Page 23 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

“Why drat you,” Gee-Gee exclaimed crossly. “If I’d known there was rum and raisin, I’d have ordered it.”

The major chuckled. “I’ll share with you. How’s that?”

Gee-Gee grumbled, but this seemed to mollify her.

Hetty looked around, appreciating the pretty scene as the others chatted. Though the sun remained stubbornly absent, she knew the southeast of the country was exceedingly lucky. The weather was appalling throughout the country, and predictions of crop failures and a dreadful harvest filled the papers daily. But regardless of the overcast sky, the terrace of The Mermaid was resplendent with red geraniums in elegant containers, and the balcony gave the most beautiful view over the sea.

Despite her pleasure in the moment, her thoughts returned to Gideon, and she wondered if he was working too hard.

An odd stillness settled over those enjoying the afternoon, the conversation dying around her, and Hetty looked up. As she did so, she noticed Viscount Rivington walk onto the terrace. Aware of all heads turned his way, he inclined his head, giving them a sardonic smile, before seating himself at a table by himself.

He looked directly at Hetty, his gaze sliding next to her sister. His eyes glinted, bright and fathomless as the sea before them, and Hetty shivered.

Chapter 7

A Forced Respite

The Grand Hotel Building site, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 27th July 1816

Gideon thanked Mr Ludlow for his time and carefully rolled the new plans he’d drawn up with the changes to the ladies retiring rooms. As Gideon left the steadily rising building, he felt a surge of relief at having made the changes in time. Happily, it hadn’t caused too much trouble to make the necessary adjustments, and the men’s grumbling was a small price to pay. They received good pay and treatment, and they were aware of it. Mr King was a fair employer, but not the sort of man a fellow wanted to get on the wrong side of. It was a combination Gideon was pleased to remark was working in his favour.

His brother, however, was another matter. Damian was playing least in sight. How a man of such notoriety could disappear in such a small town for the best part of a week was beyond him, but Damian had managed it so far. Not that Gideon had spent too much time on the search. He’d realised soon enough that Damian was playing one of his games and refused to join in. After having left a tersely worded message for the man at his hotel, he’d done his best to pretend he wasn’t there at all.

It hadn’t worked. Having Damian around was like keeping company with a powder keg. Disaster always felt little more than a breath away. It was hard on the nerves.

The letter he’d received that morning had not helped. Not that he’d opened it yet. That it bore the marks of having come from Hollywell House had been enough to ruin his day.

He made his way across the busy site, nodding greetings to those workmen who acknowledged him as he passed by.

“Morning, Mr Bramwell!”

Gideon looked up and nodded at Mark, who grinned at him. He was one of the youngest masons on site and a cheeky young devil, too full of himself, but he was skilled and a good worker.

“Mark, that’s excellent work,” he said, pausing to inspect it.

“Thank you, Sir,” the fellow said with a pleased smile, tugging at his cap.

Gideon nodded and strode on.

Not for the first time, his mind returned to the moments on the terrace of The Mermaid with Lady Henrietta. Hetty. He could still conjure the feel of her soft hand upon his, the taste of raspberry ice on his tongue. Somehow the two things had become inextricably linked, and every time he thought of her, his mouth watered. He wondered if she would taste of raspberries too and almost stopped in his tracks the thought was so alarming.

What the devil was he playing at? Indulging in fantasies about Lady Henrietta was a sure way to ruination.

Gideon gave himself a mental shake and forced his tired brain back to the next item on the ever-growing list of things that required his attention.

“It’s missing, I tell you!”

George Baker’s strident voice rang out as Gideon made his way back to the site hut.

“Ridley?” Gideon said sharply as he came level with Baker, who seemed to be facing off with the man.

“It’s all right, sir. Just a small misunderstanding,” Mr Ridley said hastily, for he kept the wage book and made up the men’s packets each Friday. If there had been an error, he was undoubtedly responsible.

“I’m telling you—” Baker growled.

“Yes, I know. I heard you,” Ridley replied, keeping his tone calm. “But it is only a penny, George, not ten pounds. Here.” Fishing into his own pocket, he retrieved the penny and handed it over. “No harm done.”

“Hmph,” Baker grumbled, but took the penny and strode off.