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Meredith couldn’t answer him. And she wished she could say the reason for her silence was anxiety for poor Cora. But it wasn’t. She’d just taken her first good look at the second floor of the cottage, and what she saw simply stole her breath.
“Rhys, this is …” She swallowed hard. “This is lovely.”
“You weren’t meant to see it yet.” He came over and offered a hand as she managed the ladder’s last few rungs.
The entire loft was open from end to end, making one large room. Only the chimney coming up from the kitchen divided the space. As below, it had dual hearths—one facing a nook tucked under the eaves, the other situated to throw heat toward the rest of the room. The sharply sloping roof soared high above them in the center, but tapered to meet the tops of the windows at each edge. The rafters and thatch were left exposed, giving it a homey feel. The scent of freshly planed wood shavings filled the air.
As she slowly toured the space, he said, “I hoped you’d approve of our rooms—orroom, I should say—being upstairs. The place is meant to be your father’s eventually … so with his legs, I thought it best to keep his bedchamber downstairs. Since it would be just us up here, and temporarily at that, I left it undivided and the ceiling unfinished. Gives us plenty of room for now, and once we move out the space can be used for storage or servants. I thought it cozy.”
“Very cozy,” she agreed.
“I thought I’d build a bed into this nook,” he explained, walking over to the smaller space created by the hearth’s division. “Nice and warm, you know, with the fire so close. And then”—energetic strides carried him to the opposite end—“shelves and cupboards at this end. In the middle, a sitting area. A desk for all your papers and such, right under this window.”
“What are these?” she asked, picking up a misshapen lump of wood from a pile near the window.
“Those are …” He darted over to take it from her hand, stepping between her and the rest of the heap. “Not finished.”
She craned her neck, trying to look around him. “They almost look like—”
“They aren’t.”
She crossed her arms and cocked her head. “Very well. Don’t tell me. We’ll just stand here all night, denying the existence of little bits of wood.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine.” He took the lump of wood from behind his back and lobbed it at her.
She caught it easily and held it up for examination, turning it over in her hands. “Why, it’s carved. These look like leaves.” Looking up, she raised an eyebrow at him. “Is it meant to be a pineapple?”
“No,” he said impatiently, spearing a hand through his hair before snatching it from her grasp. “It is not a pineapple. It’s meant to be a lily. I think.” He kicked gently at the pile of wooden knobs, separating them. “There’s a matching one here somewhere. As I said, they’re not finished. The roses are coming out a little better. Have a look.” He plucked another from the pile and held it out to her.
“Ah, I see.” The object in her hand resembled a wooden cabbage more than anything, but she wouldn’t have said so for the world. “What are they for?”
“Finials, for the curtain rods. There are four windows up here, you see. I’ve been working on a different set for each.” He pointed to each window in turn. “Roses. Lilies. Daisies.” His touch landed on the windowpane at their side. “Tulips.”
He took the wooden rose from her hand and gave it a rueful smile. “I know they’re pitiful. But the work gave me something to pass the time if I woke in the night.”
“Why flowers?”
He shrugged. “I promised you flowers, didn’t I?”
She couldn’t even answer, for the sharp pinch in her chest.
“My first attempts were far worse than these, if you can believe it. They came easier once I switched to my left hand. You gave me that idea.”
Meredith turned to the window, unable to meet his gaze. “Tulips for this one, did you say? Then it must be the best.”
“It is.” He put his hands on her shoulders and nudged her close to the glass. “When it’s a clear day, up this high, you can see for miles. And if you face the downslope and look very sharp, you can just make out a thin slice of blue, a shade darker than the sky. That’s the ocean, Merry. Right off the Devonshire coast.” His thumbs stroked her shoulders. “Of course, you can’t see it now.”
No. No, she couldn’t. All she could see was the blackness outside reflecting their own image, like a mirror. Even in this imperfect, dark reflection, she could see the excitement in his expression, the spark in his eyes. All the emotion he’d been holding back—he’d poured it all into this house. Not only emotion, but hard work and good faith.
They’d built something too, between them. Just as he’d said from the first. In the course of all those conversations and kisses and time spent in one another’s company, they’d pieced together something wonderful—something with lace curtains and corner closets and an ocean view. Not just a house, but a loving home.
How would Rhys react when he learned it was all built on a foundation of misconceptions and needless guilt? Meredith didn’t want to find out, but she needed to.
She had to tell him everything. Tonight.
His grip tightened on her shoulders. “You deserve so much more, but this is only the beginning. I’m going to rebuild the whole estate in time, and you’re going to live in true luxury. The finest furnishings, a whole fleet of servants. I promise, you’ll never lift a finger again.”
“You needn’t promise me anything.”
