Arranging elaborate dinners and deciding where everyone would sleep was a far cry from “We’re eating at one, but come any time,” at my mom’s house.
“Oh, Sophie, you look so tired,” Emma said, her brows drawing down in sympathy. “And we must be boring you to death.”
“I’m so sorry, darling.” Neil reached for my hand where it rested on the tabletop. “We’ve been going on and on about people you haven’t the faintest clue about.”
“The same thing happens to me when he talks about work or his old college friends,” Emma said with a roll of her eyes. “Dad, she’s exhausted. Why don’t you show her where your room is, so she can lie down.”
I gave Emma a grateful smile. I hadn’t wanted to seem rude or uninterested in socializing with her, but I needed a nap in the worst way.
The walk from the conservatory to the nearest staircase seemed to take miles, and my feet grew heavier with every step.
“You’ll hear the staff refer to this one as the west staircase,” Neil told me as we climbed up the dizzying double stair tower. The glass in the windows was wavy and bubbled, clearly original. “There is also the east staircase, the main staircase— that’s in the foyer— and the oak staircase, which is at the back of the house. It seems pretentious, I know, but having them named helps when you’re asking for directions.”
“I’m going to have to ask for directions?” I looked up the round tower, to the gothic points of dark wood in the carved ceiling above. Then I peered over the railing at the intricate wood parquet laid out on the ground level, and I thought I might faint from vertigo.
Neil had gone on a few steps ahead of me, and he turned back with a smug grin. “Only if you get lost.”
I jogged up to rejoin him. Getting lost seemed a definite possibility in this place.
Neil’s bedroom was six miles from anything else in the house. Okay, obviously that was an exaggeration, but it really was a long walk. The double doors were situated at the end of a long hall. A wide red runner covered the herringbone inlay on the floors, and more very impressive paintings hung on the walls.
“Who are all these portraits of?” I asked, analyzing the staunch Victorian figures for any likeness to Neil or Emma.
“I have no idea,” he admitted as we walked. “Somewhere on the first floor there are portraits of my mother’s great, great grandparents, but for all I know these people are total strangers. The house came into the family shortly after the baron who built it went bankrupt. The paintings and some furnishings came with it. Of course, we’ve added and replaced some things over the years.”
“So, this is kind of an inheritance?” I couldn’t really figure that part out. Neil had said the house had been in the family for a long time, but his mother was still alive, and he had three older siblings.
“In a way. It was my father’s, passed down to him by his father, who was minor nobility here in England. When my father died, he left the house to my mother. She already has an estate granted to her by her parents; Derwent House, makes this place look like a council flat. My brothers don’t even live in England, so they didn’t want it, and my sister couldn’t afford it, so I purchased it from my mother. And she gouged me thoroughly.”
I didn’t know what to say. When my mom died, I would inherit a sewing machine and some antique silver that supposedly dated back to the Civil War. “My mom bought our trailer from my grandpa,” I said quietly.
I was suddenly overwhelmed, but that could have been partially due to exhaustion, partially due to having to walk the distance of a marathon to get anywhere in this place.
Neil’s bedroom took up the entire top floor of the eastern tower. Beyond the heavy, dark wood doors, the interior was somewhat different than I had been expecting. I’d thought it would be as formal and stuffy as the rest of the house, and it was, a bit, but there were some modern touches to be found, like an en suite bathroom and a television over the fireplace.
Ornate gilt wainscoting, trim, and cornice molding bordered the walls covered in long rectangular panes of positively decadent pale blue-gray satin. The heavy gold velvet drapes at the huge leaded glass windows were drawn open, as were the sheer white curtains beneath. Wall-to-wall crème carpeting matched the rest of the colors without demanding attention. There was a curtained nook decorated with a Rococo tromp l’oeil mural of a garden, and the seat was upholstered all in blue-gray satin. I imagined taking a nap there and the thought evoked an almost sexual response.