Page 276 of Ten Lords for the Holidays

MAKING MERRY - ERICA RIDLEY *

CHAPTER1

December 1808

Marlowe Castle

Mr. Aaron Thompsonjoined his eccentric employer at the threshold of an enormous, high-ceilinged chamber. Before him, laborers were busy laying the floor with new parquet.

“This,” Mr. Marlowe said with pride, “will be the grand ballroom.”

Despite Aaron’s initial skepticism at taking a renegotiated post as in-house solicitor in what, by all accounts, was an abandoned castle at the northernmost tip of England, Mr. Marlowe had managed to surprise him at every turn.

This salon would indeed be a grand ballroom. Quite possibly one of the largest in England, and certainly one of the most unique. The walls were draped with emerald silk. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. An eclectic mix of Gothic and Elizabethan styles added whimsy and drama.

“Can the castle host enough guests to fill such a large ballroom?” Aaron asked.

“It doesn’t matter.” Mr. Marlowe’s sharp blue eyes glittered beneath his shock of snow-white hair. “Our guests aren’t paying for a crush. They’re paying for exclusivity. They’ll not only happily hand over a month’s rent in Mayfair for a single week here, they’ll keep coming back year after year.”

This bold assertion begged an obvious question.

“Why?” Aaron asked.

“I’m not selling room and board,” Mr. Marlowe explained. “I’m offering a holiday in Utopia.”

Aaron glanced over his shoulder at the wide stone corridor behind them.

The once-dilapidated castle now sparkled like a freshly cut jewel, but was paying through the nose for lodgings—no matter how opulent—anyone’sidea of Utopia?

“Not just the castle,” Mr. Marlowe said as though he could read his solicitor’s thoughts. “The dining facilities and the ballroom and the luxurious guest suites with sweeping views of snow-covered hills is only a small part of what we’re selling.”

“What are we selling?” Aaron asked politely.

Mr. Marlowe’s eyes narrowed with satisfaction. “The perfect village. A chance tolivein a fairy tale, not just read about them.”

“Is there a specific story we’re to emulate?”

For the first time since Aaron’s arrival in Cressmouth, a flicker of doubt creased Mr. Marlowe’s brow.

“We’ll think of one,” the older man said with confidence. “It must be perfect. And distinctive. We shall give our guests an experience they cannot duplicate anywhere else in the world.”

Aaron and Mr. Marlowe retreated from the ballroom to allow the laborers to continue their work without distraction. They retraced their steps to the large reception hall at the castle entrance. The original uneven stone floor was now smooth white marble. Crackling fires behind shiny grates chased away the chill, filling the interior with warmth and a cheerful yellow-orange glow.

Through the frost-edged windows, the village of Cressmouth was visible below. Marlowe Castle stood at the peak. Only one road traversed the picturesque village.

Mr. Marlowe had purchased the entirety.

All of it, as far as the eye could see.

At Aaron’s suggestion, his employer had granted long-term property rights to the people already living in the village. Mr. Marlowe still technically owned the land, but each family now possessed a hundred-year lease for the price of a single guinea.

Mr. Marlowe had not acquiesced out of altruism.

He’d done so because Aaron had pointed out that a castle was not a village. A village waspeople. Cressmouth could not be quaint and cozy if it was empty.

With his characteristic single-minded intensity, Mr. Marlowe had immediately set about building cottages, lining the road with shops, and finding people to live and work in them.

Aaron had drawn the contracts. Each agreement was more unusual than the last. Try as he might to encourage his employer to be less... mercenary, Aaron was not always successful in the endeavor.

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