by Claire Adams
"Ms. Davies and I went to school together," Vincent Jeffry explained.
I took Kiara's hand and threaded it through my arm. "That is such an interesting fact. You'll have to tell me all about little Vinny. Don't worry, I'll show our guest up to her rooms."
"Rooms?" Kiara hesitated as I led her out of the familiar territory of the kitchen.
"Please tell me he had some ridiculous kind of hairstyle. I'd be willing to pay a lot of money to get my hands on an old photo," I said.
"Teddy, I can't stay here," Kiara said. "Just let me clean up in the kitchen and I'll curl up by the fire until the storm passes. I don't need a room."
I led her on, despite her resistance. "You heard Vincent Jeffry, you'll catch pneumonia. I can't have that on my conscience, too."
She pulled me to a stop. "You shouldn't blame yourself for the cottage. It wasn't your fault."
I winced. "I could have stopped it. I should have. Now, I just wish you would let me help."
She considered the sweeping front staircase with its wine-colored carpet and hand-carved banister. It glowed in the lantern light with more than its normal elegance. I could see how it intimidated her and that in turn made her more stubborn. She fought herself and finally slumped her shoulders.
"I'm sorry," Kiara said, "I'm being a completely ungrateful guest."
"Ungrateful, soaked by a storm, but you still look gorgeous in that outfit," I said.
Kiara's laugh echoed up the grand staircase ahead of us. "You are a ridiculous flirt, Teddy Brickman."
"That's just my reputation."
I felt her considering me as we climbed the staircase, arm-in-arm. My socks squelched in my shoes and my white dress-shirt was mud-streaked and rumpled. I felt my hair flopping free of its normal controlled style. It fell over my eyes as I showed her the way to the guest wing.
"I don't know that much about your reputation," she said, "but I like you like this."
"Bedraggled and about to get lost in my own mansion?" I asked.
She laughed and pointed towards an open door. Lantern-light flooded from the room into the darkened hallway. The brightly-glowing rooms were my favorite suite in the guest wing. Deep, brocade wallpaper in forest-green, silver, and gold lined the octagonal walls of the sitting room. It flickered in the light from a fire in the gleaming, oak-framed fireplace.
Beyond the bright touches and soft couches of the sitting room, the bedroom was a quiet retreat. The faded fresco of an oak grove detailed the wall next to another, smaller fireplace. A four-post bed stood on the opposite side with layers of gauzy curtains surrounded it like a cloud. Next to it was the narrow door that led to a luxurious bathroom, complete with a sunken whirlpool bath.
"Teddy, I can't," Kiara said in the doorway.
"I think at this point, if you don't stay here, I'll be insulted," I said.
She gave me a crooked smile. "I'm just not comfortable feeling like I'm a charity case."
"Charity? I've got you here for protection. God knows I'm going to get lost trying to get from here to my own rooms. Who else would hear me if I called out?"
"Vincent Jeffry?" Kiara offered.
I shook my head with an expression of doom. "I think he might have selective hearing. If I spilled a water glass, he'd hear me from the south wing, but if I called for help, I think he might just keep on organizing the menu for next week."
"So I'm here in case I need to save your life?" she asked.
"Exactly."
She moved into the room and slowly walked around, taking in every simple, but richly elegant detail. Then, she started to frown and look around, as if something was missing.
"What do you need?" I asked.
She shook her head. "It's silly."
"What? Tell me. I can get you anything."
She waved away my outrageous offer. "I just don't have anything to, ah, sleep in."
I bustled her towards the bathroom and then started for the door. "Run yourself a bath, and I'll be back with a pair of freshly laundered pajamas," I declared.
She grinned. "I suppose I shouldn't hold my breath, in case you get lost in your own mansion, right?"
"I'll be back before you know it," I said.
Of course, it took me longer than it should have and by the time I found my way back to the guest suite, I could hear the bath water running. I slipped in the still open door and through the sitting room. I told myself I was just going to put the pajamas on the bed so she would see them.
I never dreamed the bathroom door would be ajar or that I would catch a glimpse of Kiara.
She was delicate alabaster and lithe, strong muscles. The slender size of her body made me long to curl my arms around her and protect her from the world. But there was power there, the curves rendering me weak. Her dark hair flowed down to the curve of her lower back, and even after I had turned and slipped away, I still felt the urge to sweep my hands down the flow of her hair and slip my hands around her small, tight waist.
The hauntingly beautiful image made me thankful for the storm. At least I would have a decent excuse for why I didn't get any sleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kiara
I ran a bath, even though the sound of more water was the last thing I wanted to hear. The thunder still rumbled, but now the sound was distant, muffled by the many rooms and imposing frame of the Brickman Estate. I felt safe, tucked away, in a world apart. The storm couldn't touch the Brickmans, just like the rest of the world.
I slipped into the hot bath and groaned with delight. It was hard to think about how many days I had gone without a shower or clean clothes.
A sudden wave of trauma crashed over me and silent tears mixed with the lavender bathwater. I felt foolish and weak, but I was finally safe and the relief was overwhelming. I let it carry me on wave after wave of emotion as I soaked in the ridiculously large, sunken bathtub.
When my eyes finally cleared, I noticed the ceiling of the bathroom reached up into a dome, similar to the little folly chapel far out in the garden, except a skylight capped this dome and two custom-made shelves held a wide variety of plants up to the light. Ivy cascaded down the stone walls and tangled among the ferns that grew in large urns around the edges of the tub.
"More like a grotto than a bathroom," I muttered, but it came out a relaxed sigh.
There was something to be said for the comforts of luxury.
That thought had me dragging myself out of the bath and toweling off roughly. Of course, it felt good, but that didn't mean that I needed it. No one needed to live the way Teddy Brickman did. His money and his lifestyle made him practically inhuman.
Except for in the kitchen as he struggled to hold the whisk just right. Teddy had chopped the herbs with such studied concentration that his tongue had stuck out the corner of his mouth – that smiling, charming mouth that was always so quick to say just the right thing.
He’d made it seem so sincere.
I wrapped a white, terrycloth robe around myself and ventured into the bedroom. The four-post bed called out to my aching, traumatized body, but I stopped when I saw the royal-blue, monogrammed, silk pajamas. Maybe Teddy was sincere, I thought.
I untied the robe and tossed it over an antique chair. The silk pajamas slipped over my head and I felt every caress, as if it were Teddy's hands. My cheeks were warm, but my mind was burning with unwanted thoughts of Teddy's lips, curved in another smile, leaning close to sweep across mine.
No, impossible. I shook my head and busied myself by going around the room and dousing the many lanterns. Soon, just the firelight flickered, but the low light only encouraged me to indulge in more secret thoughts.
Was Teddy Brickman really off limits?
That was something I had told myself from the very first time I saw him. Rich boy, not for you. It was an automatic response. I had given in to enough childhood daydreams to know that people like Teddy Brickman took one look at my life and dismissed me.
But Teddy seemed determined to be part of my lif
e. He'd walk through a storm just to convince me to use his home as shelter.
I felt my chest squeeze. That was the problem. I was a charity case to Teddy. He still felt guilty about the cottage burning down. Once he was over feeling bad, Teddy Brickman would forget about me and get back to his jet-setting life. Though, he had talked about how much he hated it.
I paced around the large bedroom once again, just for good measure, but by the time I reached the four-post bed, I was still agitated. I perched on the edge, my feet far off the hardwood floor, and started to recite recipes to myself. It was the only surefire way I knew to calm myself down.
I thought about all the basic recipes Donna Martin had made me memorize. How to make dough and bake bread. How to mix and roll out fresh pasta. As I focused on a complicated stew, my favorite relaxation technique, I found myself daydreaming of cooking in Teddy's magnificent kitchen.
The thought took hold and a devilish voice started to whisper in my ear. I was Teddy Brickman's guest; no one would mind if I took another peak at that heavenly kitchen. No one would mind if I mixed up a coffee cake batter and baked it for the morning. It would be the perfect thank you for me to leave behind.
If I made something for Teddy, then I wouldn't be a charity case anymore. We would be equals.
With a satisfactory plan decided, I slipped into the cloud-like bed and fell into a dreamless sleep.
When I awoke, though, there was a blush on my cheeks. The fire and the storm had stayed away, but Teddy was there in my dreams. We were jostling each other in the kitchen, laughing, his smiling lips stealing kisses as I slipped him tastes of a sumptuous meal.
I jumped off the bed and slipped out the door to the wide hallway. On the way through the sitting room, I grabbed my still-soaked clothes and told myself I was really just looking for the laundry. It was just past seven in the morning, but the windows remained as dark as midnight. The storm had settled into a heavy cloud cover as the rain pattered down without pause.
Most of the lanterns had dimmed as their fuel ran out, so I squinted and shuffled my way through the palatial house. At the foot of the stairs, I froze, wondering what I had just heard, then the crystal chandelier above me blazed to life. I covered my eyes as every light in the house was on and the effect was dazzling.
"Ms. Davies," a formal voice greeted me from the bright kitchen doorway. "May I help you with something?"
Teddy's butler, whom he teased by calling his housekeeper, gestured for me to join him in the kitchen. As I walked closer, Vincent Jeffry spotted the monogram on my pajamas and he sucked in an audible breath.
"I'm sorry," I said immediately, "I accidentally mentioned pajamas to Teddy and he got me his own. I should have asked you."
Vincent Jeffry let the ghost of a smile chase across his pursed lips. "I've never known Mr. Theodore to be so generous. You are a welcome difference."
"Difference?" A cascade of embarrassment rushed down over me as I thought about the other women who visited the Brickman Estate. There was no way I could compare. They probably had entire trousseaus of perfect outfits. They didn't need to borrow a man's pajamas.
I crossed my arms over my chest and squelched my still-wet clothing. "I was really just looking for the laundry," I said.
Vincent Jeffry waved away my comment. "Clearly, you are more than a guest, Ms. Davies, and I can do much better than dry your, ah, outfit."
He plucked the sodden clothes from my hands and tossed them in a pristine, silver garbage can.
"More than a guest?" I asked. "I'm not a charity case, Vinny. In fact-"
He held up another hand. "We may have sat together at lunch, but I prefer you understand and respect my role in this household."
"I respect your role. I respect your profession. The Brickmans are lucky to have you. Do they know that?" I stopped struggling to get around his rigid frame to retrieve my clothes and slapped my fists on my hips. "And all due respect, but can we at least stop with the formal names?"
Vincent Jeffry threw back his shoulders and gave me a proud stare. "If you respect my profession so much, Ms. Davies, then why do you refuse to let me do my job?"
I had to grin as my old friend glowered at me. "Fine. Yes. What would the almighty butler do in this situation?"
His smile cracked through again as Vincent Jeffry led me down to the laundry room. One entire long wall of the laundry room was lined with doors. Each was a cedar closet with seasonal clothing pressed and stored in perfect lines. Vincent Jeffry pulled open the far closet door and then stepped back.
"What is all that?" I asked. I stepped forward and peered into the walk-in closet.
"This is the Brickman Estate lost and found," Vincent Jeffry said. "I only keep what is too elegant or expensive to give away. We'll have you outfitted in no time."
I backed away. "Oh, no. I'm not putting on used, fancy clothes and parading around like a fool."
He shooed me into the cedar closet and began tossing clothes at me. "Do you really think I'm going to let you look like a fool?"
"These clothes are not me. This one is hand-woven lace, for God's sake." I began to panic. "Can't rich people ever just wear black pants and a shirt?"
My friend took it as a personal challenge. He sorted through a cabinet full of pants until he found a woman's pair in my size. Vincent Jeffry placated me by choosing a soft, blue twin set over a silk, patterned blouse.
"There's even a nice pair of black heels that are your size."
I was lost in the softness of the cashmere twin set. I had never felt anything so soft in my entire life. It was like holding a piece of the sky. "I'm just going to ruin them. Break a heel, tear the pants, or stain the cashmere cardigan. You can't sacrifice these elegant clothes to such a lowly end."
"Enough," Vincent Jeffry barked. It was hard to tell what shocked me more, his sudden outburst or what he said next. "I can't stand to hear you badmouth yourself another second.
“You're Kiara Davies. You're the girl who marched right up to the principal and told him how unfairly the math teacher was treating us. You're the girl who stood up when the crowd was making Julie Schumacher cry. You're a Davies, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that."
"You're right," I said, following meekly as he showed me where to change in the laundry bathroom. "I am proud of who I am. I just know that I don't fit in here."
"Yes, you do." Vincent Jeffry grabbed both my shoulders. "You've been invited to the Brickman's home for every party and holiday they have ever hosted. Mr. Brickman thinks the world of your family and always had me send a personal invitation to your father."
My throat closed up. "He never told me."
Vincent Jeffry's eyes softened with sad understanding. "I should have sent them directly to you. Your father was too busy. Oh, Kiara, it's all my fault!"
"Well, invited or not, I don't feel right taking clothes I can't afford." I tried to shove the perfect outfit back at him, but Vincent Jeffry shut the door in my face.
Then, he called through the door. "You are always invited. Your family has a standing welcome at any time. Your father never took advantage, but that doesn't mean you can't accept the kindness. It's not charity, Kiara; it's your neighbors looking out for you."
I faced the mirror and tried not to believe him. I had just recently realized the bond my father had with Teddy's family, and it felt surreal. They had been the faraway, elegant family living in their forty-room mansion. The world over the fence, completely different from my own, down to each blade of manicured lawn.
Now, not only was I inside the Brickman Estate, but I found out that I had always been welcome there. I could have knocked on the door any time and found it opened wide. I was the only one who assumed I was not welcome. My pride and stubbornness had gotten in the way again.
I looked at my choices and laughed at myself. Either I could wander the elegant mansion in a ratty, destroyed outfit, or I could borrow some clothes and be a decent guest. I got dressed and went out into the laundry room to hea
r what Vincent Jeffry would say.
"Welcome to Brickman Estate, Ms. Davies," he said with a broad smile.
"Thanks, Vinny. Now, how about some breakfast?"
"Right this way, Ms. Davies. The Brickmans take their breakfast in the morning room," Vincent Jeffry said as he led me upstairs.
He tried to shoo me down a hidden servants’ hallway towards the formal rooms, but I pushed back. "What's wrong with the kitchen? I wanted to make everyone a coffee cake, something to say thank you. I'll clean up after myself."
He blocked the narrow passageway and glanced nervously over his shoulder towards the kitchen. He wanted to avoid that area, but he wasn't going to say why.
"You don't want me to go in the kitchen because you think I'm going to spill something on these nice clothes, don't you?" I asked to provoke him.
"No, it's just-"
I slipped past him and headed for the kitchen. Then, I saw what Vincent Jeffry wanted to keep hidden. The Brickman's personal chef, an up and coming rockstar in the culinary world, was slumped in the chair by the fireplace. Toast sat neglected in the toaster, getting cold and chewy. The egg carton sat open and ignored on the kitchen island. The young man smelled of booze and drooled a little while he slept.
I was more shocked by how Vincent Jeffry tiptoed around the slovenly worker. If it had been anyone else, there would have been sharp condemnation and an instant firing.
"Is he really so great?" I asked at my normal volume.
He flapped his hands to quiet me down. "His name gives the Estate a certain cache, even if most of his food lately has been, ah, uninspired."
I snorted and clanged the kettle in the large basin sink. "Looks like he's ruining his good name right now," I observed.
"Chef Nolan is supposed to be a genius," Vincent Jeffry said in a defensive tone.
I eyeballed the ingredients. "Chef Nolan is lazy and hungover."
The young chef woke with a start when I banged the kettle down on the eight-burner stove top. When his blurry eyes focused on me, he gave a lecherous smile that made my skin crawl. Then, he saw Vincent Jeffry and his eyes narrowed.