by Regina Duke
Brewster Denton, his valet, emerged from the ensuite bath and extended a phone blasting Meatloaf’s “Bat Out of Hell.”
“It’s the unflattering ringtone you’ve programmed in for Vanessa Vann.” He handed Kirby the phone. “You slept through her first two attempts to reach you.”
Kirby blew out a frustrated breath. “God help me.” Once he was composed, he forced a civil tone into his voice and took the call. “Vanessa, how nice to hear from you. Again. This morning.” He rolled his sea-gray eyes.
Vanessa laughed, a high staccato that was beginning to grate on Kirby’s nerves. “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to miss me after all. One of the bridesmaids fell ill, and I’ve been invited to take her place. We’re the same dress size and everything. Isn’t that lovely?”
Kirby’s face fell. “Oh. Gee, that’s great.” Then he had a horrific thought. He motioned to Brewster in a panic. “You realize that the B&B is full to the gills. The closest hotel is….”
Brewster mouthed silently, “Twenty miles.”
Vanessa cut him off. “Don’t worry, darling. All of the bridesmaids are staying at the Manse. I won’t be out in the cold. Unless….” Her voice became dangerously flirtatious. “Unless you want me to share with you at the B&B.”
Kirby crossed his eyes and made a face. “I’m already sharing with Brewster, so don’t give up your room at the Manse, okay?”
Vanessa laughed again. Kirby held the phone away from his ear. He didn’t quite catch what she said next.
“...don’t you think, darling?”
“About what?”
“Oh, Kirby, you’re so funny. I’m having daddy’s driver bring me over from Scarsdale this afternoon. I’m sure we’ll have lots of time to visit and plan. See you later.” She hung up.
Kirby frowned at the phone. “Plan what?” He looked to Brewster for help. “What is she up to this time?”
Brewster raised a brow. “Undoubtedly the same game she’s been playing since she met you. She has set her sights on you, and word is from the girls in the kitchen that she plans to marry you within the year.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. I’ve never voiced any interest in the two of us getting hitched. I’m only nice to her because I went to school with her brother.” Kirby scratched his head, ruffling his hair. His gorgeous hair and the cleft in his chin had misled many of the women he’d met into thinking he was too handsome to be straight. Unfortunately that misconception had not extended to Vanessa. As for his muscular chest, that was the fault of genetics, not any weightlifting obsession on his part. He scratched lazily at his chin. “Guess I have to shave for the duration of this wedding thing.”
Brewster snorted with amusement. He’d somehow gotten showered, shaved and dressed while Kirby was still in dreamland.
Kirby plumped a pillow behind his head and narrowed his eyes at Brewster. “By the way, what’s all this ‘girls in the kitchen’ talk? Have you been watching the BBC again?”
Brewster chuckled. “No, I overheard the staff gossip when we were at the Manse yesterday. I don’t have time to gossip myself. I’m far too busy making you look presentable and getting you places on time.” He tapped his watch. “Speaking of which?”
Kirby grumbled. “That luncheon isn’t until one.”
“Quite. But the B&B serves coffee and breakfast only until 9:30.”
“All right, all right. I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.” Suddenly remembering something, he glanced about the room, then ran his hands softly over the castoff bed covers. “Where’s Pearl?”
From the bathroom came the sound of smashing glass.
The two men chorused, “Curse you, Pearl!”
Pearl the cockatiel squawked with glee as she flew into the room. She perched high on the drapes and scolded the two men. “Lazy bones! Lazy bones!”
Brewster sagged a bit. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll clean it up at once.”
“It’s my fault,” said Kirby. “I left my glass on the edge of the sink last night. How many do we owe the management so far?”
“That’s the fourth one since we arrived.”
“Ask for paper cups. This could get expensive.” Kirby gazed up at the bird, but his focus was elsewhere. “How is Uncle doing? Have you heard anything new?”
Brewster shook his head. “Still the same, I’m afraid.” He paused at the bathroom door. “No one would fault you if you wanted to be by his side.”
“No one but Uncle. He wanted me to be here for Ray’s wedding, so here I am.”
“If I hear anything, I’ll let you know at once,” said Brewster. He disappeared into the bath.
Kirby heard the sounds of glass being deposited in the plastic trash bin. He addressed the bird. “You’re a rascal, you know. Why do you smash glass?”
“Lazy bones!”
“All right, all right, I’m getting up. Bossy bird. If Uncle hadn’t sent Brewster to me when he did, you’d probably be skewered and broiled by now. I don’t think Uncle’s cook liked you very much. And I can see why. Knocking glasses and dishes off the counters. Naughty bird.”
“Naughty bird! Naughty bird!”
“More like lucky bird.” He found his clothes for the day carefully laid out, his shoes shined. “Brew, how did I ever get along without you? Are you sure you don’t mind being palmed off on me?”
Brewster emerged from the bathroom with a small bowl of water in one hand and a bowl of birdseed in the other. He assumed a stony expression as he replied, “As I’ve told you a hundred times over the last eight years, I couldn’t be happier. Besides, you know your uncle dotes on you. You’re his namesake.”
“But it must be awfully boring for you. No big parties, no socialites, no political bigwigs.”
“I’m not bored at all, sir.” Brewster placed the bird’s bowls in the large white cage in the corner. Colorful bird toys and a swing hung from the ceiling of the cage. The paper in the bottom had already been changed. Once Brewster removed his hand from the cage, Pearl swooped down and began chirping noisily and scattering seed with vigor. “Besides, as your uncle put it, what good was I to a man who could barely get out of bed? He said if he was going to pay my salary, I should at least work for it. So here I am.” A faint smile betrayed his fondness for his ailing employer.
“I know, I know. The old stinker. Someday, I hope to pay your salary myself.” He glanced at his reflection in the swivel mirror by the dresser. “Hey, isn’t this what I’m wearing to the wedding?”
“Oh, no, sir. For the wedding, you’ll be dressed to the nines.”
“No escaping that, I suppose. But I expected to go casual today, and you’ve got me dressed at least to the eights.”
Brewster raised a patient brow. “We both know, sir, that I’m here to help you learn some of the ins and outs of old money. Your uncle gave me specific instructions.”
“Just promise me you won’t throw out my jeans and running shoes.”
Brewster chuckled under his breath.
Pearl squawked and used her beak and claws to crawl up the side of her cage.
Brewster eyed her like a doting parent. “I’ll bring you some scrambled egg from breakfast. Meanwhile, eat your seed like a good bird.” He glanced at his watch. “They’re serving now, sir. Would you prefer I bring your coffee and toast upstairs?”
“You would love that, wouldn’t you? No, my friend, if I start letting you treat me like I’m something special, I’m afraid I’ll start believing it.”
“But sir, you are—”
Kirby cut him off. “Let’s go eat.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Wednesday, November 18, 8:05 a.m.
Forty-eight hours after Vicky issued her invitation over lunch, Madlyn awoke in the Hidden Oaks Bed and Breakfast. She lay in the warm bed, trying to remember where she was and how she’d gotten there. The high ceiling and sculpted moldings, pale colors, tall windows, and fluffy bedding were nothing like her bedroom, so she knew right away she wasn’t at home.
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br /> From across the room she heard the sound of soft breathing, and the whirlwind trip came back to her in a rush. The breathing she heard came from Vicky, who was still asleep on the smaller bed by the west wall. She remembered the luxury of flying first class for the first time, and how stunned she was when Vicky apologized to her for not having access to the family’s private plane.
They’d arrived at La Guardia at 7:30 local time and were met by a town car and chauffeur, sent by the groom. It was dark, and as a result, Madlyn had no idea what the scenery looked like outside the car. Her only impression was of the thick, rushing traffic all around them, from the City up the Hutchinson River Parkway, all the way to Route 22. Route, shmoute, it was all the same to Madlyn. She knew they were heading north, because Vicky had told her the wedding would take place in Pawling, which was about sixty miles north of Manhattan. But for all Madlyn knew, they could have been traveling across the Martian landscape, if Martians communicated with car horns.
Monday had been spent rescheduling the girls at the boutique to cover her absence, then packing and agonizing over what to take. Tuesday was a very long day of travel, and she’d dozed off in the town car. By the time Vicky gently shook her awake, she felt completely disoriented. The chauffeur had helped them with their luggage, and the B&B owner had waited up for them to give them keys and a brief list of the rules of the house. They’d found their way around the side of the historic home to the private entrance to their own little annex, where by mutual agreement, they’d climbed into their pajamas and crawled into bed.
Now she lay there, awake but not ready to leave her cozy bed. The light coming through the windows was soft and gray, not at all like the bright morning sun of Eagle’s Toe. She could feel the dampness as well. She was definitely not in Colorado anymore. A chill chased the last of the cobwebs from her brain, and as quietly as she could, she got up and headed for the shower.
When she emerged, dressed in fresh jeans and a formfitting pale green bias-hemmed blouse, Vicky was up and about. In fact, she’d been out and about, too, and had fetched two steaming cups of coffee from the common room, where they’d met the proprietor the night before.
“Breakfast is served at 8:30,” said Vicky. “I brought you some coffee.” She handed Madlyn a hair dryer. “It’s cold and foggy out, so you’ll want to dry your hair before we leave. My turn in the bathroom?”
Madlyn nodded and mouthed a “Thank you” as she lifted the hot mug of coffee with both hands. She sipped at it, thinking she should be filled with a sense of excitement. She was farther from home than she’d ever been. She was hanging out with her best friend. So why did she feel so empty? Was John feeling this way, too?
She banished that thought immediately. If he did, wouldn’t he have called at least once in the last three months? She’d fought the urge to phone him on many occasions, and Vicky had been there for her, reminding her that she didn’t need to throw away everything she’d worked for just to be able to say there was a man in her life. Going to Los Angeles and living as someone’s kept woman was not what she’d dreamed of since childhood. She took a deep breath and pushed the image of John’s face out of her mind. Instead, she reached for a brochure on the little table by her chair. It was filled with historical information about the oldest part of the bed and breakfast. She forced herself to read every single word in the brochure.
Mercifully, by the time she finished, Vicky had emerged from the ensuite bath looking perfect and ready to meet the day. “I’m famished! Let’s go get breakfast.”
Madlyn was happy to oblige. She followed Vicky out the door.
“There are the French doors.” Vicky pointed up the shallow steps to the wide porch that ran along the east side of the main house. “The owner said last night that we could enter the dining room that way.”
“Whatever you say.” Madz yawned. “I barely remember our arrival.”
Vicky smiled. “You were exhausted.”
“You weren’t?”
“I slept on the plane.”
“How could I sleep?” Madlyn paused on the top step. “It was the first time I’d ever flown first class. I didn't want to miss any of it. I hope you don't mind that I took your fresh-baked cookie when they brought the tray around.”
Vicky laughed. “I don't mind at all.” She leaned close and added, “Wait until you fly on the private jet.”
Madz frowned. “Will my Colorado sensibilities allow me to travel on a conveyance with such a huge carbon footprint?”
“Think of it as research for the boutique. You’ll be investigating the sort of accessories one can use on a private jet. Do passengers need lightweight sweaters? Or is a fleecy top the order of the day?”
Madlyn clapped her hands. “Excellent rationalization. I'll definitely use that one. Do we knock or just go in?”
Vicky murmured, “At these rates? We just go in.” She reached for the doorknob. It was locked.
“It's almost nine,” said Madz. “We're not early. And I see people in there. Well, one of them just left.”
Vicky knocked lightly on the door. A young woman scurried in from the kitchen on the south side of the dining room and came to open the French doors.
“Good morning! Welcome. Please have a seat. Coffee on the sideboard, tea bags and water, too. Juice over there. Help yourselves. Sorry, I have to check the waffles.” She was already headed back through the door she entered by.
Vicky and Madz shared a look and a smile. They helped themselves to coffee and juice, then settled at a small table in the corner.
“This is nice,” said Madz. “I love this place. It has so much personality. I thought you said the place was booked solid. Don't rich people eat?”
Vicky lifted her coffee cup and made sure her pinky finger was high in the air. She put on a haughty manner and said, “Food? Me? It's so beneath the wealthy to allow food to pass our lips.”
“So sorry,” said Madz, playing along by performing a little bow in the space between her chin and the table. “I hope Her Majesty won't hold it against me, but pray tell, how will Her Highness keep body and soul together without, you know, F-O-O-D?”
Vicky waved her hand over her coffee cup as if waving the aroma into her nose. “I breathe in the essence and aroma of sustenance without ever allowing it to enter my body.”
Madlyn giggled. “Does Jason know you mock the rich behind his back?”
“Don't be silly. I mock them in his presence.”
“No!” Madlyn was delighted. She looked around the room, remembering too late that there was one other person in the dining room. Fortunately, soft music was playing just loudly enough that she could hope their words were not overheard. After all, weren't all the people coming to this wedding wealthy? For all her joking around, she didn't actually want to offend anyone.
But that gentleman had his back to them. He was seated at the other two-person table and showed no sign that he’d heard a word. He sat very straight, and he appeared to be reading a newspaper as he sipped his coffee. Madlyn could see him clearly but Vicky had her back to the rest of the room.
Madlyn was about to alert her friend about their fellow diner but was interrupted by the reappearance of the young woman from the kitchen as she delivered their waffles.
“There you are, ladies. So nice to meet you. I’m Julie. I'm your chef today. Waffles, strawberries, and whipped cream, and for the purist, three different syrups. Oh, and butter, of course. Are you here for the big wedding?”
“Yes. We arrived late last night.” Vicky dabbed butter on her waffle. “The family sent a town car to pick us up at the airport, so we’re without a car. Do you know anything about transportation to Quaker Hill? I tried to call, but my phone doesn’t seem to get service here. Oh, forgive me. I'm Vicky, and this is my dear friend Madlyn.”
Julie smiled at each in turn. “Cell phones don't get very good reception here at all. But feel free to use the house phone for local calls. It's a landline.”
“Thanks,” said Vicky
.
“How do you like your eggs?”
Vicky and Madlyn stared at her, uncomprehending.
Julie said, “For your second course? Eggs and bacon?”
“Oh, not for me, thank you. The waffle is plenty.”
“Same here,” said Madlyn. “Are there taxis here? I'd like to take a look at the town, maybe buy some postcards.”
“There are two taxis, but they take their calls in order of receiving them, so service can be a bit slow. If you want to look around the village, we're only half a mile from the heart of Pawling. Lots of little shops and a train station.” She looked from one to the other. “No eggs?”
“No thanks,” they chorused.
“Okay. Let me know if you need anything for your room. I'm also your maid service for the morning. Excuse me.” She moved to ask the other occupant of the room how he wanted his eggs.
Madlyn poured maple syrup over her waffle, then spooned on strawberries and added two big dollops of whipped cream. “Gosh, no car is a bummer.”
“I agree,” said Vicky. “Don't worry. I'll get us one by hook or by crook. But frankly, I was grateful for the town car from LaGuardia. New York traffic intimidates me.”
“Is it worse than Colorado?”
“You have no idea. But don't worry. It's not that bad up here away from the City.” She glanced at her iPhone. “I'm supposed to attend some luncheon get together up at the Manse on behalf of the bride. Do you want to come? You haven't met Maria yet.”
“If you'd like me to come, I'd be happy to, but otherwise I’ll stay here. I’m a little tired.”
Vicky squeezed her hand. “Madz, I know you’re still sad about John. But the whole purpose of coming here is to help you move on. Please don’t sit alone in the room and waste energy on what might have been.”
Madlyn felt a twinge of guilt. That was exactly what she’d had planned. “You know me too well. Without a car, I'd just be sitting around looking at the gloomy scenery. It's kind of spooky out there, and everything is so crowded together. Did you see the hill right behind the house? It's very steep and covered with leafless trees.”
