“Gee, thanks, Mom. Meilin, make me an auntie.”
“Night, sweetheart.” Mom leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams.”
Birdie grunted as Meilin wished her good night. Just before the door shut she heard Mom say, “Haven’t had a chance to do that in years. Probably never will again.”
Birdie didn’t hear Meilin’s response because the door shut, blocking the light from the hallway and plunging her room into darkness. She finished removing her underwear, then pushed her arms through the sleeves of her nightshirt and snuggled under the covers.
* * * *
Oswald looked down the hall, one of the large serving bowls in his hand, as Randi and Meilin returned to the dining room. As soon as they’d disappeared, Meilin’s mother had organized the men into clearing the table and general kitchen cleaning duty. Since he’d been raised as a gentleman and knew how to clean up after a meal, he fell in with the others, hoping it would erase the feel of Courtney in his arms, her lemon fresh scent from his nose. He’d had to stop in the loo for a moment to get himself under control enough to face everyone else. The attraction he felt for Courtney was growing each time he was near her. On the one hand he’d been dismayed at the presence of Randi and Meilin in the bedroom, but on the other, he’d been thankful for them as well. Their very presence was the reason he could do his part now.
He still couldn’t figure out the name she’d murmured. Ozimander? Was that some strange Pokémon reference? He’d have to ask about it later.
Court was in charge of putting the few leftovers away, since he knew where the dishes were kept. Paul was up to his elbows in suds while Drew dried dishes. Mr. Wu and Larry were setting out fresh coffee and cream on the table.
“Impressive,” Randi said as she passed him.
“We’re well-trained, ma’am.”
Randi laughed. “So you say. Although I can see room for improvement, I’m not complaining.” She patted his shoulder. “Don’t let me get in your way.”
Since Birdie had crashed, the party wound down quickly. Oswald downed one cup of coffee, then made his excuses.
Court escorted him to the elevator. “Your car can carry three more, right?”
“Yes.” Right now he was wishing he drove a two-seater with little cargo space.
“Stop by around ten, if you please. I’m sure we can put at least two with you and make things a little more comfortable driving down.”
“Will do.”
“And thanks for helping me save face tonight. Not sure I could have carried Birdie. You probably spared me from a heart attack or a hernia in front of an audience.”
“My pleasure, sir.” Oswald barely kept himself from grimacing over that statement. Sure, tell his boss he’d enjoyed carrying the man’s daughter to her bed. His only regret was he wasn’t wrapped around said daughter this very moment.
“See you tomorrow.” Court slapped him on the shoulder and turned away as the elevator doors slid open.
The next morning his suspicions from the night before were confirmed. Birdie and her luggage were deposited into his car. Drew and Meilin were also assigned to him. So while he loaded the rest of the luggage in the boot, Drew handed the ladies into the vehicle. Birdie in the front passenger, Meilin directly behind her. As he climbed into the driver seat, Oswald wondered how long before Drew complained of the shortened leg space. Not long as it turned out. He didn’t even bother trying to climb into the seat behind Oswald.
“Bird,” Drew demanded. “Swap with me.”
Beside Oswald, Birdie sighed and rolled her eyes. “That didn’t take long.”
Meilin laughed. “I’d rather get a little sister time back here, anyway. Let the boys chat up front.”
Birdie smiled up at her brother as he swung open her door and reached in to pull her out. In an exaggerated, deep, grunting voice she said, “Yes, caveman, little womans gather in the back seat.”
Drew gave her a huge grin. “Funny.”
Oswald climbed from his seat as Birdie made the circuit around the back of the car. He held the door for her, then shut it once she’d pulled her long legs in. Settling once more in his seat, he asked, “Enough room back there?”
“I’m good,” Birdie responded and Meilin piped in with the affirmative as well.
“All right, then. Strap in and we’re off.”
“This is good,” Meilin said. “We can have girl talk while they discuss soccer or something.”
“Over here it’s football, or if you want to keep them straight, we can call it footie.” Drew glanced over his shoulder. “Or there’s always cricket and rugby.”
Oswald figured he could deal with that. Even with the four bodies, each with their own shower fresh scent, he could make out Courtney’s unique lemon fragrance. It was a very pleasant switch from the expensive perfumes he was used to from Deirdre and her ilk. None of them would choose such an innocent scent as lemon. It was perfect on Courtney.
“I still can’t get used to this driving on the wrong side of the road business,” Meilin said.
Oswald glanced aside at Drew and caught his smirk.
“It takes time,” Courtney assured her sister-in-law. “I haven’t tried driving in the city yet, but Dad lets me toodle around the village. Feels like driver ed all over again with him trying to appear calm and pretend he’s not stomping on the invisible brake all the time. He did the same with Mom until she refused to drive with him in the car.”
Drew laughed out loud at that. “You both were raised on California traffic. You just have to forget your hang-ups about swapping sides and you’ll figure it out just fine.”
“I can get around London perfectly well without a car,” Courtney said. “Besides, most of what I want is within walking distance, anyway, or I can get to it from the Tube. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.” Oswald had heard her use the strange phrase before, but considering her lemon scent, maybe there was a deeper meaning. If so, she wasn’t giving it away now, rather she continued rambling on. “On rare occasions, a cab works. It would be a waste of time to get the car out only to have to try and find parking.”
“And then try to parallel park from the wrong side of the car.” Meilin’s nod could be seen in the mirror.
Oswald allowed himself a smile.
Fortunately traffic was reasonable for a slightly overcast Sunday morning. Oswald maneuvered his vehicle through the cars darting here and there, many headed out of town for the afternoon.
“Why didn’t we just drive down yesterday?” Courtney wondered behind him.
If he adjusted the mirror he’d be able to see more than part of her cheek, but he resisted the temptation and let the conversation flow between his three passengers. The bantering and teasing was very much what he’d come to expect with Drew anywhere nearby. Not something he engaged in well, but that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy listening in. For him it was enough to listen to Courtney’s voice as she joked with the other two.
Two hours later, as they neared Chichester and the Robinson estate, the sun broke through and brightened the landscaping.
“It’s so green and beautiful,” Meilin said. Oswald guessed there was a dreamy quality to her tone. “Not that San Francisco isn’t green, or Beijing, but there’s something special about the English countryside. Also, you can’t beat the air quality here.”
“It’s all the historic homes,” Drew answered. “It imparts a sense of history neither of the other cities embody. Although San Francisco has its own historic charm.”
“Don’t get me wrong.” Meilin poked his shoulder from between the front seats. “I love nearly every part of San Francisco. But it’s just different. This has a romantic air to it. I can almost see the coach and fours trotting along.”
“Being chased by a masked highway man intent on getting the girl and the jewels.”
Leave it to Drew to think of such a thing. Oswald had no such romantic fantasies. He hadn’t been raised with a nanny who read h
im adventurous bedtime stories. Larry had had a housekeeper who cooked dinner and waited around until he got home from work. Otherwise, Oswald had sort of raised himself. He’d had a bachelor uncle who taught him the ways to wine, dine, and generally woo whatever he needed from someone. A handy talent he could employ when motivated enough, but not one he put a whole lot of effort into. Rather he preferred to watch and listen to find his way around getting the things he needed. Usually without anyone being wise to his maneuvers.
Before long they pulled up in front of the house. A Tudor era mansion was more like it, but he’d been there often enough to him it was a warm and welcoming house. They weren’t the first to arrive, but neither were they the last. Martin was already pulling luggage from Court’s SUV. Phillip Hammond pulled up behind Oswald and sauntered around the bonnet of his car to help the elder Mrs. Robinson from the front seat.
Behind him, Courtney was already swinging her door open. He was there in time to hand her out of the car while Drew attended to his wife.
A jolt of electricity shot up his arm when Courtney’s fingers made contact with his hand. Her startled blue gaze jumped to meet his, and she lost no time letting go the moment she stood on the gravel drive.
“Thank you, Ozinator.”
“My pleasure.” The faint blush that washed her cheeks was certainly his pleasure to watch. And a danger he didn’t need to flirt with.
She turned from him to check for left behind belongings in the back seat, and he firmly directed himself to the boot rather than ogling her posterior. Martin had too many people arriving at once to handle all the luggage, so Oswald made himself useful and did the unloading himself. Fortunately, half the cases were small and most had shoulder straps. He loaded up and headed for the front door, leaving Drew to get his wife’s larger suitcase.
Courtney caught up to him at the wide low stone steps to the large double, arched doors at the front of the house. “Give me mine. There’s no reason for you to lug all that.”
“I’ve got it. To sort yours out now would only slow us down. Do you know which room you’re in?”
Courtney huffed with what he assumed was exasperation. “The front corner room on the south end.”
Damn. Next door to the room he usually took. They’d be sharing a bathroom. That was all he needed.
“No worries then. You go find the refreshments I’m sure Martin has set out. I’ll be down in a minute.” They’d already crossed the great hall where the reception would be held later. The weight of the old building seemed to press down on him as he headed for the stairs.
“Fine,” Courtney bit out. “Be the hero.” She paused and he looked over his shoulder, one brow raised. “Thank you.”
She’d tried to say it with grace, but a slight edge of irritation had snuck through.
Instead of answering, he nodded, then left her in the hallway lined with hand-carved paneling that had darkened over the centuries and had the luster of years of careful dusting and oiling. Come to think of it, the house smelled of lemon oil. Maybe that’s why Courtney seemed so suited to this house. He could easily see her as mistress of the mansion, hosting a masked ball with Tudor era costumes. Pretty enough to catch the eye of old Henry himself.
At the top of the steps he looked down to see her staring up at him. Yes, she’d look beautiful in costume, far more alive than the ancestors painted in stiff poses lining the walls. Maybe he could commission a portrait of her in just that way….
Abruptly he turned away from Courtney as much as he turned away from that flight of fancy. He was merely footman to her lady of the manor, and he’d best not ever forget.
Chapter 9
No. No, no, no! She was not going to fall for stuffy Ozzie again. She’d already done that Tuesday night, and since he was showing no signs of acknowledging their brief interlude, she wasn’t going to bring it up. Other than carrying her to bed, under her mother’s watch no less, and the gentlemanly behavior with the help from the car a few minutes ago, he’d basically ignored her. Hadn’t jumped into the conversation in the car at all other than to grunt in agreement with something Drew had said.
More bodies poured into the entrance hall, and she turned to lend assistance to her grandmother, or whoever might need help.
Only half an hour later, Birdie’s mother and Martin were ushering people to their rooms to get dressed for the much smaller ceremony at the village church. Thankfully the temperature was a good fifteen degrees cooler than San Francisco had been a week ago. And everyone’s clothes were less formal than they’d been for the grand cathedral ceremony. No need to help Meilin with her very fluffy wedding dress. This time they both wore traditional Mandarin sheaths of thick silk with a wealth of embroidery from neck to ankles. Meilin in cream with red and gold embroidery, Birdie in a dress of pink with cream and blue designs. Mostly birds and flowers with touches of red while Meilin had a golden dragon and phoenix on her gown. All for good luck.
Despite the simple, scaled down wardrobe, it still took the women two hours to dress, with Meilin’s hair and makeup taking up most of that time. A task Mrs. Wu absolutely ruled.
Birdie leaned over and whispered in her mother’s ear, “I won’t be so fussy, I promise.”
Mom had whispered back, “You can be as fussy as you want. I’ll love every minute of it.” Then she’d pressed a tissue under her suspiciously bright eyes. “Your father wants to give you the world, and when it comes to your wedding, I won’t be able to hold him back; not that I’d want to, anyway.”
The unexpected lump in her own throat made it hard to do more than blink and nod. As much as she’d come to love Court, her biological father, she’d also loved the daddy who’d raised her, Wyatt Ferguson. At moments like this, a bittersweet shard pierced her heart. Whenever she’d dreamed of a wedding as a little girl, he’d been the daddy to walk her down the aisle. And since she spent very little, if any time contemplating her own wedding these days, it was hard to insert Court into the picture. It would be easier as time went on, but three years down the road, she still missed the man who’d loved and held her from the moment of her birth.
Mom’s arms suddenly wrapped around her. “I still miss him, too. I love Court, adore him, but there’s still a piece of my heart where Wyatt lives. There’s no need to push him out of your heart. He’s still watching over you, and to some extent, possibly me. He loved us well. We don’t have to forget that.”
Birdie squeezed her mom, then stepped back and gently wiped at her eyes. “Stop that or we’ll have to do our makeup over again.”
Mom sniffed and laughed, reaching for another tissue to blot under her eyes. “Yes, dear.”
“Everything okay over there?” Meilin’s gaze reflected back at them from the mirror she sat before while her mother twisted, pinned, and sprayed her hair into a formidable do to go with the gold and ruby headdress.
“We’re fine. Just having a moment of memory for a loved one lost,” Mom answered. “What can we do to help other than stand around and look beautiful?”
Mrs. Wu answered, “Almost done. Powder your noses one more time and then it will be time to go.”
Birdie shared a smile with her mom. Mrs. Wu was used to commanding a large extended family. Apparently the two of them were accepted if she directed her orders to them.
* * * *
At the church most everything went according to plan. The only fly in the ointment was a woman sitting next to Paul who spent the ceremony sending death rays directly at Ozzie, who appeared far less comfortable today than he had last week. Ozzie spent the ceremony looking over Birdie’s head. Not what she’d envisioned at all.
Drew and Meilin made a more dignified exit from the church this time. A glance at Martin showed him smiling proudly this time, instead of hiding his face. And although she was smiling at the antics, it was a stone-faced Ozzie who held out his arm to escort her from the church. She wished he’d smile for the pictures because this time his vest matched her dress. But
no, whoever that woman was, she’d managed to ruin what little good mood Ozzie had had the night before.
They went through the motions of the pictures with the photographer cajoling a stiff smile or two out of Ozzie. Fortunately Meilin and Drew had plenty of smiles to make up for him, and they were the stars of most of the photos. Although, Birdie was pretty sure her photo with Ozzie looked something like Ma and Pa whoever, the ones with the pitchfork.
“Well thanks for tolerating that, Ozibutt,” she snapped at him when they’d been excused.
“Pardon me?” Behind his glasses he blinked in confusion.
“Would it kill you to smile every once in a while? Especially at Drew’s wedding? I’m sure this set of pictures will be quite lovely.” She didn’t spare the sarcasm on the last word.
He responded by frowning at her. On the verge of saying something, he was interrupted by the brunette who slapped him on the arm. Although she smiled, it was sharp, her eyes glittering. “Oswald, darling. I must have missed your call. You remember, the one telling me where to be and when as your plus one.”
Ice formed, skittering down Birdie’s spine, entering her bloodstream, and turned her stomach into a cement mass that fell to her feet. Some instinct told her this woman was only smiles on the surface. Below, she carried more venom than a yellow bellied sea snake.
“Forgive me, Deirdre.” Ozzie’s gaze skittered right over Birdie’s head as he turned to the woman perfectly dressed for a summer garden party in a white dress decorated with large blue flowers, complete with lacy, wide-brimmed hat to shade her face. “The situation got out of hand, and I didn’t have a chance.”
“Bollocks, darling. That’s two now you owe me.” The woman gave Birdie a cool up and down glance. “Unless this is your idea of out of hand?”
Lips pinched, Ozzie lapsed into an extremely posh accent, cool and formal, his entire body stiff. “Courtney, may I present Deirdre Portman-Wright, a friend. Deirdre, this is Courtney Ferguson-Robinson, Drew’s sister, and”—he indicated Paul who sauntered up holding a pair of filled champagne flutes—“Paul’s cousin.”
Her Improper Affair Page 8