In a bad attempt at a British accent, Whitney said, “To the mansion, dahling. I hope you brought something fancy for lunch that is suitable enough for this grand estate.”
“Crusty French rolls, meats, and cheese.”
“Sounds perfect.”
They walked up the long, winding path. “Hope you don’t mind the walk,” he said. “I guess I could’ve moved the car closer after you picked the place.”
“No. We’re good. I’m always up for a nice walk.”
They walked for a moment and then he shared, “The Maymont Mansion is a well-preserved look at Gilded Age design.”
“I have no idea what that means,” she admitted.
“Good. It was meant to impress you.”
She laughed.
“Not even a little?”
“A little,” she said with smile.
“I learned it from my dad. It means that it gives us an authentic peek into what the wealthy, sophisticated folks of the late 1800s preferred. Interesting trivia: Mr. Dooley, who owned this place, was actually a lawyer.”
“He must’ve been a darn good one. I wonder if he knew anyone in my family?”
“Quite possible. So your family has been in the field of law that far back?”
“Yes. We’re one of the oldest firms in the state,” she said.
“Well, then your great-great-great-grandmother may have been in these very gardens eons ago.”
She seemed to like the thought of that, her chin lifting as if breathing in the history around them.
“Dooley was also an investor,” he went on. “Maymont was designed by an architect born in Rome. It carries many Romanesque qualities. The Dooleys acquired this farmland in 1886, but they tore down the original farmhouse to build Maymont. By 1893, they were living here.”
“It’s huge. No wonder it took so long to build,” she said, as the impressive stone structure came into view. “It’s like a castle.”
“Twelve thousand square feet and thirty-three rooms. My father led the restoration of the mansion. The conservation project improved the building’s authenticity and brought the mansion to its current state. It was the work he was most proud of.”
“Was it in disrepair?”
“Not horribly, but definitely neglected, and because there were no original plans to consult, it took quite a bit of work to reverse engineer all of that, and then restore the things that had been removed or changed over the years.”
They conveniently fell into step with a tour group. Matthew was pleased to let someone else narrate the tour, so he couldenjoy watching Whitney’s reactions, seeing it through the eyes of someone for the first time again.
He always felt close to his father at Maymont. They’d spent so much time here over the years. It was like going to an adventure park when Dad let him tag along. The gardens, the buildings, the farm, all of it had its own personality.
As they walked through the mansion, Whitney lit up at the tiniest details and shared silly glances with him over some of the overly ornate rooms. “I love this staircase.” She stretched her arm out gracefully, and he wondered if she was imagining an elegant party.
He could almost picture the long white gloves with tiny pearl buttons, her hands begging him for a touch.You would be breathtaking.He could picture it so clearly. “People get married here sometimes.” He wished he could reel the words back in. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“I bet. It would be like a fairy tale.” Her lashes fluttered as she looked across the space again before they moved along with the rest of the tour.
Almost two hours later, the tour wrapped up at the front door.
Whitney and Matthew walked outside, where the air was warm but not unbearable.
“That was wonderful. Thank you for bringing me here.”
