Walter de Ville's Advocate

Chapter Ten

Somehow, and I'm sure I'll be kicking myself later on tonight, I politely ended our kiss, my forehead resting on hers as I suggested we finish the tour of my home. Since we were already within the manor, we exited the conservatory and headed down the corridor towards the foyer. I explained how many bedrooms and suites there were – without delving further into the latter – and the number of sitting rooms, drawing rooms, and so on. Surely I was boring her now.

However, when Evie perked up at hearing about the library I knew it would be a perfect place to conclude tonight's tour before reappearing at the cocktail party.

"I keep looking at this one," Evie murmured as we approached the large statue in the foyer. "It seems familiar, but I can't place it. Is this an original, or a reproduction?"

I was almost offended, seeing as every piece of art in my home is authentic. "It was commissioned for me—my family as a gift," I said. It was actually a 300th wedding anniversary gift from Viktoria that I initially thought interesting, but now I found it to just be an enormous obstacle in my foyer. "It's Saint George wielding Ascalon against a mighty dragon."

Evie stepped towards me, her eyes still on the sculpture. "Looks like he's losing," she chuckled. "And who is the dragon?"

I swallowed hard, "It's just a dragon, from the legends."

"Alright, and what's that room?" I turned to see Evie pointing towards the locked double doors near the statue.

"Uh . . . That's my private study, where I collect my thoughts, deal with town business, the occasional afternoon drink . . . but I do believe I promised you a trip to the Hall of Ancestors," I said quickly, reaching out to hold her hand as I guided her to the ballroom and then the grand hall.

They were right near each other, separated by a wide corridor where in two nights, all three spaces would be lit up from floor to ceiling with candles, flowers, specialty linens, and enough food for the human guests to enjoy. Right now, only the moonlight from the upper windows lit up the space.

I flicked on the electric chandeliers.

Evie spun around in the room, as if she were being whisked across the floor.

"How is it that you can dance now?" I teased.

"Dancing with someone is a lot different than by yourself. There's a lot more movements, your partner's often in the way, and sometimes it's just easier . . . by yourself," she whispered at the end, her face turning red as she turned around again. "So where's the Hall of Ancestors? I want to see all the old people that came before you."

I chuckled at that, gesturing back out of the room. When she stepped into the slightly smaller room – that is, smaller than the ballroom, she gasped at the myriad of tall, oil canvas paintings, each with their own unique frame. The lofty pillars at the walls were each topped with openwork corbels that helped to divide the room into smaller sections as well as to hold the roof from caving in.

She quietly observed the paintings, pausing her stroll at each to give them a proper look. "So these are the ancient de Villes," she murmured.

I tucked my hands into my pockets again, "Well, some of these paintings are old enough to be before the de Ville name." Truthfully, none of them held my current surname, but only a couple in here had my birth name since my father was the first to establish it. Being an illegitimate son, he wasn't allowed to take on my biological grandfather's surname.

It is with him that I gained my own sobriquet within that cognomen, which has seen me through almost 600 years on this Earth.

"These are quite old, Walter. It's great to see that you keep them in such great condition – that you appreciate such pieces of art and history – despite how removed you are from them."