Somewhere My Love

by Beth Trissel

  Giving a wave, Charlotte angled off to the left toward the back of the house. And that blithe spirit was gone.

  “This way.” Will swung to the right. Julia trotted beside him as he hastened through the great hall.

  A parade of Wentworths enshrined in gilded portraits lined the white plastered walls, an ancestry reaching back over 300 years. A gold fainting couch and a dozen or more Queen Anne chairs with matching brocade seats and ball and claw feet stood along one wall. Here and there, small tables had been pushed back to make room. Historic touches, a pair of eighteenth century spectacles, a leather-bound volume of Shakespeare and other antique books, porcelain figurines, china vases…all added to the charm. Everything was as it had been time out of mind, and yet, he battled for control over his unreasoning emotions.

  Lagging slightly behind him, Julia raised widened eyes to the high carved ceiling. The embellished plasterwork was a masterpiece of garlands and designs crafted eons ago.

  She sighed. “So beautiful.”

  God help him, she was. He fell into his guide voice.

  “Formal balls have been held in this room since the mid-eighteenth century.” He gestured at the magnificent staircase rising to the second floor as if by magic, each tread gracefully scrolled, the banister polished with the oil of many hands. “Musicians sat on the landing.”

  “Yes, I can imagine that. Do you have dances here now?”

  A vision of Julia dressed in yards of lavender with a dazzling low-cut bodice flashed through his head in a dizzying swirl. He had no idea where that far-flung fantasy came from and braced for the next attack.

  “Sometimes. Grandmother is particularly fond of our annual costume ball and resides over the affair like a queen, but she’s getting past all that now.”

  “I should love to see one,” Julia said.

  Her lilting voice chimed in Will’s head like a siren’s song, further drawing him. He really had to get a grip and offered her the barest smile. “Perhaps you’ll have your chance on Midsummer’s Eve. Though members of staff are here to wait on guests, you understand.”

  She flushed prettily and shifted from one slender foot to the other. “Of course. I didn’t intend for you to think––I mean––”

  “Don’t trouble yourself about it,” he broke in, unable to bear her adorable uncertainty.

  But Julia wasn’t easily put off. She stopped Will in his tracks with a light hand on his arm. The warmth of her fingers radiated through his sleeve and set his skin afire. He almost jerked away, but stayed as he was, letting the sensual heat flow through him.

  “Please, tell me what you want me to do, Mr. Wentworth?”

  Her innocent question jolted Will like a strong current. He didn’t dare tell this young woman the thoughts searing him at this moment. He was no coward, but he had the urge to flee the house, the past, and definitely Julia. Hers was a deadly beauty. How he knew that, he couldn’t say. Instead, he drew on inner reserves and looked steadily into her eyes.

  “Nothing too difficult for someone with your impeccable résumé. You are to assist Charlotte as needed with tours of the house.”

  Julia ran the tip of her tongue over dewy pink lips and bent toward him eagerly. “And the grounds?”

  He almost leapt back like one teetering on the edge of a precipice. “Certainly. With your degree in horticulture and focus on heirloom plants, we welcome any information you’d care to give the visitors. Foxleigh employs two expert gardeners, but they don’t like to be bothered with questions.”

  She nodded, bouncing on her toes. “I don’t mind at all. People love the smell and feel of herbs. Shall I give short tours and tell something of their age-old uses?”

  “That’s a great idea. You may use the gazebo if you’d like to schedule talks. We have benches and seats there.”

  “That would do wonderfully,” she said, with a luminous smile.

  Lord, give him air. Julia had engulfed him in an irresistible tide. Her mouth...he must stop eyeing her enticing mouth. “Let’s see the gardens now.”

  Like a soldier on drill, he turned and walked swiftly out of the hall and into the passage that led to the front of the house. Julia practically had to sprint to keep pace with his ground-covering stride. The gentleman in him took over on autopilot and he stopped in the worn flagstone foyer before the paneled entrance.

  He pushed open the white door embellished by the carving of colonial craftsmen and beckoned to her. “After you.”

  “Thank you.” She walked across the threshold and onto the circular brick porch ringed with an iron railing.

  The breeze had picked up with the approach of evening and lifted lengths of her long hair. Her already short skirt danced in the wind. The green-gold light spilled through the trees overhead and down across her blowing mane. His artist’s eye took in the glossy sheen of red, copper, and ginger reflecting the rays. As if this weren’t torment enough, Will glimpsed even more of her shapely legs, almost to her thighs with one gust.

  Julia pushed the fabric back down, seemingly too absorbed in her surroundings even to notice. “Just smell that,” she sighed, inhaling deeply.

  The warm scent from an avenue of ancient hedges filled the mild air. “Yes. I love the scent of Old English boxwood,” he said.

  She flung her arms wide at the green expanse, knotted with herb gardens, and stretching down to the gently lapping river. “Magnificent!”

  Will felt weak and emboldened in one, as if he wanted to lunge with a sword and stagger from a punishing blow.

  An inner voice whispered, Julia’s back.

  What did that have to do with him, he argued.

  Everything.

  For heaven’s sake, he’d practically let his grandmother think his tastes ran to men rather than submit to the parade of potential spouses from moneyed families that she’d dangled before him.

  Because of Julia, the voice insisted.

  No. He’d simply wanted his freedom. No ties. He was a ‘leave me the hell alone’ kind of guy. Hadn’t he endured enough pain, enough loss? Enough bloodshed.

  Now, why on earth had he thought that?

  Chapter Three

  “Foxleigh is indeed incomparable,” William said from behind Julia. His voice had dropped quite low.

  Tension seized her. He sounded like one fading from consciousness.

  She glanced over her shoulder. He’d leaned back against the door, eyes closed and his face pale under the tan. Panic fluttered in her chest. Was he ill? Wait––hadn’t she seen him like this before? Worse––sprawled unmoving on the floor. Dear God. Was she losing her mind?

  Whether she was or wasn’t, she had to be certain he was all right. She pivoted and grasped his shoulders. “Mr. Wentworth, are you alright?”

  He roused, looking at her with eyes as brown as decadent dark chocolate, the expression in their depths difficult to read. She thought she detected a mute appeal, and then a shade seemed to lower and her glimpse of the inner man faded.

  “No need for alarm. I’ve just been overworking, that’s all,” he said with a smile.

  She reveled in the momentary warmth enhancing his allure. Realizing she still gripped him, she dropped her hands from his hard shoulders and shifted her attention to the fan-shaped carving above the entryway.

  He said no more and they stood in silence, but his presence filled the space around her in a way no stranger’s could. A void within her cried out that he had once filled her heart. What was happening to her? It made no sense. Still, she must speak.

  She returned her searching gaze to his guarded study. His reluctant eyes locked on hers with a hint of recognition in their dark depths.

  A wildly irrational hope pulsed inside her. She bit her lip, hoping he wouldn’t think her balmy. “Is it possible we’ve met before?”

  The spark of life in his eyes faded. “I don’t see how.”

  Yet, like a distant melody growing stronger, she instinctively knew his voice...him. “I’m not familiar to you at all?”
<
br />   “How could you be, Miss Morrow?”

  That name sounded alien on his lips. “It’s Julia.”

  His face tightened in an almost imperceptible wince. “I’d prefer we retained formal working titles. At least until we’re better acquainted.”

  Disappointment washed through her. “Then you really don’t remember me?”

  He ran long fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know you, somehow,” she persisted.

  An inner struggle flickered in his eyes. Wariness won out and he set his jaw. “The mind sometimes plays tricks on us, especially when mixed with an active imagination.”

  “It’s more than that, rather like waking from a sleep when you cannot clearly recall the dream, only feel it.”

  For a moment, he seemed pensive, then that sardonic look returned to his eyes. His gaze narrowed. “You’re dreaming, all right. I expect you’ve joined the throng of women in love with the dashing Cole Wentworth.”

  Julia felt a blush burn her cheeks. She couldn’t deny that possibility. The name alone ripped through her.

  “Is this a problem with your working here?” he asked.

  Mustering what dignity she had left, she drew herself up. “I’m fully capable of conducting myself with propriety, Mr. Wentworth. I’m British, for God’s sake.”

  He frowned at her. “The Brits don’t have a monopoly on self-control. But I’ll allow you the benefit of the doubt in this instance.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Very good of you, I’m sure. I’ll endeavor not to put you out again.”

  He made an impatient noise under his breath. “I’ve been all through this before, Miss Morrow.”

  “Making allowances for Brits?”

  “No. Admirers of my legendary cousin, superb horseman, exquisite artist, gallant nobleman struck down in his prime. Despite our similarities, I am not Cole Wentworth. There’s one glaring difference between us.”

  “He’s more charming?” she suggested.

  William shot her a sarcastic smile. “He’s dead. Do try to bear that in mind.”

  “I shall. Though he’s riveting in comparison to some, even in his present state.”

  The annoyance in William’s face diminished slightly. “Touché. You won that round.”

  “I didn’t realize we were sparring.”

  “I thought it was obvious.” He bent forward, gripping the iron railing until his knuckles were white. “Every old home has some illustrious person to trumpet. Cole is Foxleigh’s most heralded prize. I’ve grown up in his shadow like some bizarrely younger twin, even made little effort to counter the rumors that I’m gay to avoid the crush.”

  She nearly staggered back. “No one would ever believe that of you.”

  Whipping his head around, he eyed her in bemusement. “I hope Grandmother does or I’m doomed to wed the highly affluent, though rather unappealing, Miss Patterson. At least, according to the Queen Mother. She sometimes forgets more than a century has passed since Victoria’s reign.”

  Julia’s lips twitched, and then she giggled.

  He smiled back in a gorgeous flash of white teeth.

  She seized her opportunity. “I haven’t gotten off to a very promising start with you. Please accept my apology, Mr. Wentworth,” she said, holding out her hand.

  He took her hand in his, and her skin tingled.

  Releasing her fingers he offered, “Of course, Miss Morrow. I’m partly to blame. We’ll start all over in the morning.”

  “Thank you. I couldn’t bear to be packed off home now. My parents only just let me come. They’re of the Old School and reluctant to let me off on my own.”

  “I understand perfectly. You will be quite safe here.”

  He swept her a low bow and held out his arm. How natural the cavalier gesture seemed to him.

  “Allow me to escort you to your quarters, my lady.”

  “That’s rather gallant for one averse to his noble past,” she teased.

  “Again, for you I am making an exception.”

  She laughed. “I’m honored, sir,” she said, curtsying––absurd in her sundress––and took his arm.

  “You really need a longer skirt for such genteel formality. Not that I mind.”

  Again, the heat in her cheeks, and a thrill at his powerfully masculine touch as he led her down three tiers of brick steps and along the pebbled walk around to the back of the house facing a parking lot hedged with more boxwood. Beyond the tree-lined drive was the distant highway. The lack of traffic noise added to the feel of having traveled back in time. And the scent of Foxleigh, its hedges and herbs, heightened her awareness.

  “Such a soft evening, as the Irish say.”

  “I was just thinking the same...the soft part, anyway,” he said.

  “But you’re not Irish.”

  He answered under his breath. “I wasn’t referring to the evening.”

  Her heart palpated like a bounding rabbit’s. “Oh. Where am I to lodge?”

  “There.” He pointed past the brick wash house, smoke house, and kitchen to an impressive building standing at the right of Foxleigh. “That’s the wing where you’ll be staying. We’ve discreetly installed modern amenities in the original guest quarters. You’ll even find Charlotte has stocked the shelves and refrigerator.”

  “Brilliant.”

  “I’m glad you approve. The wing to the left of the house is for male visitors. In bygone days, it also housed older sons who’d been pushed out of the nest. A sort of bachelor pad.”

  “Yes...I remember.”

  William fixed his quizzical gaze on her. “That detail isn’t in the booklet.”

  “Charlotte must have said.” But Julia knew she hadn’t.

  Chapter Four

  A mocking bird sang ‘Julie Julie Julie’ above the drumming in Will’s chest. What on earth was he to do with his rush of feelings for Julia?

  Not a thing.

  She was here to work, then return home. That’s all. He must focus on fulfilling his family obligation to Grandmother Nora, see the reconstruction of Foxleigh completed, and get on with his life.

  So why was he hovering in the entrance of the guest wing, one hand on the iron doorknob, looking back over his shoulder? He’d seen Julia safely to her quarters and stowed her luggage in the bedroom. He had no further excuse for lurking in her doorway and no business seeking one.

  Still, he lingered.

  She sat on the peach-upholstered couch hugging a lacy pillow. The mellow evening light slanting through the window played over her upturned face and wide eyes. Maybe her peculiar insights into Foxleigh had frightened her. Lord knows they’d unnerved him a bit. But why the all-consuming draw he felt to her?

  Even more reluctant to leave, Will strung out his goodbye. “I trust you have everything you need?”

  Julia glanced around at the simple tasteful décor and nodded. “It’s lovely. Thank you.”

  The hesitancy in her manner wasn’t lost on him. “Are you quite certain Charlotte has made adequate provisions?”

  “Abundant.”

  “Well, if you’re settled in, I’ll be off.”

  Her uneasy gaze returned to him. “Where will you be, William––I mean, Mr. Wentworth?” she asked in a small voice.

  He liked the sound of ‘William’ rolling out of her pretty mouth, but could hardly encourage that name after the stand he’d taken earlier. “Didn’t Charlotte tell you? I’m on the second floor of Foxleigh where my grandmother lived before she entered a retirement home. That’s why the upper level is closed to visitors.”

  “So, you’ll not be far if I need you?”

  Julia looked so endearingly vulnerable. Will fought the impulse to take her in his arms and comfort her, disturbed by the effect she had on him. Popularly known as the iron man, after he’d resisted the advances of a voluptuous but over the top law student, he was normally impervious to the appeal of most women. But Julia was like no other.

  “I’m just a knock a
way if you have any problems,” he assured her, “and even been known to answer my phone, though sometimes I’d like to toss it out the window.”

  She smiled a little shakily.

  “You’ll be fine. Foxleigh’s ghosts are quite benign.”

  Winding a strand of hair around her finger she confided, “I’m not bothered about them. It’s just––”

  He turned fully toward her. “Yes?”

  The color in her cheeks heightened. “I’ve never spent the night all alone.”

  Forcing himself not to stare openmouthed he asked, “What? Why?”

  She chewed her bottom lip. “I share a room with my two younger sisters. Mum and Dad taught us at home and engaged tutors. They’re quite strict so I was seldom away.”

  “What about college?”

  “I was a day student at Barclay where Dad teaches.”

  It crossed Will’s mind that he should have hired two young women and housed them both in here so she’d have company. But he didn’t really need two. “So this is your first trip without your sisters?”

  “Now you’ll think me an utter infant.”

  The thought had occurred to him, along with how on earth did anyone live this way, but he adopted an assuring tone. “No. Of course not. You’re just very inexperienced. It’s quite brave of you, really, to travel all this way alone.” Exceedingly so, when she’d practically grown up in a convent. “Julia, why are you here?” he asked, unable to resist using her first name.

  “I had to come, you see. It’s time.”

  She was the strangest most intriguing girl. “For what, exactly?”

  “To be here, at Foxleigh. I just knew, though not exactly why. Don’t you ever just know things?”

  Treading with care, he met the appeal in her eyes. “Not as you seem to.”

  “Are you put out with me for coming?”

  “Quite the opposite.”

  Her mouth curved in a smile that cut through him like a red-hot sword drawn from the blacksmith’s forge––and he couldn’t say why, only that she evoked a volatile mix of light and shadows.

  “Must you go quite yet? Won’t you stay awhile and have something to eat first?”