4. Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
Colin said a silent prayer of thanks as Mabel kept walking toward the house with him.
There had been a few dodgy moments, but so far, she’d taken it very well.
If his relatives could remember to behave in a civilized manner, he might breeze through this.
Oh God, they were never going to behave like that in a million years.
He had no right bringing a complete stranger into this emotional minefield.
“Mabel.”
He only realized he’d stopped walking when her hand slipped out of his grasp, and she had to back up.
“Yes?”
“My family.”
She stared up at him, and he realized he couldn’t go on. How to put such a complex situation into a few well-chosen sentences of reassurance?
“Colin, my dad ran out on my mom the day after I was born. I have two half-sisters and three half-brothers from his other three women, two of whom he was apparently married to at the same time. One of my half-siblings was born on almost the same day as me in the same hospital. My father is an unapologetic, charming bastard. Our family get-togethers are always punctuated by at least one person getting drunk and starting a fight with him.” She smiled. “I get it. Families suck.”
He took a breath and then another one. His admiration for the diminutive woman standing in front of him growing with every minute. “All right, then. Let’s get it over with.”
He led her around to the side of the house where everyone usually came in and went out. The battered kitchen door was propped open with an old standing iron to allow easy access to the outside.
“Do you like dogs?” he asked Mabel.
“I’ve never had much to do with them, why?”
“Because we’re about to be surrounded.” There was the thundering sound of paws and the clack of claws on the flagstone tiles. “Just stay where you are and let me deal with them.”
Luckily, his father’s dogs were a well-trained bunch.
Once they recognized him, they were quite happy to accept Mabel as well.
She took the appearance of about ten hounds, spaniels, and labradors very well, patting heads and gently dissuading direct attacks on her crotch with the skill of a professional.
“Come on.” He reclaimed her hand and drew her deeper into the house. There was a distinct smell of damp and old drains that hadn’t been present the last time he’d visited. He suspected everything needed upgrading. Victorian sewage systems weren’t meant to last forever.
“Wow,” Mabel whispered. “There really is a green baize door.”
“It separates the old servants’ quarters from the family rooms.”
“I know that. I watch Downton.”
She pronounced it like the American pronunciation of “downtown,” which made him want to smile.
He pushed open the green baize door, and the plain cream walls and flagstones disappeared to be replaced by black and white tile, long windows, and ghastly green silk wallpaper that badly needed replacing, as did almost everything in the house.
A faint murmur of voices sounded from down the hallway.
“They’ll be in the breakfast parlour.”
Two of the dogs trotted ahead of him as he mentally girded his loins. The door was ajar, so he pushed it open and walked in.
“Good Lord! Colin!” His grandmother’s voice rose over everyone else’s.
Colin scanned the table, noted his father’s absence, but saw that, unfortunately, two of his siblings sat at the table.
“Grandmother.” He forced his usual airy smile. “It’s so nice to see you. May I introduce Mabel Howard?”
“Howard?” His grandmother frowned at Mabel over the top of her glasses. “One of Richard’s gels from the castle?”
“No, she’s not,” Colin said firmly.
“I’m from California,” Mabel piped up. “It’s so cool to meet you all.”
“Cool? Whatever does that mean?” his grandmother asked.
His brother Freddy grinned. “It’s just an expression. It means that it’s good to meet you.”
“Then why can’t one simply say that?”
“Because she’s American?” Freddy winked at Mabel and glanced at their grandmother. “Come on, Gran, lighten up. Your mother was a bloody American. Her trunk-loads of cash were the only reason the Marchams managed to keep it together for this long.”
Freddy turned back to Mabel, his gaze assessing, his blue eyes beguiling. “I’m Freddy. It’s nice to meet you.”
“And this is my sister, Felicity,” Colin interrupted his brother who remained undeterred and continued talking.
“The Viz doesn’t usually bring his ladies home with him. I have no idea why.”
“Oh, I can take a wild guess,” Mabel said. “Families can be very intimidating, can’t they?”
Colin wanted to kiss her. Instead, he pulled out a chair for her. “We thought we’d join you for breakfast before I show Mabel around.”
His grandmother sniffed. “I assume you will find time to speak to your father before you go gadding off far and wide enjoying yourself.”
“Of course, I will. That is the reason I’m here.” Colin reached for the teapot and poured himself and Mabel a cup. “How is he?”
“Worried about the estate.”
“Well, nothing new there, then,” Colin murmured. “I meant how is he feeling?”
“I suggest you ask him that. This is hardly an appropriate conversation to be having at the breakfast table in front of a guest.”
Freddy passed Mabel a plate of bacon and the toast rack. “There is another reason why Colin doesn’t usually bring his birds home. They don’t usually last for more than a week or two.”
Colin shot his brother a dirty look. “Thanks, Freddy.”
“Well, Mabel should take it as a huge vote of confidence that you brought her down here. How long has it been since you last graced us with your august presence, Viz? Six months?”
“I have a job and a limited amount of vacation time,” Colin said evenly.
“Oh, come off it. We all know that you have Stephen Falke in your pocket and can get all the time off you need. He’s a snob who loves having your name on his letterhead. You used to spend three months on the slopes every winter. I don’t remember you having to rush back to work then.”
“That was a long time ago.” Colin smiled through his teeth at his brother. “At twenty I behaved very selfishly, but I’ve—”
“My dear, if you are an American, how did you come to have such a very English name?”
“It’s hardly unique to the British Isles, Grandmother,” Colin objected. He’d never been so pleased to have his grandmother interrupt him before in his life. “I’m sure there are Mabels in America.”
“Oh, that was my father’s fault.” Mabel smiled.
“My mother wanted to call me May Belle after her two grandmothers. My father was in a rush to leave the hospital and jumbled the names together for the registrar who happened to be English and assumed he meant Mabel.” She shrugged.
“My mom still calls me May, but everyone else goes with the British pronunciation.”
“How very odd.”
“It could’ve been worse. One of my half-sisters ended up with the name Rogeria.”
Freddy snorted his tea. “After your dad?”
“Exactly.” Mabel took some toast and buttered it before adding some of the very crispy bacon to her plate. “She prefers to be called Ria.”
“I’m not very fond of my name either.”
Colin raised his eyebrows at his sister who sat quietly next to his grandmother. “What’s wrong with Felicity?”
“People insist on calling me Flicka or Fee.”
Mabel nodded. “I had a boyfriend who insisted on calling me Mabe. I hated it.”
Colin ate three slices of bacon and some overcooked scrambled eggs before finishing up with some toast and marmalade. His grandmother still insisted on a full cooked breakfast every morning, which since he’d been away from home suddenly seemed like a great idea.
“Is Father in his study?” Colin asked.
There was a silence before Freddy cleared his throat and said, “He’s in his bedroom.”
Colin met Freddy’s level stare. Things must be worse than he’d realized if his father wasn’t making the effort to come down for breakfast. It had always been an unwritten rule of the house that you staggered down to eat, or you were ready to be declared dead.
“I’ll go up and see him.” He glanced over at Mabel. “Will you be okay here for a bit?”
“Sure.”
Freddy poured himself and Mabel another cup of tea and settled back into his seat as though he was happy to stay there all day.
“Off you trot, Viz. I’ll take care of her.”
“I bet you will,” Colin muttered.
He nodded to his sister and grandmother and went back into the hallway. It was hard to remember exactly when he and Freddy had stopped being best friends and became…
What had they become? They weren’t exactly enemies, but Colin constantly had the sense he had failed to live up to his brother’s expectations somehow. But he had failed. Up until five years ago or so, he’d been a complete idiot.
Turning into the main hall, he walked up the shallow steps to the first floor and the minstrel’s gallery landing and headed for the master suite.
His feet sank into the Victorian patterned carpet, which had withstood hundreds of muddy Marcham feet and their dogs and was badly faded as a result.
The more he looked about him, the bigger the task became.
The house needed a lot of work, and that burden rightly or wrongly fell on him.
He tapped on the door of his father’s suite and waited to enter until he heard a faint response.
The curtains were still drawn, and his gaze went to the huge four-poster bed in the centre of the room where his father sat up against a pile of pillows.
He always thought of his father as a large, intimidating figure, but he appeared to have shrunk in the last six months. Masking his shock, Colin moved closer.
“Good morning, Father.”
“Colin?”
His father removed his spectacles and set aside his newspaper. On his knees was a tray bearing the remains of his breakfast.
Needing something to do with his hands, Colin removed the tray and set it on the table beside the bed. “How are you?”
“I wish you had told me you were coming. I would’ve made more of an effort to get out of this damned bed.”