Sommersgate House (8 page)

At his
arrival, Julia nearly choked. He was supposed to be out running,
she never imagined he’d join them for breakfast. In fact, she had
hoped to avoid him completely this morning after her behaviour last
night.

Her eyes
surreptitiously slid over him and she noted he wore a superbly-cut
navy suit with wide-set pinstripes, a crisp, wrinkle-free white
shirt and a subtly-patterned, obviously-expensive, navy tie. His
thick, dark brown hair was still slightly wet from a shower and
curling, overlong, at his collar. His jaw was smoothly shaven and
the scar on his upper lip stood out making him look both menacing
and sexy.

He sauntered
into the room the way only a man who owned such a room could
saunter into it, with sheer arrogance.

“Morning Unka
Douglas!” Ruby called loudly, her mouth full.

“Good morning,
Ruby,” Douglas replied evenly, walking behind Lizzie’s chair as she
sat beside Julia, touching the girl lightly on the shoulder as he
did so. Julia watched as Lizzie lifted her shoulder, as if seeking
to deepen the gesture, but it was soon gone and, just as quickly,
both the girl’s shoulders drooped.

“Will…
Elizabeth,” Douglas said as he sat down at the head of the table to
Julia’s right and put his napkin in his lap.

“Mornin’,”
Willie said, also with mouth full.

Lizzie just
made an indistinct noise.

Douglas turned
his indigo eyes to Julia, she noticed (again, as she had many times
over the years) that they were thickly lashed, somehow making the
vivid blue seem darker.

“Are you
recovered this morning?” he asked.

Of course he
wouldn’t just let it go. He had to bring it up.

“Absolutely,”
Julia lied with a bright, false smile making a show of pulling her
porridge back towards her as if it was a delicious bowl of ice
cream which she couldn’t wait a moment longer to devour. “Fit as a
fiddle,” she added for good measure.

There
was the briefest hesitation and then he drawled (actually
drawled
), eyes
still on her, “I can see that.”

There was
something in that drawl and in his eyes that made Julia’s stomach
lurch in a not altogether unpleasant way.

“Recovered
from what?” Willie butted in, thankfully interrupting the moment
and reaching for a piece of toast that carried the barest hint of
butter.

“Nothing, I
didn’t get settled in last night, but I’m okay now,” Julia fibbed
again, eating a mouthful and then making the Herculean effort to
stop herself from gagging. Douglas was still regarding her rather
closely and she really wished he wouldn’t.

“It’s the
house,” Willie stated. “It doesn’t like strangers. It’ll get used
to you though.”

Julia lost all
composure and gaped at her nephew open-mouthed as Ruby giggled.

Lizzie had no
response.

“What?” Julia
asked.

Willie cut his
eyes to Douglas and took a big bite of toast.

“Nothin’,” he
muttered and Julia decided after her behaviour last night it was
prudent to drop the subject.

Mrs.
Kilpatrick swept in, deposited poached eggs, two crisp rashers of
bacon and fresh toast in front of Douglas and swept out, not making
a sound throughout the entire exercise.

Julia stared
hungrily at his plate and wondered what she had to do to get eggs
and bacon for breakfast (especially when she couldn’t even get in
the kitchen to make it for herself) as she took another mouthful of
oatmeal. At that point, she’d sell her soul for just one rasher of
bacon.

“This
weekend,” Douglas started as he poured himself some coffee out of
the silver service, “we’ll all go to London. You four can go
sightseeing during the day and Saturday night, Julia, I’d like you
to attend an art opening with me.”

Julia had
barely stopped gaping at Willie only to turn and gape at
Douglas.

“I’m sorry?”
she asked after she forced herself to stop gaping.

Her question
was lost in loud whoops from Willie, the volume of which surprised
even Julia considering the careful quiet the children and servants
observed constantly.

“London!
Wicked!” Willie declared, pumping his arm like he was a trucker
repeatedly blowing his horn.

Ruby decided
this was a good indication that she, too, could get excited and she
let out childish screech of delight.

“Elizabeth,
would you like to go to London?” Douglas quietly asked his
niece.

Surprisingly,
Lizzie answered.

“Kensington
Palace, where Diana’s dresses are?” she inquired of her bowl of
porridge, not lifting her head to look at her uncle.

“If that’s
what you’d like,” Douglas told Lizzie and turned back to Julia.
“Take Veronika as well, so you won’t be overburdened.”

And with that,
the weekend plans were made with Julia only being able to utter
two, unacknowledged words in the process. Julia wondered if
Veronika might have plans of her own but she decided not to ask as
clearly, to Douglas, it didn’t matter.

She wanted to
say something about not wanting to go to London, but rather wanting
to sleep in and get used to her new home and not traipse around an
unfamiliar, bustling city. Or, she wanted to say something about
wanting a pot of jam or a sugar bowl on the table, because at the
very least she took sugar in her coffee, not to mention her
oatmeal. Or she wanted to say something about how it might be a
good idea for Douglas to speak to her about these ideas before he
presented them to the children.

But then she
noticed Ruby.

The little
girl was staring over Julia’s shoulder and out the window.

Julia turned
to see if it was Carter who had caught the child’s attention but
when she looked, she saw nothing.

When she
turned back to the child, Ruby was waving.

Julia, again,
looked out the window and saw nothing.

“Ruby,” she
called, “who are you waving at?”

“Ruby has an
imaginary friend,” Willie replied, clearly the speaker for the
group.

“He is not
imaginary,” Ruby fired back. “He’s standing right there at the
window, looking at Auntie Jewel.”

A chill slid
down Julia’s spine as she turned again to peer out the window.

“I don’t see
nothin’,” Willie declared.

“Anything,”
Julia corrected distractedly, still seeing nothing.

“I don’t see
anything,” Willie amended, overly sweet and teasing Ruby by bugging
his eyes out to her.

“He’s right
there and he’s my friend. He likes me. And he likes Auntie Jewel,”
Ruby shot back.

“That’s
enough, Ruby. Eat,” Douglas ordered and without a word, little Ruby
obeyed, but then, at that tone of voice, a Marine Sergeant would
have obeyed.

Mrs. K came
back in and announced that Carter was ready to take the children to
school.

They all, even
Ruby, rushed from their seats, leaving their dirty dishes on the
table and heading out the door.

“Hang on a
second…” Julia called and they stopped. “The dishes…” she started
to say but was interrupted.

“The staff see
to the dishes, Julia,” Douglas reminded her.

Julia made
another Herculean effort at control. She had not been raised to
leave her dirty dishes on the table and she knew neither Tamsin nor
Gavin had raised their children to leave their dishes. They’d had a
nanny, to be certain, Gavin travelled a great deal. They also had a
maid, who came in three days a week, and why not, Tamsin was rich.
But the children were only half-aristocrat. The other half, both
Gavin and Tamsin had assured, were polite, courteous, well-behaved
Midwesterners.

Momentarily
defeated, Julia changed tactics. “Well then, I want kisses. You
aren’t walking out of here without giving me kisses.”

Willie rolled
his eyes and slouched forward, making a show of hating every second
and pecked her cheek so quickly he appeared to be going for a world
record. Lizzie didn’t rush forward either but did as she was told.
They both ran out of the room as Julia caught Ruby in a hug and
lavished the child’s face with kisses as she squirmed and
giggled.

“Off with you,
Ruby-girl, say good-bye to your brother and sister for me,” Julia
said.

With that,
Ruby dashed out of the room.

Left alone
with Douglas, Julia was at a loss, so she stared longingly at his
breakfast.

“I thought…”
he began and then stopped, regarded her for a moment then he
continued politely. “Would you like for me to ask Mrs. Kilpatrick
to make you some eggs?”

Flustered, she
stopped staring and took another spoonful of porridge.

“No, no, I
love oatmeal! Yum, yum,” she lied and was about to put the spoon in
her mouth when a masculine hand came into her sight, its fingers
clamped on her spoon and it was firmly pulled out of her grasp by
Douglas.

Stunned, she
watched as he dropped the spoon into her bowl and removed the bowl
from her place setting. He then set his plate of food in front of
her.

Julia could
not believe what he’d just done and couldn’t think of a thing to
say to him. It was his house and she was a guest there, but still,
the arrogance! She tried to think of some way of responding to his
outrageous behaviour and decided diplomacy was best.

“I can’t…” she
started only to be interrupted again.

“You can and
you will,” he commanded, dipping his head to her plate, his gaze
firm on her face and she found herself too tired, too stunned and
too hungry (and maybe a bit too chicken), to argue.

Therefore, she
tucked into the food.

“Sunday
evening, when we get back from the city, I’d like to have a talk
about our arrangement,” Douglas announced.

She took a
bite of bacon and watched him. He showed no signs of anything, no
emotion, no sadness at his sister’s passing. Last night he got home
late after a day of whatever it was that he did, and was up again,
early, dressed and ready to go back to whatever it was and he
looked like he just left a spa.

“Julia?” Now
he no longer looked emotionless, he looked impatient.

“Yes, that’s
fine. That’s a good idea. I look forward to that.” She was
babbling.

“Good.” He
took a last sip of his coffee and threw down his napkin. “I’ll see
you Saturday evening.”

She nearly
choked again.

Saturday
evening!

“Saturday
evening… but it’s Wednesday!” she cried.

She said it to
an empty room.

He was
gone.

And Julia
still felt like she was being watched.

* * * * *

Veronika was
surprised to find Miss Julia’s bed made when she walked into her
room.

She’d heard
the American woman on the phone in the kitchen and she’d hurried to
do the cleaning while Julia was otherwise engaged. She bustled
around the room, intent to perform her duties to the exacting
standards that Lady Monique Ashton expected them to be done.

Bathrooms
cleaned thoroughly, daily. Used towels were taken away and washed,
daily. Also, dusting and hoovering done, daily. Sheets were changed
on Wednesdays and Fridays. Clothes were picked up off the floor and
all of the outerwear was put in cleaned and pressed linen sacks and
taken by Carter to the dry cleaners. Unmentionables carefully hand
washed and air dried. Towels, sheets, serviettes, tablecloths were
all washed, starched and ironed, by Veronika. The heavy cleaning
was done on a strict rota that Mrs. Kilpatrick oversaw with a
devotion akin to religion.

The American
was like no one Veronika had yet met in England. She made her bed.
She folded her towel and put it back on the rail. She spoke to
Veronika in a normal voice and smiled at her, even when Veronika
was just passing.

Veronika
didn’t know what to make of her.

The Lady
Tamsin had been quite like that but careful not to be overly
familiar when Lady Ashton was around. Veronika had only seen Mister
Gavin once, for the briefest of moments, and he’d been kissing Lady
Tamsin at the time so Veronika had left them to it.

Veronika felt
a great deal of guilt as she was the only one in the household who
had gained from the lovely couple’s deaths. Mrs. Kilpatrick’s hours
went from abnormally long to ungodly long. Veronika, who worked
Wednesday through Sunday and had Monday and Tuesday off had gained
a lot of extra hours and overtime pay the last five months. This
had eased her burden tremendously.

She was able
to move out of the cold and cramped old servants’ quarters and she
got herself a small, shabbily furnished bedsit in the local town.
She was also able to buy a beat-up old car. She put in a telephone
(even though she had no one to call). She even bought plates,
cutlery and pretty plastic glasses at the local Tesco that had
bright circles printed on them.

Even with all
the good luck Veronika had since meeting Lord Douglas Ashton that
dark night nearly seven months ago, she still didn’t trust it.

Veronika was
not a lucky girl, never had been.

And in
that dark alley, so many months ago, she was certain her luck had
run out. She was vulnerable, alone and the men who had been
tracking her finally had made their move. They’d trapped her in
that alley, beat her about the face until she tasted the blood in
her mouth, and her belly until she found it hard to breathe, pushed
her up against the wall and put the knife to her throat making such
demands, such
hideous
demands.
She knew she’d die, or go missing, perhaps sold into a life even
worse than the lonely one she was living.

Then, out of
nowhere, Lord Ashton appeared.

Veronika never
knew what he was doing there but she prayed to God nearly every
night a prayer of gratitude that he was.

There had been
three large men but Lord Ashton dispatched them without breaking a
sweat. When he turned his dark eyes to her she noticed he wasn’t
even breathing heavily and his expression was not angry but
strangely remote. The controlled and practised violence he showed
when dealing with her attackers was almost more frightening then
the knife pressed to her throat.