An All-Consuming Passion

Holly agreed, albeit for different motives and, after dumping her bag in her father’s study, she went up to her room. She usually dawdled on the way, surveying her surroundings with loving eyes, but not today. For the first time, she was struck by the shabbiness of the paintwork, by the scars that marred the once-unblemished carvings, and by the worn patches in curtains which were probably older than she was. It was not an easy thing to admit, but she realised she was seeing the house with Morgan Kane’s eyes. She despised herself for doing so, but she could no longer ignore the evidence before her. His intrusion had brought her back to the twentieth century as she used to know it; to thoughts of renovation and interior decoration; to a dissatisfaction with the house’s neglect, and a latent desire to restore it to its former glory.

Not that she could ever have changed things on her own. The money her father sent her, and which she lavished so recklessly on the horses, would hardly have made an impression on the extensive repairs that were required. To restore even part of the house would have taken more than her yearly allowance, and she had long since learned not to ask her father for help. But that didn’t help her now, when acceptance was giving way to frustration. Damn Morgan Kane, she thought. Damn him for coming here, and making her aware of the neglect. She had been contented enough until he made his entrance.

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