Page 84 of The Mad Marchams

“I suppose that’s because it’s true.” Freddy looked at him. “From what she’s told me she’s basically bankrolling her whole family. They all expect her to dish out money whenever they have a problem. Her dad even took her to court once because he wanted a parental income or something. That can’t feel nice.”

Colin frowned. “She hasn’t mentioned most of that to me.”

“Probably because when she paid off that outstanding loan, you gave her a lot of shit about it.”

“I…” Colin closed his mouth.

“You did, didn’t you?” Freddy looked pleased with himself. “Maybe you two need to have a proper conversation about the thorny topic of finances. I read this article in a magazine when I was at the dentist’s once that said it was the biggest problem in most relationships.”

Colin just stared at his brother.

“What, you didn’t think I could read?” Freddy asked.

“No, I’m just struggling with the whole idea of you giving me advice about my love life.”

“Well, someone needs to, or you’re going to screw it up.” Freddy shrugged. “And I like Mabel. She brings out the best in you.”

“She’s a good person.”

“She’s a great person, and she’s one hundred percent into you,” Freddy said. “Now can we get back to talking about the home farm? It’s far more interesting than your pathetic whining about your love life.”

“Yes, of course,” Colin said.

He let Freddy talk for as long as he wanted. He hated to admit it, but his brother had given him some good advice. If he really saw a future with Mabel, he had to stop avoiding the sort of difficult conversations he’d fled from all his life, and he had to start believing in himself. The question was—how could he convince someone who believed all their value lay in their finances that they were valuable for who they were? He’d tried telling her he didn’t want a penny but that seemed to make things worse.

Freddy’s words floated over his head as he tried to nod and comment appropriately, but his thoughts were with Mabel and how to make things right with her. He’d have to be honest, and, in his experience, that could backfire spectacularly. But she was worth it—he was damn sure of that.

Mabel’s self-righteous march took her halfway across the grand entrance hall and faltered as she set her foot on the first step.

“Dammit!”

She shouldn’t have started an argument in front of the ever-curious Freddy. She was always accusing Colin of avoiding things but at least he didn’t use his brother as a shield to snipe at her. But how else was she supposed to get behind his impenetrable armor of British politeness?

She started up the stairs, aware of the silence around her and the sense that Colin’s ancestors were wondering why the heck she thought she knew better than he did. Several pairs of decidedly judgy eyes stared down at her from family portraits lining the staircase and upper hallways, and all of them had Colin’s nose. She paused at the door leading to the countess’s suite and took a deep breath before hauling out the simply enormous key Colin had left on the table for her that morning.

The faint waft of stale perfume was still there in the shaded, neglected bedroom, but there was little sense of the three women who had occupied the rooms during the current earl’s adult years. Wife number one—Colin, Freddy, and Felicity’s mom—had been well-liked and the sorrow over her death still permeated the house. Wife number two, her former best friend, had barely lasted a year. Wife three, was the ex-model who’d produced twins and left them behind only to die in a road crash in France with her lover.

At the time, the earl, not being the most forgiving of people, hadn’t even offered to return her belongings, his reasoning being—according to Felicity—that the man she’d run off with was a multi-millionaire who could easily afford to replace everything without even blinking. Which begged the question—whom did all the stuff belong to? The earl? The twins? The relatives of the three deceased women?

Mabel reminded herself it wasn’t her problem and that she was just here to use up some energy rather than run outside and scream like one of the demented peacocks that roamed the estate. There were two large chests of drawers in the main bedroom and a door that led into a sumptuous bathroom filled with closets and beyond that… Mabel gasped as she turned on the light. The secondary closet was about the same size as her apartment in San Jose and was chockful of stuff. Hundreds of pairs of shoes were boxed up or on display, racks and racks of clothing and handbags, scarves, and accessories everywhere. Had none of these women ever thrown anything away?

After turning off the light in the walk-in-closet, she returned to the main bedroom and studied the two sets of drawers. Sorting out another woman’s underwear wasn’t the most pleasant of jobs, but if she didn’t do it, nothing would ever get done in the countess’s suite. There was a tap on the door and Felicity peered in.

“Hello! Do you need a hand? Colin said you were up here.”

“Come on in,” Mabel beckoned encouragingly. “I was just about to start on the drawers. Did anyone ever get rid of anything in this house?”

“No, it wasn’t the done thing. Nothing really gets thrown out, it just moves steadily upward toward the attics.” Felicity considered her. “Brigitte, Daddy’s third wife, cleared out some of her predecessor’s stuff because she wanted more space.”

“Wow,” Mabel said faintly. “So most of this is hers?”

“She was an international super model before she married Daddy,” Felicity said. “She literally came with a lot of baggage.”

“I can see why you’re a writer,” Mabel said. “That kind of sums it up, doesn’t it?” She opened the top drawer. “It’s full of orange boxes.”

Felicity looked over her shoulder. “She did love scarves and perfume.” She paused. “And shoes and handbags. And cocaine, but Daddy didn’t know about that part until much later.”

Mabel opened one of the shallow boxes and found a silk scarf in a vibrant print. “It’s beautiful.” She counted the stacks in the drawer. “There are about twenty in here and that’s just drawer number one.”