An Inadvisable Wager (The Curse of the Weatherby Ball Book 2) Eliza Lloyd (reading books for 7 year olds .TXT) 📖

“What is it?” She stepped into the room, of a generous size considering the basic use for the space.

“An indoor commode. In the style of Marie Antoinette.” He lifted the mahogany lid. “For your convenience and privacy.”

Nora laughed and came to stand beside him, looking into the bowl. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”

“You will be once you use it. Go ahead. I can wait.”

“I’m not going to use it now. Not while you’re waiting outside.”

“Well, when you do, I want your opinion. I have some other ideas how to make it better.”

“When we’ve been married twenty years, then I might discuss such privacies with you.”

Twenty years? That sounded much better than their negotiated three months. Was she even aware she’d said it?

Gabriel did have a surprise for her. He wasn’t sure if he should tell her tonight or give her some joy tomorrow. He’d made a simple inquiry, one he had not thought to ask before, but the laborers had an answer for him which he would soon share with Nora.

“It’s here when you need it. The earl’s room upstairs is nearly done. Would you like to see it?”

“Of course, if you wish.”

They walked up the stairs and toward the one room on this floor that was livable. “Do you remember much?” he asked.

“Some, now that I see it. Most of it was an eight-year-old’s chimera. Whimsy propped up by the unwillingness to believe my father could do wrong. I remember my room, though.” They stepped into the earl’s room. “Oh my!” she said.

Gabriel was very pleased with the work. Aside from some final painting of the trim and one last wall that needed paper placed, it was a room made for comfort. He’d ordered the bed sight unseen, or his man-of-affairs had. Three Aubusson carpets were rolled in the corner. He hadn’t seen those either, but they attracted Nora’s attention and she strolled over to caress the plush pile. All of them were pastoral scenes with matching borders, which wouldn’t be known until there was a final cleaning and the rugs were rolled out near the bed.

The background color was manilla, a light brown that was offset by the intense puce of the curtains, bed covering and the carpet trim. The wallpaper was an apple-esque theme with branches in green, blossoms in light yellow and two puce-colored apples in each segment.

An armoire was set up against one wall, bedside tables were positioned on each side of the bed. The floor gleamed with the new linseed oil varnish. Drop cloths were still in place on the one side of the room. There were two chaise lounges, a large cheval mirror and a trifold screen all stuffed into one corner, while a table, with four chairs stacked on the surface, were crammed into the other corner.

Still plenty to do, but the vision was complete. More importantly, Nora caught the vision.

Gabriel had asked the laborers to devote much of their time finishing this room and the library. Aside from the last month in London, he had spent about six months here, sleeping downstairs in the slowly renovated rooms. He’d become quite handy with a hammer and saw, but it was hell on his hands. And he quite enjoyed the effort, a catharsis from his father’s destruction.

They weren’t able to work on one project at a time as, on a daily basis, small emergencies popped up that required urgent attention.

Nora sat on the bed and glanced around. “I’m glad Timothy is not here to see this.”

“You surprise me, Nora.”

“Oh? Why?”

“You don’t wonder how it all happened?”

“Wall by wall, I would imagine. Time is as much a destroyer of dreams as the weather.”

He pulled a chair from the tabletop and sat across from her. “Even time couldn’t do this much damage. My father was creatively destructive.”

“Why didn’t your father let the property? Or sell it? If it were mine, I would at least try to make money with tenants and rents. Even my father was smart enough to know that. But to just disregard it this way, makes no sense.”

“So, is that the only way this place yields a treasure? To rent it to someone else?”

“There is no such thing as a buried or hidden treasure. But you do know the parable of the talents. Every child in Sabbath school learned it. If you have five talents, you don’t bury them in the ground. You put them to work to make more.”

“Because you know not when the master cometh?”

“That is the moral of that story. I have no idea what the moral of the Henbury Hall story is. A solicitor could have managed the property—”

Gabriel clucked his tongue. “That’s a side issue. Your father sold the property to my father. Now, what is the moral of my father’s story? He had every means at his disposal to care for the property but did not.”

“I don’t understand. You are saying he just let a valuable asset deteriorate for no reason? It’s one thing to tear apart the house. It’s another to allow grounds to fallow. Tenants to drift off or suffer without financial support.”

“It’s worse than that, Nora. My father was looking for the famed Blasington hoard.”

He watched her. She didn’t react except to raise her brows. “What are you talking about?”

“I told you about the treasure for which my father searched. It was called Blasington’s Hoard. Supposedly, all his ill-gotten gains, preserved for the man clever enough to find it.”

“Blasington’s hoard? That is just so far-fetched. When you told me your father looked for treasure, I thought it was just part of your father’s imagination. His delusions.”

“Would you have known about it at such a young age, if it had been true?”

“Hmm, you’re serious,” she said, smiling suddenly. “A treasure of some sort? You think my