Tis the Season to Be Sinful (2 page)
“I am a Colonist, Mr. Fowler, as you can no doubt surmise by my accent. We disdain the idea of a monarchy.”
Far from being offended, the land agent laughed. “Yet all men desire to rule their domestic domain, do they not? Even those born and raised in the Americas.”
Richard reined in his smile. He ruled his business empire rather like a king, yet had not seen the need to live like one. Though raised in a struggling working-class family of very limited means, Richard had never confused the trappings of wealth with success. True, successful businessmen made money, but they did not always flaunt it in such an obvious manner. Yet was that not the very reason for buying this home? To fully showcase his success?
Mr. Fowler led them through the master suite into a wide hallway. A tall window of stained glass at the end let in a stream of sunlight that brightened the corridor. Richard assumed the sconces along the wall were used to illuminate the area at night and during rainy days. Seeing that the glass was cracked in one and chipped in another, he turned to Barclay, but the secretary had already noted the damage and was busy scribbling on his paper.
The door directly next to the master suite revealed another bedchamber, and the moment they entered it, Richard fully understood Mr. Fowler’s comment about the master suite’s renovation. This room clearly had not been touched—it was tired, old-fashioned, and in no way impressive. Wallpaper with red roses the size of a man’s fist covered the walls, and long silk drapes in a matching shade of scarlet red hung on the two sets of windows.
The next bedchamber was a slight variation of the first, this one featuring yellow daisies. A third had violets and climbing ivy, the fourth pink tulips. The colors were striking and overbearing—Richard could not help wondering how anyone was able to sleep peacefully among so much rioting color.
Clearly, the same individual who had designed the master’s chambers had not been allowed to work in these rooms. None were to Richard’s taste and he wondered how his potential business associates would react if they were forced to sleep in a garden. Their wives would probably not object, but Richard did not anticipate entertaining often with wives along.
By necessity, the manor house would be a masculine retreat, filled with the manly pursuits of fishing and shooting, business deals discussed while playing cards, then solidified over billiards and brandy. Lacking a wife meant there was no hostess to organize the proper sort of distractions that women enjoyed.
Richard smiled inwardly, fancifully wondering how Mr. Fowler would react if asked about a wife being included with the property. Provided the woman was sensible and refined, that addition would make this the perfect manor house indeed.
After seeing the remaining bedchambers, which though mercifully lacking floral wallpaper, were in contrast Spartan and dull, they returned to the main floor. It took nearly an hour to tour the various drawing rooms, dining room, breakfast room, morning room, music room, conservatory, and of course, the infamous mirrored ballroom.
Mr. Fowler ended the tour in the peaceful booklined study, the dark wood paneling a soothing balm to the senses. Richard settled himself in one of the two wingback chairs set in front of the unlit fireplace while the land agent poured drinks.
“Tell me, Mr. Harper, what is your impression of the property?” Mr. Fowler asked as he placed a crystal glass of whiskey in Richard’s hand.
“It has potential, I think, though clearly a complete renovation is required in several rooms. The Egyptian drawing room comes instantly to mind, as do all those floral bedrooms.” Richard smiled faintly and took a gulp of his drink. “I am, however, willing to increase my offer if certain pieces of furniture and other items remain.”
“No need for that, Mr. Harper. The terms of the lease state that the house is to be rented exactly as you see it, with all furnishing and housewares included, right down to the pots and pans.”
Lease? What sort of underhanded tactic was the man trying?
“I have no interest in a lease,” Richard stated as he unclenched his jaw. “I want to own this estate, Mr. Fowler.”
“I have no interest in a lease,” Richard stated as he unclenched his jaw. “I want to own this estate, Mr. Fowler.”
Looking flustered, Mr. Fowler lowered his gaze. “I’m afraid there has been some misunderstanding. The property is to be rented, Mr. Harper, not sold.”
Barclay let out a high-pitched, inarticulate squeak of dismay. “No, no, no! Mr. Fowler, I distinctly remember informing you in my correspondence that Mr. Harper desired to
purchase
a property. Never once did I suggest he would be willing to
lease
one.”
purchase
a property. Never once did I suggest he would be willing to
lease
one.”
The land agent’s face tellingly flushed red. “This is the only property in the entire county that comes close to meeting your needs,” he countered. “Better to lease than not find anything at all.”
Barclay sputtered with indignation and began searching through the papers in his leather folder, no doubt looking for a copy of the letter that would prove his point. Unperturbed, Richard took another sip of the excellent whiskey. There were many advantages to being wealthy, chief among them the distinct benefit of getting your own way. In all matters.
“I am aware that there are two mortgages on the property and the fact that it is not currently occupied suggests the lack of funds to maintain it. With the right approach, I am certain the owner will be amenable to a sale,” Richard declared confidently. “As you so aptly put it, Mr. Fowler, this property meets the majority of my needs. And now that I’ve seen it, I fully intend to own it.”
“I’m going for a walk up to the main house, Mrs. Perkins,” Juliet Wentworth announced as she strolled into the cozy kitchen. “Would you mind terribly keeping an eye on Lizzy while I’m gone? I shouldn’t be away for more than a few hours.”
The housekeeper, who also did the majority of the cooking for Juliet and her family, nodded. “I won’t mind a bit. Take all the time you need.”
“A walk, Mama?”
Juliet gazed down at her four-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, affectionately known by one and all as Lizzy, and smiled. The child had the same wispy honey blond hair and impish grin as her father, and Juliet’s heart melted nearly every time she looked at the little girl’s sweet face.
Born five months after Henry’s death, Lizzy had been the baby girl they had both prayed for, the missing piece needed to complete their happy family. Her birth had been a day of bittersweet joy, adding another dimension of cruelty to Henry’s untimely death, knowing he would never see the child he had wanted so much, never even know of her existence.
“Yes, dearest, Mama is going for a walk, and while I am gone, I need you to be a grown-up girl and stay with Mrs. Perkins,” Juliet said as she gently stroked the curls on Lizzy’s head.
The child’s face contorted into a frown. “I want to go, too.”
“Not this time, Pumpkin,” Juliet replied firmly, but truth be told, she was starting to waver. It was always so difficult to refuse Lizzy anything, especially when her bottom lip began to quiver.
Yet Juliet knew her errand today needed to be accomplished as swiftly as possible, and bringing Lizzy along would definitely slow her progress. She was heading to the main house, to inspect the cleaning done earlier in the week and perhaps arrange a few bouquets of fresh flowers if she could find enough blooms in the gardens.
After waiting almost a year for a possible tenant to occupy Highgrove Manor, Mr. Fowler was bringing someone to view the property tomorrow afternoon. Finally! According to the land agent, the gentleman was a prosperous American businessman. Truthfully, Juliet didn’t care if he was an Arab sultan with three wives as long as he signed an agreement and paid the rent on time.
The initial qualms she had experienced when she approached Mr. Fowler about renting the manor had significantly dwindled, along with her very meager bank account, over the past few months. Collecting a sizable rent on the property would solve a great many of Juliet’s financial woes, and for that reason alone she wanted the house looking its best.
“Don’t you fret about Mama, little lamb,” Mrs. Perkins said soothingly as she carefully pried Lizzy’s fingers off Juliet’s skirts. “I’m going to start making the meat pies for supper and I need a helper. But my helper needs to be a big, strong girl.”
“I’m strong,” Lizzy piped up enthusiastically, turning away from her mother. “I can be the helper.”
“Wonderful! Now go and get your apron and we’ll tie it around your waist,” Mrs. Perkins instructed.
The moment Lizzy rushed off to find her apron, Juliet slipped out the kitchen door, mouthing a silent thank-you to Mrs. Perkins as she took her leave. The woman really was a treasure. For Lizzy, any occasion to put her hands in something, be it dough or mud, was an opportunity not to be missed. Thanks to Mrs. Perkins’s quick thinking, the little girl would be far too content to take much notice of her mother’s absence.
Confident that her child was in good hands, Juliet donned an old straw bonnet to shield her fair complexion from the sun and took off at a brisk pace. She followed the path behind the kitchen garden, pleased to see green sprouts shooting through the dark soil. It had been only a week since she and the children had planted those neat rows.
The fresh vegetables would be a welcome change from the monotony of produce their root cellar provided. Even better, consuming fresh greens would ease some of the household expenses. It seemed that these days the boys were always hungry, always looking forward to their next meal. Gracious, their appetites increased almost as fast as their shoe size!
Once beyond the garden, Juliet hurried past the dining room, where her two sons, Edward and James, were having their afternoon lessons. Since the dowager house had been constructed with the assumption that it would be occupied by an elderly widow, there was no nursery or schoolroom or, for that matter, no proper library or study.
By necessity, lessons were taught at the dining room table. Juliet peered through the draperies covering the long windows and caught a glimpse of the boys huddled at the mahogany table, their heads bowed as they labored over their work. Their tutor, Mr. Bates, was pacing behind them. In his right hand, he held a long ruler, which he periodically slapped against his beefy thigh.
Juliet shuddered. Her boys looked so painfully young, so innocently vulnerable. She did not like Mr. Bates, or his strict, overbearing rules. He was far too quick to rap the boys’ knuckles or strike the backs of their heads with the palm of his hand. She had spoken to him on more than one occasion about his harsh treatment of her children, but he had simply sniffed at her and pointedly refused to change his methods.
Given the choice, Juliet would have gladly shown him the door. But the tutor was paid by her brother-in-law, the Earl of Hastings, and only he had the power to fire the man. Her chest deflated as she recalled the numerous conversations she had had with the earl, trying to convince him to dismiss the tutor. Begging, pleading, crying, cajoling; no approach had made any impact.
Deep down, Juliet knew she should be grateful that the earl even bothered to fund his nephews’ education. Without it, her sons would have no chance at all of becoming gentlemen. Yet somehow she could not.
Henry had been a kind husband, with a sunny outlook and an easy manner. His brother was the complete opposite—cold, reserved, and dictatorial. Juliet was convinced the earl’s grudging, miserly support of her and the children stemmed as much from his frugal nature as his need to try and control her every move.
Pray God, all that was about to change. If Mr. Fowler was successful in leasing the manor, Juliet would have her own income, to do with as she pleased. Enough to cover the mortgage with some left over for personal expenses. Enough to tell her brother-in-law to keep his opinions to himself and stay out of her affairs.
Glancing up at the sunny sky, Juliet hurried her step. The faster she reached the manor, the more time she would have to fuss over the rooms. She met no one on the way and she was glad of the privacy, pleased to have the time alone with her thoughts and emotions. They had moved to the dowager house soon after Henry’s death to economize, and she had avoided returning, fearing the emotions that would be unleashed would overwhelm her.
Juliet reached a wall of towering hedges and paused. Taking a long, deep breath, she lifted her chin, glancing over them. An involuntary smile of nostalgia crossed her face when she caught sight of the stately gray stone mansion. It was exactly as she remembered it, beautiful and imposing. She had been happy living there, as a bride, a wife, a mother. It was those memories that now invaded her heart, loosening the tightness. Juliet nearly sagged with relief.
Her step lightened as she walked beyond the hedge into the formal garden, delighted to see them looking so well tended. Though she had not been able to pay him for several years, the gardener had worked diligently keeping order. The flower beds were not as precisely manicured as they had been in the past, but they were free of weeds, allowing the blooms to flourish.
Juliet decided she would fill as many vases as possible and place them in various rooms. It would give the manor an inviting, elegant look and hopefully entice a potential tenant. Removing the heavy ring of keys from the pocket of her gown, Juliet fumbled to open the kitchen door.
It was eerily quiet, this room that had always held so many servants and laughter and activity. Dust motes floated on the sunbeams cutting through the room, adding a strange, remote stillness. Juliet felt a momentary pang at the emptiness of it all, but she did not allow it to linger. Melancholy and regret were two things she could ill afford. She needed to be practical if she, and her children, were going to survive.
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