Leonie wants a romance with the Baron - стр. 2
“What’s there to be proud of? Land taken from enemies and gifted to their ancestors along with a title – and they still show it off, waving it around like a badge of honor. They’re so proud, they’ve invented their own code of behavior and decided it’s the standard not just for their circle, but for the world in general – in other words, they’ve placed the rest of us below them.”
He knew full well that the tourists weren’t hanging on his every word because of his brilliant historical insight or captivating storytelling – and he was perfectly fine with that.The guide raised his voice noticeably – clearly aware that Mom and I were getting distracted. We probably shouldn’t stand this close to him, knowing how easily our attention drifts. We’d already been shushed three times by younger women determined to stay close to our young and attractive guide.
“And now, ladies and gentlemen, look to your right!”
As if on command, I turned sharply, nearly bumping into a large vase that stood alone on a narrow pedestal. At that very moment, I was thinking how the money from selling all these precious trinkets could probably feed an entire city—or maybe even a country in Africa. The thought barely had time to form in my head, and I was already dismissing it as silly: after all, objects worth millions of pounds wouldn’t magically change their value just because someone saw a better use for them. Then again, if one imagined passing that vase like a relay baton through the hands of the world’s wealthiest, it could probably raise a decent fortune… for what purpose exactly, I never quite finished thinking. The thought flickered out and vanished.
My eyes landed on a portrait – not as old as the others in the castle, but painted in the best traditions of early 20th-century portraiture. It depicted a handsome man of about thirty, one of the former owners of the estate. A wave of muffled sighs rolled through the crowd of mostly middle-aged women. The guide, nodding in satisfaction, presented the portrait:
“The Eleventh Baron Montgomery – Lord William Owen Colton Landon.”
“What a pompous turkey!” muttered a boy of about ten, earning a gentle tap on the back of his head from his mother.
Back then, I didn’t know that the man’s son – the only heir and current owner of the castle – was standing on the balcony, watching the group of tourists he was obliged to let into his private estate just to keep the place running: the castle, the garden, and all the people working there. He had a tendency to gain weight, though you wouldn’t know it now, because for the past six months he’d been eating nothing but salad for dinner. He had dark, almost black, slightly wavy hair; a moderately sized nose; a small – or rather tiny – mouth that gave him the look of a sulking child; thick, long eyebrows over grey-green eyes; and an open, questioning gaze that made people assume he was guileless – right up until he opened his mouth and shattered that illusion without a shred of sympathy for the deceived.
The young baron’s face held echoes of his ancestors. He looked like he’d stepped out of one of those old portraits. He wasn’t what you’d call handsome, yet I might’ve fallen in love with him at first sight – if I’d known he was the current baron. I didn’t care about his wealth, the respect he got from other aristocrats, or even from queens. The fact that he was an official link between generations made him compelling, romantically mysterious, and detached from the trivialities of everyday life. Through him, I could have fallen in love with eternity.