Free Something About Emmaline by Elizabeth Boyle Page A

the gilt furnishings, the endless rows of uncomfortable chairs. The Flemish wall hangings, the dark-framed paintings, the ornate sconces, all of it had been stripped away.
    Simmons beamed like a proud parent. “Don’t blame the staff, my lord. It is an honor and a pleasure to see her work,” was all he said, before he too left to attend to his duties.
    Alex’s gaze returned to the chaos before him. There were tarps spread about the floor, while workmen on scaffolding labored at repainting the ceiling. He stepped farther inside and found overhead the miraculous sight of a dreamy sky that spread from the rosy fingers of dawn to the starry wonders of the night. It looked so real, one might think one could reach up and do the impossible—touch the very heavens.
    Then, as if bidden by a sly, whispering breeze, he looked across the room and spied her watching him. She stood there, looking breathless with anticipation as she awaited his verdict. That she had taken it upon herself to reorder his house was incorrigible, yet what she had done left him spellbound—just as the lady herself did.
    And while he didn’t want to concede to her in any fashion, he couldn’t help but smile. Let his astonishment at her accomplishments unfurl between them like a white flag.
    She grinned back, then turned to the tradesman who was standing by with a large sample of paper in his hands.
    “Mr. Starling,” she began, “I asked for a chinoiserie that made one feel as if one had stepped into a summer bower. Those…” she said, pointing at the sample he held, “why, those birds look as if they would peck one’s eyes out.”
    “These are some of the finest examples of wallpaper to be had in London,” the man said. “My clients have the highest regard for my wares.”
    “Of course they do,” she agreed, “but this is Hanover Square.” She made it sound as if the land beneath them towered somewhere between the highest steeple of St. Paul’s and the realm of angels. Shaking her head at the next three samples, she finally said, “I would like to see birds who look capable of lulling one to sleep with their sweet song,flowers that make me want to inhale deeply, and twining vines that could conceal a pair of lovers.”
    The man heaved a sigh and burrowed further into his portfolios. “I have a piece that may be of interest to you, my lady,” he said. “My other clients found it too provincial for their taste, but it may suit your bucolic tendencies.”
    Alex ruffled at the man’s tone, for he hadn’t seen a single sample about which he didn’t agree with Emmaline’s assessment. The woman had excellent taste and obviously knew good wares from bad.
    “Here it is,” the man said, holding it up.
    The moment he saw the wallpaper—with its robins and wrens, tangles of roses and arching sprays of ivy—he realized what had been Emmaline’s intent with the ballroom—to make their guests feel as if they were in the midst of an elegant garden. Though it may be a chilly February night outside, and surrounded as they were by the brick and mortar of London, everyone who entered this room would have nothing but thoughts of June and romance.
    He almost jumped forward to tell the man to measure the walls and put the paper up, but Emmaline was once again shaking her head.
    The exasperated man held out a larger section for her to survey. “What is there not to like about this one?”
    “The price, for certain,” she told him. “I cannot pay that. Why, it is more dear than half the Chinese silks you’ve shown me—which, while you claim were painted in the East, have all the markings of east Cheapside.”
    The man’s face flushed. “Milady, I would never—”
    “Of course you wouldn’t, Mr. Starling,” she said, soothing his ruffled feathers. “But I don’t think that shade of green will look good with the draperies I’ve ordered.” Shetipped her head and eyed it again. “No, not at all. I’m sorry, but I fear I will have to look