Sommersgate House

by Kristen Ashley

She walked in hesitantly and when she saw the room was clear of spooky spectres, she moved around in order to turn on every light she could all the while he watched her. She was trembling and edgy and expected to see the apparition at any moment.

  When she got near Douglas, he caught her arm with his hand to stop her and he dipped his head to look closely at her.

  “You really are frightened,” he stated softly.

  “I told you!” she cried. “I saw it! She was standing… floating… forming, whatever! Right over there!” Julia pointed at the corner. “And what’s more, The Master scratches at the window every night. I hear him and I saw him once too.”

  “Who told you this story?” Douglas asked, his voice and face now beginning to betray anger.

  “No one, I saw him and heard him and felt her. I asked Mrs. K…” She stopped when his head tipped back and his eyes moved to the ceiling.

  After a few seconds, his gaze locked on hers. “Mrs. Kilpatrick told Tamsin these stories too when she was a little girl. Tamsin believed them all her life, just like you do now.”

  “Well, Tamsin didn’t tell me. Neither did you. But I saw or felt them both and I know Ruby does as well and so does Veronika.”

  “It’s an old ghost story. Someone puts it in your mind and you see it.”

  “So,” she stood with hands on her hips, “there was no old baron who died trying to get in this house while his wife was locked inside and mysteriously strangled?”

  “That story is true,” he admitted.

  “See!” Julia threw up her arms, dislodging his hand.

  When it was clear she wasn’t going to listen to him or calm down, he grabbed her and pulled her into the safety and warmth of his strong arms and, Julia had to admit, she felt exactly that. Warmth and safety. Intense warmth and safety.

  Oh dear.

  “Julia, listen to me,” Douglas ordered quietly when she automatically relaxed in his arms. “You’re safe here. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

  She stared into his eyes and they were so serious and so grave, she believed him.

  “Promise?” she asked on a whisper, sounding childish but she didn’t care because, bottom line, she’d just seen a ghost! Douglas nodded and then something occurred to her. “What were you doing in the dining room?”

  He smiled and his arms tightened. “Coming to see how sorry you were about your comment earlier this evening,”

  It was such an audacious thing to say and do, and the night had been so pleasant, she threw back her head and laughed, then tilted it forward and rested her forehead against his chest. After she caught her breath, she looked at him and noticed he was grinning down at her.

  That grin warmed her even more and made her stomach clench pleasantly.

  Even so, she informed him, “I’m not that sorry.”

  “I figured not.” He was still smiling.

  She realised belatedly that this had gone on long enough. She stiffened in his arms, pulled away and said, “I’m okay now, Douglas, you can leave. But… um, thank you.”

  He didn’t try to reach for her again and she fought against a strong sense of disappointment she knew she shouldn’t have.

  “Are you going to send my electricity bill even higher by sleeping with all these lights on?” he asked.

  “Of course not,” she lied without remorse.

  He stared at her a moment and nodded again.

  Then he carried on with his unusual sweet Douglas behaviour which meant his hand came up and he cupped the back of her head. Bringing her forward, he kissed her forehead. It was a strange and, she had to admit, gorgeously intimate gesture that made her feel something deeper than warmth. It was sweeter and it was also very, very frightening.

  Then he walked away and she had to fight again to tamp down more disappointment as she watched him go.

  The door closed behind him and she was forced to acknowledge, against her better judgement, even if it was only in her own mind, that she had a wonderful evening that night (apart from the ghost, of course) and Douglas had contributed to that wonderful evening, more than a little.

  She washed her face, slathered on her moisturiser, put on stretchy pair of black pyjama bottoms and a plum-coloured tank top and slid into bed, keeping every light burning.

  She was just settling down with her book when her door opened and she jumped a mile.

  It was Douglas.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” she cried, pulling her covers up to her neck.

  He still had on his deep tan corduroys and black turtleneck and he lifted his book to show her as he went around the room, turning off all the lights but the floor lamp in the turret.

  She watched as he settled in one of the chairs there, rested his feet on the ottoman, opened his book and, eyes on the pages, he murmured, “Go to sleep, Julia.”

  She stared at him dumbfounded because he knew she was frightened and, in knowing, did something about it.

  Julia felt her stomach clench, again not unpleasantly, as she watched Douglas read.

  Then, not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, she set aside her own book, cuddled into the pillows and, for once, did exactly as he commanded.

  Chapter Twelve

  Thanksgiving

  Douglas felt the smart, strategic thing to do was leave her room before she woke.

  What he wanted to do was take off his clothes and join her in bed.

  He didn’t often ignore his instincts when it came to strategy thus, as hard as it was, sometime after he heard her breath even, he turned out the light and sought his own bed.

  He didn’t, however, do this before he silently approached her and watched her sleep. Pulling her heavy, soft hair away from her face to bear witness to the fact that Julia was just as beautiful unconscious as she was when she was conscious. Then he turned out the light and went to his rooms.

  Breakfast, they had been told in advance, was the beginning of the festival of food that Thanksgiving Thursday would be. Julia was up and in the kitchens by the time he finished his morning run and arrived at the breakfast table, Oliver, Sam, Monique and Ruby already there. Just as he was taking his seat at the head of the table, Charlie wandered in from the kitchen, looking harassed, wearing an apron and sporting a smudge of flour on her face as she announced, “The girl is a lunatic. The entire Black Watch couldn’t eat all that food.”

  Just then, Veronika shooed in a tired Lizzie and Will while Mrs. Kilpatrick and Julia brought in stacks of pancakes, platters of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, hash browns, jugs of syrup and, in the middle of the table, Julia set down an enormous coffee cake.

  “Dig in, folks,” Julia announced, taking what had naturally, over the weeks, become her place at Douglas’s left side while Monique sat across from her on his right (the table was far too long for Douglas to take the head and Monique to take the foot).

  Douglas saw his mother stare at all the food in disgust but everyone tore into it like they’d been starved for months, especially the children.

  “Tell us the story of Thanksgiving, Auntie Jewel.”

  This, Douglas heard with surprise, came from Lizzie.

  He’d taken special care with Lizzie, not because he wanted to, but because Julia wished it. It wasn’t the easiest task he’d undertaken, facing the grieving twelve year old image of his sister, the sister who, at that age (especially at that age) was the only one who fought his losing corner.

  But Lizzie had responded to him immediately and he found she was not at all like his cheerful, bright-eyed, romantic sister.

  The depth of pain and feeling in her eyes matched what he saw in her aunt’s and that he found, albeit contradictorily, was far easier to handle.

  Furthermore, he came to the uneasy realisation that he enjoyed her response and, watching the despair that clung to her like an aura slowly disappear, further was pleased to know he had a hand in it.

  “The true Thanksgiving story is hogwash,” Julia told the stunned table. “Something about
pilgrims and Indians and bounty. I don’t know. It’s all perverse considering the pilgrims most likely murdered the Indians after supper.”

  Monique gasped in outraged horror (something she seemed to be doing a lot lately and, Douglas thought cynically, had nearly perfected). Ruby, however, giggled excitedly. Will muttered, “Wicked,” not at his aunt’s words but that she was so blunt at telling the truth and, more than likely, outraging his grandmother for whom, Douglas had grown to understand, none of the children cared much (and he didn’t blame them).

  “Thanksgiving is just a day to be thankful, for your family, your friends, who…” Julia went on, turning to Charlotte, “are the family you choose for yourself.” Julia took in the table at large and continued. “The food is just celebration. This afternoon, when we get dinner,” she told the children, “you’ll all need to think of something you’re thankful for and if you feel like it, you can tell the whole table.”

  “I know what I’m thankful for!” Ruby shouted.

  “I know I’d be thankful if you’d quit shouting,” Lizzie pit in and at that, Julia turned her startled, pleased eyes to Douglas.

  When she did, he felt his chest tightening at her bright-eyed look and he had to stop himself from touching her flushed cheek. The scene which would ensue from a gesture such as that as witnessed by Monique would kill the moment and, Douglas found, he very much liked the moment.

  Further, he didn’t want the children aware of his plans until Julia had firmly agreed to them. He’d promised Julia that.

  Tearing his gaze away from Julia, Douglas saw Ruby poke her tongue out and Lizzie.

  “Not at the table, Ruby,” Douglas warned automatically, sounding to his own ears like the doting but strict father-figure.

  Before he could react to this unwelcome thought, however, Julia shot him another pleased look, her green eyes melting from bright to tender. His chest constricted further and he used every ounce of willpower to ignore it even as he noticed Charlotte give Oliver a meaningful look and Sam hiding her grin by shoving a fork full of coffee cake in her mouth.

  “Sorry Unka Douglas but can I say what I’m thankful for?” Ruby asked politely, at a decibel level that was still loud but didn’t shake the windows.

  “Please do,” he invited.

  She screwed her face up with her big announcement and then broke out into a crooked smile, “I forget!”

  Everyone burst out laughing and Douglas watched Julia. The exhaustion that had been etching her features since she arrived was gone, the light was back in her eyes. Her glance fluttered to his yet again but this time she turned away and busied herself with filling her plate.

  “We’re not eating again until three or four so you better fill up now,” Julia told the crowd, acting the kind and efficient hostess and making Monique’s dark expression turn black.

  Julia didn’t have to encourage anyone, all plates were piled high, except Monique, who had a small bit of eggs and a rasher of bacon.

  Regardless of her expression, Monique was being uncharacteristically well-behaved and Douglas didn’t trust it. She had something up her sleeve and Douglas was keen to give Julia her Thanksgiving weekend. Having friends and family around her seemed to delight and relax her and he planned to take best advantage of that.

  Last night, he’d seen a serious thawing of the icy reserve Julia had been showing him since he announced his intentions.

  He still couldn’t credit the moment when she’d leaned over him, her breasts brushing his back, and blew in his ear. He’d nearly grabbed her, thrown her over his shoulder and carried her to his bed like a caveman.

  He’d never had such an acute and uncontrolled reaction before, to anything, much less a woman.

  He knew she was more than slightly inebriated at the time but he had never worried too much about the ethics of his tactics, just as long as, in the end, he got what he wanted.

  However, unfortunately, he knew it was too soon and Julia would have been furious at such an action perpetrated in front of Charlotte and Oliver, so he kept control of himself, but only just barely.

  And Douglas was more and more determined to get what he wanted, for a variety of reasons.

  In a short time, Julia had a remarkable effect on everything around her and thus everything around him.

  Sommersgate itself had changed. It was more welcoming than he’d ever felt it. The staff were more cheerful, even smiling openly to each other, Julia, the children and even him (they were still dour-faced and smile-less when Monique made an appearance). Last night, entertaining friends, the house felt normal. Although he’d never really known normal but he knew that Sommersgate felt no longer cold and forbidding but instead warm and even welcoming.

  Douglas cleared these thoughts. He’d never believed what many of the staff, local myth, and even Tamsin thought as the house having its own personality.

  What he did believe was that Julia thought that she had truly seen a ghost last night. As hilariously adorable as she was in her fright (and she was, indeed, adorable), it was clear she believed thoroughly in the myth that shrouded Sommersgate. To Douglas’s way of thinking, this was only to his fortune. He was pleased she saw The Mistress last night and hoped the ghost would return and drive her, again, straight into his arms.

  He just hoped the next time she ran into him, they were closer to his bed.

  The breakfast manfully consumed with still enough left over for another group of their size to eat until they were satiated, everyone filed away from the table. Sam and Charlie headed to the kitchen and Oliver and Douglas were off to the stables when Douglas saw Carter.

  Monique was drifting toward the morning room and Julia was seeing to the children when Douglas called out to the man.

  “The shrubbery around Miss Fair…” he stopped himself and thought of how the staff addressed her less formally, “Miss Julia’s windows needs cutting back. Please see to it.”

  Carter simply nodded but Douglas caught the look of disdain on Monique’s face and the look of pleasure on Julia’s.

  Everyone but the women spent the day pleasantly occupied however they saw fit. After breakfast, the children followed Oliver and Douglas to the stables, they all saddled horses and took a morning ride, Ruby seated in front of Douglas, Willie and Lizzie on their own mounts.

  When they returned, the children came and went from the kitchen. Charlie and Sam would emerge for a rest but Julia was firmly entrenched in her cooking and Douglas didn’t see her the entire day.

  At three, Veronika moved through the house timidly to tell people that supper would be served in forty-five minutes. At the allotted time, Douglas and Oliver met Charlotte at the bottom of the stairwell. Charlotte had changed from casual clothes into a fetching black dress.

  “Did it really take you three and Veronika and Mrs. K to make Thanksgiving dinner?” Oliver asked his wife after he’d kissed her cheek.

  “No, but we didn’t make a Thanksgiving dinner, we made two Thanksgiving dinners,” Charlotte answered.

  “For God’s sake, why?” Oliver breathed, likely still recovering from the breakfast orgy.

  “Julia made one for the staff. While we sit down to eat the one Mrs. K and Ronnie made for us, they’ll sit down and eat one Julia and the rest of us made for them. ‘No one,’” Charlotte drawled in a husky, American accent, teasingly mimicking Julia’s voice, “‘Misses out on Thanksgiving.’”

  Charlotte turned her face to Douglas to see how he’d react to this news but he kept his expression bland. He knew his friends were speculating about Julia and himself but he had no idea if Charlotte would be an ally or an enemy. She knew too much of his history, especially with women, and she’d formed a close bond with Julia in a short time. He had decided to tread carefully with her.

  Douglas, did, however, have a reaction. Nearly all of his friends growing up had servants and many of them had long-standing staff who had effectively become members of their family. Monique and Maxwell Ashton did not share this affectionate bent. A
lthough Douglas himself had never known a time when Mr. and Mrs. Kilpatrick had not been in his life, he knew nothing about them and never asked, first because it wouldn’t have been allowed by his parents and then as pure habit. Yet in a matter of weeks, Julia had made deep inroads into entrenching his servants into the family unit.

  No more was said as, just then, the children clamoured down the stairwell followed by Julia who was walking beside Sam, both of them laughing at something.

  At the sight of her, Douglas took a swift intake of breath.

  Julia was wearing a soft, cream, knit sweater dress that covered nearly every inch of flesh, from its deep, cowl-neck all the way down to her wrists with the figure-skimming skirt swinging gracefully around her ankles. It didn’t matter that it covered every bit of her. Everywhere, the material fit snugly, lovingly accentuating every lush curve. She’d fastened a gold, link belt tantalisingly low on her hips and had dozens of golden bangles on both her wrists. And her feet were encased in a pair of tan cowboy boots.

  “You might not want to ogle my new best friend,” Charlotte hissed in a playfully irate voice and Douglas, unusually, started. He swiftly shuttered his blatant reaction, his head swung to his friend but he saw Charlie was admonishing Oliver who turned sheepish eyes to his wife.

  As Julia and Sam made it to the bottom of the stairwell, the children already rushing to the dining room, Douglas moved forward, intent on one thing.

  Dinner may get cold and his careful strategy might be damned but he was going to slip her somewhere so he could privately show her exactly how much he liked her dress. Privately and thoroughly, until she was in no doubt about his particularly strong, insistent feelings about that… fucking… dress.

  Julia lifted her eyes to his and Douglas saw hers became startled as she read his unconcealed intent and, at that moment, with her green eyes on him, that dress on her, he didn’t give a good goddamn that she could read him so easily.

  However, just then there was a bustle of activity down the hall and Monique came gliding out of the library.

  “How delightful, my friend is just in time. Now, another Thanksgiving tradition, a family reunion.”