Carola Dunn by The Fortune-Hunters Page A

Franklin, have you not heard the news?” He took both her hands in his, beaming. “Miss Tibbett, your servant, ma’am. Franklin—it’s victory! Old Hookey has rompéd the Corsican and sent him scurrying with his tail between his legs!”
    In the astonished pause which followed, a sound like a gunshot was heard from the dining room next door. A moment later Hayes came through the connecting door with a silver tray of champagne glasses full of sparkling golden liquid. How fortunate, thought Jessica as she raised hers in a toast to the Duke of Wellington, that the house came equipped with the correct glasses for every occasion.
    Naturally the talk at dinner was all of Napoleon’s defeat, the two former soldiers bemoaning their absence from the conflict. Nonetheless, Mr. Walsingham did full justice to Mrs. Ancaster’s good, plain North-country cooking.
    “My compliments to your cook,” he said when the ladies withdrew at the end of the meal, then added with a teasing look in his grey eyes, “and tell her that I hope to be invited again.”
    “Next time Wellington defeats Bonaparte,” Jessica promised saucily, with a giggle that she put down to the champagne going to her head.
    As if he had read her mind, Hayes immediately brought tea to the drawing room. Tibby, who had partaken sparingly of the bubbling nectar, poured her a cup, and after she drank it her mind cleared.
    “Thank you,” she said gratefully to Hayes as he removed the tray. “I hope you and the others will drink to the victory with one of the bottles we bought for this evening.”
    The butler’s sagging jowls stretched in a smile. “Thank you, Miss Jessica, I already took the liberty of pouring us each a small glass, knowing you wouldn’t mind on such a great occasion. We’ll finish up the bottle later, when all’s done that needs doing.”
    The gentlemen joined them a few minutes later. Mr. Walsingham came straight to sit beside Jessica on the brocaded sofa.
    “Do you know, in the excitement I quite forgot the house plans. Your brother has sent your footman to fetch them. I hope you will not be disappointed—it is no grand mansion I have designed, merely a hunting box.”
    “With Aunt Tibby’s expert assistance I have sketched a hypocaust for you.”
    He examined her drawing with interest, comparing the Roman under-floor system to what he knew of hot air systems installed at Pakenham Hall, in Ireland, and Coleshill in Berkshire. Then Tad arrived with the building plans and they all moved into the dining room, by now cleared of dishes, and spread the papers on the table.
    Jessica’s first interest was a depiction of the façade. She liked the informal modern asymmetry of it, and the huge windows that Mr. Walsingham said would look downhill to a stream, but there was something stark about it. Then she realized that there were no shadows, no trees or bushes to soften the outlines.
    “It’s an elevation, not a work of art,” he explained. He had found in her sketch book her drawing of the Abbey and was looking from that to his own in a dissatisfied way. “I don’t know how to do all the shading and stuff that you do to make it look attractive, not just accurate.”
    “I’d be happy to make an attempt at it,” Jessica said tentatively. “I’m not sure if I could do it without the building itself in front of me, but if you like... ?”
    “Will you? Will you really? That would be splendid. There’s a wood behind the house, and Lord Ilfracombe was talking of putting in gardens in front, just something simple as it’s only for the hunting season.”
    “Lord Ilfracombe?” enquired Nathan.
    “He asked me to give him some ideas for building on a piece of land he bought in Leicestershire.”
    “So this is not purely theoretical,” Jessica said, pulling a ground floor plan towards her. “This room must be the one with the windows facing the stream, is it not? You have it marked as a library. I would put the drawing room there—oh, but