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“Westmore House has been in my family for five generations,” Rowles began. “The first Duke of Westmore was given his title by Queen Elizabeth. In return, when the house needed renovations, the duke made plans to commemorate the queen’s generosity by designing the modifications in the shape of an E, in her honor. So you’ll find that there are three wings that meet along a long single one, making the shape,” he explained.
“I’m sure the queen took notice,” Joan replied, taking on a new curiosity. Could she decipher the shape from this hall? she wondered.
“The queen and several others. It became a more common modification in houses for a while.” Rowles chuckled.
“I would imagine.”
Rowles paused along the hall. “Here is one of the wings. This is the middle of the E, which is the two-story library. The first arm of the E is the vaulted ballroom, which was put in the front of the house so that it made entertaining guests more efficient. It’s close to the door, you see.”
“Ah, brilliant really.”
“When one entertains, at least. The last wing of the E has the family apartments. It’s quite a long trek from there to the other wings.” He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “If we had entertained more, I suppose I would better appreciate the layout of the house, but as it is, it keeps me quite active moving about from library to apartments and back and forth.” He shrugged once more.
“Our home is much smaller, so I didn’t think of the amount of space that needed to be traversed from one place to the next. Ours is all quite close together.”
“Yes, and offers a warm and welcoming atmosphere. I’m afraid Westmore House can be chilly in that aspect.”
“Then I shall try to find ways to warm it up,” Joan announced, squeezing her fingers along his arm.
“Your presence alone does that very thing, Joan.” Rowles lifted her hand and kissed it, then placed it back on his arm. “Let’s take the stairs, and I’ll show you to the rooms that will be yours.”
The housekeeper followed them up the grand staircase, and as Rowles came to an ornate wooden door, he paused. The housekeeper gave him a nod, as if assuring him that all was right within, and on silent hinges, the door swung open to reveal a room filled with sunlight.
Joan wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it wasn’t all the light that spilled into the room, making it feel as if it were a courtyard rather than a bedroom. The farthest wall had four windows, all identical and close together, the source of the bright light that cast the rest of the room in a cheery glow. Roses lined the vanity in crystal vases, and the hearth boasted a glowing fire. Joan covered her mouth as she smiled far too widely for polite company and gave her head a slight shake. “It’s…perfect,” she murmured.
“I thought you’d like it. In a way, it reminds me of you,” Rowles said softly.
She turned. “How so?”
“It’s warm, cheery, and sheds light on everything it can.”
“You are in fine form today… Such a pretty compliment. Should I expect a sonnet later?” she teased, then turned her attention back to the room. There was a delicate writing desk in the corner and a large vanity with an oval mirror. On the opposite wall was the bed, a four-poster and canopied confection in pink roses that looked as soft and inviting as a bowl of whipped cream. “I can’t imagine one thing I’d change.” She turned to Rowles and then the housekeeper. “Thank you. I can see there was much thought and care put into its preparation.”
Mrs. Adams stood up a little straighter with the praise. “Thank you, my lady.”
Joan turned to Rowles, one question filtering through her mind. “Was this your mother’s room?” She kept her tone light, but she was curious.
Rowles shook his head. “A long time ago, yes. But she moved to a separate room when my brother took over the title.” Rowles looked down at the mention of his late brother.
Joan bit her lip, her heart hurting for his loss.
For her losses as well.
Death had a way of becoming a bold reminder of the preciousness of life.
“Thank you for showing me. I truly adore it,” she added, changing the subject back to a cheerier topic. “What else would you wish to show me?”
Rowles beamed at her. “I don’t believe you’ve seen the ballroom, and I have a lovely hall that is lined with art, but first, tea. Don’t you agree?”
At the mention of tea, her stomach gave a silent churn of hunger. “Tea is an even better idea.”
“Mrs. Adams?” Rowles asked. “Please have tea sent to the blue parlor.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” She left to do his bidding, casting a backwards look as if worried about leaving them unchaperoned. Then, as if deciding that she trusted her master, she disappeared down the hall.
“I think Mrs. Adams is concerned about my reputation since we’re alone,” Joan whispered teasingly.
“You’ve found a champion in her, that’s for certain.” Rowles gave his head a shake. “I can see who will be the favorite, and it won’t be me.”
