be both. And there’s no harm, is there, in being just a little ambitious?”
“I suppose not, provided one isn’t burdened with unrealistic expectations.” A memory from a less pleasant time tugged at him and he forced it back. “Well, I hope your cousin’s suit prospers, and if it does, perhaps I’ll approach him then. Now, as we’ve seen most of the first and second floors, would you care to stop and have some refreshment? The first time I toured the Hall as Great-Uncle’s heir, I had to fortify myself with a whiskey and soda,” he added wryly, “but you might prefer tea.”
Her dimpled smile flashed out at him. “Tea would be welcome, but there’s something I should like to see first, downstairs.”
“Downstairs? On the ground floor?”
She nodded. “Would you show me the ballroom, Mr. Pendarvis?”
***
“Dear life,” Sophie breathed, gazing about the salon. “It must be twice the size of ours!”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised.” Mr. Pendarvis sounded less than enthusiastic about that circumstance. “Pendarvis Hall used to entertain on a lavish scale—house parties, pheasant shoots, hunt balls, and the like. But there hasn’t been anything like that here for a good five years. Maybe even ten.”
“At least your staff keeps this room swept and dusted,” Sophie pointed out. The ballroom floor still held a gleam of polish, and the walls—tinted a pale blue-green—showed no sign of mildew or peeling paint. The wall sconces were free of rust, and the panes of the French doors were likewise spotless. The draperies might be a little faded, but they were oyster brocade, and pale enough for their age not to show too obviously.
She glanced up at the high arched ceiling and the huge chandelier, its crystal prisms swaddled in Holland cloth. “Mr. Pendarvis, you want guests of a certain—quality, don’t you?”
“I’d take anyone who could pay, but I suppose I am hoping to attract a particular clientele,” he admitted.
“What Society calls ‘the best people,’” Sophie supplied, without difficulty. “No shame in that. But if you’re trying to entice them down here, fresh from London and the Season, you’ll need to offer more than food and lodging. They’ll expect to be entertained as well—to enjoy at least some of the pleasures they enjoy in town.”
He stared at her, clearly appalled. “Oh, God.” The words came out half-strangled. “Will you think me a complete dunce if I tell you that had never crossed my mind?”
“Not at all. You’re an architect—naturally you’re more intent on getting the house in order. But there’s plenty of time to learn how to plan activities for your guests. Or you could simply hire someone to direct your entertainments instead,” she added as he blanched visibly.
“There is that.” He exhaled, some of the panic receding, and summoned a sheepish smile. “You’re quite right—I’ve been focusing on the hotel as a building to be renovated, rather than as a place where actual people will be staying. Thank you for pointing that out to me.”
“Well, I’ve never stayed at a hotel, but I have attended a few house parties and helped Mama plan some at Roswarne. The comfort of one’s guests is always the most important thing to consider. Even in the country, people want to be amused and entertained.” She glanced around the salon again. “Fortunately, with a room this size, you can hold all sorts of grand events. And it would be something, wouldn’t it, to see this place come alive again?”
“It is a bit like a tomb, isn’t it?” he observed dryly.
“That’s not what I meant.” She looked up once more at the swaddled chandelier. “Can’t you imagine it? Everything lit and blazing. The floor polished and shining. Flowers everywhere. The musicians up there in the gallery, and the guests all dancing. You could probably fit most of the county in this ballroom.”
“Good Lord, really?” Mr. Pendarvis eyed the salon with
“I suppose not, provided one isn’t burdened with unrealistic expectations.” A memory from a less pleasant time tugged at him and he forced it back. “Well, I hope your cousin’s suit prospers, and if it does, perhaps I’ll approach him then. Now, as we’ve seen most of the first and second floors, would you care to stop and have some refreshment? The first time I toured the Hall as Great-Uncle’s heir, I had to fortify myself with a whiskey and soda,” he added wryly, “but you might prefer tea.”
Her dimpled smile flashed out at him. “Tea would be welcome, but there’s something I should like to see first, downstairs.”
“Downstairs? On the ground floor?”
She nodded. “Would you show me the ballroom, Mr. Pendarvis?”
***
“Dear life,” Sophie breathed, gazing about the salon. “It must be twice the size of ours!”
“I shouldn’t be at all surprised.” Mr. Pendarvis sounded less than enthusiastic about that circumstance. “Pendarvis Hall used to entertain on a lavish scale—house parties, pheasant shoots, hunt balls, and the like. But there hasn’t been anything like that here for a good five years. Maybe even ten.”
“At least your staff keeps this room swept and dusted,” Sophie pointed out. The ballroom floor still held a gleam of polish, and the walls—tinted a pale blue-green—showed no sign of mildew or peeling paint. The wall sconces were free of rust, and the panes of the French doors were likewise spotless. The draperies might be a little faded, but they were oyster brocade, and pale enough for their age not to show too obviously.
She glanced up at the high arched ceiling and the huge chandelier, its crystal prisms swaddled in Holland cloth. “Mr. Pendarvis, you want guests of a certain—quality, don’t you?”
“I’d take anyone who could pay, but I suppose I am hoping to attract a particular clientele,” he admitted.
“What Society calls ‘the best people,’” Sophie supplied, without difficulty. “No shame in that. But if you’re trying to entice them down here, fresh from London and the Season, you’ll need to offer more than food and lodging. They’ll expect to be entertained as well—to enjoy at least some of the pleasures they enjoy in town.”
He stared at her, clearly appalled. “Oh, God.” The words came out half-strangled. “Will you think me a complete dunce if I tell you that had never crossed my mind?”
“Not at all. You’re an architect—naturally you’re more intent on getting the house in order. But there’s plenty of time to learn how to plan activities for your guests. Or you could simply hire someone to direct your entertainments instead,” she added as he blanched visibly.
“There is that.” He exhaled, some of the panic receding, and summoned a sheepish smile. “You’re quite right—I’ve been focusing on the hotel as a building to be renovated, rather than as a place where actual people will be staying. Thank you for pointing that out to me.”
“Well, I’ve never stayed at a hotel, but I have attended a few house parties and helped Mama plan some at Roswarne. The comfort of one’s guests is always the most important thing to consider. Even in the country, people want to be amused and entertained.” She glanced around the salon again. “Fortunately, with a room this size, you can hold all sorts of grand events. And it would be something, wouldn’t it, to see this place come alive again?”
“It is a bit like a tomb, isn’t it?” he observed dryly.
“That’s not what I meant.” She looked up once more at the swaddled chandelier. “Can’t you imagine it? Everything lit and blazing. The floor polished and shining. Flowers everywhere. The musicians up there in the gallery, and the guests all dancing. You could probably fit most of the county in this ballroom.”
“Good Lord, really?” Mr. Pendarvis eyed the salon with
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