The Holiday Inheritance (Naughty and Spice)

2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Florence

When we pull up to my new home, I can finally release a stress-filled breath. I’ve been white-knuckling it on the holy-shit handle for the last twenty minutes. The snow is coming down in sheets, blanketing the roads and land around the entire estate. It looks beautiful, like something straight out of a Christmas movie.

The home itself is huge—too big, really. It’s made out of the prettiest bright limestone, covered in ivy all the way up to the roof, and the windows, while skinny and set deep into the stone, give the home the coziest feel. Especially now with the whole place decorated for the holidays. The driveway curves in front of the home and is lined with manicured hedges that are lit up with Christmas lights in the setting sun. Gravel and snow crunch under the tires of the Land Rover as Briggs pulls up to the front door. There’s smoke pouring out of a few of the chimney stacks that reach high into the air from the third story.

“Mary has your room sorted for you,” he says as he puts it in park. “I’ll help you get your bags up there.” I can feel him staring at me as I soak in my new home. It’s daunting, knowing that this whole thing is now mine. The amount of care it takes to run a home like this is no joke. Thank god everyone my aunt hired decided to stay on and help me.

“You alright, my little duck?”

I turn to look at him, a smile forming on my lips at the little nickname he’s given me. I’m probably delusional, but I can’t help it.

“It’s just a lot,” I answer honestly. “It’s a lot of house, a lot of snow, a lot of new . I’m a little intimidated.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ve got all of us to help you out. We loved your aunt, and we wouldn’t let her only surviving family struggle. Trust me, we’ve been running this place for so long we could do it with blindfolds on and our hands tied behind our backs.”

“I think that would make it a little difficult to keep the hedges cut so evenly.”

He graces me with a rough laugh, his eyes crinkling at the sides. I can’t help myself—I allow myself for the first time to glance at his left hand. No ring. Is he single?

“Probably.” He lays his strong, heavy hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “Let’s go inside, get you some food, and get settled in for the evening.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turns off the car and jumps out, letting the cold wind sweep through the cabin. It gets me moving, and I jump out to see Briggs handling all of my luggage himself. I don’t even stop to thank him. The snow and wind are so fucking cold that I just let him take over as I run toward the front door.

“I thought I heard that old thing pull up!” Mary yells as she swings the door inward, allowing both of us to practically fall into the warm foyer. Mary is the head housekeeper because yes, this place takes a whole crew to keep running. She’s a little older, maybe in her sixties, and her hair is a shining silver that stays braided back out of her face. When I first met her, I instantly felt a connection. Her whole demeanor is soft and welcoming, and she loves this house just as much as everyone has told me my aunt did.

“Hi, Mary!” I wrap my arms around her skinny shoulders, and she holds me tightly. There’s a part of her that knows how big and scary this is for me, and I think it’s going to be comforting to have a mother figure around the house. She doesn’t stay in the home itself; none of the staff do. But there are a few cottages dotted around the property where some of them live, including Mary.

“Don’t let all the hot air out, ladies,” Briggs says as he squeezes past us. “I’m going to take these up to the room Mary got ready for you, and then I’ll head out. Lovely to meet you, Ren.” His eyes linger for just a second too long, just long enough for me to notice.

“You drive safely in this snow, you hear?” Mary goes straight into mothering mode, pulling away from me to give Briggs a hard stare. “And check the generators before you leave?”

Briggs leans in and gives her a quick peck on the cheek, which she accepts with a faint blush. I guess no one is immune to this man and his good looks. My eyes follow him as he walks up the sage-green carpeted stairs, the lighted Christmas swags casting shadows on the wall. Do I let myself take another look at that delicious ass of his? Yes. Yes, I do. And if Mary notices, she doesn’t say anything. Instead, she takes my hand and leads me through the formal sitting room, dining room, and into the hallway that leads to the kitchen. It’s situated at the back of the home and big enough to cook for hundreds of people.

The whole place has been modernized with indoor plumbing and electricity, but the old-world charm is still everywhere. The fireplaces are huge, taller than me and almost as wide as the walls themselves. Old clay tiles line the floor of the kitchen, there are herbs and flowers hanging in the windows to dry, and the heavy wooden table in the middle of it all has seen better days. But because of all this, the kitchen is one of my favorite rooms. It’s like I can feel all the people who have been in here before me: chefs cooking for parties and children running through to grab a snack on their way outside to play.

“I’ve got your tea on the Aga to keep it warm,” Mary tells me, pointing to the range against the far wall. Tea, in Yorkshire, is what they call dinner, and the Aga is a specific brand of oven that stays warm constantly, heated by oil like the rest of the radiators in the home. The last time I was here, I learned the hot plates on top are great for keeping plates of food warm, as Mary would constantly leave me meals in the evening before she left.

“You didn’t have to do that, Mary. I could’ve fended for myself.”

“You could’ve, but it’s nice to have someone around the house again. I’d stay and eat with you,” she says as she grabs the plate with a towel and sits it down on the long table, “but I really need to get home before this gets much worse. I didn’t think to bring the quad bike over, so I’ll be walking.”

“Have Briggs take you over there!” I insist. “That’s too far for you to walk in this weather, Mary. I’ll be worried sick until I hear from you.”

“You think I want to get in that rickety old thing?” She looks at me and laughs as she starts to put on her snow boots. She laces them tightly and pulls her thick socks up over her calves. “I’ll be safer walking.”

“Oh, well, thanks for letting him pick me up in that old rickety thing .” The chair scrapes against the tile as I pull it out and take a seat. She’s made me a single-serving dish of shepherd’s pie and what looks to be homemade bread.

Mary laughs and watches me take my first bite. I sink back into my chair with a moan, the mashed potatoes and savory gravy warming me up. “I’ll be back tomorrow if I can to check on you and make sure everything is running smoothly. But it’s just a house, okay? I know how worried you are. But this place is a house just like all the others you’ve lived in. Just a bit bigger, is all.”

“Yeah, is all,” I say around a mouth full of food, rolling my eyes at her.

“Hush.” She walks over and leaves a firm kiss on the top of my head. “You know where the thermostats are. They’re on low for the unused portions of the house and higher where you’ll spend most of your time. If you have any questions, my dear, you give me a call. My number is on the fridge.”

After she leaves, I continue to eat in silence, the fire crackling to my left. Footsteps fall heavy above my head, and then I hear them move down the hall and the stairs. The front door thuds shut as Briggs leaves, and I’m officially all alone. I’ve never been one to believe in ghosts, but that was before being left alone in a house that was built over four hundred years ago.

This home creaks and moans in the snowy wind, the floors creak as they settle, and the radiators crack and pop every time they turn on. Everything has an echo, and it’s a little unsettling to know there are just so many empty rooms. But the exhaustion and time difference is setting in now that the excitement from the flight and drive is over and my belly is full.

I wash the dishes and set them near the Aga to dry, then make my way back to the front of the house and the grand staircase. I could use the back stairs, but they’re skinny and made from worn stone that gives me vertigo every time. So I’ve resorted to only using the ones built for guests. They’re out in the open, relatively level, and aren’t hiding spiders.

The room that has become mine is up the stairs and to the right, flanked on both sides by old paintings of my aunt and her beloved whippet. The whole hallway has paintings dating back to the original owners of the home, and while I’m all for displaying art in a home, the eyes kind of creep me out. I have to purposefully keep my eyes on the plush carpet, refusing to watch them watch me as I make my way to my room.

“Oh, thank god,” I groan as I enter my room, my bags placed neatly to the side of the door and the bed made and turned down for me. I’m ready to crawl into that sucker and sleep for hours. My pajamas are right on top of my biggest suitcase, along with my basic toiletries. I figured the first thing I would want to do is change into comfortable clothes and brush my teeth. Thank god for past me thinking about future me.

It doesn’t take long before I’m crawling between the sheets and curling into the pillows. There’s a TV in my room, but I pull out my phone instead, choosing to scroll on social media until my eyes are so heavy I literally can’t fight them anymore. I send a quick text to Amie, put my phone on silent, and quickly sink into sleep.