4. Chapter Four #3
Colin let go of her hand. “This is the formal entrance to the house, built around 1850 by one of my ancestors. He was flush with cash from his industrial investments, otherwise known as a coal mine in the backyard.”
“It’s very grand.”
“The staircase is much older and belongs to the original house.” He pressed one foot on the lowest step, which creaked loudly. “Oak, I believe.”
Still looking up at the ceiling, Mabel turned a slow circle. “Colin, if this is your father’s house, who inherits it?”
There was a beat of silence broken only by the ticking of a very large clock. She lowered her head and glanced at him.
“That would be me.” He looked uncharacteristically grim. “The glories of good old primogeniture. The eldest son inherits the lot.”
Mabel whistled. “No wonder Freddy is so jealous.”
“He can have it if he wants it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.” He finally met her gaze. “Do you want to see the rest?”
Mabel smiled politely, sat down on the bottom step, and folded her arms across her chest. “Not until you’ve told me exactly what’s going on.”
With a resigned sigh, Colin subsided onto the stair beside Mabel.
“In a nutshell, my father is ill, and the family solicitor is coming here today to let me in on all the horrible family secrets so that I can somehow save the day.”
“You’re the heir to all this?” Mabel waved vaguely up at the ornate ceiling.
“Yes, and I believe there might be a townhouse in London somewhere, and a couple of farms in Devon from some distant female relative’s dowry settlement.”
“Okay.”
Colin took a deep breath. “And the title of course.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Like royalty?”
“Not quite, but my father is the current Earl of Marcham and, as his heir, I get the courtesy title of Viscount Levenham.”
“Biscuits,” Mabel said. “Now I get it.”
“What?” Colin regarded her with fascination.
“Freddy called you Viz. When I asked him why he said something about your favorite cookie being mispronounced. I didn’t quite understand. But now I do.”
“Not that anyone calls me by my title or anything, It’s just a formal thing with no real value.”
“Maybe not to you, but to the average American? If you put that on your corporate cards, you’d be swamped with business.”
“Do you think so?” Colin was more than willing to be distracted into talking about work. “I thought it would come across as rather vulgar.”
She rolled her eyes and set her hand in his. “So, what’s up with your father?”
“He has Parkinson’s.” Colin’s smile faded. “And recently he’s been getting a lot worse. Hence, the dreaded family meeting where the full horrors of the current financial state of Marcham Hall will be exposed to me.”
“And then you’re expected to fix everything?” A crease appeared between Mabel’s eyebrows.
“How did you guess?”
“But that’s not fair,” Mabel protested.
He shrugged. “That’s just the way it is.
At least my father is still around to offer me his help with everything.
Some of my friends have been dumped right in the thick of it after their father’s death with no idea what a mess they’ve just inherited.
At least Father is trying to prepare me for the worst.” He tugged gently at Mabel’s hand.
“How about we talk as we walk, or else it’ll take us all day to see the house. ”
Mabel listened intently as Colin showed her the immense house.
Outwardly, she admired the amazing architecture, the art, and the exquisite furniture, even as she quailed at the mildewed windows, the ripped silk wall coverings, and the dank smell of the kitchen in the lower level.
She couldn’t even begin to imagine how Colin’s ancestors had afforded to run the place, but when she saw the extent of the almost deserted servants’ quarters, she began to get a clue as to the enormity of the wealth they must have possessed.
“How many staff did your grandfather have to run this estate?” she asked as they stopped in the middle of the vast gold and white ballroom. Several buckets dotted the floor, indicating that the flat roof above them had a few holes.
“Not as many as he needed. The rot started after the First World War.” Colin sighed. “After that carnage, no one wanted to work in draughty old English country houses and tug their forelocks to the gentry anymore.”
“I think we started that trend back in 1776,” Mabel said gravely.
He smiled and reached for her hand. “Thanks for being so good about all this.”
“About you being an aristocrat and heir to an earldom?” Mabel looked around the vast, echoing space.
“No, for me not telling you that part when we met.”
“Why would you?” She met his gaze. “I haven’t told you everything about my life yet. We hardly know each other.”
“True.” He drew her against him. “But you did come all the way to England with me for some reason.”
“Your accent?” she teased.
“That’s it?”
She let her gaze drift down his body. “And other things.”
He leaned down and kissed her mouth. “Then I’d better take you back to the dower house so we can continue with those other things before the family solicitor arrives this afternoon and ruins my life.”