Page 4 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

A picture of the earl flitted behind Hetty’s eyes, and she fought a shudder. He was close to sixty, florid faced and as wide as he was tall. An uncouth fellow who lived for hunting and cared nothing for art or music or that his new wife would be utterly miserable under his roof. He also doted upon his hunting dogs; a parcel of savage looking beasts that barked and snarled like they would eat one up with relish. Hetty did not doubt that they were well enough if one got to know them, but Cilly was terrified of them, and the earl thought this amusing rather than worrisome. She was a brood mare to him, nothing more, and whilst Hetty did not believe he was a cruel man, she feared his rough manners and harsh character would destroy her gentle sister.

Hetty reached out and took Cilly’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “We shan’t row. Just know that you only need say the word, and I shall do all in my power to stop the marriage. Failing that, I shall rescue you once you are wed, and we shall flee to the continent and live out our lives in foreign parts.”

“You really would too,” Cilly said, admiration glinting in her eyes as she regarded Hetty with affection. “You are so much braver than I, Hetty.”

Hetty made a scoffing sound. “What rot. I’m not the least bit brave, I’m just not so nice as you. I’m bad tempered and crotchety and I must have my own way in all things.”

“Hetty,” Cilly scolded gently. “What a Bambury story.”

Hetty shot her a grin, for it was that or cry. “Come along. I have the desire to spend a shocking amount of money on a new frock.” Turning, she called to Jenkins, who was dawdling a discreet distance behind them. “Do you fancy a new hat, Jenkins?”

“Oh, my lady,” Jenkins said, utterly scandalised. “I’ve not had the opportunity to wear the last one yet. Don’t you dare!”

But Hetty only returned a wicked grin and hurried them all along.

The Dog and Duck, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 15th July 1816

Gideon set down his tanker and smiled his thanks at the man opposite him.

Silas Ridley was a local man, though they’d met in London. A fellow architect who spoke well of Ridley had recommended him to Gideon, and so far, they had rubbed along well.

Tall and thin, the man had a hawklike profile with a narrow nose and thick black hair cut short and neat. Gideon approved of his businesslike appearance, which showed a fastidious nature, but bore no signs of dandyism.

“It’s a relief to find a fellow who has such an eye for detail,” Gideon said frankly, closing the last ledger book and handing it over to Silas. “I’m afraid I’m a pernickety fellow, or so I’m told, but these things matter on such a large undertaking. I can’t be constantly fretting over every farthing that goes out, but it is too easy to let a project run away from one, and I am determined that we shall stay within budget.”

“Aye, well, it’s a generous budget, but you leave the farthings to me, sir. Take care of the pence and the pounds will take care of themselves, I always say.”

Gideon nodded. Despite what he’d said, he always took pains to check the details on any undertaking, but this was the biggest challenge he’d ever faced in his career, one he was determined to make a success of, but he could not drive himself insane trying to manage every detail alone. He must have men he could trust around him. So far, Silas had proven himself to be such a man.

Being a cynical devil where his fellow men were concerned, Gideon did not trust anyone easily, but he had been checking up on Silas’ work, both openly and clandestinely, for some months now, and there was never so much as a ha’penny unaccounted for. It was a tremendous relief.

“Would you like another, sir?” Ridley asked, gesturing to Gideon’s now empty tankard.

Gideon shook his head. “No, thank you all the same. I’d best be getting along. I want to have a word with the foreman and I’ve some measurements to check before the men pack up for the day. Don’t let me stop you, though. I’ll see you in the morning, bright and early if you please.”

A rueful expression crossed the man’s face, giving Gideon pause. “Er… Beggin’ your pardon, Mr Bramwell, but tomorrow is Sunday.”

Gideon regarded the man in consternation. “It is? Devil take it.”

“Not precisely, sir,” Ridley remarked with a lopsided grin.

Running a hand through his short hair, Gideon wondered how he’d lost track of the days. “No, indeed, though I shall have that meddlesome reverend after me again if I don’t show my face in his place of worship.”

“Honeywell? Ah, a fine fellow he is. Merry as a gig,”

Gideon pushed to his feet and picked up his hat, his expression wry. “That he is, and quite indefatigable. Ah well. I know when I’m beat, Mr Ridley. I shall see you in church tomorrow then.”

“You will, sir,” Ridley remarked cheerfully, gesturing to the barmaid to bring him another.

Gideon made his way out of the inn, which was a lively place even at this early hour. Previously, it had been an unsavoury location where only smugglers and the less reputable locals drank. The influx of workmen, not to mention fashionable visitors to the town, many of them young men looking for a card game or enjoying the thrill of being among less than respectable folk, meant that things were changing. Whilst the Dog and Duck would never be prestigious by any stretch of the imagination, it had garnered a certain cachet amongst the fashionable menfolk and was the favoured haunt of all the men who laboured on the building projects in the town.

Once outside, Gideon drew in a breath of fresh air to clear his lungs of the fug of cigar smoke that had wreathed the interior. Setting his hat back on his head, he returned to the town, enjoying the walk across the promenade, which gave such a splendid view of the sea.

A woman’s laugh, light and musical, caught his attention and he turned, drawn by the joyous sound, a smile at his own lips as he wondered who was in such good spirits.

The smile froze on his face as he saw three women coming out of the modiste’s shop, each of them carrying a hatbox.

“Oh, don’t be such a ninny, Jenkins. I’ll do no such thing. As if you don’t earn every penny and more having to deal with my—”