Heiress in Red Silk, Hunter, Madeline [good beach reads TXT] 📗

Miss Jameson down rather than allowing the footman to do it. She had not yet put her gloves back on, and the warmth of her hand permeated his own glove, sending his thoughts where they should not go again. How annoying.

She pulled on the gloves while they walked to the door, all the while looking up at the house’s height and down its breadth. “I don’t know how you could have thought me new house big when you live in such as this.”

“This one is far too large, especially for what is often one person.” It had been purchased with many more occupants in mind. His father had anticipated a large family, only to have his wife die while giving birth to their first child.

The butler opened the door to admit them.

“I should warn you that my father is an original. Eccentric, actually.”

She opened her eyes wide. “Is he? I don’t see how that is possible when you be so conventional.” She crossed the threshold wearing a self-satisfied smile.

Kevin followed. He had warned her. If Miss Jameson thought he was eccentric, she was in for a shock.

* * *

He brought her to the library. Its size amazed her. She gazed at the massive bookcases that filled three walls. The fourth one was hung with paintings.... And something else.

She went to stand in front of ten frames enclosing rows of gray and beige moths. Each one had been labeled. It must have taken hours to collect and sort all of these. Yet, with them lined up like this, she could see the differences between them.

She felt Kevin’s presence next to her.

“Moths, not butterflies,” she said.

“Everyone has butterflies.”

She looked at the frames, then at him. She chuckled.

“You find this amusing, do you?”

“Moths? It must be quite a struggle for your guests to say something polite when they see these.” She imagined a young Kevin Radnor, serious and studious, reading off the names and explaining how this moth was different from that one. No doubt he had enjoyed the social discomfort he created. “It is all a joke, isn’t it?”

A slow smile formed. “Don’t give it away. No one else has guessed.”

“That is because your humor is too sly.”

“Not for everyone, it appears.”

She laughed and walked away. Moths.

The bookcases drew her attention. Her gaze moved over them, and the many books they held. “Are these all your father’s?”

“Some are mine. Some he acquired. Others he inherited. My grandfather was a bibliophile and had his library broken up among his sons when he passed.”

“Your family history be on those shelves.”

“I never thought of it that way, although I have discovered a few rarities that have probably been in the family for generations.”

Side by side they perused the leather-bound volumes. If she purchased one a week she would never own this many books.

Suddenly, something poked at her bum, startling her.

“Mr. Radnor, you surprise me. Please remove your hand.”

“My hand?”

“The one on me bum.”

“Appealing though the notion is, I assure you that I am never that crude.” He held up both his hands to prove his innocence.

She frowned. “What—” She turned around abruptly. “I have never—” She backed up.

He also turned, and sighed. “Father, you really shouldn’t,” he called out, reaching down to stop the apparatus from advancing further.

She leaned down to peer at a metal contraption with a painted metal face, wearing old-fashioned clothes, boots, and a tricorner hat. “It looks like a big doll.”

“It is an automaton. An unusual one, because it rolls.” He lifted it to show the wheels at its base. “A flawed idea, because once it is set off, it keeps moving unless it unwinds or hits something. Like your, um . . . like you.” He pointed to the salver held in one of the mechanical man’s hands, projecting out.

As he held up the mechanical man, its eyelids opened and shut, and a smile formed and unformed while a low, metallic hum sounded. The wheels continued to turn.

“Father, show yourself! Come meet my guest.”

“Did you build this?” she asked, examining those wheels and trying to peer inside the figure.

“It was built for my uncle, the late duke. However, I fixed it once my father got hold of it. Part of the mechanism had broken. Ah, there is the mischief-maker.”

She looked up to see a tall, lean, white-haired man standing right inside the doorway. He was smiling broadly, clearly pleased with his joke. She looked from him to his son, and then back again. It was like seeing the same man at different ages, they were so similar.

He proceeded into the room, and Kevin made the introductions.

His father took the little man from Kevin. “It wasn’t supposed to hit you. The intention was for it to roll past.”

“Hardly,” Kevin muttered under his breath. “Perhaps you need to work on your aim, then. It always moves in a straight line.”

“Yes, well, perhaps I should. Welcome, Miss Jameson. My son has told me that you have finally been found. He is much relieved, as you can imagine. As am I. You seem fascinated with my mechanical butler. Come and I’ll show you the others.”

Down a stately corridor they strolled. Up a grand staircase with pale blue walls and finely carved white moldings. The senior Mr. Radnor opened two doors with a flourish to reveal a huge chamber full of tables and pedestals, all of them holding automatons.

“This is his drawing room,” Kevin murmured while his father strode forth and began turning keys and levers, making the contraptions come alive.

“He must be very fond of these,” she whispered back.

“Oh, yes.”

“Come in, come in, Miss Jameson. No need to be timid,” his father called out. “Unlike the little butler automaton, these don’t move around the chamber.”

She entered and admired the variety of the collection. There had to be close to a hundred of them. Large or small, each one had specific movements. A little squirrel fluffed its tail and bit a nut. A clock rang the hour and a group of figures emerged from within