by Beth Trissel
The door, a work of art in itself with carved panels and shining brass knob, opened without Will lifting a finger.
“Good morning, Mr. Wentworth.” A well-endowed young woman in a sleek black gown that clung to every generous curve gushed enthusiasm. “So good to see you back at the inn. It’s been far too long since you’ve visited us.”
“Thank you, Miss Knowles.”
“Karen,” she reminded him, tapping an artificially lengthened coral fingernail on her nametag.
“Of course. And this is Julia Morrow, newly arrived from England.”
Their heavily made-up hostess curved glistening plum lips at Julia. “Nice to meet you. How long will you be staying in Virginia?”
Julia felt lacking in war paint, her touch of lip gloss grossly inadequate. “Possibly forever.”
Will’s mouth twitched as Ms. Knowles arched narrow brows, her smile pasted in place. The effect was decidedly weird.
Hazel eyes outlined in liquid smoke targeted him. “The British are so amusing.”
“Indeed,” he replied evenly.
She spoke again to Julia while fixated on him. “Do enjoy our fabled inn, Miss Morrow. Doubtless England can claim fine examples of Victorian design.”
“Doubtless, though I’ve not seen any to better this.”
“How kind. Please follow me. Mrs. Wentworth and her party are expecting you.” Their hostess floated ahead in a cloud of gardenia perfume.
Julia found her scent rather overpowering. She wondered the girl didn’t trip with her blond head bobbing expectantly at Will. Did he have this effect on all eligible females, maybe even some not so eligible? The flash of jealousy singeing her seemed an old one. And it occurred to her that for the past few days she’d had him mostly to herself. This would not always be the case. Beginning now.
The shine of glass caught her eye. Straight ahead, the opulent full length mirror at the low stair landing offered a sparkling image of her and Will. Her first thought was of what a striking couple they made and the second, more startling, that she’d glimpsed their reflection before, though not in these particular clothes. But the finely tailored suit he’d worn then was also silvery gray and she’d been splendidly gowned and coiffed. Was it only yesterday, or two hundred years ago?
Julia gazed searchingly at Will. Was he inherently Cole, as she thought, or just very like him, as he adamantly insisted. The latter possibility troubled her.
In no way could she betray Cole, her heart’s center, but her emotions for Will rocked her to the core. As for her wanton behavior the night before, she pleaded the lingering effects of medication. But even now, Will’s touch on her arm triggered an exquisite wanting in every part of her, as did the flame in his eyes when he looked her way.
He flashed a reassuring grin at her, and then returned his attention to wending his way through the stuffed chintzy chairs and leather couches spread throughout the parlor.
Visitors idling in air-conditioned comfort sipped coffee laid out in silver services on small refined tables. Porcelain vases filled with roses stood on every surface, jostling for space alongside the knickknacks Victorian’s dearly loved: photographs in gilt-edged frames, stuffed owls, kaleidoscopes, and nineteenth century figurines.
The honeyed filigreed wallpaper looked like a reproduction of an original pattern and Julia was impressed, momentarily. Then their distracted guide led them out along a dark paneled hall and opened an ominous closed door.
Overhead, a chandelier radiated brilliance in the spacious dining room. Crystal sparkled on the long table set with a pristine cloth and impeccable silverware. A mahogany corner cabinet stuffed with precious china and an immense sideboard completed the lavish furnishings. Brunch steamed beneath the silver covers lining the sideboard. If Julia’s stomach hadn’t been a mass of knots, the scent of eggs benedict with hollandaise sauce would’ve been welcome.
She wasn’t raised poor, but an eye to economy had been a consideration in her upbringing. Ample money could reserve you a place anywhere as private dining in this room proved. The spotless china was bordered with the blue-gold motif remarkably like those plates that clattered to the floor when the Titanic sank in the film with Leonardo.
It must be an omen of the disaster that, no doubt, awaited her this morning. With trepidation, Julia swept her eyes over the grand dame in a mink stole seated at the end of the lengthy table. Diamonds sparkled on nearly every finger. The middle-aged couple sitting along one side both wore tasteful navy suits rather like a ‘his and hers’ matching ensemble, only the wife had platinum hair and he was balding. The woman was also very large, but then, so was he. Across from them, seated on her own, was their single daughter.
Julia immediately realized her error. Anticipating a horsy, long in the tooth sort of female who belonged in a pasture had been a delusion. Nelle Patterson was a glowing brunette beauty. Thickly lashed brown eyes smiled at up Will in a devastatingly attractive face, framed with stylishly layered shoulder-length hair. The pale blue suit draping her slim, but not too slim, figure was perfect. She was pretty enough to be his sister, with the same dark good looks. If only she were the homely woman he’d lead her to expect.
A wave of trepidation washed over Julia and she felt about to sink like that ill-fated ship, and ridiculous, as if she’d arrived at a costume party to find none of the other guests were playing dress ups. Not only that, but Nelle was obviously sophisticated. Julia almost expected to be seated at the children’s table.
Mr. Patterson got to his feet with a hearty smile. “Will! There you are!”
He boomed so loudly Julia took a step back.
Will kept a hold on her arm, nudging her beside him. “How are you, sir?”
“Well! And you? You look great!”
Good heavens, had the man been a coach or drill sergeant in his former life?
He pumped Will’s hand and turned on Julia. The meaty paw he held out sported a gleaming watch she suspected was astronomically expensive.
Engulfing her fingers in his moist grasp, he belted, “Who’s this lovely young lady?”
“Julia Morrow, from Great Britain. Sorry we’re late. We were unexpectedly delayed,” Will added.
Julia shifted uncomfortably. Her agonies over dressing had accounted for their tardiness.
“At least you’re here now,” his grandmother said thinly.
Mrs. Patterson offered them an ingratiating smile that revealed white capped teeth. “We haven’t waited all that long, Nora,” she said in a strong Southern accent with the gentility evident of her good breeding. She ran a tongue over thick ruby lips. Gold bands jingled and rings shone on stout fingers as she patted the seat beside her. “Julia, is it? Come sit by me, dear. Will and Nelle have a lot of catching up to do, don’t you, Will?”
Julia couldn’t refuse, but it did seem that Will should. After all, she was his date––sort of.
He didn’t. In his defense, she supposed he could hardly say, ‘No. Absolutely not. I’m staying by Julia unto death and beyond.’ They would all think him a madman and his grandmother would denounce him here and now.
Will gave Julia’s arm a squeeze. She assumed acting skills accounted for his bravado as he cheerfully replied.
“Certainly. It’s been ages since we chatted. Julia, I’m sure Mrs. Patterson would love to hear about England.”
Oh, rat that he was. Julia went to her fate feeling decidedly let down.
****
The look Julia shot Will rifled through him like a molten bullet. But what could he do? She dutifully took the seat next to the older harridan and he settled beside her daughter. It wasn’t that he found Nelle unappealing. No sane man would. But there was a sense of artificiality about her that he disliked, as though each gesture and word were spun for effect––the end game, marriage.
Whether or not Nelle was actually attracted to him, he didn’t know. It didn’t matter. As a criminal defense attorney, she was all about winning. He was surprised she wasn’t already attached to some
one else, but the angle of her jaw was perhaps a little too jutting, a reflection of the gritty resolve that likely sent some men running for their lives.
Nelle didn’t intimidate Will. It was Grandmother Nora’s watchful eye that was daunting, especially when so much depended on him and Julia remaining at Foxleigh. He just knew somehow events must take their course, like a play, if he could only get through the drama unfolding now.
A waiter silently appeared, pouring from various pitchers and bottles. Will sipped his water to wet his throat before tackling Nelle. “You’re looking quite well.”
She flipped her two hundred dollar haircut. “Is that the best you can do after all the hours I’ve spent at the gym?”
He reached for something stronger to drink. The white liquid in his wine glass would have to do. “Very fit.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Stunning, Nelle, and you know it.”
“Must you imbibe to say it?”
He couldn’t win, although he made a Herculean effort not to stare at Julia, so fresh and inviting in her outdated look. He considered getting to his feet and serving himself, but Grandmother Nora had no doubt hired the waiter for that very purpose. She objected to all that clambering up and down and passing dishes.
Nelle cut into the golden mound the attendant spooned onto their plates. “I’d hoped we’d meet in court, that you might even consider joining the firm. The offer still stands.”
“Thank you, but I’m otherwise engaged. Overseeing Foxleigh is twenty-four-seven.”
“Really? Or does overseeing knockout Brits require your full attention?”
Looking down his nose at Nelle, he made damn well certain she noted his sharp response. “Miss Morrow has only been here for three days.”
“Works fast,” Nelle remarked in low pitched venom.
Will forced himself to swallow slowly before answering. “She’s not that sort of girl.”
Julia must be deflecting similar queries from Mrs. Patterson judging by her gestures and cornered expression. He ought to rescue her and signaled her genteel attacker. “Mrs. Patterson, tell us about your trip to London.”
She beamed at him. “Now, Will, call me Loraine.”
He gritted his teeth. “Loraine, please enliven us with your wit. You have such a way of telling stories.”
Her husband guffawed. “Like the time she got stuck in the tower of London. The guards wouldn’t let her go until they’d searched her bag. I told her not to finger the jewels.”
“Douglas, that joke is stale,” his grandmother scolded. “We all know Loraine backed into a tight corner and her posterior simply wouldn’t allow her to turn.”
Julia did the unthinkable and actually giggled.
Mrs. Patterson paled. “Not in front of company, Nora.”
Was any subject safe? Will doubted it and plowed into the savory food heaping his plate. At least he could eat and he was starving. “Delicious. My compliments to the chef,” he said to the obliging attendant between mouthfuls.
Nelle nibbled a piece of muffin smeared with the inn’s famous marmalade while he devoured his and tried to ignore her eyes boring into him.
“What have you been doing to work up such an appetite,” she asked with more than a hint of indelicacy.
He nearly choked on his coffee. “Honest labor. Restoration doesn’t complete itself.”
“No. Suppose not. Is that really all you’ve been up to?”
What a nervy female. He didn’t owe her any accountability. “Stop by sometime and see for yourself.”
His first mistake.
“I’d love a private tour. If you’re not otherwise involved,” she said, raising her voice for appreciative ears.
His grandmother pounced on the opening. “William would be delighted, Nelle. We want you to begin thinking of Foxleigh as your home in the not too distant future. Don’t we, sir?”
Will sat with a forkful of French toast half way to his lips too stunned to answer. His second mistake.
White and shaking, Julia stumbled up murmuring something about “the ladies.” Firing him a look of tearful reproach, she rushed from the room.
“Whatever was that about?” his grandmother demanded.
Nelle smiled smugly. “I wonder.”
Will had never come so close to stabbing a woman and laid his fork down before Nelle found it stuck in her throat. “Please excuse me. I must go check on my guest.”
“Peculiar girl.” Grandmother Nora remarked. “Certainly has the dramatic flair for an actress,” she added, with a hint of approval. “Still, don’t let her keep you too long, William. You and Nelle haven’t had much of a chat yet.”
“And I’m so looking forward to it,” Nelle purred.
Will had no intention of returning. “I regret my hasty departure, but Julia and I must get back to the house soon anyway. I have a date with my special friend.”
Nelle didn’t appear fooled but Mrs. Patterson’s penciled brows shot up. “Who?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t know him.”
****
Julia’s chest was excruciatingly tight with the barely contained flood of tears straining at her throat. How could Will just sit there and let his grandmother practically announce this absurd engagement? He’d never be happy with Nelle––or anyone else for that matter except Julia. Why didn’t he have the sense to see it and the guts to act?
Cole would have, she told herself as she fled down the hall. Cole had proudly introduced Julia Maury to his mother, but then, that Julia had been a high born lady. Not a commoner like this present day Julia. She should have come back as royalty, if she’d truly come back at all.
Oh––she really must be losing her mind. She’d wind up in some mental ward weaving baskets.
She rushed into the crowded parlor. “Excuse me,” she blurted over and over, bumping into guests and furniture.
It crossed her distraught mind that she didn’t have a clue where she was going. Will had the keys to the reconditioned red sports car he’d brought her in. And she couldn’t just drive away in it without him anyway.
“Miss Morrow?”
The hostess who’d initially greeted them flagged Julia down. Heavily made-up eyes explored her in confusion, as if any female fortunate enough to be accompanied by William Wentworth couldn’t possibly be exiting without him.
“What’s the matter, honey?” she asked.
A tide of emotion made coherent speech difficult. “I can’t abide marmalade,” Julia blurted, and bolted from the room with multiple pairs of eyes staring after her.
“You don’t have to eat it!” the hostess called.
Julia waved in acknowledgement of the woman’s attempt at conciliation and rushed out onto the porch. Again, heads turned and she met with arched glances. What wouldn’t she give for a moment’s privacy? None was at hand and she hurried down the brick steps, losing one pump like Cinderella. She left the shoe where it lay and fled into the yard, pursued by an elderly gentleman in a white suit and Panama hat bent on returning it.
She stopped on the manicured lawn, sides heaving, and accepted his offering. “Thank you,” she sniffed.
He studied her sympathetically through lined eyes. “You’d best put it on, my dear. The pavement’s hot.”
She thrust her foot into the shoe.
He smiled faintly. “Shall I tell Prince Charming you passed this way?”
“Julia! Over here! Julia!”
At the summons, she pivoted toward the street. Stopped along one sidewalk, motor still throttling, was Lyle McChesney on his black Harley.
“That’s no coach,” the older man muttered. “And he’s no prince.”
“No. But he’s transport.”
“Better than a pumpkin, I suppose,” the gentleman conceded.
She walked uncertainly toward the six foot three plus Aussie dressed in leathers. Lyle was pure brawn and all nerve to be here now.
He removed his black helmet, leaving rumpled reddish hair pulled back in a po
nytail. His tanned face split in a grin as she stepped through the gate. “I thought you might be game to make a getaway about now.”
“How did you guess?” She paused on the walk beneath a shady elm, the boxwood hedge at her back.
Lyle fixed her with an appreciative blue gaze. “Jon Hensley knows a thing or two and he doesn’t mind sharing.”
“He shouldn’t.”
“No worries. You want a lift?”
“I sure would––”
She gulped as Will seized her arm.
“You’re not going anywhere with him,” he growled from behind her. “What in hell are you doing here McChesney?”
Lyle eyed him with a distinct chill in his frosty gaze. “Just out for a ride. Thought I’d see if this young lady needs rescuing. Appears she does.”
He waved Lyle aside with the demeanor of a man who’d far rather drive his fist into his jaw. “I’m here now. I’ll see to her.”
“Fine muddle you’ve made of it so far, Wentworth. Why not give the Aussie a turn?”
“I’m gonna give you a great deal more than that if you don’t leave––”
“William! A word with you!”
He groaned under his breath. “Good Lord.”
Julia looked from the potential combatants to Nora Wentworth bearing down the brick path, cane in hand, tapping it assertively as she walked. She’d left her mink behind and wore a blue silk dress. Loraine Patterson puffed at her arm supposedly assisting the older woman, but it wasn’t exactly clear who was aiding whom. Both bejeweled ladies glittered in the sun.
Mr. Patterson hurried behind them, mopping his shiny face with a handkerchief and sucking in air. God only knew where Nelle was. Probably sipping her coffee and smiling at all the mayhem she’d caused like a cat lapping spilt cream.
Even Lyle seemed taken aback by the formidable procession. “You’re in for it now, mate,” he grunted.
Will gave no argument. Julia suspected she was too.
His irate grandmother and her offended party stopped just inside the gate with curious onlookers trailing behind. Mrs. Wentworth stabbed her cane at her grandson. “What do you mean taking off like that, sir? And who in blazes are you dating? Is it her?” she asked, jabbing her stick at Julia. “Come on. Out with it. Do you really expect us to believe it’s a man?”
