Page 2 of The Mad Marchams

He read the polite letter again and felt the weight of a thousand years of Marcham expectations rest heavily on his shoulders. What exactly did his father and Edward expect him to do? He was an architect, not a bloody magician! This wasn’t like the old days when he could’ve snagged himself a rich heiress to rebuild the faltering family fortunes.

Times had changed, and hanging onto old traditions and the outdated class system that had almost perished after the First World War was impossible. But he’d never convince his father of that. The old man would go down fighting, and Colin would either have to drown alongside him, or find a way to swim to shore.

Unless he won the National Lottery there was no way to swim ashore. He’d finally managed to get hold of some of the family’s financials and had spent a week going through them in growing despair. From what he’d seen, the best he could hope for was to tread water for a while until there were no other choices left.

Or his father died…

Things would be much simpler then.

He hated himself for even allowing that insidious thought to slide into his head. Letting out his breath, he stared at the bland painting on the wall above his hotel bed. There was no escape—unless he really hadn’t changed. And he was determined to prove his father wrong about that. Searching the desk, he found some ComfortZone Inn stationery and composed his reply.

He knew there was no point taking out his ire on Edward, although it would’ve been nice to be more prepared for the horrors of the Marcham accounting books he’d been reluctantly shown. Poor Edward’s family had been dealing with the mad Marchams for almost two hundred years.

Picking up Edward’s letter, Colin realized there was something still inside it. The highly perfumed stationery told him exactly whose spider scrawl would be on the pink paper. He read the words out loud, mimicking his grandmother’s high-pitched voice.

“Colin, come home immediately, or I will be forced to come to London and get you myself. Your father needs you. G.”

“Needs” was heavily underlined and decorated with an inkblot. Had none of his bloody friends or family ever heard of a typewriter or a laptop? His grandmother was a woman of her word. He had a horrific vision of her marching into his office, grabbing him painfully by the earlobe and dragging him down the stairs.

And why did they suddenly need him when they’d been busy trying to disown him for years? Part of him wanted to make them pay for that, but he just couldn’t do it. They might be the most maddening bunch of people in the entire world, but they were still his family. And God, he owed them something after his years of hell raising…

But confronting his family and making life-changing decisions would have to wait until he returned from California. Now all he had to do was persuade his father to accept the inevitable financial collapse.

And that wasn’t going to happen without a fight.

The only questions left were how much he could salvage and how much his family would come to hate him on the way down.

Billy Berks was packed and loud conversation ebbed and flowed over the sound of multiple TVs on the walls. Mabel hated trying to socialize like this, but being part of a team meant she had to suck it up and deal. She clutched her drink and shouted a response to a question from Rick Manta, the CEO of Grove Tech.

Rick pointed at the guy next to him, wrapped an arm around his shoulder, and yelled something to Mabel that was probably an introduction. She couldn’t quite hear above the raucous laughter of the table beside her. She nodded at the man beside Rick and then took a longer look as he acknowledged her. Dark wavy hair, very blue eyes, tall, and not too muscular. Just her type and far too pretty to be anything but gay. What a shame.

Someone walked by and stepped too close, catching her foot and making her yelp. She suddenly decided she had schmoozed enough for one night. She mouthed a good night to Rick and the other guy. Waving at Joss and Sammy, who were entwined together like an amorous octopus, she pointed at the door.

As she headed that direction, she checked the time on her phone.

“Excuse me.”

She looked up into a pair of very blue eyes and blinked.

“Hi.”

The man who’d been with Rick smiled down at her. “I wonder if you could help me.”

His cultured British accent made her want to smile right back. “What’s up?”

“I’m trying to get back to the Wind Chimes Hotel and I’m completely lost. I get my streets mixed up in this city, and I usually end up crossing over to third instead of second. I think.” His shrug was followed by another disarming smile. “If you could just set me off in the right direction, I’m sure I’ll find it.”

Up close, she noticed he wore an old blue T-shirt with a college name she didn’t recognize and faded jeans that fitted very nicely. Very nicely, indeed…

Mabel made sure her mouth was closed and that she wasn’t drooling. Okay, from the way he was checking her out, he definitely wasn’t gay.

“You need to go back down San Fernando. I’m walking right past Wind Chimes, so you can keep me company if you like.”

He studied her for a moment and then touched her elbow, carefully drawing her to one side to avoid a new crush of people entering the bar.

“Are you sure you’re not a mad axe killer luring me to my death?”

She indicated her small purse. “Sadly, I had to leave my axe at home tonight. Now, if you’re looking for the pen and credit card killer, I’m your gal.”