Читать книгу A Rose At Midnight - Jacqueline Navin - Страница 9

Rutherford, Cambridgeshire, England 1847

With back ramrod straight and chin raised to give her courage, Caroline Wembly lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall with a resounding knell. She cast a look over her shoulder in time to see the coach and four being led away, leaving her alone in the semicircular driveway of the grand manor of Hawking Park. Turning back to the massive door, she hitched a trembling breath and waited.

Not wanting to seem gauche in front of the coachman, she had tried to appear unimpressed by the stylishness of the phaeton in which she had just ridden. Likewise, her first glimpse of the enormous house had drawn no comment from her, nor did any of the other trappings of the Earl of Rutherford’s fabulous wealth. Still, she could not deny utter shock when she noticed the knocker she had just made good use of was not brass, as she had first assumed, but gold.

The massive portal swung inward, and a tall serious chap with a thick topping of salt-and-pepper hair stood in front of her.

“Miss Wembly?” he inquired.

She inclined her head. The man stepped backward, a sign she was to enter.

Complying, she found herself in a large circular foyer that dazzled with light from the leaded panes of countless windows. “I am Arthur,” the man said in his clipped, precise tone. “The master is expecting you. Follow me, please.” Dutifully, Caroline trailed after the majordomo, down the long, vaulted hallway. Silent except for the click of her heeled slippers on the marble floor, they proceeded past a row of arched embrasures housing a series of exquisite sculptures, alabaster nymphs whose writhing naked forms skated perilously close to the edges of decency. She was shocked by the sensuous bodies, and had to keep her gaze averted until they passed through a groaning set of mahogany doors and into a palatial salon. Arthur indicated a chair, and Caroline seated herself.

“The master shall be in momentarily,” he stated. He backed out of the room, closing the door without producing the slightest sound.

Blowing out her held breath, Caroline Wembly deflated, bowing her head and almost doubling over. Gloved hands dug into the brocade upholstery at her side, finding no purchase in the stiff cushion. Throwing back her head, she breathed deeply to steady her nerves as she looked about her.

Never had she been to a place such as this! As if her present mission were not harrowing enough, finding herself amidst all this mind-numbing grandeur nearly reduced her to a quivering mass of anxiety.

Praying the earl would not be arriving too quickly, she rushed to a gilded mirror to check her appearance. The crisp swish of her skirts seemed to echo in the cavernous room. A critical perusal in the silvered glass reassured her all was in order. She ran her hands down the clean line of her gown, frowned, then adjusted her bosom so a generous swelling of each breast loomed over the top. It was, of course, unthinkable to be showing one’s bosom at this time of day, but Caroline was determined to exploit all of her assets to the best advantage.

After all, she mused as she adjusted a blond curl at her temple, if one is going to act the whore, one should look the part.

Her eyes caught their own reflection then. Blue orbs, so deep in color they had been called violet by more than one admirer, appeared overlarge, dominating her tense, pinched features. Good Lord, this would never do! She looked petrified. The image staring back at her from the glass was of a pale-faced, round-eyed waif frightened out of her wits.

No matter if it were true by half, the Earl of Rutherford would not want an awestruck ninny. It was worry over James, written in her face, making her appear less than her twenty-two years. Grimacing, she narrowed her eyes and firmly turned her thoughts to her father—that wretch! It was he who was most to blame for her having to come here and prostrate herself in a most humiliating fashion in front of a stranger. As the bitterness congealed inside her chest, she watched her wan face harden. Her soft mouth set, her eyes turned cold.

Satisfied, she shifted her attention to her gown. This was the one detail where she was the least sure of herself. She had purchased it only last week from Mrs. Rensacker’s shop in London. It had stood on the rack with the other abandoned garments which had been ordered by frivolous patrons and never collected. The material was a deep blue silk, a shade which provided a striking foil for her unusual eye color, and offset the paleness of her cornsilk-colored hair. Caroline and her mother had labored around the clock to rework the castoff into some semblance of style and fit for her slender form. However, neither she nor her mother were clever with a needle, and the niggling fear that she would split a seam was distracting. Even with this concern, the dress was lovely, truly worth every penny.

A pang of conscience at the cost hit her hard. She had spent nearly all of the proceeds from her greatgrandmother’s brooch. The sadness at the loss of such a precious keepsake was overshadowed by the thought of the amount of money she had invested in this insane scheme, money they could ill afford. Reminding herself it was all for James, she pushed the regret aside. No cost was too high for him.

She gave herself a last long look, deciding that she had, after all, turned out satisfactorily.

From behind her she detected a sound: someone—a male someone—clearing his throat. She whirled.and found herself staring at a darkly clad form of a man.

He had her pinned by a pair of iridescent green eyes that seemed to glow with an inner mischief. From the cut of his clothing and the haughty expression, Caroline concluded he could be none other than Magnus Eddington, Earl of Rutherford, himself!

But this could not be the earl. This man was not what she had expected.

In fact, he was amazingly robust for a dying man, younger than she had anticipated—perhaps a score and ten. Caroline guessed he might stand a head taller than the average male, and thus herself, for she could meet most men on eye level. The crisply starched lawn of his shirt and loosely tied cravat seemed a gratuitous semblance of civility encasing a massive chest and shoulders as broad as the mighty Atlas. A carefully tailored morning coat stretched snugly across the breadth of these assets, showing them to advantage then tapering to accentuate a narrower waist and hips. Oh yes, a man in excellent physical health to be sure. Caroline was certain she must be mistaken.

“My lord?” she asked. Her voice sounded high and unnatural in her own ears. Goodness, she had suffered a shock.

He bowed slightly, almost mockingly. “Magnus Eddington, at your service, Miss Wembly.”

This was the earl! His face was fascinating, for there was hardness in the cut of his jaw and the contemptuous curl of his nostrils, yet the strange green eyes, held as they were in frames of sooty lashes, looked haunted and the sensuous curve of his mouth belied a soft, sensitive aspect as if twin natures were at war within him, each claiming different features. A peculiar observation, as was the certainty of mystery, of something withheld, behind the aristocratic bearing and devastatingly handsome face.

That was another surprise. Her mental image of the earl had been of a frail, sickly man prone to vanity, for she had heard rumors of his amorous conquests and questionable reputation. A popinjay, perhaps; what used to be called a “fop” in her grandmother’s day. The man before her was the quintessential opposite of such a dandy, for he exuded an air of unrefined masculinity that seemed to steal across the room and entwine itself around her, choking away her courage.

And he had seen her preening like a court peacock! Ignoring the shame flooding through her, she pulled herself up into a rigid posture and met his gaze head-on. It was an old reflex; just when she felt the most vulnerable did she become the most reckless.

“Miss Wembly,” he said again as he strode into the room. “Please have a seat.”

She was grateful to do so, for her faux pas left her feeling off-balance. She perched on the edge of the chair and watched as he moved, as stealthily as any feline, to recline comfortably in the opposite chair. Crossing his long legs, he cocked his elbows on the tufted arms of the chair and folded his hands in front of his chin. Saying not a word, he gazed at her mercilessly until she spoke to fill the void.

“You have many beautiful pieces.” Waving an arm toward a pedestal, she indicated the gorgeous sculpture set upon it. She was mortified to realize the piece was a particularly vivid depiction of two unclothed lovers in each other’s embrace. Quickly, she returned her hand to her lap.

The half smile reappeared on his face. “Yes, I noticed you admiring them.” He meant, as she well knew, that he had seen her fussing over her appearance. It was this quip which caught her up short and enabled her to regain her head.

She forced herself to sit back in her seat and return his stare with what she hoped was a look of defiance. She would be damned if she would flutter and gab to fill the silence. After all, it was his interview. Let him take the lead.

Best not to think how desperately she wanted, needed, to win this position. How odd, to think of it that way, but it was the truth. She was applying for the position of his wife and future mother of his heir.

Forcing aside discomfort, she sat unmoving under that strange stare of his until he finally spoke.

“Please tell me about yourself, Miss Wembly.”

She had prepared for this. “My name is Arabella Caroline Wembly, but I have been called Caroline since birth. I am twenty-two years old. I was born in London, and have lived there since I was a babe. My father was the second son of a marquess, and made his money in shipping, so we were somewhat well-off, though by no means wealthy. I was educated by a governess until the age of eleven, when I was sent to-”

“Why are you unmarried at such an age as twentytwo?” the earl interrupted.

The question was insufferably rude. Yet in this strange, almost absurd situation, common courtesies could not stand unaltered. Caroline drew in a bracing breath and answered. “1 did have two seasons when I was seventeen and eighteen, but no one caught my fancy.”

“But I’ll wager you caught theirs, did you not?” He moved suddenly, leaning forward to peer at her more intently. How like a cat his movements were. A cat eyeing its prey. “How many marriage proposals did you receive?”

“Several,” Caroline countered curtly.

“Several, meaning two? Or several meaning twenty?”

Caroline glared at him. The maddening way his gaze held her almost as tightly as a stifling embrace wore on her nerves. She notched up her chin and said, “I received nine marriage proposals, my lord.”

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, but she could see he was pleased at having baited her so well. “And did none suit?”

“No, my lord.”

“May I ask why not?”

She gritted her teeth. “No, my lord, you may not.”

He was deciding whether to anger or be amused, she could see. Damn him, and his impertinent questions. She wanted this so badly, but already he was prompting a most unattractive aspect of her nature to assert itself—pride.

He finally shrugged. “I was merely curious. Now, tell me, Miss Wembly, how is it you came to hear of my.predicament?”

This too, she had anticipated. “A friend of mine who is acquainted with a clerk in your solicitor’s office was told your lawyer was making inquiries as to young ladies of good breeding and poor situation to consider a marriage of convenience. As I matched that description, I went round to see Mr. Green and eventually was persuaded to make my application.”

She was surprised she could say all of this without fluster, for thinking of the studious grilling she had submitted herself to under that vile Caractacus Green was most unpleasant.

Think of James, she reminded herself, and managed a smile.

“Ah, good. I instructed him to be discreet. I am already the target of much gossip. Pray tell, what precisely is your unfortunate situation.”

Caroline cast her eyes downward. It was not difficult to speak of her circumstances, but she must tread carefully, for the full reason behind her presence here today, he must never know. “Upon my father’s death, my mother found his estates heavily mortgaged, and after the debts were settled, there was no annuity to provide for us. We had to sell our house and lease apartments in a modest neighborhood.” She did not explain about her father’s gambling debts, nor did she recount how the creditors had descended upon the house, swarming like a cloud of vultures and plucking up valuables like apples from a tree, before it, too, was taken. “I am presently employed at a bookseller’s shop. There is no longer any money for my portion, so marriage to a man of breeding is out of the question.”

He took all of this in, nodding as if he understood. He did not. No one could. Who could imagine what it was like to see one’s life disassembled before one’s eyes?

“All of your erstwhile suitors deserted you, did they?”

he said in a quiet voice that was almost compassionate.

“Which leaves you to come to me, a man who will be dead within the year, most likely. A stranger, and a wellknown reprobate at that. Which brings up an interesting point.” He cocked his head to one side, affecting a look of helpless appeal. “Which of the rumors about me, if any, have reached your ears? It is important to clear the air of these matters, so please, feel free to tell me.”

He was trying to charm her, and she had to admit the lopsided smile and soft-eyed expression were incredibly bemusing. Even as she named it for the manipulation it was, her heart started to beat faster.

“I have heard nothing,” she lied. She didn’t even care if he knew it.

They were interrupted just then by the arrival of a troop of servants.

“I took the liberty of ordering tea, as I assumed you would be in need of refreshment after your journey. Tell me, how do you find the accommodations at the Barrister’s Ordinary?” He relaxed now, leaning back as the butler and a pair of maids rolled in the cart and began spreading all the essentials on the teakwood table between them.

“Very fine, my lord. It is a lovely inn.”

“I trust your journey from London was not too tiresome.”

“Not at all.”

“Would you do me the honor of pouring out?”

Caroline almost groaned, fearful her hand would tremble and not only betray her inner feelings, but scald the man whom she was so trying to impress.

And not doing a very good job of it, she thought miserably. How she would have liked to stand right now and stalk out of this place with her dignity intact, but so very much counted on this.

Thankfully, she did not disgrace herself. After the servants had laid out silver teapot, sugar, creamer along with two sets of china cups and saucers so thin she could almost see through them, Caroline determinedly took hold of the pot and poured two perfect cups of tea.

Giving silent thanks for that small miracle, she settled back.

“So, you have heard none of the gossip, eh?”

“No, my lord.”

“Not even the duel on the continent? I must say, I like that one. Rather dashing, I think. Completely preposterous, of course, but amusing.”

“Oh?” she queried, angling a look up at him as she stirred cream into her tea.

“You will hear a number of things about me, most, if not all of them, unflattering. I am what they call a controversial figure, that is to say my associates cannot decide whether I am a rogue or a scoundrel or a bounder or a cad. The truth is I am all of these, and none, if you will allow such a statement to stand without explanation. Those who hold a good opinion of me will no doubt regale you with my virtuous qualities, none of which I can think of at the moment. Others, in fact most, would frighten you witless with tales of my misdeeds. It is, of course, relevant to mention the rumors of my criminal nature are greatly exaggerated.”

Indeed, she had heard plenty about this man, including the incredible claim that he had been Queen Victoria’s first crush. Some said it was for wanting of him the young monarch went into decline just before she met and married her precious Albert, and that she had allowed the earl to affectionately call her “Drina,” a nickname from her childhood when she was the impoverished, isolated Princess Alexandrina Victoria. Caroline laid her silver spoon on the fine bone saucer. “And what of the ‘duel on the continent?”‘

He laughed, revealing the flash of strong white teeth and eyes that crinkled merrily and.impossible! Yes, there was one dimple in his right cheek. A dimple! The summation of all those attributes left her nearly breathless. Her cup stalled on its way to her lips and her mouth stayed open as she stared.

He really was a splendid-looking man! So, why had he found it so difficult to find a bride, even if he was dying—which was difficult to believe in and of itself, for never had she seen a man so hale and hearty. Surely a few score besotted souls would have vied for the privilege of easing his last days on earth and bringing forth his child.

“The duel,” he said, raising one dark eyebrow in a rakish manner, “never took place. The story goes that a certain gentleman, with whom I had a. shall we say, disagreement, challenged me to a contest of pistols, and we traveled to the continent in order to do the thing legally. There, it is told, we chose our weapons, paced off the deadly field, and I killed him in cold blood. Depending on the teller, you may have heard versions where I spit on his corpse, or spent the following sennight in an orgy of carousing to celebrate the poor chap’s demise.”

She had to give him credit. He certainly hadn’t stinted on the details. If she had been ignorant of this particular tale, which she was not, he had done a fair job of relating it.

“None of it is true.” He was momentarily distracted by a small particle of lint on his arm. He frowned at it, pinched it between his thumb and forefinger and set it adrift on the air. “It is based on fact. A certain gentleman accused me of improper behavior with his wife. He did challenge me to a duel, and he did die on the continent while I was also there, but that is where the verity of the tale ends. In actuality, the chap went to Provence where I was supposed to have been visiting friends, for he intended to catch me there and throw down the gauntlet. I was still in Paris, however, and while searching me out, he fell in with a band of miscreants who slit his throat for the purse he held. Since attaching the murder to me was much more romantic, I am afraid the gossipmongers had their way, and it became a much more exciting story.”

Now it was Caroline’s turn to question him. “Would you have fought him, had he caught up with you?”

His expression was only a little surprised. He blinked, then smiled. “I do not know, Miss Wembly. I suppose so. I am only glad I did not have to find out. Contrary to my reputation, had I needed to kill him in order to protect myself, I would not have enjoyed it. After all, the man was half-mad with grief.” He paused, adding in a softer, almost penitent voice, “and he did have cause.”

He seemed to catch himself, jerking his gaze back to her. Caroline took a long, thoughtful moment to sip her tea.

She peered at him over the gilded rim of the cup, her lashes shielding her eyes as she studied him. “So then you do have a conscience?” she asked.

“Now, there is no cause to be insulting,” he replied as he shifted in his seat. Giving her a sideways glance, he added, “I thought you said you had not heard tell of my vile nature.”

Caught off guard, she had to confess. “I suppose I did hear a few things. I thought it unkind to mention it.”

He was staring at her again over his interlaced fingers. She hated herself for fidgeting, but she couldn’t help it.

“How wise.”

She inclined her head in a regal fashion. She could swear it amused him, drat the man. It seemed no matter how she tried, she could not manage to get the upper hand.

He continued, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth. “I offer this information, for it is important you have an understanding of my character as we are about to , enter into a most. intimate business arrangement, and these matters are inarguably pertinent.”

“It is kind of you to explain,” Caroline stated. She caught the flash of pride in his eyes, could almost hear his thoughts: Magnus Eddington does not explain himself to anyone! She smiled, deceptively demure.

She had provoked him, it seemed. His brows slanted down wickedly as he leaned forward, rubbing his thumb and forefinger along his chin. “Tell me more about yourself, Miss Wembly. I hardly feel you have disclosed the equal of what I have shared with you, and it is I who am the one to make the choice of your suitability.”

“I have told you of myself, all there is to tell.” Setting down her cup, she was uncomfortably aware of the way his eyes could bore into her, seemingly able to plumb the depths of her thoughts and bare her secrets. She looked away.

“Your answer as to why you wish to marry a complete stranger was incomplete. In short, you never said why it is you desire to enter into this.what did Mr. Green call it? Ah, yes. ‘Odd alliance.”‘

She forced herself to face him calmly, but her hands grabbed fistfuls of the lovely blue silk dress as she said simply, “Money.”

He liked her directness, she surmised, for he whooped in delight and rocked back in his chair. “And what, pray tell, do you wish with my money?”

It was a laughing matter, was it? Her temper raced hot and dangerous. How well the wealthy were amused by the grasping need of the less fortunate. They never had to go hungry, had they? Or wear dresses that hung threadbare and short, so tight across a burgeoning breast it was almost impossible to breathe. Or bury all dignity and come to an earl’s house and offer oneself like a brood mare for a chance at life for someone they loved.

Her bitterness almost choked her. “Why does anyone need money?” she spat. “To buy things.”

Things like medicines. Things like life for a dying child.

He narrowed his eyes, those seemingly omnipotent orbs that saw all. Good God, she had gone too far!

She would be foolish to forget her precarious position. Oh, what had made her think she could do this? She was hardly the deferential type—the very kind of woman whom the earl would desire, she had no doubt. Swallowing hard, she began to stutter an apology.

The earl cut her off. “Do not! Groveling does not become you.” Stunned, she snapped her mouth shut. “I am not displeased by your strong character. It is an asset, for my son will need a firm hand to guide him through life since I will not be able to do it. I am not looking for an agreeable partner for myself, Miss Wembly, but a surrogate for myself in my child’s life.”

There was something chilling about his casual tone when speaking of his own death. It stopped her.

“You are being interviewed for the position of mother for my son, nothing more, nothing less.”

Worried at this statement, she asked, “What if the child is female?”

“She will be likewise endowed with my fortune.”

“What if there is no child?”

An odd look passed over his features. Pain. “It would be regrettable, but we can hardly control all of it, can we? We must merely do our best, and leave the rest to the Almighty. Which brings me to the rather delicate matter of lovemaking.”

The word made her start. She actually jumped and a small sound like a tiny squeak escaped her. As if to calm her, the earl held his hands up. “It must be discussed. I need to know the prospect of being intimate with me is not, how shall I put this? Distasteful?”

Suddenly, the swell of flesh gushing over her décolletage felt glaringly conspicuous and completely too much. She couldn’t stop staring at his hands. They were large, capable, callused—now how did an aristocrat acquire calluses?—and wondered what it would be like to have him touch her, hold her in the manner in which, as she understood it, a husband holds a wife. He was not a tender man. Submitting to him.that way, well, it could be unpleasant, she imagined. Yet her blood raced and a strange heat stole up her neck as she continued to stare.

Thankfully, he did not seem to notice her inconvenient diversion. “It must be stated openly that though this is a marriage of convenience for both of us, there can be no question of separate bedrooms or continued chastity. Nor, until my death, shall there be any lovers, discreetly met or otherwise. Are you agreed?”

She snapped her head up, focusing on his handsome face. Taking refuge in a haughty look, she answered, “Sir, I assure you I am well aware of the process by which babes are made. I would not have troubled you with my application in the first place if I were not prepared to submit to such doings, knowing as I do the importance of a child to be conceived before your death.”

He eyed her speculatively. “You say you are knowledgeable about the act of sex. I must respectfully inquire if you are a virgin.”

She bristled. “I said I was aware of the process, not an expert. Yes, my lord, I assure you I am a virgin.”

“Good,” he asserted, “there can be no question of another man’s child precluding the conception of my seed. And now, I must inquire if you are in good health.”

“I am.”

“Is there any history of madness in your family?”

“No, my lord.”

“I will require a detailed accounting of your family history. Do not worry, I shall commission an agent to research it. I merely ask you to cooperate fully with him.”

This was good news. She had much in her family heritage to recommend her. She just hoped he didn’t dig too deep and find out about James.

He continued, “Again I must broach a delicate topic. Are females in your family prone to ill health? Are they typically fertile? Do you have what the doctors refer to as ‘childbearing’ hips?”

Caroline did not blink. He had only inquired as to the health of the females of her family and so she could answer honestly, “No, yes. And.” Realization of his last query dawned. Had he actually inquired about her hips? “I-I do not know.” She paused, struggling with a hot flush of humiliation and an overwhelming urge to. She lost the battle. “Would you like to examine my teeth?”

Good Lord, there was that smile again. Devastating. “Perhaps later,” he drawled.

She had the notion she had impressed him favorably, this in spite of her many gaffes. He was staring at her again, with that same intent concentration. It was most disturbing, as was its potent effect on her. She found herself trembling, her body atingle, and her heart seemed not to want to beat a steady rhythm. She was acutely aware of him as a man.

All of a sudden, she was very angry with herself. Why, she was behaving like an idiot! How well she knew the temperament of men, having been adequately acquainted with the dominant sex through the example of her father. At his knee she had learned of the callow nature of the male beast, his selfishness, his inability to allow another’s need to supersede his most capricious whim.

Yet this man, with bald need and strangely pained eyes and soft mouth made her feel so strange, sparking to life something unidentifiable, yet not unpleasant. No, not unpleasant. But frightening all the same.

“Well,” he said somewhat loudly, slapping his thighs and rising, “I must say, I am most pleased with our interview, Miss Wembly. May I have the references I requested? Ah, thank you. These appear to be in order. Yes, well, I shall be in contact with you as soon as the tasks are completed.”

She rose, taking her cue to leave. The interview was over, and amazingly, he was telling her he would be proceeding to the next step.

“Thank you for seeing me, my lord,” she said, moving to the door. As she did so, it was necessary to pass close to the earl, who seemed to be watching her with that unusual feral look he favored. As she did so, she caught a breath of his scent—a hint of soap from his morning shave and masculinely pleasant. It was then she was aware of a pressure at her waist as his large hands came to rest at the place where her skirts just started to swell. She jerked her head around, too shocked at first to protest. Firmly, he ran his hands down along the gentle flare of her hips.

“Slim,” he murmured, his lips only inches from hers. “Hmm. I must speak to the doctors about this.”

Outrage crept upon her as she realized he was groping her to feel if she had hips wide enough for birthing! Without thinking, she drew back her hand and let it fly, landing a smart slap upon his left cheek. His head snapped back, but otherwise he did not react.

They both froze. Caroline was horrified by what she had done—what he had done, was still doing, in fact, for his hands remained on the sides of her derriere.

Through gritted teeth, she snapped, “I am afraid I will not permit a trial tumble, my lord. I come to you a virgin, and will remain so until properly wed.”

His breath fanned her face as he laughed softly. “I expected a fiery answer, and you do not disappoint me. Quite right, a proper mother of the future Earl of Rutherford should never allow a man to handle her so.” This said, he stepped back, releasing her. “Still, those hips are quite narrow. Ah, I shall speak to the authorities on these matters and decide. Until then, I trust you will be well taken care of at the inn.”

Every nerve screamed to unleash another blow and wipe that infuriating look off his face. Instead she calmly met his eye. “As you wish, my lord.”

He laughed at her docility, seeing it for the act it was. “You are a spitfire, Miss Wembly, and I think you could give me a fine, spirited boy.” He reached out and picked up a small bell from the table beside her and rang it.

“Arthur will show you out. I look forward to our next encounter, Miss Wembly.” He bowed. “Until then.”

Arthur materialized in the doorway and waited for his charge.

“Thank you, my lord,” Caroline said and followed the manservant out of the room.

And there it was, all so very correct. A perfectly respectable farewell. Who would have thought they had just discussed her virtue, bandied about the topic of lovemaking and suffered through gropes and blows?

As Arthur arranged for the carriage to be brought round, Caroline cast a look about her. The magnificence of Hawking Park no longer daunted her, for it could not hold a candle to the man who owned it.