Daring In a Blue Dress Read Online Free PDF Page B

it?” Vandal said, his voice warming as he pulled to a (smooth, this time) stop so we could admire the view. He gazed at it, his attention wholly focused on the sight before us, and I couldn’t blame him for staring. The house was old, as I’d expected, made of a lovely soft gray stone, with lots of recessed, narrow arched windows. The main entrance was setunder a tower bedecked with a gorgeous series of stained-glass windows. To the right, a wing had been added—probably at a later date, since the windows didn’t match that of the main house, but it, too, was of the same gray stone. Tall chimneys dotted the roofline, and I counted six pillars that seemed to be an afterthought of the designer (or, more likely, a later owner).
    â€œIt’s lovely, just lovely,” I agreed. We sat in companionable silence for a few minutes. “How old is it?”
    â€œMid–fifteen hundreds, for the main house. The front wing and the block to the north were added a century later. Evidently there was a south block that housed a power generator, but that blew up more than thirty years ago, so now the house is a bit off-balance, architecturally speaking. But still very nice, don’t you think?” Vandal suddenly seemed to recall himself, for he shot me an unreadable look, cleared his throat, and, with a grinding of gears that had us both wincing, drove forward. I clutched the dashboard when we came to an abrupt stop at the entrance to the house. He looked like he wanted to say something, his Adam’s apple bobbling up and down a couple of times, but after making an inarticulate noise of frustration, he simply got out of the car.
    Great,
I thought to myself.
Now he’s back to being annoyed with me, and I don’t have the slightest clue why.
    Vandal stared up at the house, his hands on his hips, as I got out of the car and hesitantly took a few steps toward him. I half expected him to say something brusque, but the look on his face was one of sheer pleasure. No, not pleasure—contentment, a quiet, soul-deep contentment. I had no idea why he was so happy all of a sudden. . . . Perhaps he had mercurial mood swings? Or maybe he liked houses? Or it could be that he wassimply tired of being in the car, and was glad to be at his destination.
    â€œThere’s a lot to be done to bring it up to a point where it can be lived in,” he said, his eyes still on the house. I had a feeling he was talking more to himself than to me. “But to be honest, I’m looking forward to the work.”
    â€œYou’re going to work on the
house
?” I asked, pulling my duffel bag out of the car, and moving around the end of it to join him at the bottom of five shallow steps that led up to the double-door entrance. “Why?”
    He shot me an irritated look. “Because it needs it. Evidently the previous owner did little with it other than have it wired for electricity, and installed bathrooms at the insistence of his wife. It’s quite a daunting prospect, isn’t it? Not the sort of thing that the casual person might wish to take on as a holiday.”
    I blinked at him for a second before turning back to consider the house. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ve always felt that places like this have a presence of their own, a soul if you will. Something this old doesn’t witness the parade of humanity going through it without absorbing a certain amount of it, don’t you think? I imagine restoring it to its glory would be very satisfying.” I reached out and patted the mossy stone balustrade that lined the steps. “I think the place would like to be done up. It has an air of genteel decay about it, doesn’t it?”
    â€œIt’s not decayed,” he said, bristling, leaving me to momentarily mull over what I’d said to offend him now. “It just needs some work. And I’m not afraid of getting my hands dirty.”
    What a very odd man he