Mariah stepped through into the grand entrance hall and tried not to let her jaw drop.
The house definitely had an air of neglect about it, but it was still incredibly beautiful.
The paper-hangings were a dull gold and the marble floor beneath her feet shone a gleaming white. It had obviously been cleaned recently.
The staircase that dominated the hallway and split into the balcony above her, was a dark walnut and that too gleamed with recent attention.
Mariah tried not to look as though she were a fish out of water in such luxurious surrounding.
"Once again, I must offer my apologies madam," the butler was saying. "We had been led to believe that a young man would be arriving to look after the library."
"Will it be a problem?" Mariah asked in confusion and felt a moment's trepidation at the butler's flash of uncertainty before he smiled politely.
"No indeed madam. My name is Fernshaw. I am the butler of the house. I shall take you directly to the library and have refreshments brought. Should you require anything, simply ring and I shall attend you myself."
Mariah was relieved at the sudden turnaround in the man's behaviour. He seemed polite and efficient now that he'd recovered from her being a female.
"Thank you, Fernshaw. I must admit I look forward to getting started. Books are a great passion of mine."
She followed Fernshaw down the large hallway, with doors closed on either side until finally they reached the last door on the left.
"Here we are, madam."
The butler opened the door and Mariah stepped through.
Her eyes widened and she could not help the gasp that slipped through her lips.
"Oh, my goodness," she whispered in awe.
The room was, without doubt, the most beautiful place she had ever been.
It was huge for starters, the vaulted ceilings so high up she could barely see the roof. And the books! There was shelf upon shelf of glorious books. And more yet in piles on the tables scattered round the room.
At the far wall there was a large oak desk and two accompanying stuffed chairs, and Mariah noted to some satisfaction, there were plenty of sofas dotted round the room for leisurely reading.
She thought she had died and gone to heaven.
A niggling voice in the back of her head tried to make her feel anxious about the volume of work involved in such a task but she ruthlessly pushed it away.
Yes, it was a lot of work but Mariah felt excited at the treasures she was sure to uncover here.
"Will you require any assistance, madam?" the butler asked now, sounding a little doubtful about Mariah's ability to complete the task.
She didn't blame him. But she would not show fear.
"Some paper and ink, if you please, so that I may keep records of what I find. And those refreshments you mentioned," she added with a smile.
Fernshaw bowed and exited with the assurance that he would send a maid immediately with what she required, taking her discarded cloak, bonnet, and gloves with him.
Mariah stood for a moment, not quite sure where to begin. The room was rather cool, but the huge fireplace at the other end of the desk held an impressive blaze and she was sure that she would warm up soon.
With a decisive nod, Mariah rolled up the sleeves of her simple dimity gown and set to work.
She cleared the contents of the desk — mostly books — so that she would have somewhere to keep her notes. Next she set about searching for any records that the previous owner might have kept about his collection.
Mariah was soon engrossed in page after page of diaries, household expense records but, as of yet, no book records.
She heard the door creak open and, without looking up, called out to the maid.
"Thank you. You can set the tray down on the desk here if you please, and I shall drink whilst working, for there is a lot to be done. Did you remember to bring stationary for my notes?"
"No, I bloody well did not. Who the hell are you and why do you think you can order me around my own house?"
Mariah yelped in fright at the sound of a very deep, very male voice bellowing at her from across the room.
Looking up she was astonished to see the groom from that morning standing glowering at her, his hands fisted on those hips she'd so admired earlier.
She was about to ring a peal over his head for frightening her when his words sank in.
Did he just say—?
"Your house?" she questioned with a dawning realisation of what she'd done this morning.
"Yes," he said through gritted teeth. He had lovely teeth, she thought, then berated herself. Now was not the time. "My house."
Mariah thought back to their encounter this morning.
She'd bossed him around. She'd thrown the reigns at him and demanded that he care for the horse.
She'd – oh good lord – she'd patted him on the head.
The heat of mortification stained her cheeks.
"Your house," she said again. Just so that she could be one hundred percent sure that when she got thrown out on her backside, it would be by Mr. Haverton.