The House in Grosvenor Square by Linore Rose Burkard Page B

You will give your sister an ague!”
    It was no longer a proper tour, as people began to scatter to areas of interest. Ariana slowly circled the first floor again, with the merchants eagerly following. She had no wish to make extensive alterations, of course. Just a few touches here and there would do. An artisan jotted notes whenever she stopped to suggest a new theme for a bit of statuary or bit of plasterwork—there were more nudes and pagan scenes than she had formerly realized. The men treated each of her suggestions with the utmost gravity and understanding.
    Mrs. Hamilton tried to maintain distance from Miss Forsythe, but she determined to remain with her and observe her doings. She wished to know of any impending changes in her domicile—the master’s domicile to be precise. It offended her mightily that the lady was evidently authorizing alterations in a dwelling that was already perfect. Moreover, she wasn’t even the mistress yet!
    In the dining room, Ariana noticed the medallions alongside the windows, all of which bore similar Romanesque carvings of goddesses in flimsy robes.
    â€œI have just the thing to replace these,” one man said, picking up on her tastes. “The same style of elegance and craftsmanship but with a decorated wreath surrounded by ornament and little cherubs.”
    â€œAs long as the figures are properly draped, sir. I will not countenance,” Ariana said, choosing her words carefully, “an absence of clothing, even in a cherub.” Her cheeks flamed crimson, but there she had said it!
    â€œVery good, ma’am.” He made a note on his pad. “Shall we replace all four of these panels with the new design, then?” He eyed her expectantly. “You do of course want uniformity.”
    â€œOf course,” she said sagely, though uniformity had never before occupied her thoughts.
    â€œMa’am, I have just the designer to meet your needs,” said another man stepping forward. “Tell me which figures are acceptable to you; Moses, King David, or members of the Holy Family, perhaps?”

    â€œYes. Yes, any or all of them sound fine to me,” she said with relief.
    Eagerly he added, “My man does freestanding sculptures as well. Pointing to a corner that held a Roman bust of a soldier, with its style of peculiarly blank eyes, on a columnar pedestal, he continued, “Shall we say a bust of the head of St. Peter here?”
    â€œMake it Mary Magdalene,” she replied, without having known that she would have such a preference. My, but this was interesting. She was discovering her own tastes. And she did have them. She had preferences that had never been known as there had never been an opportunity to exercise them before.
    A loud crash from the hall interrupted them. When they turned to see what had happened, they saw that Mrs. Hamilton, with a set mouth, was already investigating. Without missing a beat, the merchant added, “And in that corner, ma’am, we can replace that coldish looking statue with a very good bust of the mother of God. Wouldn’t you agree?”
    Did she agree? The mother of God? He meant the mother of Jesus. That would be Mary. She saw no cause to disagree and mumbled, “Yes, fine.” The shopkeepers were making it all quite easy for her. “Very good, ma’am,” was the standard reply.
    Of a bas-relief Roman soldier in a chariot, she asked, “Can you make this Elijah in a chariot of fire? You need only add some flame effects, remove the helmet, and add hair and a beard.” The man jotted furiously onto his pad, nodding his head.
    In the study he suggested replacing the huntress Diana with the two hounds, pointing at a relief panel on one wall. Ariana looked thoughtfully at the area.
    â€œMake it Nimrod.”
    â€œNimrod the hunter? Oh, excellent, ma’am!” He eyed her with true admiration.
    Where there were cupids or eros or mythical beasts, she