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‘Come on through, guys,’ he said, lifting a red tasselled rope to let them skip the queue. ‘I’ll give you the house tour myself, before we get a better look at the newer additions to the property.’
Faith followed, remembering the horrible attempts to open Fowlmere to the public when she was a child. Only two days a year, her father had decreed, and he’d give the tours himself. Except, when it came down to it, it turned out he didn’t know much about the history of the house, or the family. And when her mother had stepped in to take over, Faith had realised she was already slurring her words at ten in the morning.
Faith had learned everything she could about the Manor and her ancestry, to be ready for the next open day. But, in the end, her father had declared it a waste of time and shut the gates again.
Not so at Beresford Hall.
‘This is the chamber prepared for Queen Victoria, when she visited the Hall.’ Dominic waited as they all took in the room, with its rich red walls and imposing four-poster bed. Gold accents glittered on everything, adding a shine to the faded history. ‘Beresford Hall has been host to five British monarchs, and we have memorabilia from each of their visits.’
He was obviously proud of his family and his history, Faith thought. She wondered what that would be like. Whether she’d have stayed if her own family hadn’t been such a shambles. Who would she be if she’d grown up somewhere like Beresford, where her future was neatly mapped out for success, rather than finding buckets to catch drips from leaking roofs, or hiding bottles from her mother and lying to debt-collectors when they came looking for her father?
But she wasn’t that girl. She was Faith Fowler now, and that was all she ever intended to be.
With a sigh for things lost, Faith followed Dominic through the next doorway to a magnificent dining room, staring out of the window instead of listening to him talk. She was his employee, not his girlfriend. She didn’t have to hang on his every word. She didn’t have to care about this house, or its history. She didn’t have to learn which king stayed when.
Because this wasn’t her world any more. And it never would be again.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘WHAT ARE YOU frowning at?’ Sylvia asked.
Dominic looked down at his sister, taking in her wrinkled up nose and exasperated eyes, and tried very hard to shake his bad mood. ‘Nothing. It’s all perfect. Thanks for setting this up for me.’
Sylvia shrugged. ‘Just an ordinary day’s work. You do realise I do this for paying customers every day.’
It showed, Dominic thought. When they’d first opened the tea rooms in the old stables, he’d been doubtful. They already had the restaurant, over in the Orangery, offering fine dining to the visitors, and the café over on the other side of the yard, serving sandwiches and drinks. A third eating area seemed like overkill.
But Sylvia had wanted it. Sylvia, who never really asked for anything, only went along with his plans and said, ‘If that’s what we need to do.’ So when she’d said, ‘No, Dominic. You’re wrong. This will be a really good thing,’ he’d listened.
He was glad he had, now. Sylvia had taken on all the planning and running of the tea rooms, picking out the perfect curtains and matching tablecloths, light and airy without being too chintzy. She’d tasted every baker’s cakes from Beresford to London, and finally hired a young man called Russell to bake the scones, cakes and biscuits for the afternoon teas. People flocked to them—not just the senior citizens on their day trips, which he’d sort of expected, but everyone. Hard-nosed businessmen on a break from their conference schedule over at the events suite. Lovers checking out the Hall as a possible wedding venue. Hungover stag parties. Everyone.
For once, Dominic was actually pleased to be proved wrong.
The Americans certainly seemed to be enjoying it, too. He’d originally asked Sylvia to find them a private room somewhere, but she’d refused, saying half the charm of the tea rooms was the atmosphere. And she’d been right again. They were chatting away with the tourists on the next table, exclaiming over the scones and clotted cream and the cucumber sandwiches.
Even Faith looked as if she might be enjoying herself for the first time that day.
‘You’re staring at her again,’ Sylvia commented, and he could hear the smirk in her voice.
Diverting his gaze towards the tower of cakes on the counter, Dominic said, ‘Staring at whom?’
‘Your event planner. Tour guide. Kat’s replacement. Whoever she is.’
‘Merely a last-minute employee for the week,’ Dominic said, ignoring the tiny part of his brain that screamed at him that she should be more. ‘Kat cancelled on us.’
