“I paint as well.” She nodded to the wall behind them, the mural painted on it. “That is my work.”
Amelia stood and traced the flying birds with gentle fingers. “Beautiful.” She looked to Lord Atlas. He would have to work with Mrs. Bronwen, after all. But his face proved as readable as Lord Andrew’s—not at all. Closed books, the both of them.
Amelia returned to her seat to find Lord Andrew staring at the mural on the wall with unconcealed interest.
He turned to his brother. “Something like that would be appropriate for the dower house, don’t you think?”
“We don’t need anything fancy.” Lord Atlas grimaced and shifted in his seat. “Apologies, madam.”
Mrs. Bronwen stood. “Please know I do not beg for myself but for my son. He needs out of the city. For his health. Please do not dismiss me because I am a woman. I assure you I have as good or greater skill than any man.”
“I assure you it is not because you are a woman.” Lord Atlas stood, shoulders hunched as if he were a child receiving a lecture.
“Our mother would skin our hides if she even thought we were suggesting that,” Lord Andrew said. “You see my secretary behind me, yes?”
Mrs. Bronwen glanced at Amelia. “Yes.”
“Is she or is she not a woman?” he asked. Amelia sometimes wondered if he knew the answer to that question. Perhaps he asked now because he’d never quite been sure, needed confirmation.
She pressed her lips in a tight line and focused every bit of her energy on not snapping her quill.
“I take your meaning, my lord.” Mrs. Bronwen’s face was sharp and bright, exactly like her voice.
Lord Andrew stood and bowed. “We are making no decisions today. We will let you know when we have.”
Mrs. Bronwen gave a tight nod and swept from the room like a queen. When the door shut behind her, the brothers fell into their chairs with matching sighs.
“Clearly not her,” Lord Atlas said.
Just as Lord Andrew said, “She’s the one, quite obviously.”
Amelia groaned and rubbed her temples. “We’ve still two more candidates to see.”
“And none of them matter.” Lord Andrew stood and pulled the bell in the corner. “We need tea. Her boy needs fresh air. Something there is plenty of at Briarcliff. Hell, Mother would skin us if she found out we turned them away.”
“But she’s too delicate to help me finish the dower house,” Lord Atlas protested.
“Didn’t look delicate to me,” Lord Andrew countered.
She’d looked stout and used to hard work. She had an elegant profile of the sort Amelia would have loved to trace, but she’d seemed strong of body and certainly of spirit.
“I think you should give her a chance,” Amelia said.
“You have strong opinions about women, Mrs. Dart?” Lord Andrew’s voice carried across the room, begging for her attention. “You should peruse my list, then?—”
“Thiswoman, I do.Sheraton.” Her notes became a blur of fine-tipped black curves on cream. “We should not ignore that influence.”
“True,” Lord Andrew said.
“I’m the one who must work with her. Restoration is dangerous work. We cannot have a child wandering about. No. Not her. The first fellow seemed perfect. Good experience. No children. Likable. We’ll do well together. No need for further interviews.”
Lord Andrew shrugged. “It’s your decision to make, brother. And I’m glad to be done with it sooner rather than later. I’ve other decisions to tend to.”
The tea came and Lord Atlas left, and Amelia and Lord Andrew sat in matching armchairs before a fireplace at the far end of the room. She knew what direction the conversation would take once he deigned to speak. She dreaded it. Best to direct the conversation herself. “You are kind about Mrs. Bronwen.”
“I’m practical. Her father trained under Sheraton. We could not ask for better. And she’ll be happy to work for room and board because she’s getting what she wants for her son.”
“Another reason to send her away, though. Your brother would be in charge of not one new dependent but two.”
