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Malcolm's driving ambition. No one brought up in such a regal and expensive home could think small or ever be satisfied with run-of-the-mill accomplishments. Yet, how lonely, how threatening, how accusing such a house could seem to someone timid or small. I shivered at the thought.
"You live here only with your father?" I asked as we drew closer. "It must have been lonely for you since he began his traveling."
Malcolm said nothing, just looked ahead, as if trying to see his mansion through my astonished eyes.
"How many rooms are in this house?"
"Somewhere between thirty and forty. Maybe one day, to pass the time, you'll make a count." He laughed at his own joke, but I couldn't put aside my awe.
"And servants?"
"My father had too many. Since he's been traveling, I have cut, back somewhat. We have a cook, of course, and a gardener who complains constantly that he needs an assistant, a maid, and Lucas, who serves as butler and driver."
"Can that possibly be enough?"
"As I said, now there is you too, my dear."
"But I'm not coming here to be a servant, Malcolm," I said. He didn't reply for a few moments. Lucas pulled up in front of the house.
"Obviously, we don't use all the rooms, Olivia. At one time there were dozens of relatives ensconced within. Fortunately, the parasites have been removed." His face softened. "After you are settled in, you will evaluate our staff needs and do what is efficient and economical, I'm sure. The house is to be your responsibility. I don't have the time for it anymore, and I needed a woman like you who could manage it properly," he said. He made it sound as though he had gone shopping for a wife.
I said no more. I was terribly eager now to go in and see what such a mansion looked like, a mansion that was to be my home. It both thrilled and frightened me. I was sorry that we had come to it at night, for at night it had an ominous air about it. It was almost as if this house had a life of its own, as if it could make judgments about its inhabitants while they slept and cause those it did not like to suffer.
Also, I had learned something from my father about the places people lived. Their homes always reflected their personalities. He himself was evidence of that. Our home was quite simple, but genteel. There was warmth to it as well.
What would this house tell me about the man I had married? Did he dominate people as much as this house dominated its surroundings? Would I become lost within the vast structure, grow lonely as I wandered from room to room through the long hallways?
Lucas rushed up to open the large double entrance doors and then Malcolm led me into my new home. As he guided me through the grand entrance, with his hand resting on my back, my heart sank. I knew it was foolish but I had hoped he would carry me over the threshold into my new home, my new life. I wanted for just this one day to be one of those charming, delicate women men cherish and look after. But that was not to be.
A small figure emerged from the gloom, and my fantasy popped. "Welcome to Foxworth Hall, Mrs. Foxworth," a voice greeted me, and for a moment I couldn't respond. It was the first time anyone had called me Mrs. Foxworth. Malcolm quickly
introduced Mrs. Steiner, the maid. She was a small woman, barely five feet four, and, as I towered above her, I flushed at my thoughts of being carried over the threshold. This woman, fiftyish though she was, would be a better candidate for such shenanigans. But she seemed kind as she smiled up at me. I looked to Malcolm but he was busily directing Lucas to carry in my trunks.
"I have your bed turned down and a small fire going, ma'am," she announced. "It's a bit chilly tonight."
"Yes." For a moment I was startled by the mention of bed. Why, it was almost morning! Was my wedding night to proceed now? Somehow I didn't feel ready yet, but I quickly hid my confusion. "I suppose Virginia mountain weather is something I'll have to get used to."
"It takes some getting used to," she