Serena watched him walk away, hands clenched at her sides. ‘No, you are not my host,’ she mumbled, ‘but it appears I am your hostage.’
She leaned up against the broad trunk of the fig, trying to calm her anger. Was he always going to be this callous and rude? How would she endure?
With a heavy sigh, she pushed away from the tree. She must put it out of her mind. The scent of horse manure drifted on the air, reminding her she’d been on her way to visit the stables. Trying to forget Mr King, she headed that way again. As she entered the dim hold, Serena paused, allowing her eyes to adjust.
‘Good day, miss. May I help you?’ A young man stepped out of the shadows and greeted her with a hesitant smile. Serena recalled seeing him briefly on their arrival last night.
‘Oh, hello. I came to visit the horses,’ Serena stammered.
‘And you are?’
‘Miss Bellingham’s my name. I’m here to work, like you. But, not with the horses, of course.’ She giggled, suddenly nervous. ‘I didn’t catch your name though.’
‘Xavier Jones. I’m in charge of the stables.’
Mrs Jones’s son, of course. The groomsman must be similar in age to herself if Serena was any judge. Mr Jones sported the same good looks as his uncle, but wore a shy smile. In fact, the similarity between them was unnerving, although the nephew did not have the melancholic air of his uncle. She offered him a brief curtsy. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Jones.’
‘If you don’t mind my asking, what duties were you hired to perform? I didn’t think we were hiring staff.’
Serena let out a mirthless chuckle. Did no one want her here, except Mr King, whose own acceptance seemed thin? ‘I’ll be working in the laundry and doing odd cleaning around the house, starting tomorrow. For now, Mrs Jones suggested I explore my new surroundings.’
Mr Jones shuffled his feet, looking awkward and then gestured toward the door. ‘I am due to bring the horses in from the paddocks. You can join me if it pleases you.’
Serena glanced at her boots—the only pair she owned these days. ‘Is it very muddy?’
The shy grin spread on Mr Jones’s face again. ‘It shouldn’t be too bad. The rain has dried since yesterday.’
‘Very well then. I shall enjoy a tour of the selection.’
Moments later, with two halters looped over his shoulder, Mr Jones led her from the stables. They passed through a gate in the fence which bordered the manicured gardens, and then the ground became more uneven as they entered the paddocks. Serena had to watch her every step, lest she land in a rabbit burrow and twist her ankle.
‘The horses are in the lower paddock. Can you manage?’
‘I think so.’ Serena giggled. ‘I have climbed over the rocks in the bay many times, you know.’
‘Right.’ Mr Jones studied her for a moment.
‘My father is a merchant, so I am often at the port,’ she offered by way of explanation.
‘Ah.’ Mr Jones’s eyebrows rose.
They walked in silence for a moment and Serena worried her lip. Questions burned in her chest. She sent a furtive glance his way. He seemed friendly enough. Why not try? ‘I wonder, Mr Jones, if you would care to tell me more of your uncle?’
Mr Jones lurched as his foot met with a deep furrow. Had she been too presumptuous and startled him? His brows had drawn together.
‘What is it you wish to know?’
Everything. As Serena saw more of Mr King’s estate, she became intrigued about the mind that created such magnificence. Could a constantly brooding mind create such beauty? She opened her mouth to ask about his mind for architectural design, but Mr Jones spoke again.
‘Or, should I ask, what have you heard?’
Serena glanced sideways at him. Was that a suspicious gaze he cast upon her? Strange, such a veil of secrecy hung about the place. She tried to offer a disarming smile. ‘I’ve only read snippets of information about him in the newspapers. Not much. I had expected him to be older, I suppose.’
Mr Jones pressed his lips into a thin line. ‘Uncle Eddie was a child prodigy. Brilliant. He entered Cambridge at a young age. Studied everything he could find to learn, but he always came back to creating and building. He designed his first building—a church—at sixteen and within a few years became the rage of London in architecture.’
‘Because of his young age, do you think?’
He gave a slow nod. ‘In part, but his work is quite remarkable.’ Mr Jones gestured behind them to the house. ‘You cannot deny it.’
Serena paused and turned toward the mansion, admiring its silhouette against the sky. No, she couldn’t deny it. ‘If London demanded his talents so much, though, why leave and come to Australia?’
Mr Jones expression clouded. ‘I was only nine when we left, so much of it is hazy in my memory. But with respect to my uncle and my mother, that is their story to tell. I do know my uncle can be impulsive when he chooses.’
‘Do you imply he came to Sydney Cove on a whim?’ Serena couldn’t believe a person would travel so far without careful planning or forethought.
The young horseman turned an open face to her. ‘It is not for me to say, Miss Bellingham. Perhaps you might ask him yourself if you have the opportunity.’
She intended to ask another question when a dapple-grey mare shook her silver mane in front of them, diverting Serena’s attention. She admired the mare’s beautiful coat with a soft moan. ‘Oh, she’s lovely.’
Mr Jones grinned. ‘She’s one of my favourites. Her name’s Misty. The other dappled grey over yonder is Storm and together they pull Uncle’s carriage.’
Mr Jones gestured toward Storm, thundering toward them with a loud whinny. ‘Does Storm live up to his—or her—name?’
Mr Jones released a soft laugh. ‘Yes. She looks like a storm cloud and behaves like one, too. But Misty keeps her in check when they’re in the
