“Agreed!” Lindsey said. She stepped close and gave Nancy a quick hug. “Not too many cookies. He might get sick.”
Nancy waved her out the door, and Lindsey hurried down the shoveled walk to Edmund’s car. He held open the door and she slid onto the warm leather seat. He hurried around the car and they started off.
As they turned onto the street, Lindsey felt her eyes widen as they passed Sully’s beat-up pickup truck. For just a second, her eyes met Sully’s and the world narrowed to just the two of them. Then Edmund hit the gas, and they sped on, leaving Sully behind.
CHAPTER 28
BRIAR CREEK
PUBLIC LIBRARY
Lindsey’s mouth went dry. What had Sully been doing there, looking as if he was about to turn into Nancy’s drive? Had he been coming to see her?
Oh, no. What could he possibly think of her in Edmund’s car? Wait. Why did she care? The man hadn’t asked her out. Yes, she liked him, but really, other than a heated moment during the blizzard, what did she have to go on that he liked her?
“…and then I put on a bird suit and jumped off of the roof, but no matter how hard I flapped, I could not fly.”
“Huh?” Lindsey shook her head and focused on Edmund.
“I just wondered if you were listening,” he said. “You seemed a million miles away.”
“So, you didn’t put on a bird suit?” she asked.
“No, I did however mention that Simpson, our domestic staff person, makes a fabulous lobster bisque if that works for you.”
“It sounds delicious,” she said.
She shook her head. She refused to dwell on Sully or what he thought. This was lunch. No big deal. She blamed Nancy. It was her fault for pointing out how Sully outshined anyone within his vicinity. Very annoying.
The Sint estate sat on an isolated ten-acre section of the bay. Built in the 1800s with railroad money, it had been in the Sint family since Cornelius Sint had it built for his bride Margaret Astor. The winding, gravel drive was framed on both sides by giant copper beech trees. Despite their present lack of leaves, they still had the look of benevolent sentries, monitoring the comings and goings of the estate.
The driveway made a loop around a large and currently dry fountain. Edmund stopped in front of the house. This was the closest Lindsey had ever been to the estate, and she glanced up at the magnificent Roman Renaissance Revival-style mansion, which towered over them in all of its stone glory.
Edmund led her up a few long steps and unlocked one of the two double doors. He pushed open the door and Lindsey felt her breath catch. With the snap of a light switch, a chandelier sparkled overhead. A wide staircase swept up the wall to the right to the floors above. The ornate tile floor drew her forward, and she saw several sets of tall carved doors, which opened into a variety of opulent rooms. She caught glimpses of rich carpets, ornate furniture and masterpieces hanging on the walls.
“It’s exquisite,” she said.
“Isn’t it?” he asked. “Come, let me show you to the parlor and I’ll tell Simpson we’re here. He’s our man Friday and does the cooking and keeps track of what needs doing and when. He’s been with Uncle Bill forever.”
A fire crackled in the cozy blue room that Edmund showed her. Lindsey let him take her coat and purse and stood by the fire to ward off the day’s chill. She wondered if Bill was here and, if so, how he would feel about seeing her here. This had been such a spontaneous plan, she was sure Edmund hadn’t forewarned him.
It would be a good opportunity to clear the air. She suspected, however, that Bill was going to be hard to convince that she’d had nothing to do with the Friends’ vote. Blaming her seemed to be the balm he was using soothe his bruised ego, and she didn’t think he’d give it up willingly.
She held out her hands and let the heat from the fire wash over them. It was only January, but she was good and done with the snow. As far as she was concerned, they could move right into spring.
She glanced up and examined the painting over the fireplace. It was an Impressionistic piece; no, not an actual Monet, but definitely someone of note from that era.
She wondered which of the Sints had been the art collector. She’d only glanced into a few of the rooms they had passed, but she’d seen enough to know that collecting art had been someone’s hobby. Given that the pieces were on display and not stored away in some vault, she had to assume that whoever collected didn’t just do it for the investment but because they loved art and they loved to have it around them.
She turned her back to the fire and let the heat wash over her. When she was pretty sure her bones were melting, she moved away, but the chilly air quickly enfolded her in its shivery embrace, and she tried to find the perfect distance from the fire to be warm, but not hot. Four feet seemed ideal.
She studied the room, admiring the powder blue drapes that framed the large windows, which boasted a view of an intricate stone garden below that gave way to a sweeping lawn, now covered in snow, which ended at a private beach on the bay. The Thumb Islands dotted the horizon, and Lindsey could see the town of Briar Creek nestled on the far end of the bay. She could just make out the pier, and she thought instantly of Sully, which made her feel guilty, which was ridiculous. There was nothing to feel guilty about, she assured herself, but somehow she couldn’t seem to help it.
“All set,” Edmund said. “Simpson is setting another plate for lunch, which should be ready in twenty minutes. While we wait, why don’t I give you a tour?”
“That would be fantastic,” Lindsey said.
“This is the blue parlor, named for the obvious,” he said. He gestured to the ornate furniture upholstered in shades of blue velvet, which rested on a gorgeous Aubusson carpet in shades of navy and gold. “This was my grandmother’s favorite room. She liked to sit by the fire and enjoy the view out the window while she worked on her needlepoint.”
“That sounds like a well-spent afternoon,” Lindsey said.
“She made those pillows,” Edmund said. “I can still remember her working on them when I was a child.”
Lindsey glanced at the throw pillows on the velvet settee in the corner. They had peacocks stitched in minute detail done in brilliant jewel-toned silk thread.
“They’re lovely,” she said.
“Everything in this house is,” Edmund said, and he glanced around appreciatively. “I never understood why my father, well, no matter.”
Lindsey glanced at him curiously. “Did you grow up here?”
“No,” he said. There was a trace of bitterness in his voice. “My father was disinherited.”
Lindsey raised her eyebrows. She waited for him to continue, but he said no more.
“Come on,” he said. “There are twenty-eight rooms in all. Let’s get going or we’ll miss lunch.”
Lindsey followed him out of the blue parlor and into a study, a concert hall and a sunroom. The opulence reminded her of the mansions in Newport, Rhode Island. This had probably been a summer getaway for the Sints. Having been brought up in academia and now being a public servant, Lindsey couldn’t really wrap her brain around having so much money to spend on a home. It did, however, explain why Bill was such a pompous ass.
They made quick work of the upstairs, touring the vacant bedrooms and peeking into the large marble bathrooms. Lindsey’s favorite room by far was the solarium built on the southeast corner of the mansion. It was filled with all sorts of exotic plants and boasted glass walls and a glass ceiling that she imagined was amazing when the stars were out at night.
A bell chimed in the distance, and Edmund led her back to the main hall. “I believe that is Simpson, letting us know that lunch is served.”
Walking down the stairs, with her hand running down the banister, Lindsey felt like she should be in a satin ball gown with a tiara on her head. The thought made her smile.
Edmund caught her expression and grinned at her. “It gets under your skin, doesn’t it? The house?”
