If it was this bad on the outside, it must be worse inside.
He couldn’t leave Charlotte here.
“It is wonderful.”
Victor turned to his wife. Was she looking at the same house as him?
“There is so much character,” she stated with awe.
Well, character would be one way to describe the place.
“Light blue.”
What was she talking about? “Blue?”
“Yes, for the shutters. It would be a lovely complement to the dark brick.”
Victor shrugged. Blue would look nice he supposed.
“If I plant bulbs this autumn, there should be blooms in the spring.” Her face was alight with excitement. Where he saw ruin, she saw possibilities.
“Let us see what the house is like on the inside before we make any further plans,” Victor offered, not wanting to get her hopes up.
Charlotte ran ahead of him and waited by the door for Victor to unlock and push it open. He held his breath, afraid of what he might find.
Dark, wooden stairs loomed before him, and a corridor ran toward the back of the house. Charlotte didn’t wait for him and went from one room to the next, making a complete circle of the lower floor.
“It has a ballroom,” she cried with pleasure. “I cannot imagine that we need one, but it is delightful nevertheless.” Victor trailed slowly behind. They would need dozens of servants to get this place clean.
He had forgotten how large the manor was and hadn’t visited since he was a child. He had also forgotten the story of how his grandmother had requested a ballroom be added after his grandparents had married. His grandfather had indulged her, but a ball had never been held in this house.
“It is wonderful,” Charlotte exclaimed when they reached the entry once again.
How could she tell? The place was covered in dust and cobwebs.
“Let us go upstairs.” She grabbed a lamp from the drawing room, lit it and proceeded to climb the stairs. Victor hurried to get ahead of her. There was no telling how sturdy the steps were, and he didn’t want to risk her being injured.
When they reached the landing on the second floor, Charlotte once again went from one room to the next to see what the house contained. Victor didn’t follow, simply watched. She practically skipped down the hall when she came back to him.
“I love this house. Thank you so much.” She threw her arms around him before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek and was gone before he realized what had happened.
That was all he needed to hear. This was the happiest he had seen Charlotte in the short time that he had known her, and he wasn’t going to ask her to live anywhere else.
Ittookamonth,but in the end, servants had been hired, including a widow in her late twenties, to act as companion. Furniture was ordered, and the roof was fixed. Charlotte worked happily beside the servants, scrubbing, and humming to make this house her home. At night, she painted on the nursery floor, just as she had done in her father’s house. Except, this painting was more special than any others before.
While she was happier than she could ever recall, Victor was on edge. She knew that he needed to return to London so when he came in from riding, she followed him into the library and closed the door.
“You do not need to stay here.”
He poured himself a glass of brandy and fell into a chair beside the empty fireplace. “I wish to see you settled.”
“I am.” Charlotte came forward and took a seat across from him. She never dreamed she would be this comfortable with her husband when they first married. “I know you have business in London that you cannot ignore. I also know that your father has written twice demanding that you begin seeing to repairs at your ancestral estate. Further, the Season has not ended, yet you are not there to enjoy it.”
“Thornhill Park can wait. It is my father who let it run to ruin to begin with.” He leaned forward. “I am not comfortable leaving you here alone.”
“I have a household of servants, and Mrs. McGraw will see that I do not get into trouble.” She offered a cheeky grin in hopes of cheering him.
Victor eyed her over the rim of his glass. “Are you certain?”
