Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama), Carole Williams [ebook reader 8 inch .TXT] 📗

“Now,” added Richard, opening the door opposite that from which they had entered the green drawing room, “through here is the Italian room … Father’s pride and joy.”

“Oh, wow,” gasped Ruth, as Richard flicked the switch by the door and the majestic Venetian cut-glass chandelier in the centre of the ceiling instantly twinkled and glistened, its delicate beauty simply breath taking.  Ruth followed Richard to stand beneath it and admire it more closely before turning her head to appreciate the glorious artwork on the four walls.  There were three easily recognisable, stunning scenes of Venice by Canaletto.  Ruth recognised a painting of the Madonna by Bellini, an Italian landscape by Giorgione, a scene with Mary Magdalene outside the tomb at the Garden of Gethsemane by Tintoretto and in pride of place over yet another marble fireplace, was a Titian portrait …  but of whom Ruth had no idea.  Venetian cut-glass vases adorned the side tables and in a corner bookcase rested book upon book about various aspects of Italian life, food, music, travel and the language itself.

“Oh,” Ruth exclaimed again.  “This is stunning … absolutely stunning.”

“Richard!  There you are and I take it this must be Miss Barrett,” boomed a voice behind them.  “I am so pleased to meet you, my dear.  Welcome to Canleigh.”

Ruth turned to see the distinguished figure of the Duke of Canleigh bearing down on her with a smile of pure delight on his face.  Richard had been right.  His father, now fifty years of age, looked quite different from the photograph in the green drawing room.  He was an inch or two taller than Richard and looked relaxed and healthy, not an inch of superfluous fat on his body due to his daily routine of swimming each morning before breakfast.

Realising how nervous she was, his dark brown eyes twinkled kindly as he took her hand in his and shook it.  His touch was electrifying and as their eyes locked, it seemed for Ruth as if time stood still.  She suddenly felt so warm and safe; standing beside him, her hand in his.  It was an overwhelming peaceful sensation … just like coming home.

Acutely aware of Richard beside them, she searched desperately for something suitable to say, convinced the Duke would think her terribly gauche and stupid.

“How do you do, Your Grace?” she managed to get out.

Charles had to mentally shake himself too, shocked and surprised at the sudden magnetic attraction between them.  Not only was Ruth delightful to look at but she radiated an inner beauty, a warmth of spirit, a kind of peaceful serenity that was rare in women of her age.  Charles was suddenly very glad Richard had brought this young woman to Canleigh and when they had talked earlier mentioned there was nothing between them apart from friendship, although he began to think his son was rather crazy if he was going to let Ruth slip through his fingers.

Reluctantly Charles withdrew his hand from hers, unaware that she too felt quite bereft at the action.  He smiled warmly.  “Please … call me Charles … and I do hope I can call you Ruth.”

Ruth nodded shyly as Charles pulled himself together.

“Richard tells me that you’re interested in art … and that you paint a little yourself.”

“Yes … but I only dabble.  I love watercolours … and I’ve just started experimenting with oils but I’m not much good, probably because I simply don’t have the time to concentrate on it and,” she swept a hand in the direction of the Italian masterpieces and her laugh tinkled merrily, “I don’t think my creations would be much competition for the likes of these.  It must be marvellous to possess such skill, such heart and soul.”

Charles smiled.  “You appreciate my Italian collection then, of which I make no apology for feeling very proud.”

“They’re marvellous … especially the Bellini,” she replied, eyes shining enthusiastically.

Charles wasn’t surprised Ruth was drawn to that particular painting.  He could just imagine Ruth serenely holding a child in the same loving manner as the Madonna.  Good heavens, what was the matter with him?  He’d only just set eyes on the young woman and here he was imagining her with a baby … and not any baby … his baby.  Lord, he was cracking up.  He really would have to pull himself together.

“I know Richard was guiding you around our lovely old mansion but I’m sure he won’t mind if I pull rank and take over … would you, Richard?”

“No, of course not.  Lead on, Father,” Richard said, opening the door by the window and standing aside for Ruth and Charles to pass.  “Although we’d better get a move on.  It won’t be long before Hardy is banging his gong.”

Ruth had a terrible urge to giggle but managed to stifle it when the warm enveloping feeling of security returned as Charles took her arm and guided her into the next room.

Father and son exchanged a smile at Ruth’s inevitable gasp of delight as she gazed spellbound at the rich luxury of the room in which they now stood, the windows facing north and east still providing adequate light in which to view the opulent magnificence contained within.

“This is the gold drawing room … nothing else you will see at Canleigh will compare with this,” smiled Richard.  “The first Duke wanted it this colour and it has remained the same ever since.”

Ruth found it hard to take in, staring with awe at the gold silk walls, carpet, window drapes, and the Chippendale chairs.  Even the table lamps possessed gold shades.  Two Waterford crystal chandeliers hung suspended from the plaster ceiling inlaid with decorative patterns in gold leaf.  Heavy gilt mirrors hung on the wall opposite the east window while the inner wall boasted a marble fireplace, the intricate carvings on the grey-white rock far superior to those she had ever seen on visits to