Ghost of a Chance Page 3

  James looked up and down the hallway. He pointed at a huge set of double doors at the end of the corridor, made of heavy dark wood and intricately carved. “That looks like a master bedroom to me.” The walls were covered by framed oil paintings and tapestries, each one undoubtedly worth a fortune.

  Ryan rolled the suitcase down to the end of the hall and opened the double doors. Although he was growing accustomed to the luxury all around, his breath caught when he saw the room. It was pink. Well, more like a light rose, but still. And the bed was enormous.

  "Holy shit,” he said laughing a little. The wallpaper, the curtains, the bed hangings, the covers. “Maybe there's something to that argument that it's hereditary after all,” he said, laughing. He walked forward and launched himself into the center of the oversized mattress.

  James walked in, wincing from the sheer amount of pink. “What's hereditary?"

  Ryan was lying in a giant sea of pink velvet, laughing still. “Queerness!” he giggled. Then he sobered. “Sorry, but no straight guy would let his wife do this, would they?"

  James blushed. “Um. Probably not, no.” He walked over to the window, drawing the curtains aside. “I expect you'll have a wonderful view of the moors from here. When it's not foggy, which isn't often."

  Ryan sat up, thinking he'd embarrassed James. He tried to act more sober. He went over to the fireplace and started to pile some more wood into it, lighting another fire. It took a few minutes, and as he was poking at the kindling he noticed two other doors in the room. He got up and opened one, finding it to be a dressing room with an adjoining bathroom. The other led on to another bedroom. “Oh, hey this room is nice.” He went in and turned on the light. It was far more subdued, in dark green and blue jewel tones.

  James looked in approvingly. “Much better,” he agreed. The room was much less opulent, but still quite comfortable. The bed was nearly as large.

  Ryan wandered in and knelt to start another fire. “So, do you want this room?” he asked, glancing at James over his shoulder before striking a match to light a stick of wood.

  He shrugged, looking around. “I can sleep anywhere,” he replied, glancing back toward the other room. “Even surrounded by pink. I really don't care. You're tired, you should make yourself comfortable.” He moved closer to the fire as it roared to life, warming his hands.

  Ryan sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire. “Well, the pink bed is pretty comfortable. It doesn't matter to me.” He stared into the flames. “Do you think I'm gonna suck at this Earl thing?” he asked quietly, fatigue catching up to him quickly.

  James lowered himself to the rug next to Ryan. “I don't think there's a rating system,” he assured Ryan. “From what I can tell, the Earl didn't do much.” He shrugged. “You're American. People will automatically assume you're an idiot and forgive you anything.” He grinned. “I should know."

  Ryan looked over at him and smiled sleepily. “Thanks. That makes me feel better. I gotta crash.” He leaned close and gave James a light kiss on the cheek. “Good night,” he whispered. Then he climbed to his feet and wandered into the other room. “Oh, I'll leave the door open if you wanna use this bathroom in here,” he called out.

  Ryan dragged his case further into the room and opened it. He found pajama bottoms and a baggy t-shirt and changed in the middle of the room. Then he crawled into the huge bed, under the pink covers, and in a few moments he was unconscious.

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  Chapter Two

  Hazy light streamed in through the window next to the bed, and Ryan awoke to a strange, grating little sound. His eyes fluttered open and he nearly jumped out of bed. There was a man standing beside it, looking down at him.

  "Good morning, my lord."

  Ryan rubbed his eyes and sat up, clutching the rose-colored velvet around him. “Who are you?” he asked, voice raspy from sleep.

  "Nigel Winthrop, at your service, my lord. I am your estate solicitor."

  Ryan took in the extremely stiff-looking, three-piece pinstripe suit, the pinched expression, the immobile hair. “Um, hi. But, could you call me Ryan, please?"

  The already tight lips pursed. “That's not really appropriate, my lord."

  Ryan sighed and pushed his unruly hair back. He moved the covers aside and sat on the edge of the big bed. “Um, do you mind if I...” He glanced over at the door to the bathroom. “I'll just be a minute.” He scampered across the room without waiting for the dour man's permission.

  After relieving himself, washing his face, brushing his teeth and running a brush through his hair, he returned to the room. “Okay. Now, Nigel, was it? Nice to meet you, Nigel,” he said, extending his hand to the other man.

  Winthrop hesitated a moment and then shook Ryan's hand. “The pleasure is all mine, I can assure you, my lord. I do apologize for yesterday's incident. A mistake such as that shall never happen again."

  "Oh, that's okay. I got a ride.” Really, it had worked out for the best. If a car had been waiting for him, he wouldn't have met James. “Um, so I guess you're here to show me the house?"

  "Yes. That and a few other matters I need to discuss with you. And unfortunately, the local press has gotten wind of your arrival. I expect they'll be showing up at your doorstep any moment, but I will be happy to send them on their way."

  Ryan's brow wrinkled. “Press?” He chuckled a little. “I'm newsworthy?"

  Winthrop frowned. “It is not every day that a new peer of the realm arrives in town, especially one that, forgive me for saying so, my lord, but especially one from America who has no idea what he's doing."

  Ryan had to agree with that last part. He felt completely clueless. “Well, I don't mind talking to them if it'll help. I have nothing to hide. Isn't it better to give them a quote or two so they won't come back?"

  That made the uptight solicitor pale. “Good heavens, no. You're not allowed to speak to those people until you have at least been coached!"

  Ryan blinked. “Not allowed? What, are you my nanny?” he asked, planting his hands firmly on his hips. “Look, why don't you go downstairs and make yourself a cup of tea or something, and I'll get dressed, okay? And then we can talk about whatever."

  Winthrop scowled, looking affronted. “We must hire you some staff immediately,” he said, retreating. “I shall await you in the drawing room, my lord."

  Ryan watched him go, wondering what he'd said wrong. Then he rummaged through his suitcase for clothes, shampoo, conditioner, finishing rinse, body wash, razor, and his makeup case. He returned to the bathroom and showered and got ready.

  In the dim light of day, the castle was even more impressive. Ryan jogged down the steps in tight black jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt to ward off the chill. He hoped there was a washer and dryer, because he only had a couple of pieces of clothing that were warm enough. He found his way to the drawing room easily. It was the main room on the ground floor, opposite the front door. He left the door open as he walked inside and walked over to the desk. Nigel was already seated primly before it.

  Ryan leaned his hip against the edge of the heavy piece of furniture and stuffed his hands down in his pockets. “Okay,” he said with a smile. “I'm here. So what other things do you have to discuss with me?” he asked.

  The solicitor lifted his briefcase and set it carefully on his lap, opening it. “My lord, I assume you watched the videotape last night?"

  "Yep,” he nodded. “Watched that. It was kinda creepy, though."

  "There are other instructions that the previous Earl left with me. Things I am to assist you with. Managing the estate, comporting yourself in society, securing an heir..."

  The last one caught Ryan's attention. “An heir?"

  "Yes. You must marry at your earliest convenience."

  "What?” Ryan's eyebrows crept up nearly to his hairline. “You're kidding, right?” he said, relaxing a little. “Aww, Nigel, and here I was thinking you didn't have a sense of humor."

  The solicitor frown
ed. “I most certainly am not ‘kidding', my lord. Your primary responsibility as the Earl of Elgin is to produce an heir and secure the line. You must choose a young lady to be your countess and sire a son."

  Ryan looked at him as if he had two heads. “Waaaaiit a minute here. Can't I just, I don't know, leave everything to my little brother? I'm sure he'll get married and have a kid eventually.” He was his half brother, though.

  "He is not in line to inherit. He is not a blood relation in the line of the Elgin."

  "But I'm the Earl, and he's a blood relation of mine!"

  "It is not possible. You must produce a child."

  Ryan was quiet for a moment, frowning deeply. “I, there has to be another way. There aren't any other relatives? Anywhere?"

  "No. You are the very last one. It falls to you alone."

  "Fuck,” he whispered, and then instantly put his hand over his mouth. “Oh. Sorry. Um ... well, I can't think about that now. There's gotta be a way around that somehow, but we'll worry about that later."

  "Um, sorry to interrupt."

  Ryan looked up and saw James. He instantly smiled at him. “Good morning. Did you sleep okay?” he asked, taking a few steps towards him. James looked completely adorable all rumpled in the morning, unshaven and hair mussed, wearing the same wrinkled shirt from last night. But he had to stop thinking like that. He had a bad habit of getting attached to straight boys as it was. “We should make more coffee. Nigel? Oh, Nigel, this is James. He gave me a ride home last night. He works at the pub. James, this is Nigel, the lawyer guy. Nigel, do you want some coffee? Or tea? We figured out how to use the coffee pot last night."

  Winthrop clearly wasn't pleased, but he put his briefcase on the desk and stood and turned towards the new person in the room. “Nigel Winthrop, estate solicitor. Many thanks for looking after the Earl last night,” he said with a slight bow. Then he glanced at Ryan. “Some tea would be quite agreeable, my lord."

  The corner of James’ lips quirked up a little bit and he looked at Ryan, eyebrows slightly raised. “I'll go and make the coffee, and the tea,” he offered. He looked at Ryan. “Which would you like?"

  "Coffee, but I'll come with you.” He smiled at Winthrop. “I'll just be a few minutes. Sit, relax. Milk and sugar okay?” He started shooing James out the door.

  "Yes, please,” the solicitor said.

  "Okay. Be right back.” He closed the door behind them when they got out into the foyer, and almost instantly started giggling. “Oh my God,” he whispered. “Is he for real?"

  Ryan's laughter was infectious, and James snickered. “I'm afraid so. Wow. How does he sit with such a huge stick up his ass?” They went into the kitchen. “You've never met him before, I take it?” James started the coffee maker working, then put water on for tea.

  "No, hovering over my bed this morning was the first time.” Ryan leaned against the counter and then pulled himself up onto it, his feet dangling. “I had a few letters from him, mostly travel arrangements and stuff. I think he's here to put the smack down on my carefree lifestyle. ‘Cause you know, this is such a party town, I could get distracted from the serious business of Earling."

  James’ eyes widened. “He came into the room and woke you up? Damn. That's kinda creepy."

  "No creepier than anything else. He was politely clearing his throat. I think he opened the curtains, too, but that didn't do the trick, apparently.” Ryan pulled one knee to his chest and retied his shoelace. “Oh! He said a reporter was coming, too. What's that all about? I'm not allowed to talk, though."

  "A reporter?” James considered. “Well, they do take any kind of royalty very seriously over here. And not much else newsworthy happens, so...” He shrugged. “Why can't you talk to him, I wonder? What's-his-name out there doesn't trust you?"

  Ryan grinned broadly. “If you were him, would you trust me?” He hopped down from the counter, got the milk out, and then the sugar. “But I don't have to listen to him, right? I mean it's me they want to talk to, not Nigel Winthrop.” James looked like he belonged here. In Ryan's kitchen, that was bigger than the apartment he'd just left a week ago. He sighed a little.

  The water boiled, and James poured it over the tea leaves in the strainer into the pot. He replaced the lid, then found two mugs and a tea cup. He poured coffee into the mugs. “What does he think you're going to do? You don't know enough about it to embarrass anyone.” He shrugged. “I'd say hear him out, then do what you want."

  Ryan nodded, spooning some sugar into his own coffee. “Yeah. That sounds like a plan. Hey, you're pretty smart,” he said, giving James a sideways smirk. “I'm lucky you're here.” It would have been the ideal time to give James a friendly pat on the ass, but he couldn't do it. This wasn't Hollywood.

  "You're making fun of the poor stupid bartender,” James teased, pouring tea into a proper cup for the older man.

  "Haha, yeah. Maybe I'll take pity on you and offer you a job as my ladies’ maid,” he said, sticking out his tongue. He took a sip of his coffee. “Mmm. Are we ready to face Mr. Frostyballs again? I think there's a tour involved. Might be fun."

  James laughed. “As long as I don't have to wear a skirt,” he said. “I don't have the legs for it.” He picked up the cup of tea for the solicitor, and his own mug, and followed Ryan out the door.

  They wound their way back through the dining room and the foyer to the drawing room. Ryan walked around the desk and sat down with a grin. “Big desk,” he said softly. He could see how someone could feel important at a desk like that. “We figured out the remote control, so the rest of the place should be all downhill from there, right?"

  Winthrop accepted his tea from James and thanked him. “My lord, there are a great many things you must learn.” He glanced at James a little nervously.

  Ryan looked from Winthrop to James and back again. “You can talk in front of him. He's cool."

  James grinned briefly at Ryan before moving across the room, examining the titles of the books on the bookshelves. They all looked like original copies, expensively bound. No paperbacks here.

  The solicitor pursed his lips and pulled a folder of papers out of his briefcase. He set them before Ryan and leaned over the desk. “These are the household accounts. I'm sure you understand it takes a fair amount of money to support a residence such as Castle Elgin. There is also a modest townhouse in London, for when business requires you to travel there. There is usually a staff of twelve for this house. The staff of the previous Earl were quite elderly and were pensioned off at the time of his passing. I can arrange for new applicants if you wish to conduct interviews."

  "Twelve? Twelve other people would live here?” That seemed like a lot to Ryan. “I mean, couldn't we just get a bunch of Merry Maids in once a week and do the place up? I mean, what do we need that many people for?"

  Winthrop sighed long-sufferingly. “Three groundskeepers are required at least. They typically live in the carriage house. A chef, a housekeeper, a butler, a footman, an upstairs maid, a downstairs maid, a driver..."

  "A driver? Do I have a car?” he interrupted.

  Winthrop took a sip of tea. “At the moment there is only one. The Bentley was involved in the accident. The insurance company has written it off as a loss. There is only an old MG in the garage now, but a new car could easily be purchased."

  Ryan noticed James react to the mention of the car, and he gave him a little smile. He didn't care much about cars himself. Back at home no one let him drive, anyway. “Can we see the car?” he asked.

  "Of course, my lord.” Winthrop took one last sip of his tea and stood stiffly. “If you would follow me, please.” He proceeded towards the door.

  Ryan glanced at James and nodded his head, silently asking him to come along, and followed Nigel. They crossed the entry hall and went out the front door. Nigel led them around to the left. On the far side of the drive was another building which, in the light of day, Ryan could see had four garage doors along the front of it. The proper solicitor bent before
the first door and pulled it open. Inside was an old, slightly neglected-looking, bright red MG.

  James moaned. “That's a 1974,” he whispered to Ryan. “All original. It's gorgeous.” His gaze traced the lines of the car. “I always wanted one...” He grinned at Ryan. “If it needs any work, I could totally do it. I'd love to get my hands on it."

  Ryan laughed a little. “Hey, knock yourself out. I know nothing about cars. I'll probably be taking a taxi everywhere. Or, you know, the James express,” he said with a grin.

  "It runs, but it does need some work. I believe the previous Earl's son intended to ‘fix it up’ as you say, but never did so,” Winthrop provided. He pulled out a chain of keys and flipped through them until he found the one he was looking for. He removed it and handed it to Ryan. “It is now yours."

  Ryan took the key and turned it over in his palm once, then held it out to James. “You wanna try it out?"

  James grinned, almost bouncing. “Fuck yeah,” he said, then glanced apologetically at the solicitor, then back at Ryan. “I mean, unless you have more, um, Earling to do."

  Ryan giggled at that. “Well, do you wanna drive around while I go over some of the really boring stuff and when you get back we'll see the rest of the house?” he suggested, looking from James to Nigel and back again.

  "Are you sure?” he asked. “I could go get us some food, so I can fix you lunch."

  "Cool. That'd be rad.” He really had to control his urge to adore his friendly fellow American. “I'm a vegetarian, though, okay? I mean, you don't have to get tofu or anything, just no animals.” Ryan wrinkled his nose at the thought.

  "I'm a vegetarian, too,” James said. “Not easy around here, either, let me tell you.” He smiled. “I'll get something good, I promise."

  "Okay. You go have fun. We'll be in the drawing room when you get back.” Ryan instantly trusted James. And anyway, James’ own car was still there. He'd at least come back for that.