Lizzie and Willie were now bolting down their food, no matter that it tasted like cardboard, or maybe because of it.
Julia had made sure they were up, washed, dressed and their rucksacks were filled. After all this, Julia appeared in the kitchen to help with breakfast but Mrs. K had shooed her out and ordered her to sit in the dining room to await the meal. Julia was surprised they sat in the huge, formal dining room for breakfast. Dinner her first night there as a celebration but breakfast?
She’d made an effort when dressing for the sake of the kids and Mrs. K. She didn’t need anyone worrying about her and she knew she looked terrible. She tried to hide the dark circles under her eyes behind a mask of light makeup. She’d put on a pair of charcoal grey, boot-leg, corduroy trousers, the belt loops threaded with a heavily embossed, wide leather belt that ended in a huge, silver, Western-style buckle. She wore high-heeled black boots and a fitted black t-shirt that had a scooped neck and long sleeves that fit snugly down the arms but flared out slightly from the elbows to hang gracefully passed her wrists. She’d thrown on a necklace made of a strip of black leather from which dangled a hammered disc of matte silver and she’d completed the outfit with big, wide, silver-hooped earrings.
“You dress like a rock star’s wife,” Gavin used to tease her.
“She does not!” Tamsin would defend.
“Okay, you dress like a rock star’s somewhat-classy wife,” Gavin allowed.
Pushing the once happy, now devastating memory and the porridge, aside, she reached for her coffee and took a sip just as Douglas strolled into the dining room.
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 lik
es 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.
“Come with me, you’ll be safe,” he’d commanded, speaking fluent Russian.
She went, too afraid not to go at the same time knowing somewhere deep in her heart she was safe.
He took her to a hotel and signed her in, paying a week in advance.
She expected he would want something, something she’d never given anyone, and, although she was frightened, she knew she would have given it to him. He had saved her life for one thing and for another, he was very handsome, except for the scar on his mouth which made him look slightly menacing.
He was tall, lean and utterly perfect.
And he was her hero.
But instead, the moment he saw her safel
y into her room and handed her a wetted towel to wipe the blood from her mouth, he turned to go. She became so scared at the thought of being left alone, she blurted out her whole life story in quick, frightened sentences.
He listened, his impersonal expression never changing throughout her sad saga. When she was done, he nodded and left without a word. She thought that was it and she didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t stay and she was too frightened to leave.
In fifteen minutes, the phone rang in the room and an efficient woman was on the line, telling Veronika in somewhat broken Russian what would happen to her. In a week, she had a passport and a ticket to England.
That was it and here she was.
She’d started her job immediately in this big, frightening house with its many chimneys and gables, wrought-ironed scroll work, twisted, strange fancies shooting toward the sky, its curved turrets and graceful chapel.
Mrs. K was nice to her from the first but it still took Veronika months to trust her. Carter was gruff and quiet but she noticed he, and Mr. Kilpatrick when he was around, both looked after Veronika either under Mrs. K’s request or Lord Ashton’s edict. Even with their easy acceptance and their kind, efficient training of her in her new duties, she was still frightened. The men Lord Ashton had bested were not of the kind to lose gracefully.
She lived in fear that they would find her, one day.
In her new life, though, somehow, with all of this hanging over her head, the house scared her most of all. Especially at night, when she watched over the children and heard the noises, felt the draughts and saw the shadow of a man walking around outside.
No, the house didn’t scare her most of all. Losing her job did. She couldn’t go back to St. Petersburg.
And she feared losing her job every second of every day because Lady Ashton was not an easy mistress.
Everything had to be perfect, no feather left on the floor by the vacuum, no wet washcloth forgotten in the shower, no familiarity with family or guests. If it happened, the results were terrible. Veronika had felt Lady Ashton’s displeasure, the razor sharpness of her tongue and her angry eyes. There were rules and responsibilities that had to be seen to with the utmost care, Veronika had twice been careless, one more time and Veronika knew she would be gone.
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