“I know my father’s work. This is his signature. MacT—that’s how he signed his work. Bottom left corner. It’s right there.”
“I see that. I never noticed before.” As he spoke, Trey laid a hand on her shoulder. “I always assumed Collin painted it. I didn’t read thoroughly through the inventory.”
“When did he get this? How long did he have this?”
“I don’t know. As long as I remember. My father may know. I’ll ask.”
“He had dreams of this place,” Sonya murmured.
“Dreams?”
“My mother told me, recurring dreams. She told me after I showed her the photos of the manor. He did sketches. I have them with me. But she didn’t remember him ever painting it.
“But he did.” She said it quietly. “He did, and it’s here. Right here.”
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’s everything. 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 is it! I figured on taking one of the bedrooms or parlors or maybe Collin’s office to set up. But this?”
Grinning, she looked over the rail, down at him.
“Is it?”
“It is. I’ll make this work. I can make this work. Your favorite?” She turned a circle before coming down again. “My favorite. By a mile.”
“That’s how you looked when you got out of the car.”
“How’s that?”
“Happy. Alive with it.”
“I fell in love. Boom. When I saw the house. Now I’ve fallen all over again.”
“There’s still more.”
“Nothing’s going to top this.”
Her bedroom—in the twin turret (yay!) with its sweeping view of the sea—came close.
Her own sitting room, which made her wonder why people sat so damn much, opened into the bedroom with its big four-poster, another window seat. A fireplace simmered. A pair of atrium doors opened to the little balcony with a curved wall. The soft blue walls held art—the quiet sort of misty forests, blooming meadows.
Fresh flowers sat on the dresser with its oval mirror reflecting the room.
“It’s just lovely.”
“My sister switched some of it out. She said it was too much a man’s room.”
“It’s perfect. Thank her for me.”
“That’s a fainting couch—according to Anna.” He gestured to the curved sofa in soft blue-and-gold stripes at the foot of the bed. “In case.”
“If I swoon, I’ll try to hit that. The bathroom’s like the kitchen.”
“First I’ve heard that one.”
“It’s got the modern but maintains the character. Claw-foot tub, but a big glass shower. The sweet little washbasin stand, but this old cabinet or dresser converted into a vanity with double sinks. And the tile looks like stone, the sconces like, well, sconces.
“Collin Poole had really good taste.”
“He loved this place, you were right about that. I hope you know he left it to you because he loved it.”
They toured the rest of the bedrooms, and up to what he told her had once been a ballroom—imagine that—now used for storage.
More storage in what had once been the servants’ wing—imagine that, too.
She climbed to the widow’s walk, stood hugging herself against the cold while the snow fell just a little thicker.
“On a good clear day, when you’re not freezing your butt off, you might see whales sound.”
“It doesn’t seem real. It’s starting to not seem real again.”
“Hey, what’s the problem? You found out a few weeks ago your father had a twin brother, separated at birth, who died and left you a big old house on a cliff, a big pile of money—not to mention antiques and art. Only hitch is you’ve got to pack up, move, and live in the big old house where you don’t know anybody.”
He shrugged.
“Happens every day.”
Laughing, she rubbed her arms. “Well, when you put it like that.”
“Come on, you’re freezing.”
She went in, and he showed her more. The apartment, the media room and gym. And the middle turret room where, so like her father, Collin had done his art.