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Letty was on fire to know more, but the look on the duchess’s face made it clear that she would brook no questions. “Of course. I quite understand.”
But she didn’t at all. This would be a massive undertaking. Whatever could be improved in this room, for instance, where a Ming vase gleamed atop an Italian mantelpiece?
It would take months, if not an entire year or more, if the duchess truly meant to change every detail in every room of the vast mansion. The amount of work to be done was staggering.
And expensive.
And—best of all—private.
A thrill went through her. A duchess’s recommendation could establish her career for the rest of her life. She could leave behind the lawyer’s chambers and eating houses and dressmaker’s shops forever. Plenty of rich people wanting nice things would find a letter from the Hawthornes to be persuasive indeed.
“I can do it,” she promised, but what she meant deep in her soul was that shewantedit. Whatever it took.
The duchess picked up her portfolio and looked again through some of the pages. “I have been considering consulting with Thomas Hope,” she said. “Or John Soane.”
Of course she was. They were some of the greatest names in Britain for such work, and the duchess was wealthy enough to afford them both if she chose to. John Soane designed architecture for no less than the Prince Regent, after all, and Thomas Hope had brilliantly and painstakingly furnished his house on Duchess Street into a thing of wonder. Letty felt sick thinking of them as her competition, because if they were under consideration, then there was no hope for her at all. “They are men of great talent.”
“But there is one issue. They are men,” the duchess said, closing the portfolio and looking into Letty’s eyes. She sucked in a breath. Those eyes were large, sapphire blue, and magnetic. “I don’t know where my secretary found your name, but I agreed to meet with you because you are the only woman who applied for this opportunity.”
Letty narrowed her eyes. “My talent stands up against any of the work that you have seen, by a woman or a man. I have a network of architects and furniture makers and textile artisans that I work with, and I can facilitate the work and streamline it so everything is furnished according to your exacting standards. I am efficient, and hardworking, and I can make anything you need happen.” Maybe it was pure bravado, but she would worry about filling those expectations later.
The duchess stiffened, which was remarkable because she already exhibited an admirable posture. “You have made your living working on the businesses of professional men, with the occasional home design for their wives. Hawthorne House was built over eighty years ago and is the very epitome of the dukedom. It would be most unlike anything you have ever done before.”
Letty steeled herself for the inevitable disappointment.
“But I want you for the job.”
The words hit her like a brick. Unexpected, and jarring. It was good news. Wasn’t it? With the duchess still boring holes into her with her eyes, she was no longer quite sure. It was no matter how shefelt, she told herself. It was time to seize opportunity. “I will endeavor to deliver satisfaction, Your Grace.”
What the duchess couldn’t realize was that it was far more difficult to convey something with design besides wealth. A judge’s reputation for fair ruling could be represented with a painting of Libra on the wall, but it was heightened if everything was balanced in his chambers, one side exactly reflecting the other, down to the dried flowers in the matching vases placed along each wall. Eateries were a study in charm, practicality, and efficiency—plenty of space for the waiters, enough tables to maximize profits, pastoral paintings to aid digestion. A doctor’s office and his sitting room needed to soothe patients’ nerves and persuade them to have confidence in his work, as well as requiring any number of clever pieces of furniture that she designed, and Fraser built, to hide the intimidating tools of his trade.
Any of the designs that she had presented in her portfolio had taken more effort and creativity than Hawthorne House would. Ifthe drawing room that she was sitting in was any indication, then the rich simply wanted décor to showcase how rich and powerful they were. Any Ming vase would do to fill these shelves. Any Rembrandt that she could find at auction would look fine on those walls.
This was going to be the easiest job she ever had.
The duchess handed her the portfolio, and Letty remembered to curtsy before striding out of the room.
Yes, indeed. Luck was finally on her side.
* * *
Anne marched to her bedchamber. Hiring Miss Barrow was the first step toward taking control of her problem with the duke. The designer was an engaging woman, and there was something about her that inspired confidence. Her hair had been a bustling mess piled on top of her head, silver and brown and haphazardly braided. But her dress had been neat enough, a velvet frogged spencer jacket with a high collar and a neat cravat, and a full velvet skirt with buttoned-up ankle boots peeking out beneath it. It looked quite smart on her, flattering her generous proportions. The cravat was a masculine affectation that she had to admit made her pulse beat a little faster.
Anne hadn’t missed how Miss Barrow’s eyes had darted all over the room, taking in every detail. They had taken in every inch ofher, too, and she didn’t want to admit to the desire that had wakened in her. Those deep brown eyes had almost dared her to hire her, dancing with passion as she had talked about her designs.
She wondered what it was like to have that sort of fire, burning one up inside. Imagine spending days on end indulging in one’s interests. It was quite marvelous. Although Anne was endlessly busy, she never forgot that her work was driven by duty. Never passion.
Yet as talented as Miss Barrow was, her lack of experience was what made the decision easy.
It hadn’t crossed her mind until she saw the portfolio thatinexperiencewas the very thing she was searching for. The designs had been well done—but catered to a middle-class taste level. Herplan had been to hire men at the top of their professional careers with experience on houses like hers. She had been prepared to give them carte blanche and a bottomless purse and assumed it would take them months to dither over decisions when faced with unlimited potential at their fingertips.
It had been a surprise to see Miss Barrow’s name, unknown to her, among the illustrious list that her secretary had presented to her. She didn’t quite understand how her secretary had thought that someone who arranged furniture for doctor’s offices and eating houses would be a good fit for Hawthorne House.
But the more Anne thought about it, the more sense it made to hire someone that couldn’t have any real idea what they were doing in an estate this size. If the renovations were poorly done, or slated to continue for years because Miss Barrow would need to learn everything there was to know about even the most minor of ducal parlors—it was even more likely to prevent Hawthorne fromevermoving in, wasn’t it?
Hawthorne House had been the same forever. Once she had thought it a matter of pride to enshrine it as it had been passed to her, to uphold tradition. But she was starting to wonder if the very house was mired in stagnancy instead.
Anne trailed one hand along the bifurcated staircase that curved against the walls on each side of the grand hallway. There was a glass ceiling that soared four stories above that let in enough light to feel like the heavens themselves smiled on Hawthorne House. She had walked down these stairs during her debutante ball, which the duchess had insisted on throwing for her after Hawthorne had made it clear to his parents that he would consider no other woman to be his bride. His mother had drilled the values of the dukedom into her from that very moment. She could still recite them on her fingers.
