Page 12 of A Wild English Rose
“So, tell me about the house,” she said, attempting a safer topic.
He held up his hand as if he was a tour guide showing her the ancient ruins of Rome. She giggled, and he rewarded her with a sly wink.
“Rosemount Abbey stands on the ruins of a former abbey. No surprises there. After Henry the Eighth, destroyer of monasteries and all good churches, had the abbey broken, my ancestor decided he wanted a Prodigy house: a grand and showy heap in the countryside. He utilized locally sourced Ketton stone, a form of limestone—I know you were dying to ask—to build the house,” he announced.
Cecily clasped her hands together in mock excitement. “It was on the tip of my tongue,” she exclaimed.
He nodded sagely. “Well you may wish to reserve your enthusiasm for the gardens, young lady. They are included in the price of the tour.”
Cecily took his offered hand and Thomas ushered her into the house. The interior matched the outside for sheer extravagance. Inside there was a marble staircase to the left of the entrance; it rose over several floors. But her gaze was soon captured by the enormous white dome which dominated the center of the entrance. She craned her neck to take it all in.
“Hmm. Yes, the dome. Bane of every owner of the house since the day it was built. Elegant, ornate, and a bloody pain.It cuts out light and steals all the heat in winter. My brother, Freddie, has suggested we plaster over it, but my father won’t have it,” said Thomas.
“I forgot you have a brother,” she said, lowering her gaze to meet his.
“Freddie is at Oxford, following in my footsteps. He is a clever lad. He will go far. Knows his numbers better than I do, but I have the gift when it comes to horses.”
A suited gentleman appeared from a nearby room and sought Thomas’s attention.
“Excuse me, I had better go and make further arrangements for your stay. Feel free to wander around until I get back. Then I can show you the rest of the house and grounds.”
Cecily stood in the main entrance for a time. If the architect who designed the dome had been aiming for a grand statement, he had achieved it.
When Thomas did not return within a few minutes, she wandered over to a nearby doorway and ventured through it. The room beyond was a sitting room, but unlike the ones in her parents’ house, this one had a warmth to it.
On a table stood a small wooden horse. It looked like something a young child would have made. She picked it up and on the bottom of the stand was carved,TR 1800.She set it back down with a smile.
Throughout the room were small personal items. On the walls were sketches and paintings done by both Thomas and his brother. She stopped and gripped the top of a pale cream sofa, her heartstrings pulled tight by the knowledge that this was a family home. A home filled with love.
“There you are. Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
She put down a leather-bound notebook as Thomas entered the room, embarrassed that she had been on the brink of opening it.
His gaze fell to the book. “I made that for Mama when I was eight years old. She uses it all the time for planning the planting of the gardens. She buys plain notebooks in London, then has the cover stitched over them. When the pages are filled, she has the stitching unpicked and the pages replaced.”
Cecily looked at the notebook. Lady Rosemount obviously had a strong sentimental attachment to the gift from her son. Her own mother would never consider repurposing an item; she would simply go out and buy a whole new notebook. Her mother had been right about the Thomas and the Rosemount family being different from her own. A spark of longing came to life within her heart.
“Would you like to see the rest of the grounds? We have a series of ornate gardens which were designed by Capability Brown. My father is very proud of them. So, I am warning you that you must gush and proclaim them the best gardens you have ever seen, or I shall never hear the end of it,” he said.
Cecily had intended to be composed, almost serene as Thomas led her from the house. After the gardens at Chatsworth House, she expected those at Rosemount Abbey to be quaint at best. But the moment she caught sight of the ornate gardens and magnificent folly which lay beyond, she squeezed his hand, forgetting where she was and with whom.
“Oh, Thomas, they are breathtaking!”
He smiled at her, pride evident on his face. “I told you. Pity my father isn’t here.”
Just what would Thomas tell his father if he was indeed here? That he had brought the unwed daughter of an earl home and was entertaining her without a chaperone in sight? Cecily could just imagine the responsethatwould receive from Lord Rosemount.
The lord would have her in a carriage and on her way back to London quick smart.
Chapter Twelve
Cecily closed up her travel bag and slumped onto the bed.
In her hurry to escape London and her father’s plans to marry her off to Lord Horsham, she had not had time to think through her situation fully. She had thrown three plain day gowns and a warm shawl into the bag before fleeing her family home. This now presented her with a problem.
After returning to the main house, Thomas had graciously invited her to dine with him that evening. While they were well outside the bounds of socially acceptable behavior, having shared a bed at the hotel, she was still at pains to show him that she was not beyond redemption.
“The rose pink one with the silver flowers will have to do,” she muttered.
