He strode up the long walk. The gardens were derelict and no trees, or shrubberies of any sort decorated the vast lawn. The place had an air of staleness to it, and told him that whoever lived here was cold, calculating and bereft of any kind of want to keep the house looking the way it should. There would be no Christmas festivities here, that much he could tell. Either Caroline’s uncle the Baronet was a veritable pauper—or he was a skinflint. If she were related to such a man—to such a miser, he could not understand her father’s willingness to move back to such an abode and put Caroline at the mercy of such a horrible man. Still, he had made a promise to Caroline and he would follow through. He would make his best attempts to become Benjamin Griffiths’ friend. He was expected so that was a bit of a blessing, as he didn’t want to spend any more time than necessary in such a gloomy place. The butler that received him looked as if he had climbed out of the grave.
