Also available from Jessica Bucher: The Hereafter
A TALE OF a woman who wanted to live beyond the gates of her manor, and the Beast who broke down her walls.
Jules and Jameson
Copyright © 2017 by Jeannine Colette
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
www.JeannineColette.com
THE BEGINNING
“JULES BELLE BRADFORD, this is no way for a young woman to behave!”
I slump my shoulders and look down, knowing there is no use arguing with my mother. She is standing at the foot of the grand staircase. Her arms are crossed in front of her body as she looks down at me with a scowl on her freshly threaded brow.
She taps her foot. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Looking up, I shrug in apology. “I just wanted to get a breath of fresh air.”
“In your gown?” she shrieks. “You spent all morning getting your hair and makeup done. Now, you look,” she throws her arms up in exasperation, “oh, I don’t even know what we’re going to do with you. And your dress,” she looks like she’s going to cry, “what is that all over that beautiful silk?”
I glance down at the champagne colored fabric mother selected for the March Soiree. It’s the social event of the year at the country club. Mother chose this gown to match her own gold dress and father’s tie making our family looking perfectly united in metallic colored cloth.
Except mine is now covered in, “mud.”
“Mud!” She is practically foaming at the mouth. I didn’t mean to get my dress dirty. After spending the morning getting plucked and pulled, I needed out of the Manor, our home on the southern end of Long Island, New York. The confinement of the salon chair and the tightness of my corset was all too much.
I couldn’t breathe.
So, I went out on the veranda for some fresh air. The ocean that swells just beyond our property looked too inviting. The sun was still bright in the sky, warming the chill of early spring. I closed my eyes and took in a heaping breath of the Atlantic. When I opened my eyes, an object in the sky caught my attention. Hovering in the blue backdrop was a faint white circle.
I never noticed the moon in the daytime before. I stepped back and took notice of this piece of heaven that glimmers so bright and magnanimous in the evening; yet sits in the shadows of the day, unnoticed, waiting for its time to shine.
Needing to be closer, I started walking down the steps toward the beach. The closer I got, the harder the wind blew. I didn’t want to get my dress full of sand so I avoided the beach and followed a path that led to the great lawn on the side of our home. My shoes landed in a pile of wet grass left over from the torrential rainstorms we’ve been having. I picked up the front of my gown, neglecting to lift the back, which means I must have been dragging the silk through the mud.
I don’t know why I was so fixated on the moon. Whatever I did, couldn’t stop staring.
“What is all the commotion?” Aunt Ina comes into the foyer from the living room. She’s wearing a pink suit and a pillbox hat.
Mother points at me dramatically, “Look at her dress!”
Aunt Ina turns to me. Her eyes widen when she sees the shape of my attire, then quickly bites back a laugh, before forming a very serious frown. “Oh, child, what have you done?”
“She’s ruined my evening is what she’s done. I have one child and she can’t follow simple instructions.” Mother grips the banister for support. “Honestly, Jules, it’s as if you are trying to torture me. Why can’t you be like the other girls?”
Aunt Ina quickly places her hands on my shoulders. “Now, now, no need for dramatics. I’m sure Jules has something beautiful up in that large closet of hers. We’ll go up and see what we can find.” She pushes me up the staircase, past mother and up to my room in the east wing.
When the door closes behind us, Aunt Ina shakes her head at me. “You’re too much trouble for your own good.”
“It was an accident, I swear. I was just walking and became distracted.” I pull a twig out of my hair. For the life of me, I can’t imagine where it came from.
She walks up to me and grabs my chin, pulling my attention toward her. “Your head is always in the clouds. A dreamer you are. It is one of your most redeeming qualities. It’s also your greatest flaw.” She lets out a sigh. “I suppose that’s part of being fifteen.”
Aunt Ina walks into my walk-in closet, the kind that is larger than most people’s bedrooms and rifles through my wardrobe. I have dozens of dresses I’ve only worn once.
As the only child of Franklin and Vivienne Bradford, I attend every charity and social function alongside them. Being at these affairs is, as my mother says, “a greater education than anything I’d find in a book.”
“Do I have to go tonight? I’ve already ruined everyone’s evening.” I know it’s a long shot but it’s worth trying.
She comes out of the closet with three dresses on hangers. She holds up a great, big, pile of tulle. “How about this red one?
I shake my head. “The girls my age don’t care to talk to me and when they do it’s always about clothes or what car their daddy is going to get them for their sixteenth birthday. And the boys, all they do is talk about themselves. I never know what to say to the adults. Mother’s friends act like my ambition is a flaw and father always runs off to smoke a cigar.”
She lifts a lime green satin dress with spaghetti straps.
I shake my head again then continue, “And the last time we went to one of these things I spilt my drink all over some lady’s dress. It was embarrassing.”
“It was the Mayor’s wife and, you’re right, it was terribly embarrassing. Nevertheless, you are a Bradford and we rise against the obstacles. What about this one?” It’s a deep blue dress with a satin bow neck top and a jacquard bottom. It’s one of the more comfortable dresses I’ve worn.
I hold out my hand for it. I change and then lift out my arms to the side, asking Aunt Ina if I look presentable. She motions for me to take a seat at the vanity. I do as I’m told and sigh.
Her hands are in my hair, trying to fix the mess the ocean winds have made of it, when she catches my reflection in the mirror. “Jules, why do you always seem so sad? Don’t you like parties?”
“I like them fine. I just . . .” It’s hard to express how I feel without seeming like the world’s most selfish brat. “Everyone at these affairs are all so stiff. Their conversation is stale and their smiles are plastic. I want adventure.”
Aunt Ina stops brushing my hair and places a hand on my shoulder. Looking in the mirror she says, “You have your whole life for adventure. Stop trying to rush it. And in the meantime, enjoy the parties. Because one day there may not be any for you to attend. Then what would you do with all those pretty dresses?”
I roll my eyes. “Burn them.” Shifting in my seat I say, “They’re all so itchy. Maybe I’ll become a fashion designer and create the world’s most comfortable dresses.”
She’s fussing with my hair, magically smoothing out the tangles. “I’ll be your first investor. There,” she says, stepping back, “you look like a princess.”
Staring at my reflection, I take a glimpse of myself in mirror. Long blonde hair and hazel eyes. I’m a touch on the short side and my boobs have yet to come in. A nice growth spurt in both directions would do me good. Overall I’m okay to look at, but a princess I am not.
“Let’s get you out of here before your mother has a heart attack.” She walks o
ut the room and I follow.
When we reach the top of the stairs, I hear my father’s voice. Peering down, I see him with his head full of richly dark hair and a double breasted suit. He’s talking to Randall, the house manager.
“He’s awfully young. I need someone who knows classic cars,” Father says to Randall.
“Trust me, Sir, the boy knows his cars. You know that 1967 Ford Mustang that Willis Hendricks won’t sell you? He built it.”
Father’s face lights up. “He built it? Bring him in.”
“Yes sir.” Randall opens the front door and makes a hand motion to someone outside. A stranger follows him back in.
He has on tattered jeans and a brown button down flannel shirt. His hair is long, dark and held back in a ponytail and his face is covered in a thick beard. “I’d like you to meet Jameson Brock.”
Father lifts his chin at him in appraisal. “How old are you?”
“Twenty,” the man says. His voice is deep and low.
“How do you know so much about cars?”
“Just something I’ve always been interested in. Been working for auto shops since I was fourteen.”
Father stares at the stranger for a few moments, quietly sizing him up, then says, “Alright. We’ll start you out on a trial basis.”
“There is one problem,” Randall steps in. “The boy doesn’t have a place to live.”
Father balks, “Where have you been living?”
“I’m in-between homes at the moment, sir. I’ll look for a room in town.” Jameson’s stance appears confident, but his words are insecure.
Father laughs. “Rent a room in this town? Impossible. The nearest affordable town is a thirty minute drive. Do you have a car?”
Jameson shakes his head. “Not at the moment.”
Randall moves in, “I was thinking he could have the room above the garage. A bed. A bathroom. He’ll have to figure something out for food though.”
Father thinks the idea over. “Would be nice to have someone here at all hours. You’d have to act as a twenty-four hour valet. No drugs and no women in my home. I have a young daughter. I don’t need her witnessing vagrancy. You do what you need to do somewhere else. The Manor is a vice free property.”
“Absolutely. Thank you. The opportunity is greatly appreciated,” Jameson says.
A clearing of a throat calls everyone’s attention to the top of the stairs. Aunt Ina starts her descent. “I don’t mean to break up this introduction, however we have an event to get to.”
Father looks at his watch. “Yes, where are Vivienne and Jules?”
“I’m right here,” I say. I’m not halfway down the stairs when Jameson notices me, and my feet halt mid-step. My heart skips a beat, and it’s as if all the air had vanished from my lungs, as I’m struck by the most stunning pair of blue-green eyes I have ever seen.
With a slow step forward, I try not to fall as I take in the rugged features of his face. That beard is short and unkempt, but it highlights his strong jaw and full lips. His chest is broad and standing at six feet tall, he has a presence that is overpowering. If I hadn’t heard him speak, I would think he was a brute of a man. Someone who walks into a room and thrashes about, owning it and not caring what others think. But I heard his words and the softness to his voice. This hardened man is soft and insecure. And from the look in his eyes, he is yearning for something and I have a compulsory need to know what that is.
I reach the bottom step and swallow, my attention still pulled toward Jameson.
Mother bursts into the room. “Are we ready to leave now? I like to be fashionably late but this is just embarrassing. Jules, you look much better. Hopefully no one notices you wore that to the Animal Rescue Gala. Franklin, shall we?”
She waltzes over to my father, not paying any mind to Randall or the stranger in our foyer. Father takes her arm and they walk outside. Aunt Ina is quickly behind them.
“Jules, your family is leaving,” Randall says, snapping my attention away from Jameson.
I fall back with a shy smile. “Have a good evening,” I say and duck out the front door.
In the circular drive, about to get into the town car, I look up and see the sky filled with the rich colors of sunset. Still up there, hiding in the background, is the moon. I’m suddenly eager to see how beautiful it is when night falls.
The Party
THE MARCH SOIREE is the same as all the other galas, except tonight the tables are donned in crimson linens. The same band is playing the same songs. The same tea light candles and white orchids decorate the room. The same hors d’oeuvres are served, the same brand of champagne is being poured, and the same egotistical boys are in attendance.
“You’re looking particularly lovely tonight.” Gavin, a senior at my prep school has planted his feet beside mine on the side of the dance floor.
I don’t need to look over to him to know that he is wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and a striped tie, or that his nails are perfectly filed and his black hair is impeccably swept back
“Thank you. You look very nice yourself,” I say, my eyes focused on the lead singer of the band. Her hair is dark and wild; untamed yet stunning.
“Don’t I?” he agrees with a laugh to his voice. “I must say I’m disappointed. Your mother told me you were wearing champagne. I dressed to match.”
I swivel my head over to him. My brows curve in. “Why would we dress to match?”
Mother, who has been engaged in conversation with her socialite friends, ignoring me for the past thirty minutes, has taken notice of Gavin at my side.
“Gavin LeGume, you look as handsome as ever.” She and Gavin exchange double kisses which causes me to roll my eyes. “My apologies. Jules had a bit of an accident this afternoon and ruined her gown. I didn’t have a chance to inform you.”
He grins at her and holds up his blue tie toward my dress. “Gold and blue are the colors of royalty. Some things are fate.”
Mother is looking at Gavin like he is the equivalent of all the stars in the sky. Makes sense since the LeGume family business is the second greatest importers of French goods in the United States. My father and Mr. LeGume have done a wealth of business together, boosting both their bank accounts exponentially.
I inwardly groan and look back and forth between the two. “Is there something I’m missing?”
She reluctantly turns her attention toward me. With a tilt of her head she says, “Gavin is your escort this evening.”
I lower my gaze at her. “My escort?”
He steps closer, placing a hand on my lower back. “I would have picked you up but crew practice ran long today. I’m the Coxswain.”
I mutter, “I’m sure you are.”
“Jules,” mother bites and then flashes her fakest smile to Gavin. “Why don’t you two grab a glass of champagne.”
“I’m only fifteen,” I say to her.
“None for me, Mrs. Bradford. I’m driving. I’ll have Jules home by midnight.”
My head shoots to him. “Midnight?” Turning back to mother I say, “I’m not allowed to date let alone be alone in a car with an eighteen year old boy.”
She leans in with a smile and a whisper, “Not all eighteen year old boys are LeGumes.” Straightening herself out she offers, “Jules doesn’t have a curfew so you two have a wonderful evening.”
She walks away and I try my hardest to breathe out the annoyance my body is feeling. On the other side of the dance floor, three girls from my school are sneering at me.
“Would you like to dance?” he asks.
“I don’t dance,” I flatly respond.
Over his shoulder I notice his crew buddies gawking at us, pointing and laughing. They’re probably in shock he’s slumming it, on the side of the dance floor, with the school weirdo. The one who doesn’t go to parties or roll up her skirt and actually pays attention in class. I sit alone in the courtyard, and eat my lunch, alone, with a book and the dream that once I graduate I’ll go somewhere far away fro
m here.
“You should go party with your friends,” I offer.
With his hands in his pockets, he leans in and says, “I’d rather party with you. I’ll tell you what, you don’t seem all too comfortable here and I have a joint in my pocket that’s dying to be lit up. Let’s take a walk.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Then I won’t either. We’ll just talk.”
I sway my head from side to side and think about his offer. Mother is gaggling with her friends while my father is talking a little too intimately with a young waitress in a corner. The girls are still sneering and the boys are still staring. With a shrug, I concede and allow Gavin to escort me across the room. He places a hand on my back and before we are through the door leading to the courtyard he glances over his shoulder and raises a fist in the air.
“Care for a drink?” Gavin pulls a flask out of his pocket when we’re outside.
“I thought you were driving?”
“I am.” He smirks and then points back toward the party, “I just said that to your mother to be a gentleman. She loves me by the way. Not surprised, all women do.” He lifts his mouth to the metal flask, takes a swig, then holds it out to me. “Whiskey?”
I stop walking. “I don’t drink.”
“You should.”
“I also don’t drive home with boys who drink.”
With a grimace he says, “Fair enough.” He twists the cap on and puts the flask back in his pocket. “What do you do?”
“Nothing you want to do tonight, that’s for sure.”
He narrows his eyes at me and then nods his head. We start walking again. The air is crisp for an early spring day.
Beast: An Anthology Page 12
