The American Earl by Joan Wolf

slightly at either end and in the center.  I had seen pictures of typical London town houses; this was not remotely like the narrow, closely crowded buildings where most of the ton lived while they were in London.
    While Maria and I were still gaping, a footman came running down the front stairs followed more slowly by Evan, who had ridden Baron and so arrived before us.  He came to open the coach door and, before the footman could set the steps, he reached up, put his hands around my waist and lifted me down.  Then he did the same thing for Maria. 
    His big hands had almost fit around my waist; for some reason this made me feel peculiar. I blinked twice, shook my head, and turned to stare at the house.
    “My goodness,” Maria said.  “It’s big.”
    “It’s a bloody palace,” Evan growled.
    I knew what he was thinking.  It was going to cost him a fortune to run this place. 
    Maria said tentatively, “Don’t let Aunt Barbara hear you say that word, Evan. She’ll yell at you.”
    Evan looked penitent. “I’m sorry, Maria. I shouldn’t swear in front of you.”
    “Oh it doesn’t bother me. Julia swears all the time,” Maria assured him blithely. “But Aunt Barbara won’t like it.”
    The butler, whom my aunt had sent on ahead, was waiting for us in the doorway.  We went inside and found Aunt Barbara standing in the hall. 
    “What took you so long?” she demanded. “We’ve been here for almost an hour.”
    “We stopped a few times to rest the horses. They’re old and haven’t made a journey like this in years.”
    “I have been waiting for you to arrive to give Evan a tour of the house. Had I known it would take you so long I would not have been so thoughtful.”
    I really wanted to see the house so I gave her an apologetic smile and said I was sorry we had kept her waiting.
    “Oh good, you’re here.” It was Lizzie, coming down the hall. “Isn’t this place amazing?”
    “It certainly is.”  Evan’s voice was carefully neutral.  I shot him a look.  He was the one who had dragged me here, I thought, and if it cost him a small fortune, it wasn’t my fault.
    We were standing in the entrance hall, which was a grand affair with columns that reminded me of a Greek temple. The floor was paved in marble. My aunt gathered us up and ushered us into the first room off the hall, which was a small drawing room, used I supposed, for callers to wait to see if they would be admitted by the occupants. It had several wonderful landscape paintings on its walls.
    After we looked at the drawing room, Aunt Barbara ushered us back into the hallway, which was paved with the same marble as the entrance hall. It was also lined with busts of Roman and Greek gods and heroes displayed on marble pedestals. All of the main rooms opened off this hallway and Aunt Barbara took us into each one of them.
    We saw a music room, which held a harpsichord, a harp and a piano.  I was thrilled to see the piano for Maria’s sake.  We saw a huge drawing room, with a beautifully sculptured ceiling and frescos painted on the walls.  The dining room could easily seat forty people and had an enormous crystal chandelier that sparkled with cleanliness.  The library was a vast room, with floor to ceiling windows.  The shelves that lined the room were all enclosed in glass and the carpet was from Turkey and must have cost a fortune.  The remaining rooms on this floor were the earl and countess’s sleeping quarters and dressing rooms, which we didn’t go into. 
    Two gracefully curved staircases rose to the next floor, at the top of which was an immense ballroom. Lady Barbara pointed this out with great satisfaction. “This is where we will have Lizzie’s … and Julia’s … come-out ball. It is the finest ballroom in London.”
    As we followed my aunt through the house, the thing that most excited me wasn’t the size of the rooms or the splendor of the furnishings; it was the paintings. I had known my grandfather was a