“We made good time yesterday and overnighted in Ludlow instead of Worcester.” She smiled back, a little overcome at the sight of him and a lot unsettled. He reached for her hand to help her down, and as every nerve ending rejoiced at the innocent contact, her stupid lips tingled all over again.
Chapter Nine
“And this is the Great Room.”
Giles led them all into a vast oak-paneled room with a high vaulted ceiling supported by beams so thick that each one had to have been carved out of a single giant tree. After hours of traveling they had all needed some time to unwind and untangle before they took tea, so a much-too-rested Minerva, who hadn’t been crushed in the same carriage with Diana, Vee, and the warring Peabodys, had suggested they stretch their aching legs with a tour of the house.
Harpenden Hall was a fascinating place and as charming as its owner, with wonky wattle-and-daub walls, creaking wooden floors, and a plethora of strategically placed suits of armor. There were two guarding the door of this impressive room, both clutching pikes, which added to the air of gravitas. One wall was dominated by a roaring fireplace so large Diana could have stood upright inside it without needing to bend, and it could easily accommodate Olivia, Vee, and Minerva beside her. The longest table she had ever seen occupied the middle, surrounded by heavy chairs with worn tapestry seats.
“In days of yore, this would have been where the Dukes of Harpenden held their feasts.” Giles ran his fingers on the polished tabletop like a lover, clearly more attached to this house and everything in it than he had ever let on before.
“How many ancient dukes are there?” Minerva spun a slow circle, taking in all the portraits lining the walls.
“Excluding me, twenty-six. We Sinclairs can trace our lineage back to the Norman Conquest when Guillaume Saint Clair was given the first dukedom by William the Conqueror himself. Apparently, they were childhood friends, or so the unwieldy family histories state.” Guessing bluestocking Vee’s obvious question, he smiled at her. “The earliest volumes are on rolled parchment scrolls in the library, which I shall take you to see next.” He pointed to a very crude, flaking portrait of a dark-haired man in armor with an unflattering bowl-shaped haircut. “That’s Guillaume. You can separate out all the dukes from the non-dukes by the unsubtle family crests they had chiseled into their frames in case anyone confused them with the less worthy portraits gracing the walls. They all took being a duke much too seriously.”
Vee peered at the Latin inscription on the molded gilt shield. “Officium Supra Omnia?”
“Duty Over Everything.” Giles rolled his eyes at the portrait. “Words old Guillaume, and every duke since for that matter, lived by. He built the first Harpenden Hall on this site. It was a motte-and-bailey castle, more fortress than house, but necessary to suppress all the revolting locals who apparently did not take too kindly to being subjugated by the rampaging French.”
He wandered to the next portrait and folded his arms, clearlyenjoying being a knowledgeable guide. “Construction of the stone castle was begun by Guy Saint Clair around 1080.”
“You have a castle?” Jeremiah was as impressed by this achievement as only an American could be. “Where’s that?”
“What’s left of it is at the top of the hill. It was destroyed during the latter stages of the Wars of the Roses, which incidentally also killed the tenth duke, Gerard. Then this chap…” Their host marched several yards down the room to a long picture of a dashing ancestor who looked a lot like Giles, but in doublet and hose, an impressive ruff and a scandalous amount of well-turned leg on show. “GodfreySinclair—we’d completely anglicized by then—built this house in the early 1500s.”
“Guillaume, Guy, Gerard, Godfrey…Giles.” Diana couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t tell me that all the Dukes of Harpenden have Christian names beginning with aG.”
“Of course they do.” He pretended not to find that amusing. “For the aristocracy, my dear Miss Diana, our traditions are almost as sacrosanct as our noble blue-blooded line. We cannot risk tainting it with another random letter of the alphabet, or the bedrock of British society might crumble. It is also likely where my lifelong love of alliteration comes from. It’s in the blood just like my superior nobility and inbred sense of duty.” He winked at her and it did odd things to her insides. “My sire was a Gerald. An ugly, staid, and harsh name I am grateful I wasn’t saddled with—though it suited him down to the ground. There have been several Georges, which I think lacks originality. Two Gilberts, a Granville, a Godwin, a Grégoire, a Gregor,anda Gregory. As you would expect, the Grégoire was one of the more flamboyant dukes while the Gregor was as dull as his flat consonants suggest. The Gregory hoveredsomewhere in between, and was more average than exceptional at anything, as Gregorys are prone to be.”
“Which duke was the naughtiest?” Vee adored history and the worst of it most of all.
Giles pondered the question then shrugged. “I suppose that depends on your definition ofnaughty. If we are talking bloodthirsty, then hands down it’s the original duke Guillaume, who never thought twice about burning a village or hanging a peasant in the name of duty. My grandfather—who was one of the Georges—allegedly killed a man during a duel that had something to do with his wife, or so the local gossip says.”
Hugh stared at the paintings then at his friend. “It’s not just the letterGyou all have in common. You all look similar, too.”
He was right. They did. In fact, apart from the outfits, there was a startling family resemblance going all the way back to the conquering Guillaume.
Giles nodded and pointed to his jaw. “It’s the legendary square Sinclair chin. We were all cursed with dashing, dark good looks, impressive stature, and this saucy dimple that drivesallthe ladies wild.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively at the ladies present. “I come from a long line of perfect physical specimens, so any swooning you might feel in my presence is perfectly understandable. I wouldn’t judge you for it.”
Diana rolled her eyes. “I would. I disapprove of swooning.”
“And I heartily approve of it.” Her eldest sister smiled at her husband as if the sun rose and set with him. “Or at least nowadays I do.” A comment that set Diana’s eyes rolling all over again.
“Your father was a handsome fellow in his day, too, Giles.” At Giles’s staggered look, Hugh’s outraged one, and Jeremiah’s jealous one, Olivia became defensive. “Well, he was handsome! Any woman would have had to be blind not to notice Gerald Sinclair in his prime, but even his dashing dimple and legendary square Sinclair chin did not compensate for his dour personality. I never once saw him smile.”
“I don’t think he knew how.” Giles gestured to a large group painting of a man, woman, and two boys, then tapped the foot of the taller of the sons who wore the sternest of the four dour expressions. “Even as a child he was a sourpuss.”
“So apparently was his daddy.” Jeremiah frowned at the picture and the twin expressions of pompous disdain on the twenty-fifth duke and the dark-haired boy who would become the twenty-sixth. “Who is that?”
They all stared at the pretty blond curly-haired cherub dressed in a profusion of lace.
“That’s my uncle Gervais.”
“Since when did you have an uncle?” Hugh’s hands had gone to his hips.
“Since always, dear boy—but I’ve never met him so don’t look so hurt that I neglected to mention him.”
“Gervais… Gervais Sinclair… why does that name ring a bell? Oh…Oh!” Olivia’s eyes widened as her hand covered her mouth. “Now I remember!” She shook her head as if she couldn’t quite believe whatever it was she had just remembered and gazed at Giles in pity. “What a dreadful family you come from, Giles.”
