Page 11 of The Mad Marchams

“I suppose you can’t help it.”

His smile held a definite hint of restraint. “Sometimes I wish I could. Do you think you could bear to come down and meet my family?”

“They all live here?”

“Some of them do. The important ones like my father.” He hesitated. “If we don’t go and see them, they’ll all find an excuse to come up to the dower house and bother us anyway. Better perhaps to catch them all in one fell swoop at the breakfast table.”

“Okay.” She felt a bit like Elizabeth Bennet when she’d first seem Pemberley. It certainly changed her perspective on Colin’s place in the world. She studied his bare chest. “You might want to put on a shirt.”

Colin insisted she shower first, and then he showed her the kitchen, which was large and, fortunately, had coffee. He called the stove an Aga, and she vaguely remembered seeing one on an interior-design site, but it hadn’t been bright blue like Colin’s. It gave off a comforting wave of heat that warmed her fragile Californian bones.

Eventually, Colin returned from his shower, his hair still damp, and picked up Mabel’s mug. “Would you like more coffee, or shall we go and meet the family?”

“I’m good on the coffee, and I’m looking forward to meeting your folks.”

She wasn’t, but what else could she say? The romantic interlude she’d imagined with Colin wasn’t going exactly to plan yet, but she wasn’t complaining. She was certainly having an adventure, and he’d explained clearly that he’d have to deal with his family.

They left the dower house together and took the path down to Marcham Hall. It was huge, with about five levels and a dozen windows on each floor.

“How big is this place?”

“Pretty big. From what I understand, each generation of my crazy family felt compelled to add something to the original Tudor house.”

“Tudors like during the fifteen hundreds, right?”

“Correct. When you go into the house, you’ll notice how the central core has much smaller rooms and beamed ceilings and posts from that time. Whereas the rest of it is much later and much grander.”

“Your family have lived here for five hundred years?” Mabel said. “That’s older than America.”

He grinned. “It depends on whether you’re talking about the North American continent, or the United States as a country. But yeah, give or take a couple of wars, a brush with treason, and some clambering around to find male heirs in the family tree, the Marchams have been here a long time. They are a tenacious bunch.”

“That’s amazing.” She studied the man next to her with new respect. “It’s a pretty impressive history for a house.”

“I suppose it is. It’s hard for me to judge because it’s always just been my home.” He shrugged in a self-deprecating way that seemed very British. “I can tell you one thing. It’s a pain in the arse to heat.”

As they got closer to the Hall, Mabel caught sight of a series of walled gardens and what appeared to be the edge of an ornamental lake. It occurred to her that what she had assumed was the front of the house, was, in fact, just the side.

Holy crap. She stopped walking. “Colin, exactly how many bedrooms does this place have?”

He took her hand and his thumb made comforting circles on her knuckles. “It depends how you count them. There are the family bedrooms, the guest bedrooms, the attics, the master and mistress of the house suites and…” He paused. “What’s wrong?”

“This is crazy.”

“This is why I don’t generally bring people home. It is a bit much, isn’t it?” He took a deep breath. “Please give me a chance.”

She looked into his blue eyes and saw nothing but concern for her in them. “Okay. What were you going to say before I interrupted you? About the bedrooms?”

The dimple appeared in his cheek. “I think I should shut up before I scare you away completely.”

“Tell me.” She mock-frowned at him.

“Well, there are the state apartments,” he said reluctantly.

Mabel attempted to get her head around that. “For when heads of state visit?”

“The last monarch here was Queen Victoria, so you’re quite safe from running into royalty or the current prime minister.” His expression changed. “What’s so funny?”

“This. You.” Mabel waved her hand in the general direction of the house. “It’s just... not what I expected.”