take her eyes off the building, shifting windows to keep it in sight as the coach changed direction. A dramatic central portico dominated the main block of the house while curved corridors at each corner linked four pavilions to the center of the structure. Three stories tall with a dressed stone facade, it seemed to stretch on forever. Chrissy counted over eighty windows on the front side of the house alone. "No wonder Mother always said Hartsworth was filled with light."
Michael, displaying an unusual measure of insecurity, blew out a heavy breath, then gazed at Chrissy. "Are you certain he'll let us stay here?"
Because Chrissy didn't want to lie, she said, "I'm not completely certain, no. Since we may well have arrived before my mother's letter informing the earl of my impending visit, we might face a few uncomfortable moments, but I doubt he'll turn us away. He and my mother were estranged for many years, and I don't think he'll risk a return to the hostilities."
"What did they fight about?" Sophie asked.
"My father. The earl wanted her to marry someone else, but she eloped with my father."
"Oh."
The coach rattled over another ancient stone bridge and began the final approach to the house. As a footman came out to meet the coach, Michael asked, "What are you going to tell your grandfather? Will you say you ran away?"
"I didn't run away," Chrissy snapped, nervousness adding an edge to her tone. "I left a few days early is all. But I won't tell him that. I'm going to say I've come to England in search of the Declaration of Independence."
"But that is Mr. Morgan's job," Lana protested.
Chrissy made a valiant effort at a smug smile as the coach rolled to a stop. "Yes, it is. And wouldn't it be fun if I found the document before he got here?"
Moments later they passed through the front door into Hartsworth's Great Hall. As a servant went to inform the earl that his granddaughter had arrived from Texas, the newcomers gazed around them in awe. Huge alabaster Corinthian columns rose from a stone floor inlaid with Italian marble to support an arched, painted ceiling, a mythological scene Chrissy couldn't quite place at the moment. Marble statues occupied niches set symmetrically around the room.
"Look, Mama," Sophie called, her voice incredulous. "You can see the boys' talleywhackers on those statues."
Busy gazing above him at the naked breasts on the ceiling, Michael jerked his head down and followed the path of his sister's stare. He muttered something Chrissy couldn't quite catch and clapped a hand over Sophie's eyes. "What kind of house is this? A painted' lady place?"
"It's nothing nasty, Michael," Lana explained, glancing toward Chrissy with a plea in her eyes. "Right?"
"That's right. It's art. Those sculptures are probably worth more than my mother's entire house."
"No," Michael said.
"Yes."
"Whoa, think of what they'd be worth if they'd finished putting clothes on 'em." Then, shooting Chrissy a look of concern, he added, "I don't think it's good for Sophie to be around such a sight. You and Mama either, for that matter. It's not seemly."
As Chrissy turned away to hide her smile a flash of color in the corridor leading off to her right caught her eyes. Paintings. Then, drawn as if by an invisible string, she moved toward them. "Portraits," she murmured.
The first was of a man of fifty or so wearing some sort of ceremonial robe. Distinguished, she thought. Hard. The next was of a woman with haunting eyes in a sapphire blue dress and triple strand of pearls. A beautiful woman.
Chrissy moved on to the third portrait and mid-step, she froze. Shock washed through her. She knew the face. She knew the locket. But for the dress and the hairstyle, she could have been looking in a mirror.
From behind her, Sophie said, "Miss Chrissy? I think you had better see this."
"Look, honey. Do you know who this is?"
The name came in a man's voice, one brimming with emotion. "Elizabeth? Is it you? Have you finally come
Michael, displaying an unusual measure of insecurity, blew out a heavy breath, then gazed at Chrissy. "Are you certain he'll let us stay here?"
Because Chrissy didn't want to lie, she said, "I'm not completely certain, no. Since we may well have arrived before my mother's letter informing the earl of my impending visit, we might face a few uncomfortable moments, but I doubt he'll turn us away. He and my mother were estranged for many years, and I don't think he'll risk a return to the hostilities."
"What did they fight about?" Sophie asked.
"My father. The earl wanted her to marry someone else, but she eloped with my father."
"Oh."
The coach rattled over another ancient stone bridge and began the final approach to the house. As a footman came out to meet the coach, Michael asked, "What are you going to tell your grandfather? Will you say you ran away?"
"I didn't run away," Chrissy snapped, nervousness adding an edge to her tone. "I left a few days early is all. But I won't tell him that. I'm going to say I've come to England in search of the Declaration of Independence."
"But that is Mr. Morgan's job," Lana protested.
Chrissy made a valiant effort at a smug smile as the coach rolled to a stop. "Yes, it is. And wouldn't it be fun if I found the document before he got here?"
Moments later they passed through the front door into Hartsworth's Great Hall. As a servant went to inform the earl that his granddaughter had arrived from Texas, the newcomers gazed around them in awe. Huge alabaster Corinthian columns rose from a stone floor inlaid with Italian marble to support an arched, painted ceiling, a mythological scene Chrissy couldn't quite place at the moment. Marble statues occupied niches set symmetrically around the room.
"Look, Mama," Sophie called, her voice incredulous. "You can see the boys' talleywhackers on those statues."
Busy gazing above him at the naked breasts on the ceiling, Michael jerked his head down and followed the path of his sister's stare. He muttered something Chrissy couldn't quite catch and clapped a hand over Sophie's eyes. "What kind of house is this? A painted' lady place?"
"It's nothing nasty, Michael," Lana explained, glancing toward Chrissy with a plea in her eyes. "Right?"
"That's right. It's art. Those sculptures are probably worth more than my mother's entire house."
"No," Michael said.
"Yes."
"Whoa, think of what they'd be worth if they'd finished putting clothes on 'em." Then, shooting Chrissy a look of concern, he added, "I don't think it's good for Sophie to be around such a sight. You and Mama either, for that matter. It's not seemly."
As Chrissy turned away to hide her smile a flash of color in the corridor leading off to her right caught her eyes. Paintings. Then, drawn as if by an invisible string, she moved toward them. "Portraits," she murmured.
The first was of a man of fifty or so wearing some sort of ceremonial robe. Distinguished, she thought. Hard. The next was of a woman with haunting eyes in a sapphire blue dress and triple strand of pearls. A beautiful woman.
Chrissy moved on to the third portrait and mid-step, she froze. Shock washed through her. She knew the face. She knew the locket. But for the dress and the hairstyle, she could have been looking in a mirror.
From behind her, Sophie said, "Miss Chrissy? I think you had better see this."
"Look, honey. Do you know who this is?"
The name came in a man's voice, one brimming with emotion. "Elizabeth? Is it you? Have you finally come
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