Page 16 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
A queen, CeeCee was most definitely not, given her disreputable heritage. Why George thought a mutt from the pound should be hers had stymied all who knew them. But then, she’d always had a softer heart than he.
“At least one of us had the sense to stay warm and dry,” he muttered. “CeeCee must stand for Clever Canine, right?”
She barked and wagged her tail.
In the echo of his words he heard those uttered by the dryad this morning, and again knew a bewildering inclination to smile. Chopper Chomps, indeed. Everyone knew CeeCee’s bark was worse than her bite. A bit like him, really. It probably came from spending too much time with him, and not enough with her real owner.
He glanced longingly at the fire but knew if he sat down now he’d never feel like trekking through the house to ensure that the windows were keeping the rain out. Roof repairs might be taken care of for another decade, but there was still a myriad of ways water could spoil a house. There was nothing like a downpour to check which of the rooms were most needing attention.
After quickly exchanging his sodden long-sleeve green work shirt for a dry T-shirt, he grabbed his now fully charged phone and clicked his fingers for CeeCee to follow. She might as well earn her keep, in case there were any rats on the prowl.
He exited the family chambers and entered the Great Hall, the chequer-board black-and-white floor tiles adding drama to an already impressive entrance. While the family had the suite of rooms to the left, the staterooms the tourists used to come to see were all located on the right, one after the other, one door opening onto another, in what was known as an enfilade.
And while designed to be used as staterooms, no royal or acting head of state had ever visited, the family’s pride resulting in a squandering of money in hopes that were never realized. His stomach twisted. Perhaps he did live up to his family’s heritage, after all.
His phone’s buzzing, then his recognition of the name on the screen, pulled him from his morose thoughts. “About time you called.”
His sister laughed. “Why are you sounding so grouchy?”
“You’d sound like this too if you’d had the day I had.”
She groaned. “I’d wondered how this rain event would affect you. How is the house?”
“I’m checking it now. The Orangery is not much chop, though.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.” Try those ancestors who had gambled and lost, in both their finances and relationships. That last he could attest to, even if he’d never had much of the first.
“Have you heard back from the trustees?”
“Nothing as yet.”
“I’m sure you will soon,” she encouraged.
Yes, nothing to be sure of there. Two-thirds of the trustees of Hartbury Hall were not fans of his by any means. Releasing funds to the man accused of destroying the life of Lord Ogilvie’s daughter was anathema to some, apparently.
“When do you next plan to come down?” he asked, more to shift his thoughts from the sludge of the past than because he’d forgotten.
“University break has begun already, so I thought I’d come down Wednesday.”
“Well, there’s always plenty for you to do.”
She sighed, and he instantly regretted his half jest of a reply. The poor girl worked hard at her medical studies, and well and truly deserved time off, rather than be forced into cheap labour.
“Or not, as the case may be,” he amended quickly. “You know we’re happy to see you.”
“We?”
“CeeCee and I. Remember that little dog someone once insisted she needed? She says hello, by the way.”
“Can you put her on?”
He rolled his eyes but put the phone next to CeeCee’s ear as Georgina crooned to her pet. As expected, CeeCee jerked her head away, as if wondering what Liam was doing.
Buying Georgina a pet puppy had been another no-brainer when their parents had died. She’d been in her final years of school and needed whatever comfort and security a fluffy fur ball could provide. Little had they known that Georgina’s results would see entry to a top London university two years later, which meant CeeCee had needed to live somewhere she could run around. Which was fine at first but, as the years dragged on, was starting to grow a little old. He wasn’t much company, that was true. And lately he’d felt himself getting older and grumpier even more. What kind of man growled at lost tourists? He probably needed to get out more. And not just by venturing to the Duck Inn on those days when it was bound to be less tourist filled. Maybe he should accept the trustees’ advice to sell up to the Saudis or the Americans, all of whom seemed to think the place fit for a hotel or health spa retreat or some such nonsense, as if there weren’t already hundreds of similar places littering the British countryside. He might feel helpless, but things weren’t that bad. Not yet.
By now the phone was nowhere near CeeCee’s floppy ear, and Georgina’s voice was calling, “Liam! Liam!” faintly.
