Christopher accepted the brass ring. “My sister Margaret will be keeping house for me. I will see that she receives these.”
“Very good, sir,” Mrs. Harmony said, holding up a finger. “There is just one more thing.”
“Yes, ma’am?”
The older woman thrust both of her hands into her apron pockets and looked at the floor. “Lady Sarah selected rooms for your sisters; would you like to see them or pick your own?”
Christopher cleared his throat; he was half-impressed, half-exasperated. Lady Sarah seemed to insert herself into every aspect of the running of the house. Yet he had never seen a cleaner, better-run establishment. “I should like to see them,” he said and followed Mrs. Harmony toward the grand staircase.
Mr. Wigan opened the main door, and Christopher’s two sisters walked into the house. They had traveled separately in a post chaise. Christopher didn’t particularly care to be boxed into a stuffy carriage. He had avoided tight spaces ever since the time his father had locked him in a dark cupboard to hide him from his business associates. Christopher had been scared, but mostly he’d been hurt to realize how embarrassed Papa was of his face. Unconsciously, he rubbed the mustache that mostly covered the scars. But it couldn’t cover years of stares and scorn.
“Christopher!” Deborah, his youngest sister, bounded toward him and threw her arms around his neck. Her blonde curls framed her heart-shaped face. At sixteen years old, she was the baby of the family and, because of her pretty face and exuberant spirits, received the bulk of the attention. “Manderfield Hall is amazing. I am so glad you purchased it. How fancy we will be!”
He swung her around and set her down, patting her head. “Deb, you’re a whirlwind.”
Margaret did not run to him but walked more sedately. She was two years older and an almost watercolor version of her sister. Margaret’s eyes were as light as an afternoon sky, her blonde hair nearly white. Her face was long and oval, rather than heart-shaped, and it didn’t possess the same animation as Deborah’s. She also embraced him and said in a quieter voice than her sister, “It is a lovely house, Chris. I can hardly wait to see my bedchamber.”
“Mrs. Harmony, the housekeeper, was just about to show me your rooms,” he said. “Shall we go together?”
“Yes!” Deb exclaimed and headed up the stairs without waiting for the rest of them. She burst through the first door she encountered, and he heard her say, “Golly! I’ve never seen anything like this!”
He and Margaret trailed behind Deb, and the housekeeper took up the rear. They followed Deb into the room, and even Christopher’s mouth opened in surprise. The bed’s canopy frame was nearly ten feet high. The ceiling was tiled with gold. The floors were covered in a sumptuous golden patterned carpet. The walls were decorated in a gilded and celestial-blue paper with carved crown-and-base moldings. The windows were dressed with tasseled gold curtains. There was a pair of overstuffed wing chairs, an antique table, and a set of Queen Anne wardrobes, large as a curricle, next to a door with a golden knob.
“This room is usually reserved for the master of the house, and its adjoining rooms are for the mistress of the house,” the housekeeper said primly.
Christopher nodded and tried not to think of Lady Sarah or her preposterous proposal. It was difficult. He could picture her here. With him.
“I want to see them!” Deb exclaimed, opening the door, which led to a dressing room and another entryway that led to the mistress of the house’s rooms.
Again Christopher was stunned by their sumptuousness. The mistress’s room was a mirror of the master’s, everything exactly the same, from the golden carpet to the golden tiled ceiling to the furniture. The only difference was that the coloring of the paper on the walls was a pale pink and gold instead of blue.
Margaret’s eyes were wide. “It looks like it should belong to a princess.”
“No, a queen!” Deb flung her arms out and spun around in a circle. “It is so large, my arms do not touch anything.”
Christopher opened the door that led back to the corridor. “Let us go see your rooms. We will follow you, Mrs. Harmony.”
The housekeeper walked down the corridor and opened a door to a much smaller bedchamber. Unlike the formal grandeur of the master’s apartments, this room looked almost homelike. The carved oak furniture was older. The walls were papered in a yellow pattern, and the floor was covered in a net rug. There was a reading nook by the window, and on the table was an arrangement of fresh flowers. Like everything in the house, each flower was placed perfectly, with corresponding colors of yellow and blue.
“Chris, it is simply beautiful. I claim this for my room. Oh, look at all the fresh flowers!” Deb said enthusiastically, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet.
“Mrs. Harmony, they are very lovely,” Margaret said in a quieter tone. “What a thoughtful gesture.”
The housekeeper stiffened and sniffed. “It was Lady Sarah who picked them from the gardens and arranged them for you this morning,”
“Lady Sarah herself?” Deb said, her eyes wide and sparkling. “Bully!”
Margaret twisted her hands together, a nervous habit. Her blue eyes studied the carpet. “Is she still here?”
Mrs. Harmony shook her head, and more corkscrew curls escaped her white cap. “No, Lady Sarah has left. It is your home now. Shall I show you the other room she has prepared for you?”
“I suppose that room will be mine,” Margaret said, looking up at Chris and smiling.
They followed the housekeeper into the adjacent chamber, which was very pretty too. Its walls were papered in a green pattern. A great white canopy draped over the headboard of the bed. The dark-stained cabinets and tables looked to be antiques. Again there were fresh flowers, beautifully arranged, this time in pink and green. Deb nearly ran into the room and went straight to the three windows that let in the light.
“Oh look!” she said. “You can see the river and the forest from your windows! How beautiful! Oh, Margaret, can I have this room instead?”
“Of course.”