Sommersgate House (26 page)

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.

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. Although 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.