She gestured towards the roof. ‘The wind. It’s very noisy.’ She dropped her gaze. ‘And I miss my family.’ Serena glanced up again. ‘You are working at this hour?’
Mr King looked away from her but nodded and then shrugged. ‘Have you been through the house?’ He swept a hand around him.
‘Pardon?’ Mr King’s question surprised Serena.
‘Have you seen my home—in its entirety?’
‘Well, I ... I’ve seen parts of it while I work, but I am still unfamiliar with all the rooms and areas.’
Mr King eyed her for a moment as though deciding. ‘Perhaps, since you are having trouble sleeping, you might care to join me. I can take you for a tour, if you wish.’
A tour of the house in the dead of night? In her bed clothes? It sounded both improper and adventurous to Serena—a notion she usually conjured up in her imagination. Still, Mr King ought to be working, and Mrs Jones warned her not to bother him. ‘Thank you for the offer, Mr King, but I do not wish to distract you from your important work.’
‘But I may rest on occasion, may I not? And since I answer to no one, who will complain? Come.’ He held out his arm for her to take. ‘We’ll start with the second level.’
‘But I am not dressed, Mr King.’
He glanced over her robe and shrugged. ‘I shan’t tell, if you don’t.’
Serena stared at him, stunned. Had he not berated her for hoydenish behaviour not three days ago? And now he was inviting her to roam the mansion in her nightdress? It didn’t make sense, but neither could she deny him–she was beholden to him after all. An icy wave washed over her heart as she once again considered she might be here for his personal entertainment. God help me. But a refusal might anger him again, and yet he appeared honest and trustworthy.
Serena’s heart threatened to sink as she curled her fingers around his elbow. Was this really happening, or was it naught but a strange dream? And what had become of the accusing, curt man she had met on other occasions? This version of Mr King was almost friendly. In one sense, Serena knew it must be wrong to wander around a house by moonlight with a gentleman, and unchaperoned. But then, if she owned truth, the prospect of touring the house with Mr King excited her. The speed of her pulse echoed that sentiment.
‘Your two nephews are very different from each other,’ she ventured to begin a conversation.
‘Pleasant boys, if a little simple.’
Mr King’s condescension stung, strangely enough. If he belittled his own kin with such ease, it was no wonder he spoke in such rude fashion to her when they first met. Irked, Serena let her frustration show. ‘I suppose everyone is simple in your eyes.’
‘Well, yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them. It is a basic fact that my intelligence far exceeds theirs.’ Mr King shrugged in a nonchalant fashion.
Such pride! Serena studied his profile in the dull light. Surely, there must be a twinkle in his eye or a twitch to his lips to show he jested. Yet she discerned nothing. Baffled by his attitude, she drew her brows together. ‘So then, if we are dim-witted to you, does that make us dull company?’ She wanted to understand this man, even if he was exasperating.
‘Not at all. I can still be amused. However, if I desire intelligent conversation, then I must find a good scientist, or a philosopher—if you get my gist.’
Serena tried to hide her smile as she nodded. ‘And are there many of those in Sydney, Mr King?’ Since much of the population grew through convict transportation, she thought not.
‘Sadly, no.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘No staggering minds have arrived yet, but I will soon convince my old chums from Cambridge to immigrate. In the meantime, I must appease myself with the works of Aristotle, Newton and the likes.’
‘And what do you do for enjoyment? Apart from laugh at the poor obtuse folk who surround you.’ She shouldn’t be goading her new employer, but he seemed to think far too highly of himself.
He stopped and turned to her. ‘You are determined to poke fun at me, aren’t you? It is understandable, I’m sure, that one such as yourself cannot conceive of what responsibility comes with great intelligence.’
Or perhaps you take yourself too seriously. Serena sighed. ‘I’m sure I cannot.’
For all his arrogance, Serena could find nothing in him to terrify or anger her. In fact, as they walked the hallways for the next hour and he pointed out the intricacies of his design, she became more intrigued than frightened. Mr King tried to explain the mathematics involved in constructing the varied arches in the house, both in the stone windows, and the wooden interior. She nodded along, asking several questions, even if she didn’t understand the answers. Everything was excessively precise, with little margin for error—at least in his eyes.
Before long he led her to the ballroom, a vast expanse of polished floor and vaulted ceilings hung with several chandeliers. At one end, a raised platform was installed to house the orchestra, and a large pianoforte waited in the darkness for skilled hands to draw magic from the keys. Above it jutted a balcony from where guests could watch the dancing below them. At the other end, a large hearth was inset in the wall to give warmth to the room in winter.
The light of one candle could not do the majestic room justice. Serena made a mental note to revisit in the daylight hours. Apart from the pianoforte, no furniture existed in the ballroom. Perhaps Mr King had never held a ball here. That was a shame for Serena might have given her left foot for an opportunity to watch men and women dance.
As if he’d read her mind, Mr King ceased his architectural monologue, placed his candle on top of the pianoforte and turned to face her.
