We walk down the hall, hand in hand, and he leads me down the stairs to the front entrance.
“I guess we’ll start at the beginning. My great-great-grandfather, Cornelius Blackmoor, built the home in the 18th century. He was an interesting character.”
“Sounds very ominous.”
He grins, squeezing my hand in his. “It kind of is. He liked to flaunt his wealth. They had the front door made in Barcelona, carved by a man who creates some of the world’s most famous castle doors.”
I run my hand over the intricate carvings in the wood, letting my fingers roam over each groove. “This is beautiful.”
“You haven’t seen anything yet.” He breezes through the foyer to a massive sunken living area with modern, red-leather couches mixed with vintage lamps and knick-knacks that look like they transported them from the 18th century.
I move toward the left wall, drawn by a tapestry of a man lying in a grassy field of daisies, with a woman in a white dress at his side.
Simon steps up beside me. “This is a tapestry made by a traveling artist that lived here for a while back at the turn of the century. Legend has it he fell in love with my great-grandmother, but she was to marry my great-grandfather.”
How sad to love someone you can’t have.
“What happened to him?”
Simon shoves his hands in his pockets. “Once she married, he left.” He moves away and walks out of the living room.
I rush to catch up to him. “I feel like there’s more to that story.”
“Isn’t there always?” Simon chuckles. “He left with my great-grandmother.”
I can’t help but pry. “What happened?”
“My great-grandfather went after her. He fought for her and brought her back here.”
“Did she want to come back?”
Simon studies me carefully before answering. “Of course she did. Why wouldn’t she?”
“Well, she left with the artist.”
“No, she loved my great-grandfather.”
The frown forming on his face tells me to drop the subject. I can see Simon is getting worked up by the implication his great-grandmother ran off with the man she loved, only to be ‘rescued’ by another man she was forced to marry.
“What’s in here?” I open a door to my left.
“A study.” Simon steps through the open door. “Nothing too interesting.”
The hell you say.
“There is a life-size woolly mammoth in the corner.” I step inside the room, trying my best to take in all the books on the shelf-lined walls. “So speak for yourself.”
He rests his shoulder against the door frame. “It’s a replica. My mother just had to have it.”
“I love her style.”
The French windows along the outer wall cast rays of light on the bold red rug covering the dark flooring. I move closer to the bookshelves and run my fingers along the spine of Ivanhoe, wanting to skip the rest of the tour and get cozy in one of the Victorian style chairs with a couple of these books. But the tour continues.
We move through the house, with Simon showing me all the distinct features of their home. He takes me toward the back of the property, below my room’s balcony, and into the garden.
My hands tingle the closer we get to the spot where I saw the person standing. Out of nowhere, a tall man appears.
Dressed all in black.