“I am sure he will, Your Grace.” Mrs. Fairfax inclined her head. “Mr. Grimsby has managed to get the window open in the Eastern library. He had one of the footmen help him and we will get a carpenter in tomorrow to ensure it does not get stuck again.”
“Excellent.” Harriet clapped her hands together. “You have added it to the duties for the maids? The windows should be opened every day for at least an hour and they are to ensure that Phoebe is not left near any open window unattended.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mrs. Fairfax gestured to one of the footmen who was rushing past looking slightly harried. “I have informed the footmen as well. We will ensure Lady Phoebe is kept safe.”
“Good.” Harriet surveyed her work and straightened the vase before she turned and walked out of the room, Mrs. Fairfax falling into step beside her. “The flowers should be refreshed before they die. There is nothing quite so disheartening as dead blooms.”
“I will ensure it is taken care of.” Mrs. Fairfax said. “It is amazing how different everything feels now that it is so much brighter and more airy.”
“Small changes often make a surprising impact on a place.” Harriet smiled. “It helps when there are good bones to work with.”
It had not taken Harriet long to discover just how light and breezy Irondale Hall could feel. She had even managed to find some old mirrors and place them at strategic points to make things even brighter.
“And it will save money on candles.” Harriet nodded to herself. “Now I just need to choose what to hang on the walls, and I think we will be nearly finished.”
“Are you sure you would not rather commission some new works, Your Grace?” Mrs. Fairfax was twisting her hands together as Harriet opened the door to the room where she had discovered the paintings.
“It seems rather wasteful to commission new things when we have perfectly usable paintings just gathering dust.” Harriet began pulling the dust sheets off the frames. “Besides, surelyTheo- the Duke would not have kept these if he had no intention of hanging them.”
“I suppose.” Mrs. Fairfax did not sound convinced, but Harriet knew she would not challenge her.
“I thank you for your help, Mrs. Fairfax, you may get back to your duties.” Harriet inclined her head in dismissal. “I will ring the bell if I need any assistance moving things.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.” Mrs. Fairfax curtseyed and left the room.
As soon as the door was closed, Harriet inspected the paintings and tapestries in the room. A few were badly damaged and Harriet made a note of what she thought could be repaired, and moved the ones that she thought were unsalvageable to a corner.
The remaining paintings were portraits and a few landscapes, but nothing really caught her attention until she noticed a painting that had been hidden behind another, larger one.
“And what do we have here?” Harriet murmured as she brought it into the light.
She gasped. It was easily the most stunning work she had found. She recognized the rolling, sweeping hills as somewhere in the Peak District. The sky was a beautiful twilight pink, with a setting sun obscured in mist and fog.
The light danced across the canvas, the grass was full of life and movement. The painter had taken great care to capture the feeling of the Peak District. There was a vitality to the brushwork, a curious optimism.
On one of the hills, were several figures gathered around as though having a picnic. Two larger ones and a smaller one running in the distance. She could practically hear the sound of their laughter, the gentle chink of glasses and the soft swish of the grass in the breeze.
Harriet scanned it to see if the artist had signed their work and clapped a hand to her mouth. She read, “Rose Langford.”
“This is Theodore’s sister?” She massaged her neck. “I had no idea she was an artist.”
Harriet wondered if that was where Phoebe got her love of drawing from. “She certainly seems to share her mother’s talent.”
She lifted the painting, grunting as she adjusted the frame. It was heavier than she had expected, and she carefully placed it back on the floor, worrying that she might break it.
“Where am I going to put you?” Harriet muttered, her hands on her hips.
She closed her eyes, visiting each room in the house in her mind. “Not a bedroom, that is too private, too intimate. A hallway?Perhaps, but too easy to miss. You should be a conversation piece. A drawing room? Yes. I think that would be perfect.”
Harriet nodded to herself, walked to the door, and pulled on a long chord that would ring a bell in the servant’s quarters. A moment later, a footman appeared and after listening to her instructions, he took the painting to the drawing room.
It did not take long before the painting was hanging above the mantel piece. It looked even more stunning than she had anticipated as sunlight streamed through the window.
“Now all I have to do is wait for Theodore to come home.” Harriet ran a finger along the frame of the painting.
She had no idea how he would react, but she hoped he would like it. She had no siblings of her own, but she suspected that if she had and they had died, she would want something that reminded her of them.
She sighed, glancing out of the window. “Tomorrow. I will see him tomorrow.” Her stomach twisted and rolled, and she could not tell if she was excited or nervous or both.
