Caspian again. There was an air about him as if he was from another time and place, like he didn’t quite fit. Like her. But instead of pressing forward she retreated. “Let’s do the parlor. All the best parties started there, or so I was told.”
She turned away but was sure she could feel his gaze lingering on her back as he followed her into the parlor.
There was dust on the shelves and on the chandelier. The two loveseats looked faded and threadbare. As a child it had seemed magical, now it just looked old.
Caspian scanned the shelves, walking the length of the room. “Do you have a list of the books? Are any first editions?”
“I don’t know… is it important?” There were maybe a hundred old books and plenty of other little ornaments; china dancing ladies, ivory animals, and trinkets from overseas. On the table was an empty brandy decanter and glasses.
He nodded.
“I think some of these belonged to Gran’s father-in-law.” She’d kept them because it made the place look better, like they could all read and were educated. “I’ll start listing the books.”
He glanced at the bookcase behind the desk. “Maybe it could be sold as a bulk lot?”
“Do you think I should sell?” She meant the house, not just the contents of the parlor.
“Do you want to?” He put the laptop on the desk, his fingers tracing lightly over the surface. She’d noticed that about him—he touched an object if only for a second before photographing and documenting. He was tactile even though his job seemed cold and impersonal.
“I thought I did. I had an offer this morning from someone wanting to turn the house into a bed and breakfast.”
Caspian looked over his shoulder. “Because Charleston doesn’t have enough historic escapes for visitors?”
“I can’t afford the repairs without taking out a mortgage that will be bigger than I can repay.” She blew the dust off a book and opened up the first page. Shouldn’t he be telling her to sell? Wasn’t that his job, to make people part with precious things in exchange for money? She sniffed and blamed the dust, not the sudden lump in her throat. “Do you want it?”
He looked at her, then the chandelier and the rest of the room. “If I had that kind of capital, I’d buy it and pretend to live like a lord.” He closed his eyes and took a breath as if he could imagine the parties the way she once had. As he opened his eyes, he shook his head. “The divorce cleaned me out.”
One eyebrow rose. Divorced. That was the first personal detail he’d revealed about himself, and it was enough to make her want to know more. She bit her tongue on the more nosy questions like what was his ex-wife like and how long were they married and what had happened. Instead she went for the gentle question that would hopefully lead to more. “Recent?”
“Recent enough. It was amicable, she kept the house, and I kept the shop and started over.”
Meaning he’d walked away, because he’d done the wrong thing? She frowned. How could she ask that without putting her foot in it? But it was important to know.
He continued without looking at her. “At the time it felt like the right thing.” He started tapping on the keyboard. “In hindsight I was overly generous.”
Lydia took the opening. “Guilty conscience?”
“Betrayed heart.” He looked over his shoulder and fixed her with those icy green eyes. “I caught her cheating.”
“Ouch.” But he’d wanted her to know that, and that gave her hope that maybe they were at least looking at the same book, even if they weren’t on the same page.
“Not quite what I said.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to hide the hurt.
“No kids?”
“Fortunately no.” He turned and leaned against the edge of the desk. “You know this would be quicker without the twenty questions.”
“But it wouldn’t be as much fun. Don’t you want to know something about Callaway House? People always want to know what went
She turned away but was sure she could feel his gaze lingering on her back as he followed her into the parlor.
There was dust on the shelves and on the chandelier. The two loveseats looked faded and threadbare. As a child it had seemed magical, now it just looked old.
Caspian scanned the shelves, walking the length of the room. “Do you have a list of the books? Are any first editions?”
“I don’t know… is it important?” There were maybe a hundred old books and plenty of other little ornaments; china dancing ladies, ivory animals, and trinkets from overseas. On the table was an empty brandy decanter and glasses.
He nodded.
“I think some of these belonged to Gran’s father-in-law.” She’d kept them because it made the place look better, like they could all read and were educated. “I’ll start listing the books.”
He glanced at the bookcase behind the desk. “Maybe it could be sold as a bulk lot?”
“Do you think I should sell?” She meant the house, not just the contents of the parlor.
“Do you want to?” He put the laptop on the desk, his fingers tracing lightly over the surface. She’d noticed that about him—he touched an object if only for a second before photographing and documenting. He was tactile even though his job seemed cold and impersonal.
“I thought I did. I had an offer this morning from someone wanting to turn the house into a bed and breakfast.”
Caspian looked over his shoulder. “Because Charleston doesn’t have enough historic escapes for visitors?”
“I can’t afford the repairs without taking out a mortgage that will be bigger than I can repay.” She blew the dust off a book and opened up the first page. Shouldn’t he be telling her to sell? Wasn’t that his job, to make people part with precious things in exchange for money? She sniffed and blamed the dust, not the sudden lump in her throat. “Do you want it?”
He looked at her, then the chandelier and the rest of the room. “If I had that kind of capital, I’d buy it and pretend to live like a lord.” He closed his eyes and took a breath as if he could imagine the parties the way she once had. As he opened his eyes, he shook his head. “The divorce cleaned me out.”
One eyebrow rose. Divorced. That was the first personal detail he’d revealed about himself, and it was enough to make her want to know more. She bit her tongue on the more nosy questions like what was his ex-wife like and how long were they married and what had happened. Instead she went for the gentle question that would hopefully lead to more. “Recent?”
“Recent enough. It was amicable, she kept the house, and I kept the shop and started over.”
Meaning he’d walked away, because he’d done the wrong thing? She frowned. How could she ask that without putting her foot in it? But it was important to know.
He continued without looking at her. “At the time it felt like the right thing.” He started tapping on the keyboard. “In hindsight I was overly generous.”
Lydia took the opening. “Guilty conscience?”
“Betrayed heart.” He looked over his shoulder and fixed her with those icy green eyes. “I caught her cheating.”
“Ouch.” But he’d wanted her to know that, and that gave her hope that maybe they were at least looking at the same book, even if they weren’t on the same page.
“Not quite what I said.” The corner of his mouth twitched as he tried to hide the hurt.
“No kids?”
“Fortunately no.” He turned and leaned against the edge of the desk. “You know this would be quicker without the twenty questions.”
“But it wouldn’t be as much fun. Don’t you want to know something about Callaway House? People always want to know what went
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