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elegance of the Palladian style, the chimneys end after they emerge from the roof. The builders considered tall chimneys undesirable, because they would mar the roofline.”
    â€œ Hell’s fire .” He stomped back to his chair.
    Her lips pursed before she placed the shepherdess on the ornate table and picked up her needlework. “Where was I? Oh, yes, evidently cleanliness is the price to pay for classical simplicity. What are overworked servants or soiled linens to architectural grace? Grand houses come at a cost, you know.”
    â€œI can fix that problem.”
    â€œYou’ll lose the elegance of the classical facade.”
    â€œDamn the elegance.”
    â€œThat’s your third use of bad language, young man.”
    â€œForgive me.” As a duke’s daughter, his mother preferred grand and old-fashioned houses. One of his goals was to bring her fully into the nineteenth century by modernizing Blackwell, but he did not want to pressure her all at once with his planned changes. Every shilling the estate earned he set aside to fund either his share in the foundry or to bring Blackwell abreast of the times. Once these improvements had been implemented, he expected a higher income within the next couple of years. At the moment, he kept her happy using the irregular profits from the sales of his handbook to buy her furniture and gifts. He leaned forward to retrieve his teacup and decided to please her with a proven method to lighten her mood—rouse her feminine curiosity. “I was held up today by some pretty estate affairs.”
    Her needle stilled, hovering over her work. “Can you tell me the nature of your pretty estate affairs?”
    â€œMaybe you could help me out on that score. A truly restorative sight on a sunny day: a beautiful country maid, widow, curly blond hair, brown eyes, dark lashes, and ample…lashes. Has a remarkable talent for a female—fishing. She learned of my business interests from you, so she must be one of your boon companions.”
    â€œFishing! The countrywomen around here have the oddest hobbies, so fishing shouldn’t surprise me. But from your description, I think you refer to our neighbor, Mrs. Elinor Colton.”
    â€œThat’s Mrs. Colton?” He dropped his teacup on the chair, splashing his knee with the scalding brew. “ The Mrs. Colton I need to sign our lease? From your earlier description, I expected a daft, gray-haired clergyman’s widow, not a young maid in a dimity gown.”
    â€œShe is a clergyman’s widow.”
    â€œClergymen’s widows don’t look that live—”
    â€œLook that what?”
    â€œAh…look that alive.” Instantly his thoughts diverted to the memory of the pretty widow’s backside walking home. Her hips swayed an infinitesimal degree detected only by men, a universal siren’s call to all men with a pulse.
    â€œThat woman has no poise or dignity to speak of. Granted she is lively, but spirit does not compensate for a plump figure and a plain face. How she ever caught the eye of Reverend Colton, I will never understand. Don’t tell me you are…you know…interested in her.”
    â€œNo, I’m not interested in her.” He remembered her lips, and the dimple that played in the corner of her mouth whenever she smiled. He retrieved his teacup and sat forward in his chair. “I gave you a vow… I have changed my actions, but don’t expect altered manners and a different man. Besides, a gentleman should meet his new neighbors, and her lease will be crucial to our success. So tell me all about her.” Next he remembered what the widow wore, an unfortunate recollection. Recalling the memory of her gown led to the mental image of him removing the gown. Followed by those quick calculations men make without conscious effort, like the time needed to remove every skirt and stocking and stay. He eased back in his chair. You