Furniture sat draped in old linen sheets, now grayed with age and scattered with mouse droppings. One sheet had slipped off a rosewood settee, revealing torn upholstery and stuffing peeking through like old wool. A grand mirror over the fireplace, gilded, but cracked across one corner, reflected the room in slanted, distorted lines. The gold leaf had blackened in places, curling like burnt parchment.
The wallpaper, once patterned in soft florals, now peeled back in curling strips, revealing the cracked plaster beneath. Water stains traced down from a place in the ceiling where a leak had spread. On the mantel, a faded ceramic vase still held the long-dead skeletons of dried roses—more dust than flower now. Who had placed them there? After all this time, he had no idea.
The fireplace was choked with ash and debris, an iron grate tipped sideways, half-buried beneath old soot. A tarnished hearth brush leaned forgotten in the corner. Framed silhouettes hung askew on the walls, some with their glass smashed, others missing entirely, their outlines marked by faded wallpaper shadows. A pianoforte sat in the far corner, keys yellowed and warped, one leg splintered. A single music sheet still rested on the stand. Sophia was learning to play in the months before their father’s arrest. He’d forgotten that until now.
On a small escritoire, a drawer hung half-open. The once-luxurious Axminster carpet, now threadbare and water-stained, was stiff with time and grit underfoot. In the corner, near the window seat, a child’s forgotten wooden horse leaned on its side, one wheel missing, the paint flaking from its saddle.
“It was once my favorite room in the house,” James said. “We spent many happy times here as a family.”
“Then we shall bring it back to what it was,” Georgiana said stoutly.
He had to admit, there was something very reassuring about the woman. Hopefully, she would be as competent as she seemed to think she was.
Georgiana stepped lightly across the worn rug, seeming to take in the ruined moldings. “We will fix it, Lord Ashford. You will have happy times here again. When my husband was alive, he allowed me to decorate the interiors as well as the structural elements of our projects. I like nothing more than making a room beautiful again.”
“I see.” Was it true? He really hoped so.
James took them to the ballroom next. “The floor’s warped from water damage. There’s a leak above the ceiling, which will have to be repaired before we do anything in here.”
“Will you host a ball, Lord Ashford?” Cecily asked.
“I suppose I will. I hadn’t thought much about it,” James said. “The house needs so much work that I’m afraid to get too far ahead of myself.”
“Very wise,” Georgiana said.
Across the corridor, he paused outside a tall set of double oak doors. “This is our library. All of the books are still in there. But mold has gotten into a lot of them.”
“Oh dear,” Cecily murmured. “How sad.”
“I’ll have to sort through them and decide what to keep and what to toss,” James said.
“We can save some of them, if you wish. They’ll need to be dried out before we dust any mold spores from their pages.” Georgiana turned to her sister. “Please note that we’ll need to make some drying racks.”
Cecily nodded and scribbled the directive into her notebook.
Down a narrow passage, they reached the dining room. A long mahogany table bowed in the center. A single candelabrum still stood, tilted at a mournful angle.
“What a beautiful room it once was.” Georgiana ran a gloved hand along the table. “We’ll have this table restored somehow.”
“Servants’ stairs are here.” He lifted a tarnished latch and gestured for them to follow. They descended into the dim, cool underbelly ofthe house. The smell of damp stone and ash met them at the base.
“The kitchen’s over this way. It used to feed twenty on staff and whatever guests came calling.” He pushed open a door to reveal the cavernous space—blackened hearths, rows of rusted pots, a butcher’s block scarred with decades of use. The scullery beyond was filled with overturned basins and a cracked pump handle. “We’ll have staff again soon. But not until it’s habitable again. Right now, it seems unsafe.”
“Yes, agreed,” Georgiana said. “But none of this is impossible. In fact, the structure of the manor seems intact, although we’ll have much to repair. Inside, will be mostly cosmetic changes.”
“Staff quarters are down that corridor,” James said. “There’s mold on the walls and furniture, which will have to be cleaned up before I can think about hiring anyone.”
They returned to the main staircase, its carved balustrade worn smooth beneath his palm. He took them upstairs to show them the bedrooms, all of which were in similar states to the other rooms.
“This is the main bedchamber, where I’ve set up a temporary living space,” James said.
James slept on a narrow cot with a wool blanket he’d brought with him and relied on the fire for warmth.
Georgiana looked around the room, nodding to herself. “Soon enough, these will be quarters fitting a gentleman.”
He paused at the room that had once been the nursery. He’d not had the courage to open this door but it must be done. Georgiana should see everything if she was to help him.
“This was our nursery,” James said. “I’ve not looked at it yet. I couldn’t face it.”
