“Ah. My great-grandfather. The common ancestor between myself and my predecessor here. By all accounts, one of the finest Dukes this estate has seen — fierce, loyal to his people, and absolutely devoted to his tenants.” He paused. “He died in a duel.”
“A duel? I thought those were outlawed.”
“They are now. But in his day they were still the preferred method of settling certain disagreements. The story goes that a neighboring lord’s son committed a rather horrific crime against one of the young maids on the estate. My great-grandfather gave the fellow such a thorough thrashing that the father challenged him to satisfaction. Unfortunately—” he tilted his head at the portrait “—as quick and accurate as he apparently was with his fists, he had rather less skill with a pistol.”
“He looks very distinguished,” she said, studying the painting — the white hair, the deeply lined face, the slight stoop of the shoulders. “How old was he?”
“Five and seventy.”
“Five and seventy,” she repeated. “And he agreed to a duel?”
“Apparently that was very much his nature.”
“Formidable,” she said, and laughed.
“Indeed. Though I hope your own formidable nature will not lead you to issue challenges at five and seventy.”
“I intend to have sons to do it for me by then,” she said — and then heard what she had said, and felt her smile falter slightly. Sons. Their sons. She wet her lips. “Gideon?—”
He raised a hand. “It was only a jest. Nothing more. Now — will you help me make this place rather more presentable?”
“I will. And I think we should keep him,” she said, nodding at the portrait. “In the entrance hall, in fact. A guest arriving for the first time would find his story rather impressive.”
“I adore the idea. Very well — Great-grandfather Frederick goes into the main hall.” He offered his arm. “Now — you mentioned there were certain pieces you found appalling. Will you point them out?”
“Gladly,” she said.
She stopped almost immediately in the next corridor, looking up at a large hanging tapestry depicting a mermaid on a rock, its colors faded and its needlework unravelling at one corner. “That,” she said, “is truly horrifying.”
“You do not like mermaids?”
“I find the idea of being a woman with a tail in the place of legs absolutely terrifying. No. It has to go.”
“I take it you are not much of a swimmer.”
“Not in the least. I cannot swim at all.”
“That cannot go on,” he said, with genuine concern. “Not with that lake behind us. When I was a boy we would sometimes come here in the summers and swim — not often, as we were rather distantly related to the previous Duke, but occasionally. We used to imagine all sorts of creatures beneath the surface. Poseidon rising from the depths.”
“Is this not rather the wrong country for Poseidon?”
He smirked. “Must you be so?—”
“Geographically accurate?” she finished.
“I was going to say contrary.” He placed a hand lightly at the small of her back to steer her around a particularly hideous floor vase, and left it there. She was aware of it — more aware than she expected to be. It was oddly comfortable. She ought to move away. She did not.
They continued through the house. The carpets on the first floor were unanimously condemned. Several paintings were earmarked for removal. The candleholders throughout were agreed to be inadequate.
It was in the library that she paused longest.
“The leather chairs,” she said. “They are very worn. Both of them.”
“My predecessor was an avid reader. You can see the evidence. I think we ought to replace them both so they match.”
She moved to the fireplace. It was old-fashioned compared to the others — heavy and dark and slightly oppressive. “This ought to go as well. I would like something with a little gold to it.” She glanced at him. “Is that dreadfully Gothic?”
“This is your home,” he said. “You may have what you like.”
