Written in the Heart

by Judith Stacy

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Of course.” Stephen tugged on his vest. “Of course I’m all right.”

  “I heard you groan,” she said.

  “I didn’t groan,” he insisted.

  “Actually, it was more of a moan.”

  Stephen gritted his teeth. Well, all right, he might have moaned, but he certainly couldn’t admit to it.

  He straightened his shoulders. Better to get his mind on business, quickly.

  “Miss Sommerfield, there is something we need to discuss.”

  “Certainly.” She gazed up at him, her eyes bright.

  Good heavens, what had he wanted to tell her? Stephen pulled on his necktie, trying to remember. It was something important, he was sure of that. Dammit, he just couldn’t think straight in this condition.

  “Yes, Mr. Monterey?” she prompted.

  “Well, Miss Sommerfield…I…”

  She was so damned pretty. That thought pulsed in his mind, in his body. Even though he’d seen countless pretty women before, there was something different about Caroline. He couldn’t say what it was. But it made his chest hurt, his stomach ache and the rest of him—

  “Your aunt is serving tea,” Caroline said. “Are you joining us?”

  “Tea?” Stephen shook his head, finally remembering why he’d come looking for Caroline. “No, no tea. We’re supposed to be working.”

  She grinned. “And I thought you served tea to welcome all your new employees. That’s not true?”

  Stephen smiled. He couldn’t help it. “Just the newly hired graphologists.”

  She dipped her lashes. “I wasn’t expecting this special attention.”

  “But you deserve it.” The words slipped out in a whispered rush. He hadn’t meant to say them.

  Caroline lifted her head and her gaze met his. He could stay lost forever in her eyes.

  She turned away and pointed to the mantel inside the sitting room.

  “I was looking at the photographs,” she said. “Your family?”

  Glad for something else to concentrate on, Stephen followed her inside.

  “My uncle Colin commissioned a photographer to take the family photographs a year or so ago.” He pointed to the silver-framed photo on the right edge of the mantel. “This is my uncle.”

  Caroline studied the man. Older, with a full head of hair, he stood straight and tall—a man used to being in charge of his world. She saw the resemblance to Stephen.

  “Your aunt takes a nice picture,” Caroline said, of the next photograph.

  Stephen smiled. “It took us three days to narrow down which gown she’d wear, but yes, she does look nice.”

  They moved to the next photograph. “And this is you, of course.”

  The camera’s lens had captured Stephen’s good looks, though he seemed to be trying to camouflage them with a somber expression.

  Stephen pointed to the next photograph. “This is my nephew.”

  “Joey. I met him this morning with his nanny.”

  Caroline smiled at the baby in the photograph. Who could look into the face of that tiny angel and not smile? The year or more that had passed since the photo was taken made a world of difference in the child. He’d grown bigger and lost some of his babyish looks.

  The next photograph on the mantel was a younger version of Stephen, and for an instant Caroline thought it was him. But this man was smiling broadly. Happy, contented, he seemed to not have a care in the world.

  “This must be Joey’s father,” Caroline said. “Your brother.”

  Stephen didn’t say anything. He was quiet for so long that Caroline turned away from the photographs to look at him.

  “Thomas,” he finally said.

  Stephen rested his hand on the mantel and raised one finger as if to caress the photograph. He didn’t, though. Just hovered near without actually touching it.

  “Tommy…” Stephen gulped softly. “Tommy died a year ago.”

  A deep hurt sounded in his voice, the tiniest hint of a grave pain that stayed locked inside him. It seeped inside Caroline, filling her, making her ache, too.

  “Oh, Stephen…”

  “A riding accident,” Stephen said, still looking at his brother’s picture. A tight little smile came to his lips. “Tommy was always taking chances like that. Always living life with exuberance. Never thinking much about consequences.”

  “He was younger than you?” she asked, sure she’d just heard the words of a cautionary older brother.

  “Four years,” Stephen said. “I was twelve when our parents were killed. Tommy was eight. Uncle Colin took us in.”

  He uttered a short laugh. “I can’t tell you the number of times I got Tommy out of fights at school, paid his gambling debts, kept him out of trouble.”

  “But that was all right with you, wasn’t it?” Caroline said.

  “Of course. Tommy was young. He had a lot to learn,” Stephen said. “And that’s what older brothers are for.”

  Stephen seemed to sag under the weight of the memory, of his loss. Caroline held her breath, locked in his grief with him.

  She understood the loss of a loved one. Her own mother had died. But seeing Stephen’s pain—feeling it—went far beyond anything she’d experienced. She wanted to take that ache from him, ease his mind, fill that hole his brother’s death had left in his heart.

  Instinctively she reached for his hand resting on the mantel. But Stephen pulled away and ducked his head, lost in the past for a moment, or maybe embarrassed. He glanced at her, then without saying anything, turned and left the room. A little part of Caroline went with him.

  She had tea with Delfina, then excused herself and went to Stephen’s office. Richard was there and explained that Stephen had gone out unexpectedly.

  Caroline spent the rest of the afternoon touring the house with Delfina and making notes of the spring cleaning that had to be done. Delfina wailed anew in each room at how the staff had become lax since Colin’s death. Caroline had to agree.

  The tour proved too much for Delfina. She retired early and left Caroline to eat alone; Stephen still hadn’t returned. The dining room that seated twenty was too imposing, so Caroline asked for a tray in her room.

  After spending most of the day with Delfina, she knew how much the woman must have agonized, deciding which bedroom to give her guest. She’d made the decision herself, probably the first she’d made all week.

  But Caroline loved the room, with its gracefully carved cherry furniture, thick yellow comforter, flowered wallpaper. Situated at the back of the house, its French doors opened to a balcony that wrapped around much of the second floor and overlooked the grounds.

  In the adjoining bathroom and dressing room, Caroline changed into a crisp white nightgown and combed out her hair. She was used to sleeping in new, different places, but an uneasiness kept her from crawling into bed. Instead she stepped out onto the balcony.

  The stone beneath her bare feet was cool. A breeze blew her hair around her shoulders. Caroline stood at the wide stone railing and looked out over the rear lawn. In the distance, lights of the city twinkled.

  Running her hand along the stones, Caroline strolled toward the corner of the house. Potted ferns and flowering plants dotted the balcony, along with wicker chairs and tables. Here on the second floor, the turret wasn’t part of the corner room, but was left open, forming a breezeway and allowing the balcony to wrap around the house.

  As she stepped inside the turret, movement from farther down the balcony caught her eye. A little tremor of panic went through her. She hadn’t expected to find anyone up at this hour, and here she was, parading around on the balcony in her nightgown.

  But instead of running, Caroline stepped back into the shadows and watched. It was a man, she realized. Stephen.

  French doors open behind him must lead to his bedroom, she decided. He leaned on the stone railing looking out over the grounds.

  In the pale light from his bedroom, she saw t
hat his feet were bare, contrasting with his deep blue trousers. She’d seldom seen a man’s bare feet before; his were long, wide, sturdy.

  The dark trousers rode low on his hips; suspenders hung useless at his sides. He wore a white sleeveless undershirt, with a scoop neck. Black hair curled over the top. As he stood in profile, Caroline saw the lines of his arm muscles, the ripples where the undershirt hugged his belly.

  What was he thinking? she wondered. Staring out into the darkness, he seemed deep in thought. Was it the business meeting he’d been in all afternoon? The fabric for Aunt Delfina’s sitting room? His brother’s death?

  Her?

  Caroline turned away. Why had she wondered such a thing? Why did she care if Stephen thought of her? Just a little?

  He was a busy man. The weight of Monterey Enterprises, the house, the servants, his family was all borne on his shoulders. They were wide shoulders, yes, but surely there wasn’t room left for anything—or anyone—else.

  Caroline peeked around the corner again. He had so much to tend to, so many people and projects pulling at him, depending on him.

  But who worried about Stephen?

  Chapter Eight

  “Four times. Four times in one day. Huh!”

  Angus Turley’s compact body was drawn so tight, Caroline thought his limbs might snap free and ping off the office walls.

  Mr. Turley had been secretary at Monterey Enterprises for more years than anyone could tell Caroline, and right now, for the very first time, he was in the throes of an all-out conniption fit.

  Richard was doing his best to calm him, but Mr. Turley was having none of it.

  “Four times,” he said again. “Four times. Just today. Mr. Monterey hasn’t been into my office four times in the entire year. But he was four times today!”

  Caroline tried to keep her head down and tend to her own work, but that was impossible in the office she now shared with Mr. Turley. A desk had been squeezed into a corner for her, and she didn’t take up much room, but her presence had disturbed the flow of Mr. Turley’s work, as he’d told her and was now telling Richard.

  “Reorganize. That’s what I’ll have to do. Reorganize.” Tufts of gray hair ringed the back of Mr. Turley’s reddening head. “And it’s all because of her.”

  At that, Caroline’s head came up. Mr. Turley glared at her. Richard tried to smile.

  “All right, Mr. Turley,” Richard said. “I’ll—”

  “That’s why Mr. Monterey keeps coming in here—four times today alone! Checking up on her. Then looking over my work. Asking me what I’m doing.” A vein popped out on his forehead. “Me! After years of service, he’s asking me what I’m doing!”

  “Mr. Turley, calm down,” Richard said. “I’ll handle it.”

  But Mr. Turley had no intention of calming down. “Women. Don’t belong in the workplace. None of them.”

  Caroline rose from her chair. “Mr. Turley, I never intended to upset you.”

  His jaw tightened and the ligaments in his neck strained against his skin. “Never in all my days—”

  “Come along, Caroline.” Richard took her arm. “Quickly.”

  She hurried out of the office with Richard and breathed a sigh of relief when he closed the door behind them.

  “Gracious,” she said. “I’ve never seen a man so angry.”

  “I’ve never seen Mr. Turley angry at all.” Richard shook his head. “We’ll just have to find you someplace else to work.”

  Her first full day of employment wasn’t starting off as well as she’d like. She couldn’t blame Mr. Turley for his temper tantrum. Stephen had come into the office so many times this morning he’d gotten on her nerves, too. Asking questions, giving instructions he’d already given. Once he’d just stood in the doorway and looked in.

  “Why don’t you have some tea or something while I straighten this out,” Richard said.

  “I’m sorry to cause trouble.”

  Richard grinned. “You’re worth it.”

  What a dear, sweet man Richard was. Caroline smiled and walked away.

  On her tour of the house yesterday with Aunt Delfi, the nursery had been pointed out to Caroline, but they hadn’t gone inside. Delfina seemed anxious to avoid it. Caroline wasn’t, though, so with Richard busy finding her some new place to practice her chosen profession, she climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  The top section of the nursery’s half door stood open. Inside, Brenna sat on a stool as Joey stacked colorful wooden blocks at her feet.

  “Good morning,” Brenna called, and waved her inside.

  Large windows let in the morning air. A big yellow sun was painted on the ceiling, with blue and white clouds fanning out around it. Clowns, carousel horses and playful animals decorated the walls.

  “Hello, Joey,” Caroline said.

  “Joey,” Brenna said, “say good morning to Miss Caroline.”

  He spared her a smile as he worked on stacking his blocks. “Good morning, Miss Carol.”

  “My goodness, this is quite a place,” Caroline said, looking around the large room.

  A rocking horse with a leather saddle sat in one corner beside a tiny chair with the alphabet lithographed on the back in bright letters.

  “Yes, isn’t it though?” Brenna said.

  Rows of child-size shelves hugged two walls, holding almost every imaginable toy: a stuffed-flannel elephant mounted on wooden casters, a tin sword with a red scabbard, a policeman’s hat, a wooden stable complete with horses, wagons and drivers. Surprise boxes with colorful clowns peeking out. A wind-up mechanical merry-go-round; a tin locomotive with engine, tender and two coaches.

  “It looks like a toy store,” Caroline said. She peered into a giant toy box crammed with a kaleidoscope, a horse-drawn fire engine, a fireman’s helmet, child-size tools, wooden tops, a bright red celluloid ball.

  She smiled down at Joey. “This one child plays with all of these toys?”

  “Oh, this is just some of them,” Brenna said. “Hardly a week goes by that something new doesn’t arrive for him. Mr. Monterey is a very generous man.”

  “Stephen sends all this?” She didn’t know why it surprised her, but it did.

  Brenna rose from the stool and waved her arms around the room. “This is what I allow Joey to play with. Come look.”

  She opened a cupboard on the other side of the room, too high for Joey to reach. Stacked inside were a drum, a tin trumpet, a xylophone, two pop-guns and a paint box. Toys selected by a man who spent little time with children.

  Brenna smiled. “Nice toys, but to be played with sparingly.”

  Caroline watched Joey, his tongue between his teeth, working diligently at the tower he was building. A little ache throbbed in her chest.

  “To look at him, you’d never know,” she said softly.

  “About his parents, you mean?” Brenna asked.

  “So sad about his father,” Caroline said. “I understand his mother…left.”

  “I’d worked here several months before Thomas died,” Brenna said. “Not long, but I saw right away how much he loved his wife. Thomas and Kellen were wild about each other. Devoted to Joey, too. Kellen was devastated when Thomas died.”

  “Is that why she left?” Caroline asked. “Was she just too hurt to deal with Joey?”

  Brenna shook her head. “She absolutely adored Joey. In fact, when I first came to work here I didn’t know why they’d even hired me. Kellen fussed over Joey constantly. After Thomas died, she and Joey were nearly inseparable. I was surprised a few weeks later when Mr. Monterey told me she’d left and wouldn’t be back.”

  “Did Stephen tell you why she left?”

  “It wasn’t Stephen,” Brenna said. “His uncle, Colin. And, no, he gave no explanation.”

  Caroline gazed down at the little boy kneeling on the floor. How could a mother leave her child?

  “Has she come back to visit?” Caroline asked. “Or written asking about him?”

  “Not a word. She move
d back east somewhere with family, I understand,” Brenna said. “Joey still asks about her—about both of his parents, really, but his mother especially. He has nightmares sometimes, and cries in his sleep.”

  “Joey’s lucky to have you,” Caroline said. “Richard says you do a marvelous job caring for him.”

  “Richard said that?” Color flushed her cheeks. “Really?”

  Caroline nodded. “Yes, he did.”

  She touched the broach at her throat. “That’s…that’s very kind of Mr. Paxton to notice.”

  “I was in the green sitting room yesterday and I noticed Joey’s mother’s picture wasn’t with the rest of the family,” Caroline said. She’d meant to ask Stephen about it, but he’d been so upset about his brother she’d forgotten.

  “Colin had all of Kellen’s pictures packed away,” Brenna said. “He didn’t want Joey to be upset by seeing them…or so he claimed.”

  “Hello there!”

  Richard unlatched the half door and walked into the nursery. Joey raced to meet him.

  “Uncle Richard!”

  Richard swung him around and held him in his arms.

  “Play with me, Uncle Richard. Please?”

  “Have you been a good boy this morning?”

  Joey nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes, Uncle Richard. I’ve been the goodest boy all morning.”

  “Not giving Miss Brenna a bad time, are you?”

  Joey shook his head so hard his bangs bounced. “Uh-uh, Uncle Richard. I been the bestest little boy in the whole world.”

  Richard smiled. “Well, I can’t ask for more than that, now can I?”

  He sat Joey down and the boy tugged on his sleeve. “Look, I’m building a fort. Come on, Uncle Richard, you can play, too.”

  Richard glanced at Brenna. “Well, I don’t know…”

  “Please? Please?” Joey begged.

  “If Miss Brenna doesn’t mind,” he said.

  “No, of course not.” She touched her hand to her hair, smoothing a few stray locks. “If you want to, that is.”

  “If you’re sure I’m not interfering.”

  “If you can spare the time.”

  Caroline stepped between the two of them. “Of course you’re not interfering. And of course he can spare the time.”