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She took a step back. “Comforting or upsetting? Somewhere in between.”
“I didn’t know about your father either, or you, until Collin died. But I have to think he kept that painting in here—his private space—because it mattered. He wanted you to have this, because it mattered.”
As simple and true as that, she thought, and nodded.
“I can wish he’d reached out to us before he died, but that doesn’t change anything. I guess… let’s see the rest.”
He took her through the rest of the first floor, then picked up her suitcases. “In your room?”
“Yeah, thanks.” She took the weekender. “It’s a lot.” She breathed out. “It’s just a lot.”
He paused on the landing, pressed a hand to the wall.
It opened.
“What! Secret passage?” Sheer delight poured back. “Well, hot damn.”
“Not exactly. Back when for the servants. The kitchen, their dining hall, their work spaces, downstairs. Their living quarters were up on the third floor, north wing.”
“Wing,” she murmured. “The place has wings.”
“You can get more of the history from my father, but I’m pretty sure they stopped using it for that purpose in the thirties. Collin put a media room down below.”
“A media room.”
“He liked movies, and the dumbwaiter came in handy there. There’s a gym down there, too. He kept fit. Upstairs is either closed off or used for storage. The Pooles collected a lot over a couple hundred years.”
He gave her that quiet smile. “I thought seeing this would cheer you up.”
“Good call. I’m not sad—not really. A little overwhelmed. Bullshit. A lot overwhelmed. What am I going to do with all this space?”
“Use what works for you, close off the rest.”
“A practical man.”
“Mostly. So, second floor, bedrooms, including the main, with its own bath—Collin again. A couple of the other rooms have their own baths, and there’s another full one, a sitting room. And my personal favorite.”
He opened a set of pocket doors to what she knew would be a turret room. And she gasped.
Chapter Six
Under a soaring ceiling, a two-story library had bookcases on its rounded wall full of books. Over the massive stone fireplace, the thick, carved wood of the mantel held candlestands of varying height. Centered between them, a mantel clock, its oval face framed in wood, ticktocked the time.
Stairs wound up to the second story. Through the arched windows she saw a light snow had begun to fall.
Window seats offered cozy nooks for reading, deep chocolate–colored leather sofas a place to sprawl with a book or take a nap.
Centered in the room, a big, beautiful old desk, gently curved, sat on a round carpet of muted pinks and greens.
“It’s—it’severything. I could live in here, and I just found my studio.”
“Graphic art, right?”
“Mmm. Maybe it’s anachronistic to set a computer on that amazing desk, but that’s just what I’m going to do. I love everything about it. The—what do you call it—millwork? All thick and carved and dark, the soaring ceiling. Jesus, counting the second story, it’s as big—probably bigger—than my entire house. I need a big screen. Not on the wall. I wouldn’t touch these walls. I’ll get a stand.”
“There’s a big-ass flat-screen upstairs.”
“Get out!” She ran over and up. “This isit! I figured on taking one of the bedrooms or parlors or maybe Collin’s office to set up. But this?”
