brows up, slender body poised, waiting for him to agree with her assessment, to offer praise.
The best he could do was smile. “I never meant to denigrate your home. It’s a fine estate and a lovely village. It’s simply not what I planned.”
She cocked her head, and the cold mountain air whipped a coppery strand of hair across her face. “What did you plan?”
He gazed off over the fells, shadows against the blue sky. “Farmland, tenants.” He snorted. “At the very least an orchard or two.”
She straightened and shrugged as if those did not seem so important to her. “You’ll find some of that in the lower valley, but it’s too rocky here for more than a small garden.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
She waved her hand, sweeping away his concerns. “There are far more interesting things here in any event.”
Trevor eyed her. “Such as?”
She raised her chin. “We have a fine church. St. Martin’s was built in the thirteenth century, you know.”
So even his church was old and no doubt needed work. “A venerable establishment, to be sure.”
She laughed. “Your words are praising, sir, but I see the look in your eyes. Very well. I suppose St. Martin’s may not be all that interesting to someone of your sophistication. So, tell me, where would you prefer to live?”
“London,” he readily replied.
This time he was the one expecting a quick agreement. London was the capital, the seat of government, the hub of commerce. Anyone who was anyone spent at least part of the year in London.
To his surprise, she wrinkled her nose. “London? Why? You must see that Blackcliff is far and away superior.”
Trevor raised a brow. “And on what do you base such a sweeping statement? Have you ever visited London?”
“Once,” she admitted with a shudder that set the pink ribbon on her long green coat to shaking. “Mother went up to see a cousin who was being presented, and I accompanied her. And that was quite enough, I assure you. The air is filled with that nasty soot, carriages clog the roads, street vendors wake you in the wee hours to shout about milk and posies. No, thank you!”
With the exception of the soot from the coal fires, he found those things more interesting than irksome. “And were you given no opportunity to experience the culture? London boasts lofty architecture, galleries of fine art and sculpture, exceptional dressmakers and expert tailors.”
“Ah, shopping,” she said wisely. “Come with me to Blackcliff village, sir, and see if you don’t find it equally diverting.”
He’d seen enough of the little village riding through it last night and today. The entire collection of buildings could be hidden in one corner of London, and no one would notice. Instead of looking at aged churches, he should be in the library, reading documents, checking calculations. He had to decide what to do about Blackcliff, determine how soon he could head back to London. “I’m sure the village is delightful, but I’m certain your father would prefer that I return to the manor.”
He thought surely she’d agree with that. She’d been quick to support her father on every other occasion. Instead, she shook her head doggedly.
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