Gentlemen Prefer Spinsters (Spinsters Club #1)(18)

He glanced over her dusty appearance. “I can see that.”

And he knew well how Merry could be once she was occupied. The chances were she could have knocked over a glass of some kind and not noticed, but he doubted it. The presence of that strange man and the glass was too much of a coincidence, but why would someone want to harm Merry? He could not fathom a reason.

Harcourt shrugged off his jacket and laid it over the back of a chair before starting on waistcoat buttons. Merry eyed him, her lashes fluttering rapidly. He grinned. “Well, now that the glass is gone, why do you not show me what is to be done?”

“To be done?” Her gaze lingered on his arms as he rolled up his shirt sleeves.

“Upstairs?”

“Oh. Yes. Um...” She blinked and finally lifted her gaze to his. “There are some furnishings I need to rearrange, and I discovered more boxes of shells. I must find a home for them elsewhere. You could, um, make yourself useful doing that.”

“Excellent. Feel free to put me to use anyway you see fit.”

The rosy stain in her cheeks darkened.

“Are we alone today?” he asked.

“Yes.” The word came out husky. “Yes.” She straightened. “And if my brother were here, you know he would not allow it.”

“Well, what Dan does not know will not hurt him.”

At least he hoped not. Given Harcourt’s past, he could not guarantee Dan would be thrilled about his feelings for Merry but once he proved he had good intentions, he could not see how her brother could complain. After all, he and Dan had been the best of friends since their Oxford days. Dan had to know Harcourt would never hurt Merry.

“Let us make a start then, before we are discovered.” He winked, and she looked away from him.

The bedroom did not look much better than the rest of the house, but the windows gleamed, as did the armoire. Open boxes of shells and various stones were stacked up in one corner.

“I found them once we moved the dresser,” she explained. “I’m not sure which of my ancestors loved shells so much but I suspect these are not the only boxes of them.” She put her hands on her hips. “Goodness knows what I will do with them. It seems a shame to just discard them.”

“I wonder if you might be able to donate some.”

She picked up a small one and showed him. “They’re hardly unusual. I could likely find another hundred on the beach if I tried hard enough.”

“Perhaps we should have a sort through and find the best ones,” he suggested. “But for now, I shall get these moved out of here. Where are you putting everything?”

“At the moment, I’m squeezing them into that bedroom.” She pointed down the hallway to the room that had been cluttered with furniture and all sorts when he’d first visited.

Merry did not seem to comprehend how big a task she had ahead of her. Far be it for him to tell her, though. As far as he was concerned, she deserved better than being tucked away in a dower house, but at least it afforded him the opportunity to get her alone, away from the gossips and prying eyes.

Harcourt set to work clearing the boxes and stacking them in the other room while Merry stripped down the bed and swept the floors, sending clouds of dust everywhere. She eased open a window to let fresh air circulate.

Once she’d finished sweeping, she began lifting the paintings from the wall. Harcourt shifted the final box and helped her remove a particularly large painting and set it on the floor. Light had stained the ugly yellowed wallpaper, leaving dark marks where the pictures had once been.

“I shall have to find new wallpaper—and different paintings too.” She nodded toward the one they had just removed which depicted a gruesome medieval battle.

“Charming. Just what one wishes to see before drifting off to sleep.”

“Precisely. Whoever slept in here had strange taste. Though I am wondering if my great-grandmother or grandfather were quite strange in general. So many belongings and collections...” She shook her head. “I cannot fathom wanting to own so much.”

“Well, perhaps a few years alone here and you shall follow in their footsteps,” he teased.

Merry shook her head defiantly. “I like things tidy, as you well know. I cannot stand clutter.”

“Yes, I know.” His throat felt tight from all the dust so tugged at his cravat, drawing it lose and stuffing it into his breeches pocket. “Sometimes, I think I know you better than I know myself, Merry.”

“Do not be silly.” The words were a whisper. Her gaze was glued to the opening of his shirt.

A silent thrill of triumph ran through him. He was done skirting around this. Today would be the day he confronted Merry about her feelings for him and settled things once and for all.





Chapter Eight





After several more hours of moving boxes, cleaning, and rearranging furniture, the bedroom was almost ready to be inhabited. Merry paused to admire their work. “A little paint and some wallpaper, and it should look quite charming.”

Harcourt came to stand beside her. “If you say so.”

“I do not know why people find it so strange that I might wish to live here.”

“Because,” he gestured out of the window, “you have a clean, spacious, modern home that anyone would envy over there.”