Chapter 3 #2
It took me a couple of minutes to reach the house, and I marveled at the beauty of the property as I made my way toward the impressive building looming up ahead.
The sun came out from behind a cloud as I walked, casting dappled light across the driveway and highlighting the deep green of the hedged gardens that lined the way.
A soft breeze ruffled my hair, bringing with it the lightest scent of roses and freshly cut lawn.
This place was like a hidden oasis; strikingly different from the salty heat I’d left behind at home.
The mansion only grew more striking as I drew closer.
It was a gorgeous old redbrick building with lush green vines crawling over the face of the first two of the building’s three levels.
A large fountain stood proudly in the center of the circular driveway, and behind that was a wide set of stairs that led up to a majestic entrance accentuated by tall pillars.
A man waited for me by the imposing front doors.
He was dressed in a black suit, his back was ramrod straight, and his chest was puffed out.
His expression remained bland as I climbed the stairs toward him.
My palms were sweating as I approached. He looked far too old to be my father, but my father’s age was yet another fact about him I didn’t know.
“Miss Isobel,” the man said in greeting.
His thick British accent matched the voice I’d heard over the intercom, and given the way he’d addressed me, I guessed he must be some kind of butler or doorman.
My mom had a thing for Downton Abbey, and I’d watched it enough times to notice an uncanny resemblance between this guy and the butler on the show.
But I was almost certain he wasn’t the person I’d come to meet.
“Welcome to Weybridge House,” the man continued. “I trust your journey was pleasant.”
“Uh, sure.”
He opened the front doors and gestured for me to come inside. “May I take your bag for you?”
I immediately felt smaller as I entered the grand home.
The foyer seemed to go on forever, and the ceiling was so high I had to wonder how anyone was ever able to clear the cobwebs away.
There was marble everywhere; the floor, the walls, and even the wide staircase directly in front of me shared the glossy white sheen.
The sparkling chandelier hanging overhead was so big it would have taken up half the apartment I lived in with my mom.
I must have been gawking like an idiot because the man cleared his throat, and I remembered he’d asked me a question.
“Oh no, it’s fine. I’ve got it.” I clutched my backpack strap a little tighter. It felt somewhat like a security blanket. A small piece of home in this all too foreign landscape.
He gave me a brief nod before starting into the house. I followed after him, trying not to gasp too obviously at how ridiculous the place was.
“Mr. LaFleur is in his office,” the man continued. “He’s expecting you.”
“He … lives here?” I asked the butler in disbelief.
The man let out a slow sigh, like it pained him to utter a response. “He plans to reside here on weekends. Now, like I said, Mr. LaFleur is expecting you.”
I nodded, unsure what else to say. I was still in shock that my father appeared to have serious wealth, and I wondered if my mom had any idea.
Surely, if she had known he was rich, she would have asked him for help raising me.
For years, we had struggled to get by. Her business barely made it through each winter before the summertime rush just about buoyed us back to life.
Mom suffered through constant financial pressure, and I imagined she really could have used the support.
Maybe she had asked, and he’d refused. Although, the more I thought about it, the more I found it difficult to believe my mom would have ever made the request. She was far too proud and independent to accept a handout.
No, if she knew about my father’s money, it wouldn’t have mattered to her.
Still, it made me even more curious about what had prompted her to introduce us now.
We passed several other people in suits that matched the butler’s as we wandered through the large corridors of the mansion, but none of them so much as glanced my way as they went about their business.
The place was like a museum with long, wide corridors and large pictures hanging from the walls.
There were even some stone sculptures dotted throughout the building, and I half expected to turn a corner and find a man holding a flag in the air, followed by a bunch of tourists listening eagerly as he described each piece we passed.
When the butler finally slowed by one of the doors, my heart dipped and my stomach clenched with an unexpected bout of nerves.
I tried to remind myself I didn’t want my father in my life and I didn’t care what he thought of me.
But as I stood outside the door, on the precipice of meeting him for the first time, all I could think was that he was sure to find me lacking.
That given the opulence and extravagance he was surrounded by, there was no way I would ever be enough.
The door opened before I had time to mentally prepare myself, and the butler cleared his throat. “Miss Isobel to see you, sir.” The butler then stood back and gestured for me to enter the room.