Page 34 of Things We Do for Love and Science
But if there was a woman who’d be willing to have their child for reasons of her own... He wouldn’t have to hunt for that elusive stable-and-loving relationship. Maybe there wasn’t such a thing for him after all, but he could still become a dad. Could he maybe play a role in Delia’s scheme?
The direction his thoughts had taken surprised him. He smiled. With such a mother, the child would be well provided for and probably very bright. He returned to the house to take another look at the newly finished painting.
Would she consider him as a sperm donor, or would she prefer the anonymity of a sperm bank? Confused, he shook images of babies with Delia out of his head and turned his attention to the problem of where to put her finished portrait.
There really was no question. He would hang it in the gallery together with the portraits of his ancestors. Delia was in no way related to him, but there wasn’t anywhere else to comfortably put such a large painting. And he was pretty damn proud of it.
He’d done a good job capturing her beauty, the intelligence of her face, the amused glint in her eyes. But there was something else there, the ethereal Pre-Raphaelite women didn’t have. The model of the DNA molecule testified to a dimension beyond the subject’s beauty, it gave a glimpse of her personality, of what set her alight, her passion for science, for understanding the very building blocks of life.
Her portrait deserved to hang among the long line of Renwoods because she’d been the reason why he’d, with her help, discovered the diamond-and-emerald necklace in Emmy’s coffin and, with it, the means to save this place. Once the painting was fully dry, he’d mount it in a golden frame and hang it beside his own portrait.
Chapter Ten
Over the next few daysGabriel was ensconced in his office in the main house, polishing his business plan for the transformation of Renwood Hall into an exclusive venue for weddings mostly. With its private chapel, beautifully landscaped park, and generously sized reception rooms, the Hall would be the perfect setting for a lavish wedding. But to get there, he’d first have to carry out substantial renovations.
Thanks in no small part to Jem’s help, the repointing of the north wall had been completed and the scaffolding dismantled. That counted in Gabriel’s favor. The sale of the necklace would pay for the roof repair, making the building once more watertight.
But there was much more to be done. The place needed to be rewired if he didn’t want it to one day go up in flames due to an electrical fault. The plumbing was ancient and burst pipes a regular occurrence, all that would have to be modernized. The decorating—peeling plaster and fading carpets—weren’t likely to attract paying customers.
He priced the renovation work meticulously, and without being extravagant, the estimate came to an additional four-hundred-thousand pounds. He heaved a big sigh and dropped his head in his hands; the chances of securing such a large loan were pretty slim.
Slumped behind his walnut desk, he clicked through spreadsheet upon spreadsheet and checked the figures again: calculations, evaluations, projections. Why did he do it? Why try to hold on to the Hall white-knuckled and desperate? Because he didn’t want to be the one who sold it, the one who broke the chain and caused the House of Renwood to sink into obscurity.
Ever since his conversation with Delia, the idea of fatherhood kept creeping into his mind. Wheeling a pram through the lovely walk in his park, feeding the little one, and rocking the baby to sleep in his arms. He had so much love to give, his heart was overfull, and he wanted to pour it into raising and protecting a little human being.
Instinct told him not to put his suggestion to Delia straight away. This wasn’t some flighty impulse. He’d be serious about this and approach her with his suggestion when the time was right, but ideally before she’d selected an anonymous sperm donor.
First he’d have to brace himself for the imminent meeting with Alistair Brady-Greene, the one and only banker who might be willing to offer a mortgage for these ancient walls. Liam and Mary knew the score; this was going to be dicey. Their financial future hung by a mere thread.
Their support cheered him, but today he’d have to face Brady-Greene alone. He played with the ring he’d slipped into his jacket pocket this morning—his dad’s wedding band and talisman. It made Gabriel feel close to his father, supported, loved, and cherished. It wouldn’t do to lose it. He lifted the ring from the pocket and put it on the ring finger of his left hand.
“My sincere condolences, Lord Renwood. What a loss to all of us. I was fond of your father.” Alistair Brady-Greene released Gabriel’s hand and sat in the leather armchair opposite the fireplace in the reception room of the new wing.
Gabriel had lit the fire in the morning to make sure the room was warm and inviting. He wanted to inspire confidence not only in him as a business person but in the very substance of the building itself. To subtly communicate it was worth saving and re-mortgaging to the tune of four-hundred grand.
Liam had welcomed Mr. Brady-Greene to Renwood Hall and led him to the reception room, via the ancestor gallery, knowing how much the spectacle of history and status appealed to the man who had their financial future in his hands.
