Psycho stared at Keely, as transfixed as the Daughters. Grandniece, my ass. Rebecca Reed Custis could trace the lineage of every Confederate leader who’d fought in the Civil War. Lowell’s family tree didn’t include Keely Douglas. He waited for the Daughters to chastise Keely for defaming the Lowell name.
Rebecca turned on the designer, studied her so closely that Psycho pressed between the women and moved to Keely’s side. “Problem, Becky?” he asked.
“She’s illegitimate,” Rebecca stated.
Keely sighed, her shoulders slumped. “Embarrassingly illegitimate,” she confessed. “My heritage lies with Marshal Cutter Lowell, Colonel William’s brother. Marshal had relations with a tavern wench in 1862, and the bastard side of the family was born.”
“Good heavens!” Rebecca slipped a lace handkerchief from her gray clutch purse and fanned her face. “A blight on the Lowell name.”
A blight called bullshit, Psycho thought.
“Marshal could never measure up to William,” Keely said, so sincere she made Psycho blink. “The colonel was a man revered. William Lowell graduated from West Point without demerit. He possessed every virtue of other great commanders without their vices.”
“Mary Chestnut, the Richmond diarist, called him ‘the portrait of a soldier,’” Rebecca praised.
“He bore himself with remarkable distinction. Erect as a poplar with his shoulders thrown back,” Daughter Helen Adler Paine commended.
“Lowell was dignified and cordial. His aura of infallibility drew the unconditional trust of his soldiers.” This from Daughter Olivia Morris Tuthill.
“My family has an original oil painting of Lowell on his warhorse Ranger.” Keely spoke with reverence. “He’s impeccably dressed in his Confederate uniform, projecting unconscious dignity as both soldier and gentleman.”
The Daughters were immensely interested in the oil painting. They wondered which master had created the work, deciding it must be Winslow Homer, and Keely concurred it was.
Psycho couldn’t believe his ears. The lady had stones. Keely stretched the truth like a rubber band that would eventually snap her in the ass. He shot her a warning look, which she totally ignored.
“Though I’m not outright related to William,” Keely humbly continued, “I do have a very personal interest in retaining the history and American spirit of Lowell House.”
“Would you return the colonel’s painting to its rightful place above the mantel?” Rebecca inquired of Keely.
“If Mr. McMillan so wished.”
“Definitely my wish,” Psycho said.
Debate ensued as Rebecca quietly consulted with the Daughters. Keely didn’t appear the least bit fazed that they spoke behind her back. She looked calm. Downright serene. Her thickly lashed blue gaze shone clear. Her lips curved in an unconcerned smile. She gave nothing away, as if lying was second nature.
Psycho often lied to get himself out of trouble or to get a woman into bed. He made promises. Broke them. He had to admit Keely knew how to twist words to her benefit. Damn impressive.
Several minutes passed before Rebecca once again faced Keely, interest in her eyes. “Tell us your plans, Miss Lowell. How do you envision the restoration?”
Psycho shook his head. Keely was no more a Lowell than he was. Yet she’d penned her name in their family Bible. On the bastard side.
Allowing the Daughters and Keely entrance, he crossed to the fireplace, which was big enough to swallow a Volvo. He watched as Keely took in the twin staircases to the second floor and the large landing at the top, along with the stretch of center hallway that led straight through to the back door. She looked oddly in her element among the rotted wood, chipped plaster, and sagging ceilings.
“In every renovation, my design firm retains the history of the Colonial while unobtrusively modernizing the home,” Keely began.
“How much modernizing?” Concern pinched Rebecca’s lips.
“Only as far as updating the plumbing and heating systems. The lighting and appliances,” Keely returned.
“How many Colonials have you renovated?” Psycho asked, just for the hell of it.
Keely met his gaze squarely. “Enough to know you’ll need a respirator to breathe life into your home.”
“Well put, my dear,” Rebecca applauded.
Psycho couldn’t believe Keely had won over the Daughters. The women had hounded and chastised him for months. Yet the mere mention of her being Marshal Lowell’s illegitimate grandniece, and the suggestion that she possessed an antique oil painting had landed Keely in their good graces.
She’d also inserted herself into his life without his permission. Psycho didn’t like anyone to have the upper hand. Though she’d saved his ass, it was time to put her in her place. Just so she knew where she stood with him.
Pushing himself off the fireplace, he sauntered toward Keely. “Take us room by room and lay out your plans.” He put his afternoon run and workout on hold. “I’m damn curious.”
Keely sighed. “We’ve all ready discussed the restoration at length. Surely you’re tired of the conversation.”
“Never tired,” he returned. “I want the Daughters to be certain I’ve hired the best possible designer.”
“The remainder of our afternoon is free.” Rebecca spoke for the group. “With the recent death of my dear husband, I’ve time on my hands. A short tour of the house would be delightful.”
“Let’s tour,” Psycho agreed.
Keely Douglas inwardly cringed. McMillan’s expression told her she had no wiggle room. Hard and intimidating, he knew she’d lied about her heritage and the oil painting. He’d yet to discover she didn’t know the first thing about design. She hoped to keep him from making that discovery.
Keely needed this job. At twenty-seven, she still didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. She was considered an adult, but without a grown-up job. She’d been both a waitress and a dog walker. Ticket taker at the movie theater. She’d sliced bread at a bakery. No employment had lasted more than six months. She wanted a job that ran a full year. Her rent was due. She didn’t want to be forced to live out of her grandfather’s station wagon.
Renovating a Colonial couldn’t be all that tough. She loved history, found the Civil War fascinating. When a close friend employed by Tashika Designs mentioned that the most infamous Rogue in Richmond baseball planned to have his Colonial restored, Keely had taken a chance. She’d parked her car a mile from the guard gate and snuck in when the guard conversed with one of the Colonial Hill residents.