Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015

by Melinda Curtis

  "Miss." The formal tones of the butler caused her to jump. "Breakfast," he said, "is served in the morning room. May I direct you there?"

  "Thank you." She followed him past the smaller drawing room and the library, before reaching a third doorway.

  The duke was just leaving the room. He nodded at her, but clearly didn't intend to speak.

  "Excuse me," she said, "may I have a word with you?"

  His whole face tightened with annoyance. "I handle personal problems after dinner."

  "I'm sorry to disturb your schedule," she said with all the sweetness she could muster, "but this is a problem that can't wait."

  The duke glanced at the butler, and then bit off a sigh. "Come into the morning room. I have only a few moments."

  "I will tell Mr. Gaskin you are delayed," the butler said carefully.

  "Thank you, Lotter. I'll be five minutes. No more. The schedule with Gaskin's dogs is quite fixed."

  Miranda immediately resolved that she would hold him in the morning room, one way or another, for more than five minutes. She did not like being treated as a pesky nuisance.

  "Someone has a rigid schedule with dogs?" she asked. "Poor animals."

  Devon's jaw tightened. "These are highly trained hunting dogs," he snapped. "I'm planning to sort through the pups to add a couple to my kennel. I hope you have no objection?"

  "I wouldn't have to bother you at all," she pointed out, "if you hadn't set a guard dog on my step-mother."

  He raised his brows. "Guard dog? Do you mean the nurse I provided?"

  "Sharmie doesn't need a nurse, for God's sake. She's probably just jet-lagged."

  "I will not have my housekeeper working overtime to take care of Mrs. Foxglove." His cold voice chilled her. "Therefore, I've hired a nurse."

  "We certainly don't want to inconvenience your housekeeper," she snapped. "However, since we don't have control of our money, we can't afford to pay for a nurse."

  "Then my solution is a good one," he answered smoothly.

  "There's no need for a nurse at all." Mindful of her desire to waste his time, she walked toward the food set out on a linen-covered buffet under another broad expanse of windows. "I'm Sharmie's family. I'll take care of her." She might not come from an aristocratic background, but she knew how to take care of her own. How annoying that she had to add, "Of course, you'll have to call off the guard nurse and allow me into her room." She didn't want to be dependent on him for even such a small thing.

  "As Mrs. Foxglove is my guest, however unexpected, I will certainly take care of the nurse's fee." The duke glanced at his watch, which only annoyed her further.

  "Regardless of who pays the damn fee, I need to be allowed in her room."

  "Since I have hired a nurse," he said, "I'm sure it would be best if you followed the nurse's advice."

  "It would be best," she said snarkily, "if you would stop interfering in my life. Do you have to control everything?"

  "In my own home, yes." The implication did not have to be spelled out further. If she left his home, she would be free of his control.

  "I don't think my father's will gives you power over every move I make." Sarcasm was her only weapon, so she laid it on thickly.

  Devon's gaze ran over Miranda in that way he had that, unfortunately, buzzed her head to toe every time. "Go ahead," he said. "Wake up your step-mother. If she doesn't get any rest, she'll be sick longer, and that will give you a good reason to stick around and torment me."

  "Torment you?" Good idea. She turned her head from the buffet, tilted her chin down, and looked at him through her eyelashes. "If you don't want me in your life tormenting you, the solution is in your hands. Give me my money, and we'll be gone faster than you can give me a once-over."

  Holy moly, she hadn't meant to say that. Her eyes flashed guiltily to his face. Had he noticed?

  He smiled at her.

  Of course he had.

  "The once-over," he said smoothly, "is my only reward so far for being saddled with you two." His glance flicked over her lazily. "I like the miniskirt."

  "It's a sundress," she corrected, just to annoy him. A short sundress, granted.

  "Your five minutes are up." He moved swiftly to the keypad by the door and depressed a button. "Mrs. Wilkins, please tell the nurse to allow Miranda in Mrs. Foxglove's room. Thank you."

  On that note, he departed, within, Miranda was sure, the five minutes he'd allotted her. Really, someone needed to upset that man's schedule in a major way.

  But right now, she was hungry. She checked out the breakfast, spread on a large sideboard under broad windows that framed yet another vista of the gardens. An amazing variety of fruit glowed in heaping piles. She saw strawberries, raspberries, pear slices, shiny red apples, blueberries, and melons. She could make a full meal from the fruit display alone.

  Silver tureens stood over small burners, and held eggs, ham, potatoes, and spiced pancakes. She forked up a pancake and topped it with the strawberries. Her eyes goggled when she saw the fresh cream. She hesitated, but when would she get to eat like this again? She spooned it up.

  No one else entered the morning room, except for a uniformed maid checking the buffet. Miranda enjoyed the peace and quiet, as she contemplated her next step. It didn't seem like Sharmie would be able to leave today, but she couldn't be sick forever. Then what? The duke wasn't going to change his mind, without some reason to do so. Which meant that she, Miranda Foxglove, had to come up with that reason.

  Chapter 9

  After Miranda finished her breakfast, the gardens outside the morning room's windows enticed her. For as far as she could see, everything was beautifully landscaped and maintained to the last blade of grass. A walk would give her time to reflect, and plan her next action.

  She returned upstairs to check with the nurse to be sure Sharmie was still sleeping, and to change her shoes for more sensible flats. Back in the hallway, Lotter pointed her in the right direction to find easy access to the garden. She walked down the pebbled driveway until a rosy red brick walk bore off around the side of the castle. A tall wooden door was built into the gray stone wall extending from the side of the mansion.

  The door was surprisingly new, of a rich oak color, and the black iron hinges opened without a squeak. Devon, she had to admit, maintained his property beautifully.

  She stepped through the door, latching it carefully behind her. The scent of sunshine and roses greeted her instantly, and she inhaled deeply. A person could get used to this amazing lifestyle very easily.

  A quick look told her the garden was a wonderland of charming vistas, colorful plants and horticultural skill. She suspected this was the cutting garden, as an abundance of flowers grew in ordered plots. She saw roses, dahlias, irises, peonies and many varieties of plants she couldn't name. Now she knew why they could be so lavish with fresh flowers that they even placed them in the bathrooms.

  The winding brick walkway led her into another outdoor room devoted to fruit. A gardener was bent over a bank of raspberry bushes, replacing the black netting that frustrated the birds. She nodded her head, and he tipped his gray cap. Ripening espalier pears were growing beautifully on a south facing stone wall to her left. Several steps later, she saw apples. A large rectangle was devoted to strawberry plants, and another to gooseberries. The sumptuous fruit display at breakfast was explained.

  She wandered along the plant-bordered paths until she reached a decorative octagonal pool bordered by bluestone terraces. Gleaming blue water reflected the peaceful sky above. Three broad steps led up to a weathered teak bench standing under an apple tree. Behind the bench, an ivy-covered wall held an old-fashioned sundial centered amidst the greenery. She couldn't imagine a more idyllic spot.

  Birds tweeted cheerfully, unseen in the trees. But as soon as she sat down, she noticed an odd scratching noise that disturbed the tranquility.

  She followed the sound through a trellised doorway into another room clearly designed as a topiary garden. Carefully mani
cured bushes dotted the velvet grass and low-lying plants formed interesting ground designs. Water gurgled from somewhere nearby and a white gate gave access out of this room and into another.

  Daisy was swinging on the gate.

  She wore a white smocked dress sprinkled with small pink roses. A straw hat, attached by pink satin ribbons, dangled down her back. Her feet were bare. She looked like a girl in a Victorian children's book.

  "Hi, Daisy." Miranda sat on the nearby teak bench.

  "Hi." Daisy fingered the ribbons of her hat. "Are you lost?"

  "No. I'm just enjoying these beautiful gardens." She raised her face to the warm sun. "You're lucky to live here."

  "Yeah." Daisy's tone suggested that she might prefer something like a friend to all this magnificence.

  "Is that pink playhouse yours?" Not that Miranda could see any sign of it. These gardens were vast.

  "Yeah." Daisy tilted her head. "It's on the other side of the property. Past the pool."

  "A pool! That sounds lovely."

  She shrugged. "I'm not allowed to swim there unless Devon is present."

  "He wants you to be safe."

  "He wants us to follow his rules." Daisy continued to swing back and forth on the gate. The scratching sound came from the gate slightly hitting the red brick walk as it was pulled down by her weight.

  "Maybe he'd let you go for a swim with me. Later on."

  Daisy's blue eyes regarded her. "He doesn't change his rules for anyone."

  "We'll see about that. Where is the pool?"

  "If you walk along that way—" Daisy pointed "—facing the house, you'll find it. Or you can get there from the morning room. But don't go swimming too late. Devon always swims there when it gets dark."

  Miranda sat up straight. "He does?" The plot fell, fully formed, into her wicked brain. "Every night?"

  "Well, if he's home," Daisy clarified. "He's allowed to swim alone." The note of grievance in her tone made her suddenly sound like the child she was.

  Miranda hid a smile. "He's probably an excellent swimmer."

  "Devon can do anything." Daisy dropped one foot to the ground, and pushed, to get some momentum going on the gate.

  "I guess he's a good big brother?" She really shouldn't pump the child for information. But the impulse was irresistible.

  "He's the best," Daisy said solemnly. "He takes care of all of us, even though we're not really his family."

  "Of course you're his family! You all had the same father."

  "But he can never have his own children because he's already stuck with all of us."

  Miranda recoiled in shock. What a thing for the child to say. Or worse, to believe.

  "Where on earth did you hear that?"

  "Everyone knows it," the girl said stubbornly. "We keep him as busy as a dog with two tails. That's what Mrs. Wilkins says."

  She gazed directly at Miranda, and something in her eyes reached out and yanked on Miranda's heartstrings.

  "Daisy," she said, searching for words. She didn't know anything about the complex relationships in this family. "I'm sure you're mistaken. Why, hasn't Devon raised you in place of your father?"

  Daisy nodded. "He had no choice."

  Miranda knelt to put her arms around the little girl. "Of course he had a choice. A grown man like Devon, a duke no less, doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to do."

  Daisy shook her head. "That's not true. My father left us all to Devon. He has to take care of us. Mumsie said so."

  "Daisy, if there's one thing I know about Devon, it is that he is very happy to bos—" No, she couldn't say he loved to boss everyone around. Though true, it would hurt Daisy's feelings. "He is very happy," she tried again, "to take care of his family and all of his dependents."

  Now that she thought about it, there was some truth to her lie. Maybe he wasn't exactly happy taking care of everyone, but no one could deny he had a sense of responsibility toward everyone associated with the estate.

  "I'm sure he loves you, Daisy," she added firmly.

  "Yes, I know he loves me," Daisy said. She swung slowly back and forth on the garden gate. The ribbons on her hat lifted in a gentle breeze.

  "Of course he does." Miranda straightened up, grateful that she seemed to have said the right thing.

  "But he doesn't want to."

  Chapter 10

  Sarah was rushing through the entrance hall when Miranda and Daisy re-entered the house.

  "Miranda!" she cried. "You're just the person I wanted to see. Where have you been? I've been looking for you."

  "What?" Miranda halted just inside the door. "Is Sharmie all right?"

  "Sharmie? Of course. Well, at least I think so." Clearly, Sarah hadn't given a thought to the woman. "I never got to see you last night, Miranda," she continued. "Devon kept you forever, and then you disappeared. Did you survive the inquisition?"

  "Of course I did. Does he have lots of victims buried in the back yard?"

  "Back yard?" Sarah frowned. "Oh, you mean the garden. Ha. I wouldn't be surprised if he did. There's nothing worse than being called into the library. I can almost always charm him out of a bad humor, but the others aren't so lucky."

  She laughed at Miranda's expression. "I'm not arrogant, like I can see you're thinking. I just understand my own strengths. One of them is I can usually twist men around my little finger." She shuddered dramatically. "But even I hate to go in there. Mumsie won't do it at all, Jack goes out and gets drunk after an episode, and even Godfrey gets sullen."

  "I want to hear how you twist him around your finger." This was exactly what she needed to know. "He doesn't seem the type to respond to girlish wiles."

  Sarah snorted delicately. "Any man responds to girlish wiles. Devon's tougher than most, I'll give him that. But it's only because he has too much success with women. Who doesn't want to be a duchess?"

  "Surely he'd see through that kind of shallowness?" Miranda didn't know why she felt a faint alarm on his behalf. The man was nothing if not competent to watch out for himself.

  "Oh, the women are stupid who chase him. He plays them all, uses them for what he wants," she added darkly. "You know what that is. Even Daisy has picked up on that."

  Sarah glanced down at the little girl, as if she'd just remembered her presence. "Run along, honey. Nanny has been looking for you."

  Daisy sighed. "Nanny knows I go into the garden every morning." She held up a stained basket. "I brought you strawberries."

  "You're such a poppet!" Sarah swooped down to drop a kiss on Daisy's head. "This afternoon, let's invade the kitchen and make strawberry shortcake for dessert tonight. Okay? We'll have a grand time and everyone will praise us at dinner!"

  A small smile peeped out of Daisy's solemn face. "That would be fun."

  "Right after lunch," Sarah promised. "But now, I'm carrying Miranda off to my workshop. I'm absolutely kidnapping her! Don't breathe a word to anyone, Daisy, love."

  "I'm sorry I disappeared last night," Miranda said. "I had to go see Sharmie. She really isn't well."

  "But that's marvelous. Well, I don't mean the fact that she's sick." Sarah giggled. "But you'll have to stay, and I'm just dying to be friends with you and and get your opinion on my designs. I know you'll love them." She grabbed Miranda's hand and began to tug her across the hall. "Come now. Before Jack or Devon or someone else decides they absolutely must have you."

  She rushed off toward the stairs, Miranda in tow. "Devon let me take over the nursery," she said gaily. "No one was using the rooms, after he won the battle with Charlotte about Daisy's schooling."

  "The battle?"

  "My dear! You have no idea. Charlotte wanted Daisy tutored at home. You know, like the Queen or someone." Sarah laughed. "Charlotte wasn't born into the nobility so she guards its ways with the fierce devotion of the convert. She was determined that her children wouldn't mix with the local children."

  "Is that how you were educated? At home, in the nursery?"

  "Yes, of cou
rse. Until I went to boarding school. But I had Jack with me so it wasn't ghastly. Then Godfrey and Daisy were together. That didn't work out so well, believe me. But when Godfrey started boarding school, Daisy was all alone."

  "She seems to like her own company."

  "My dear, she does! Absolutely! And of course, Devon watches her like a hawk. Poor thing. But he was right about one thing. He said it was no life for a child to be stuck alone in the nursery. He insisted that she attend the village school."

  "I guess he always wins, huh?" Miranda felt a little gloomy as they traversed a long corridor that she hadn't been in before. Just once, she'd like to hear that someone got the best of Devon, to give herself hope.

  "They had a battle royale. Well, neither Charlotte nor Devon ever raise their voices. But you know what I mean. Lots of icy formality at the dinner table, and all that rot. Devon usually lets Mumsie get her way, I guess to maintain the peace. But he was absolutely rigid on this issue. I thought I'd miss the final showdown, but one night he asked Charlotte to come into the library after dinner."

  She gave an exaggerated shiver. "I knew he was laying down the law."

  "You were present?"

  "Are you kidding?" She mimed shock with rounded eyes. "I scooted out to Daisy's playhouse. Devon often keeps the library windows open."

  "You shouldn't eavesdrop," Miranda said. "It's rude."

  "But so much fun!" Sarah gave a little skip down the seemingly endless hall. "Anyway, Devon told Charlotte he'd been educated all alone in the nursery, and he wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy, never mind a little girl like Daisy."

  Miranda tried to ignore the little tug on her heartstrings at the mental picture of Devon as a small, solemn boy, all alone in the nursery. "How did Charlotte react to that?"

  Sarah shrugged. "What could she do? Devon has all the power."

  "Doesn't anyone ever get the best of him?" Miranda didn't intend to get discouraged, but it would be nice to hear that someone had gotten the better of her opponent.

  Sarah halted, with her hand on the doorknob of a closed door. "What are you thinking? You can't fight Devon, you know. It simply isn't done."