Page 27 of Alone with a Scarred Earl
“I find it easier to work before the sun rises too high,” she said. “The warmth trapped inside makes it nearly unbearable by midday.”
Gabriel studied the structure before them, its ribs still half-choked with vines.
“It is not a small undertaking,” he said thoughtfully.
“No,” she said, glancing toward the exposed frame. “But I believe it is a worthy one.”
He stepped closer, picking up her open journal without asking for permission. The pages bore delicate pencil sketches beside notations in a hand as precise as it was firm.
“You have itemized the repairs,” he said with more awe for his wife’s intellect and meticulousness.
Genevieve nodded with a pleased smile.
“I have,” she said as she pointed her fingers in opposite directions. “Support timbers here, and replacement panes there, if a glazier may be found with sufficient skill. These portions, I believe, can be preserved, though they require careful treatment.”
Gabriel’s eyes widened. No woman in the ton who spoke of such things would be deemed a proper lady. Yet he was utterly fascinated by the knowledge and passion she continued to exhibit for her unconventional interests.
“You sound more like an architect than a lady of leisure,” he said.
His wife looked at him warily, though not coldly.
“I was not raised for leisure, as you are already aware of,” she said as she met his eyes. “And I have no patience for ornamental tasks that serve no function.”
He nodded, glancing around at the progress that had already been made.
“That is plain enough,” he said without any censure. He closed the book gently. “May I assist you in any way?”
There was a long pause as she tried to assess if he was mocking her.
“If you are offering in earnest, yes,” she said, seeming thoroughly surprised. “There is a section of rotting beam that requires reinforcement before the men return this afternoon. I had hoped to brace it temporarily.”
Gabriel removed his coat and set it aside on the bench.
“Show me,” he said.
They worked together in easy silence, interrupted only by the occasional murmur of instruction. She spoke with clarity, neither yielding nor unkind, and he felt perfectly comfortable, despite his current troubles. By the time they stepped back from the repaired frame, the sun had risen fully, gilding the high branches above. Genevieve wiped her hands with a cloth tucked into her apron.
“I had not expected you to offer assistance,” she said, not quite looking at him.
Gabriel’s expression melted, and he grinned.
“I had not expected to remain,” he said. “Yet here we are.”
Something in her expression softened.
“Yes, indeed,” she said, her cheeks turning a shade of pink that could have been from the sun or from the bashful smile on her face. “Here we are.”
The following days continued much the same. By Saturday, the outer structure of the largest house had been partially stripped and measured for new support beams. Laborers had been engaged under James’s supervision, but it was Genevieve who directed their placement. By Sunday, their conversations grew lengthier, shaded with shared knowledge rather than formality. Still, he never once addressed the change between them. Nor did she.
***
The journals rested in neat stacks beside her, their leather bindings worn smooth in places by frequent use. Genevieve sat at the worktable near the smaller glass house, the late afternoon light filtering through clean panes above her head. Gabriel approached without ceremony, his coat draped over one arm, sleeves rolled above the wrist in quiet defiance of propriety.
“I trust you have found them useful,” he said, his tone less guarded than usual.
She turned a page slowly, careful not to smudge the delicate graphite lines.
“More than useful,” she said. “Your mother’s hand was as fine as any professional draughtsman’s. Her notes are exacting, yet never clinical. There is warmth in her method, like reverence.”
