Sculpting Grace: A Light Romance Novel (Art of Grace Book 2) (34 page)

Chapter Nine

*

INTERLUDE: SANFORD

Through the front window of this damnable, ancient, creaky old mansion that he'd bought, Sanford watched as Elaine walked away, back to her house. She didn't look back, and apparently assuming that no one was watching, paused halfway down the sidewalk to give herself a little cheer, pumping one fist in the air.

Despite himself, Sanford almost cracked a grin at the sight, before he clamped down on his emotions and got himself back under control. The woman was just one more nuisance, as if he could never escape. An attempt to solve one problem - all this old furniture sitting around - had just turned into yet another problem.

He hadn't wanted Winston to get the junk appraised! He could recall his exact words to the butler. "I want you to get rid of all this shit," Sanford had stated, gesturing around at all the furniture piled up under sheets and making the place look like a bad attempt at a fake haunted house.

Winston, of course, had simply nodded and murmured that he'd find someone to handle it. Sanford, assuming that the man had it under control, didn't say anything more.

Now, he realized that Winston had gotten the wrong idea, but it was too late to switch back to his original plan of just calling for a dumpster. After all, he'd just agreed to hire this Elaine woman, hadn't he? He couldn't very well fire her before she'd even done a single day of work.

Or maybe Elaine herself managed to get to his butler, twisting his memories and convincing him to hire her! She didn't exactly seem like the conniving and scheming type, but Sanford knew how women were. He'd been burned in the past by trusting members of the opposite sex too much.

He wasn't about to get caught in the same trap twice. That much was for sure.

Winston had probably just gotten confused, that was all. Sanford sighed as he considered the old man, his thoughts a mixture of sympathy and dry amusement. If he could talk to his childhood self, telling his past self that he'd one day have a man working for him as, let's face it, a butler, it would have sounded unbelievable. A poor little kid from the wrong side of the tracks, owning a mansion? Having a butler working full-time for him? Stuck in this old house with more money than he could possibly spend, no idea of what to do with it, and feeling absolutely miserable about it?

He'd originally hired Winston more out of sympathy than out of any real need for a manservant, although he'd carry that secret to his grave. Finding out that the younger Sanford hadn't been desperate for someone to organize his closet would break the old man's heart. Sanford originally just wanted the man to not lose his meager paycheck when his previous employer cut him loose.

Over time, however, Winston grew on Sanford. Now, even though the idea of having a full-time butler still didn't sit quite right with Sanford, he doubted that he'd be able to get through a day without Winston. The old man somehow managed to effortlessly run the house, providing Sanford with his meals, keeping the place relatively clean, and handling all the little bills and day-to-day matters that Sanford didn't want to handle.

In fact, this was the first time that Winston had really misunderstood his master. If Sanford didn't know better, he might have suspected the old man of playing at some sort of game by hiring Elaine.

But unless Winston's game was to give Sanford a heart attack, he couldn't see the reason behind it. Elaine was loud, clumsy, a bit scatterbrained, and not to put too fine a point on it, significantly curvier than the type of woman Sanford preferred. When he stepped into a party, he looked for the size zero in a tight red dress, maybe an Asian beauty or a New York blonde with her hair elaborately styled and cascading down her shoulders. Hell, Valencia-

Nope. Not thinking about that.

Anyway, he certainly didn't look twice at next door neighbors with fat, wandering orange tabby cats.

Still, as he watched her walk away and head back over to her own, far smaller little cottage next door, Sanford remembered how they'd collided that morning, when he'd been out for his morning run. It had been entirely Elaine's fault, of course, but she'd landed on top of him, warm and round and squirming a little as she tried to get off of him, and he'd felt a surge of warmth and energy to unexpected places...

No! Sanford shook his head, banishing that memory. He wasn't going to slip up, get caught by another woman. Especially not someone like Elaine, totally the opposite of what he wanted. She was just going to be another employee, doing her job and going about her own business, not disturbing him.

At least, he hoped that this would be the case.

"Everything okay, sir?"

Sanford clamped his teeth together firmly to keep from exclaiming in surprise, and controlled his muscles to keep from jumping at the unexpected voice. Only after he had his voice and body language back under full control did he allow himself to turn around as Winston entered the room.

"Everything's fine, Winston," he replied. He didn't bother to correct his manservant's use of "sir." At first, Sanford had told Winston not to refer to him that way, not liking how it made him feel like some sort of slave owner, but Winston kept on using the word, and eventually Sanford gave up on trying to change his butler's ways.

"You had your meeting with Miss Dean, then?" Winston moved closer, although he always remained a pace or so behind Sanford. He liked to hover just behind Sanford's right arm, as if he was assisting Sanford in a medical operation.

For a second, Sanford felt a ridiculous little urge to shout out "Clamp! Tubing!" and see if Winston would slap the necessary component into his hand. He crushed the urge. Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous.

"Yes, I did," he said instead, still frowning out the window. Elaine had disappeared around the corner, back to her own house, of course. "She seems a bit... excitable, but you told me that her references were good?"

If he'd hoped to catch Winston's ulterior motive, he'd need to do better than that clumsy hook. "Quite good, sir," Winston replied. "And given the age of some of the items in the house, she should be able to turn quite a tidy profit as she disposes of the antiques."

Sanford didn't give a damn about the profit. He already had more money than he could hope to spend in his lifetime. And Winston knew this, since he mostly managed the finances. Heck, Winston wrote his own paychecks every two weeks and presented them to Sanford to sign! Sanford didn't know how much the butler charged, but suspected that he was scoring a great deal out of the old man's sympathy for him.

No, Winston was playing some game of his own. Sanford finally gave Winston a sidelong glance, but the man's wrinkled face gave away absolutely nothing. He'd probably been playing verbal poker with previous employers for years before Sanford was even born.

The only way that Sanford could see to find out what game Winston was playing was for him to keep on wading forward, searching for more clues, and hope that he figured out what the old man intended before the trap closed around him.

He considered just continuing to stand quietly, trying to lure Winston into filling the silence, but he knew that the butler wouldn't fall for that ploy, either. "Elaine mentioned that she was in the house earlier," he said instead, his voice distant. "I don't seem to recall seeing her in here."

"Indeed, sir, she only just passed through." Was there the briefest note of hesitation in Winston's voice as he answered?

"And why was she here in the first place?" Again, Sanford maintained his voice. Perfectly calm and level. Don't give away anything, not even to Winston.

This time, there was definitely a pause before Winston answered. "Her cat, sir, apparently managed to get into the backyard a second time."

"Really." Sanford turned away from the window. "Perhaps I should consider adopting a dog of some breed, in order to keep unwanted animals off of the property. Something large, known for having a strong bite."

Of course, he had no plans to adopt a dog. Sanford didn't consider himself much of an animal person, but he especially disliked dogs, with their loud barking, near-constant motion, and boundless energy. Cats, at least, could keep to themselves and not constantly pester him; they weren't always demanding his attention like a hyperactive child.

Again, Winston didn't rise to the gambit. "I'm certain that Miss Dean will work hard to keep her cat under control," was all that he said.

For a moment, Sanford almost turned to his manservant with more questions, but he decided that it wasn't worth the effort. Whatever Winston might be planning, it likely wasn't intended to be malicious. It would probably end up being just one more annoyance, one more thing to keep him from turning his brain off and just being on his own, not having to talk to or deal with anyone else.

Instead, Sanford strode out of the room. "I'm going upstairs," he called back to Winston. "Oh, and Elaine says that she needs keys to the house, and access to the wireless network. Can you take care of that for her?"

Even after years, Sanford still felt a little twinge of guilt whenever he gave Winston an order. After all, if it hadn't been for good fortune and chance, he would still be broke and living out on the streets. In that situation, Winston wouldn't even consider him worthy of spit, much less wait on his commands, hand and foot, with such obsequious respect. What right did he have to give orders to someone else, even if he paid the other's salary?

But Winston just gave that little head nod of his, his version of what probably would have been a deep bow in Victorian times, and murmured that he would take care of it. And Sanford knew that the butler was as good as his word.

Upstairs, in his bedroom, Sanford stripped off his clothes and climbed into his massive bed. He grabbed the novel he'd been reading the previous night before he dozed off, opening it up to the little scrap of newspaper he'd torn off to serve as a bookmark. The book was incredibly dense, an account of the financial errors that led up to the most recent stock market crash, but Sanford forced himself to read a chapter or so, up until his eyelids started sagging. Only then did he reach over, turn off the lamp that hung over the bed, and put his head down on the pillow.

The window of his bedroom overlooked Elaine's cottage. If Sanford went to the window, he could look right down over the backyard fence into the windows of the little house. If Elaine had the lights on, he might even be able to see inside.

Not that he had any interest in looking at anything inside Elaine's house, of course. The woman was just one more annoyance, one who would hopefully be out of his house, and his life, as soon as she finished her job of inventorying and disposing of all the old furniture that came along with the house.

"What are you going to put in here, once this is gone?" she'd asked, while looking around the main floor.

Sanford hadn't answered, because he didn't have an answer. Whatever he wanted, he thought sleepily to himself before drifting off. He was free, his own man, and that was all that mattered.

He'd never be beholden again.

Chapter Ten

*

Over the next few days, I began to wonder whether I'd bitten off more than I could chew in terms of workload.

The next morning, Winston greeted me at my front door, giving me a professional little smile as he stood there, looking perfectly pressed and ironed in the tuxedo that I'd come to regard as his everyday outfit. "I understand that you needed these," he said as soon as I opened the door, holding out his hand.

I took a ring with two keys on it and a slip of paper from him, still fighting the latest yawn. I didn't want to look down at myself, see what I was wearing as I greeted this tuxedoed man on my doorstep. "'Kay," I managed to get out around the stubborn yawn.

"On the ring is the key to the front door, as well as the key to the interior closets," Winston went on. "The slip of paper has the login details for the wifi network. It's not especially strong, so you may not have service in all areas of the house, but it should cover most of the main areas."

"Thank you," I managed this time, looking back up from the items to the butler. "I'll be over in a bit, once I've gotten, uh, dressed."

Winston didn't look like he was judging me, but he'd probably had a lifetime of practice at keeping his face straight. "Sounds perfect, Miss Dean. Would you like me to provide you with any breakfast when you arrive? Coffee, perhaps a muffin or bagel?"

My stomach rumbled loudly before I could respond. "Sure, I'll take some coffee," I gave in. My stomach growled a second time, and I smacked myself in the midsection to try and quiet it. "And maybe a muffin, I suppose."

"Wonderful. See you soon, Miss Dean." And with that, the man gave me another one of his little bows, and headed down the sidewalk and off to the mansion next door.

I yawned again, blinked a couple of times, and then went back inside to get dressed.

No professional outfit this time, however. After seeing the piles of dusty furniture, I instead pulled on a pair of comfortable jeans and a tee shirt emblazoned with a logo from some "fun run" race I'd tried to do years earlier. I didn't remember the run being especially fun, but at least I'd gotten a nice tee shirt out of the whole deal.