Chapter Ten
O ver the next few days Gabriel was ensconced in his office in the main house, polishing his business plan for the transformation of Renwood Hall into an exclusive venue for weddings mostly.
With its private chapel, beautifully landscaped park, and generously sized reception rooms, the Hall would be the perfect setting for a lavish wedding.
But to get there, he’d first have to carry out substantial renovations.
Thanks in no small part to Jem’s help, the repointing of the north wall had been completed and the scaffolding dismantled. That counted in Gabriel’s favor. The sale of the necklace would pay for the roof repair, making the building once more watertight.
But there was much more to be done. The place needed to be rewired if he didn’t want it to one day go up in flames due to an electrical fault.
The plumbing was ancient and burst pipes a regular occurrence, all that would have to be modernized.
The decorating—peeling plaster and fading carpets—weren’t likely to attract paying customers.
He priced the renovation work meticulously, and without being extravagant, the estimate came to an additional four-hundred-thousand pounds. He heaved a big sigh and dropped his head in his hands; the chances of securing such a large loan were pretty slim.
Slumped behind his walnut desk, he clicked through spreadsheet upon spreadsheet and checked the figures again: calculations, evaluations, projections.
Why did he do it? Why try to hold on to the Hall white-knuckled and desperate?
Because he didn’t want to be the one who sold it, the one who broke the chain and caused the House of Renwood to sink into obscurity.
Ever since his conversation with Delia, the idea of fatherhood kept creeping into his mind.
Wheeling a pram through the lovely walk in his park, feeding the little one, and rocking the baby to sleep in his arms. He had so much love to give, his heart was overfull, and he wanted to pour it into raising and protecting a little human being.
Instinct told him not to put his suggestion to Delia straight away. This wasn’t some flighty impulse. He’d be serious about this and approach her with his suggestion when the time was right, but ideally before she’d selected an anonymous sperm donor.
First he’d have to brace himself for the imminent meeting with Alistair Brady-Greene, the one and only banker who might be willing to offer a mortgage for these ancient walls. Liam and Mary knew the score; this was going to be dicey. Their financial future hung by a mere thread.
Their support cheered him, but today he’d have to face Brady-Greene alone.
He played with the ring he’d slipped into his jacket pocket this morning—his dad’s wedding band and talisman.
It made Gabriel feel close to his father, supported, loved, and cherished.
It wouldn’t do to lose it. He lifted the ring from the pocket and put it on the ring finger of his left hand.
“My sincere condolences, Lord Renwood. What a loss to all of us. I was fond of your father.” Alistair Brady-Greene released Gabriel’s hand and sat in the leather armchair opposite the fireplace in the reception room of the new wing.
Gabriel had lit the fire in the morning to make sure the room was warm and inviting. He wanted to inspire confidence not only in him as a business person but in the very substance of the building itself. To subtly communicate it was worth saving and re-mortgaging to the tune of four-hundred grand.
Liam had welcomed Mr. Brady-Greene to Renwood Hall and led him to the reception room, via the ancestor gallery, knowing how much the spectacle of history and status appealed to the man who had their financial future in his hands.
“I need to be honest with you, Lord Renwood, the business case for this house is rather weak, and despite my fondness for the Renwood family, I was initially going to refuse your request today because I assumed you were unmarried.”
Gabriel flinched.
“But,” the banker beamed, “now that I see you have a beautiful wife at your side, I’m willing to reconsider.”
Gabriel gasped for air. “My wife?”
He blinked at Mr. Brady-Greene, but then the penny dropped. Of course, the portrait. Liam had taken him through the portrait gallery, playing on the man’s weakness for all things aristocratic. The bank manager must have seen Delia’s portrait and assumed she was his wife.
Heat flushed through Gabriel at the realization that he was still wearing his father’s wedding ring.
Two sentimental and irrational decisions had landed him in this situation, and now he faced a choice: To tell the truth and come across as an eccentric fool, or to play along and chase the shadow of a possibility of saving the Hall. He plumped for the latter.
“With the love and support of a good woman, a man can achieve anything he sets his mind to. Anything ,” Mr. Brady-Greene said with feeling. “I must say I’m surprised I did not read about your nuptials in the papers.”
“Yes, well,” Gabriel cleared his throat, “my wife and I, we had a small ceremony at the registry office. With circumstances being as they are, we wanted to wait with the proper church wedding until we can have it here, at Renwood Hall. In the private chapel.”
“Oh, yes, I understand.” Mr. Brady-Greene gave a benign smile and a nod. “I would love to meet the new Lady Renwood before we discuss the details of the loan, and so would my own wife, I’m sure. Why don’t you two join us for lunch in our home, next week sometime. Would that suit?”
“That would be lovely,” Gabriel said slowly. The question was whether Delia would agree to participate in a bit of amateur theatre for his sake.