, no longer able to fight her smile. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Then, I believe that would be all. Unless you would have any questions for me?”
“Only one,” she said. “Where do I sign?”