Written on the Wind (The Blackstone Legacy #2)(13)

Mr. Leighton pursed his lips. “As you can see, the previous owner was overly fond of the craftsmanship of his native country.”

Natalia stepped inside, a little dismayed at how dim it was, but after Liam jerked the heavy draperies from the front window, it was easier to appreciate the splendid woodworking in the parlor. The fine craftsmanship was evident in the crown molding and the casing around the doors and windows.

“The unfortunate choice of wallpaper would need to be changed,” the realtor said. “The old-fashioned crown molding should also go, and the plaster is going to make adding electricity a challenge. Surely you would be happier—”

“You know what?” Liam interrupted. “Why don’t you wait outside? Natalia can make up her own mind about the place.”

She ought to say something to soften Liam’s blunt order, but she was too intrigued by the mantel over the fireplace. It was a massive piece of wood, ornately carved with ivy vines across the entire length. Hidden among the carving were nesting birds, a few clusters of berries—oh, and a little raccoon!

“I think I like this place,” she said.

“Let’s go see the kitchen and the washroom before you fall in love,” Liam cautioned, which was good advice because the kitchen was unlike any she’d ever seen. It wasn’t even a room. It was only a few pieces of equipment on the wall of the dining area. It had nothing but a sink, an icebox, and a single-burner kerosene stove.

She lifted the latch on the wooden icebox. The frame was heavy with a thick lining of metal inside and iron grates at the bottom.

“Where would I get ice for it?” she asked Liam.

“You can hire an iceman to bring a block over a couple times a week. You’ll need to keep an eye on that pan and empty it. It will fill up pretty fast, and you don’t want water running all over the floor.”

It seemed easy enough, but her biggest concern was in the washroom upstairs. It had a claw-foot tub, but the only source of water was a single spigot on the pedestal sink.

“Why isn’t there a tap for hot water?” she asked Liam.

“Because this house doesn’t have a water heater,” he said. “You’ll have to heat water on the stove downstairs.”

Her eyes grew wide. “And carry it up?”

“And carry it up,” Liam confirmed with amusement. “You’ll grow muscles you never knew you had.” He must have noticed her concern, because his face softened and he spoke kindly. “It’s not so bad. Look, you’ve got a sink right here. You can use it to fill the tub with cold water while heating the rest downstairs. And when you’re done with the bath, you can dump everything down the sink instead of lugging it back down to the kitchen.”

This all seemed a little more daunting than she’d anticipated, but it was time to learn how to be an ordinary adult, and she could manage without the servants Poppy needed to get dressed each morning.

The bedroom seemed terribly plain, just four walls with a single window overlooking the alley. The clicking of her heels sounded loud as she walked into the room, entirely empty except for an accordion-shaped radiator beneath the window. It was cast iron with knobs and pipes, but once again, she was ignorant of how to operate it.

She set her fingers on the cold iron. “I feel so stupid,” she said, and Liam immediately understood.

“Don’t let it worry you. If you buy this place, I’ll come over and show you how it’s done. You’ll get the hang of it. Trust me. I’ve run into at least one thing that makes me feel stupid every day since I walked back into this family.”

She smiled at him. Liam was uneducated but street-smart, while she was the opposite. She could analyze business proposals worth millions of dollars but couldn’t turn on a radiator.

Mr. Leighton showed her two more properties farther north, but none of them sparked an immediate sense of home like the cozy German townhouse with the hand-carved mantel and lovely wooden moldings.

She insisted on returning to the townhouse later that afternoon for another look. This time, Liam asked Darla to join them because she had the critical eye of an artist to help evaluate the house. Once again, he made the estate agent wait outside while they toured the home.

“You can’t trust those guys,” he said. “If they sense you like the place, they’ll tell the owner, who will start jacking the price way up.”

He was probably right, but this place might be worth it.

Darla seemed equally impressed with the craftsmanship as she admired the hand-carved mantel. “This is rare black walnut. And look! Here’s a turaco bird nestled among the ivy. I’m beginning to suspect your German homeowner was really Swiss, not German.”

“Why?” Natalia asked, leaning in closer to admire the curious bird hidden in the vines.

“The turaco bird is the national bird of Switzerland.”

“I’ve heard of Switzerland,” Liam said. “That’s where the pope lives, right?”

The odd statement hung in the air.

“What makes you say that?” Darla asked.

“Everyone knows about the pope and the Swiss guard. I saw a picture of those guys once. Crazy outfits.”

Darla’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “The pope lives in Rome. He has the Swiss guard because in the Renaissance, the Swiss mercenaries were the best fighters in Europe. Plus, since they’re from a neutral country, they aren’t perpetually jockeying for position inside the Vatican.”