Page 8 of Things We Do for Love and Science
There were more pressing things to consider. For instance, what would she wear for her trip to the manor house? It’d have to be something nice. She could hardly rock up in jeans and jumper since Gabriel was planning to cover that massive canvas with her likeness. He had to be a little eccentric to use her as his model. Surely there were enough fellow aristocrats dying to have their portrait done. After all, they had those big picture galleries in their vast mansions to fill.
She dropped her empty cup into the sink, went to the bedroom, and started rifling through her wardrobe. The black sheath dress she’d bought for last year’s faculty ball would have to do. She changed, did her hair and dug out her black heels from the back of the closet. Turning to the mirror, she frowned at her reflection. He probably expected her to wear make-up. She heaved a sigh and hobbled to the bathroom. These heels were beastly. No wonder she hadn’t worn them since the faculty function. Standing around in them was doable, walking not so much. Her make-up bag only contained the most basic of items—she had limited skills in that area. With a touch of mascara and a swipe of lip gloss, she was ready.
She left the flat and hopped into her car. Driving in heels took some getting used to, but it was too late to go back for normal shoes. Even though she’d been to the manor house once before, approaching it still took her breath away. The compact, well-proportioned baroque mansion dominated the soft undulating hills of the surrounding parkland, its many windowpanes glittering in mellow golden hues of the reflecting sunlight.
Her Fiat crunched to a halt on the long curve of the gravel driveway. She contemplated the elegant sweep of the stairs leading to the grand double door flanked by pillars. Renwood Hall was one hell of a building.
“Good of you to come.” Gabriel ushered Delia into a spacious and elegant sitting room, covered floor to ceiling in green wallpaper.
“Sure, no problem.” She dropped her handbag on the nearest chair and looked around her. “Renwood Hall is impressive.”
“Ah, thanks. It’s rather small for a country seat. Only twenty-six rooms.”
“Only twenty-six?” She raised one eyebrow. “Must be terribly cramped.”
He put a hand on his hip and affected a lord-of-the-manor stance. “You have no idea.”
She laughed and he joined in. The earl had a sense of humor; that was nice. It would make the whole thing easier.
“This room’s pretty grand.” She smoothed the skirt of her black dress with her hands. “Makes me feel underdressed.”
He lowered his gaze. “Speaking of dresses, I was going to ask you... Would it be all right if you...wore a ballgown?”
“A ballgown?” Talk about raising the bar.
“I have one, I’m not sure it would fit? Could you try?” He pointed to the mass of shot silk, burgundy and green, laid out on a chaise longue to the right of her.
“Goodness me, Gabriel, this is rather glam. Where’d you find it?”
He bit his lower lip. “I’d like a bit of drama for this picture. The gown was my grandmother’s. It’s part of the family collection of ballgowns and wedding dresses worn by previous countesses. I’ll have to auction it off soon, but this will be a nice way of documenting some of my family’s past glory before it all goes under the hammer.”
“Lovely idea. I’ll try it on.” She searched the room. “Where can I change?”
“Right here. I’ll leave, of course.”
“Sure.” She strode to the chaise longue and eyed the dress. “I’ll be gentle with it since it’ll have to be sold.”
“Thanks. Give me a shout when you’re done.” He retreated into the hallway, leaving the door ajar.
Right, okay.She slipped out of her sheath dress and took up the ballgown. It was gorgeous, to be fair. The shimmering silk changed from forest green to burgundy depending on how the light hit the folds of fabric. The strapless gown was cinched at the waist and blossomed into a generous floor-length skirt.
She stepped into the silken cloud and pulled it up. Ah, there was a starched petticoat underneath it. Her arms ached from wrestling with the heavy garment. Bending herself into a pretzel-like shape she pulled the zip up.
“Gabriel?” she called.
A muffled “Yes” reached her ears, followed by the scrape of chair legs against hardwood floor.
He walked into the room, and she faced him, enveloped in the lavish dress.
“Stunning. I mean.” His voice caught. “It suits you beautifully.”
She pressed a palm on her abdomen. “It’s bloody tight. I just about managed to close that zip.”
“Is it too uncomfortable for you?” His forehead pleated into a frown.
“No, no, it’s fine, honestly. I’m not used to restrictive clothing, that’s all. Funnily enough, I don’t frequent that many balls.” She chuckled. “Where do you want me to stand?”
“In front of the large window, here, where the easel is?”
