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The rest of Robert’s face turned beet red, and Fraser broke into a grin.
“I always rose above it when people told me that I couldn’t design because I’m a woman. I put my head down and worked twice as hard as any man, and now maybe I have the opportunity to go twice as far. My work stands for itself. I don’t have to care what people may say about it.” She took a deep breath. “And I don’t have to care what they say about my life. I never have, and I can’t start now. People might say I’m opportunistic, taking advantage of a personal relationship with a duchess to further my career. They may cast aspersions on my character. But that’s my business, not theirs, and my life makes me happy.Annemakes me happy.”
Fraser pulled her up for a hug, and after a moment Robert wrapped his arms around the two of them.
Letty held on tight to them before letting go.
She was ready for a new start.
Hopefully to something glorious.
* * *
Anne fretted over the letters on her desk, or rather the lack thereof. There was still no reply from Prince George, and the grandopening was a week away. She had sent an invitation to Letty this afternoon with her most trusted footman, but he had come back and said there was no reply given when he had delivered it.
She might be facing the loss of the love of her life. If she hadn’t lost her already.
But Letty hadn’t said good-bye, she reminded herself. Her belongings were still in the parlor that she worked from. Was she supposed to have boxed them up and sent them with the footman and the invitation?
Anne set her letters aside and went to Letty’s workroom. It had been redone in light, airy colors that were perfect for spring. And hope. And love. But what didn’t remind her of love these days?
Upon her instruction to the staff, nothing had been moved. Floor plans were still rolled up on the table, reference books were on the shelves with a few cartons of odds and ends that hadn’t made it into any of the refinished rooms. Everything was laid out as if Letty were about to walk in with her half-smile and a teasing word and start working.
Anne trailed her hand over the pair of sketchbooks on the desk, brimming with loose papers and fabric scraps tucked between the pages. There was a smear of dried paint on the cover of one, and the binding was unraveling a little on the other. Well-used and well-worn.
It meant she was coming back, didn’t it? For a craftsperson to leave their supplies, it must be a sign that they would be back. Letty had gone nowhere without her sketchbooks and her pencil case. But when Anne looked closer, she saw that the books were full. Maybe Letty didn’t need them anymore.
Maybe she really was finished with Hawthorne House, and her quick departure would be their only good-bye.
Anne picked up one of the books. If she pressed it to her nose, she could almost smell Letty’s vanilla spice perfume, as if the pages had soaked in her essence.
She flipped it open to the middle and found a drawing of her bedroom on one page and notes about the bed on the other. Delighted, she stroked the pencil lines that cleverly detailed the patterns, withtiny squares of fabric glued along the right side and neat arrows pointing to which mattress they belonged to.
Page after page detailed each room that Letty had worked on, with meticulous sketches showing the unfurnished rooms, neatly written ideas and plans for each one, and then the final room with everything perfectly arranged.
It was a book filled with beginnings and endings, and Anne marveled over each page. It was almost as good as having Letty here beside her, pointing out the details that she had missed, and stories about why she had chosen certain elements.
That was Letty’s skill as a designer. Hawthorne House wasn’t a lifeless showpiece, a testament to power and prestige. It wasn’t only a signal to the community that the Hawthornes stood with them. It was ahome, meant to be lived in by real people with real wants and needs and dreams and desires.
Letty had been right. Her talents should be celebrated, and she should have every opportunity to work if she wanted to.
Anne’s hand stilled on one of the pages. She recognized the framework of the room as one of the smaller parlors at the back of the house, a sunny room with a door opening onto the gardens. Though it was pretty enough, Anne had never spent much time there.
Letty had drawn a double page spread of the room and had painted in every detail. Curious, Anne stared down at it. Letty hadn’t touched the actual parlor during her stay. In fact, Anne couldn’t remember ever discussing that area of the house together. But something must have taken Letty’s fancy, because she had filled it with furniture and light and color and plants, and in tiny handwriting in the bottom right corner, she had scribbledLetitia’s Parlor.
Anne smiled down at the sketchbook as she closed it. Letty wanted to return. She was certain of it.
For all of the loving care and work that had been put into it, the renovated Hawthorne House was missing one important fixture—the designer herself.
No, it couldn’t have been good-bye.
Letty Barrow belonged in this house, and Anne was going to prove it to her.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The musicians were warming up their instruments, and Anne listened to the scrape of violin strings and scales from the flute with more attention than usual. If she focused on the music, then she didn’t have to stare down at the emptiness of the great hall or pay attention to the emptiness that echoed through the chambers of her heart. It also gave her something to do besides fret about her husband. She glanced up at him. His face was set as hard as the marble in the statuary, and a tick was fluttering at his eye. She took his hand in hers, forced his fist apart, and slid her fingers between his.
“It will all go to plan,” she said.
