by Judith Stacy
“Stephen, dear. Oh, Stephen. Everything is in a complete uproar.”
“We just settled everything a few minutes ago, Aunt Delfi,” Stephen said as he rose from his chair. “We have a complete uproar now?”
“Something must be done,” Delfi declared, and dropped a book of fabric samples on his desk. “The decorator. He’s insisting that I give him my decision. Insisting, Stephen, insisting. And the menus. The menus haven’t been planned. Cook is ready to walk off. Walk off, I tell you. And as if that weren’t enough, the gardeners want to know about the azaleas. Azaleas, Stephen.”
He guided her to the chair beside Caroline and seated her. “Aunt Delfi, these are a few situations you need to handle this morning, but—”
“An uproar,” she insisted. “And where were you last night? During the party? You disappeared. Where did you go? Did something come up?”
Stephen dropped into his chair again. He glanced at Caroline. “Yes, Aunt Delfi, something did…come up.”
Richard coughed and moved away to the windows in the corner.
“But what?” Delfi demanded. “You left your own party. Was it something urgent? Something big?”
Stephen shuffled papers across his desk. “Actually, yes, it was very big.”
Delfina moaned. “But your own party, Stephen. People were talking. You know what I’ve been through since your uncle died. You know how difficult it is to maintain proper appearances. How could you have done such a thing?”
Stephen gestured to Caroline. “Aunt Delfi, I’d like you to meet Caroline Sommerfield. Miss Sommerfield, my aunt, Delfina Monterey.”
Delfina grabbed Caroline’s hand. “You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you, dear?”
“Of course,” Caroline said. Appearances were everything, especially among the upper class.
“Of course,” Delfina echoed. She turned back to Stephen and wagged her fingers at the fabric samples. “Now, what are we going to do?”
“I’ll take care of the decorator, Aunt Delfi,” he promised.
“And the menus?” Delfina waved a leather-bound notebook in the air. “Should we have duck? Chicken? We always have chicken on Sundays, but lately…”
Stephen reached across the desk and relieved her of the notebook. “I’ll handle the menus.”
She pressed her hand to her bosom. “Oh, thank you, Stephen. You’re such a dear. Now, the azaleas. The gardener is—”
“I’ll speak with the gardener, too.”
“Well…” Delfina drew in a cleansing breath. “It makes one feel so good to have accomplished something.”
Stephen smiled faintly at his aunt. “I’ll have everything handled as soon as Miss Sommerfield is settled.”
“Settled?” Delfina asked. “Settled where?”
“Miss Sommerfield will be working for me,” Stephen said.
Delfina turned to Caroline and looked her up and down. Worry lines crept into her forehead again. “In what capacity?”
“She’ll be working here in the office,” Stephen explained.
“Working? In your office?” Delfina’s eyes widened and her mouth tightened to a horrified pucker. “A woman? Working? In our home? What will people say?”
“Aunt Delfi,” Stephen said, “it’s nothing to get upset over.”
“Nothing to get upset over?” Delfina turned to Caroline. “You must not take this personally, my dear. I’m sure you’re quite good at whatever it is you do. But Stephen, you can’t do this. You simply can’t.”
“It’s done, Aunt Delfi,” Stephen said. “Miss Sommerfield is—”
“People are already talking. What will they say when they find out? A young woman coming and going from our home every day. Working here,” Delfina wailed. “Working!”
Stephen circled the desk and knelt beside her. He patted her arm. “Aunt Delfi, there’s no other way around this. I need Miss Sommerfield and—”
Caroline shot to her feet. “I’ll just leave.”
“No, you won’t.” Stephen rose from beside his aunt’s chair. “You’re not going anywhere.”
“But your aunt is terribly upset,” Caroline said. “I simply couldn’t live with myself knowing how I’d upset her.”
Stephen pointed his finger at her. “I know what you’re trying to do, and—”
“My hands!” Delfina thrust her hands out in front of her. “I’ve lost the feeling in both my little fingers!”
Stephen looked down at his aunt. “Your little fingers are fine, Aunt Delfi—”
“My thumbs! They’re going, too!”
“Aunt Delfi,” Stephen said patiently, “Miss Sommerfield is here for a very important matter.”
“It’s not really all that important,” Caroline said.
He glared at her. “Aunt Delfi, listen to me. Lots of women are working these days.”
“But—” Delfina stopped suddenly and shifted her gaze from one side of the room to the other. “Does anyone else hear that bell ringing?”
Stephen groaned softly. “There’s no bell ringing. Look, Aunt Delfi, you’re going to have to—”
“It’s getting louder.” Delfina’s gaze roamed the room. “Louder, I tell you.”
“Aunt Delfi…” Stephen pulled at his collar.
“Caroline could always move in,” Richard said.
Everyone turned to him, staring, then swung around to Caroline. She felt her cheeks turn pink.
Stephen found his voice first. “She could…what?”
Richard shrugged. “Caroline could move in. As a guest of Delfina, of course.”
Delfina’s eyes narrowed and she cast a glance at Caroline. “My houseguest?”
“Of course,” Richard said. “Caroline’s family is well-known in Europe. Her father is very well respected there.”
“He is?” Delfina and Stephen asked together.]
They both stared, causing Caroline’s cheeks to turn a shade redder.
“Mr. Sommerfield is a renowned criminologist, actually,” Richard said. “He’s sought after all over the Continent by the wealthy, the aristocracy, even the royals.”
“Royalty?” Delfina asked, smiling now. “Really? Royalty? Oh, how delightful.”
“Caroline would make a perfect houseguest,” Richard said. “Under that guise, she could work here for such time as her services are needed. Don’t you think so, Stephen?”
He looked at Caroline, his mouth open. She stared back, eyes wide.
“Well, I think it’s a positively wonderful idea!” Delfina declared.
“So, Caroline,” Richard asked, “how about it?” Caroline simply stood there, letting it all sink in. She would be a houseguest? Here?
While it was true that she and her father had moved among the aristocracy in Europe, they were by no means wealthy people. But she was accustomed to that life and knew how to live it. She and her father had been among the entourage of some of Europe’s finest families.
All this had started because she wanted to practice her profession, have a job where she could employ her skills, gain enough experience so that she could present herself to the Pinkerton Detective Agency with some degree of credibility.
She simply wanted to avoid getting married.
And somehow she’d ended up with a job she didn’t ask for, a boss she didn’t want—living here with Aunt Delfina? And Stephen?
“Well, Caroline?” Richard asked.
“Oh, you must,” Delfina said. “You simply must.”
“It seems the best solution,” Richard said. “Don’t you think?”
“Well, I don’t know…”
She turned to Stephen and saw he was as uncomfortable as she. A deep current flowed between them. She shouldn’t stay. She knew it. He knew it.
He looked so troubled, so distressed that Caroline forgot her own discomfort with the situation. She wanted to smooth away the creases in his forehead. Brush her fingertips against the tight line of his lips. Rub his shoulders until they relaxed.
For an instan
t Caroline thought Stephen could see into her thoughts, into her soul. That somehow he knew she was thinking about him. Her heart pounded harder with this sudden, unexpected connection to him.
But Stephen looked away quickly, breaking the fragile link between them.
“I don’t mean to push you, Caroline,” Richard said, “but we need your answer.”
If she said no, would Stephen make good on his threat? Would she be back to analyzing handwriting at parties? How much longer would it be before Aunt Eleanor completely forbade her to do it again?
And the worst prospect, Caroline thought, was that her aunt might really come up with a husband for her. Gracious, what would she do then?
Stephen pushed his hand through his hair and shrugged his wide shoulders. “If you stay here, you won’t need to concern yourself with your aunt,” he pointed out.
That was true. At least here, in the Monterey home, she’d be safe from Aunt Eleanor’s match-making schemes. In fact, her aunt would be pleased that she was a guest in one of the most respected homes in Los Angeles. If this wasn’t fertile husband-hunting ground, what was?
Caroline sighed resolutely. “All right. I’ll stay.”
“Excellent. I’m so pleased. Really, I’m so pleased.” Delfina rose from her chair and her smile disappeared. “Oh, dear. I have to prepare your room. In fact, I have a dozen things to do now. Oh dear, oh dear.”
Delfina left the room mumbling.
“Another crisis diverted.” Richard followed Delfina out of the office, smiling and humming to himself.
The big office closed in around Caroline. Stephen seemed taller, wider. The distance between them shrank.
“So, you’ve gotten your way again,” Caroline said.
“This wasn’t my idea.”
“But you didn’t try to discourage your aunt,” Caroline said. “I’m here to do a job. Nothing more. I suggest you remember that.”
Stephen watched the sway of her skirt as she marched out of the room. How could he forget?
Chapter Seven
Packing, moving out of her aunt’s house should have brought sadness to Caroline. After all, she’d lived there for a month now. It had become her home. And Aunt Eleanor was family.
Instead, Caroline tossed her belongings into her trunks and was away from the house with a peck on her aunt’s cheek, a wave from the carriage and not even a backward look.
Further proof, Caroline decided as she headed toward West Adams Boulevard, that she wasn’t meant to be married.
Living in one place made her restless, so leaving her aunt’s house had been easy, almost welcome. She’d formed no bond with her aunt, her blood kin, so parting had been a breeze. Consequently, if she couldn’t live in one place and couldn’t stick with one person, how would she possibly be satisfied with married life?
She couldn’t. And that was all right with Caroline.
Charles took charge of her trunks when she arrived, and Delfina took charge of her.
“It was so generous of your family to allow you to be our guest,” Delfina said. “I’m sure they hated to see you go.”
Actually, Aunt Eleanor had almost pushed her out the door. Being a houseguest of the Monterey family was nothing to be taken lightly. Once Aunt Eleanor spread the word among her friends, she’d surely be the envy of her circle.
“My aunt Eleanor,” Caroline said, “was pleased that you invited me.”
“Do you think your aunt would like to come to tea sometime?”
She’d probably stampede right over Charles, if invited.
Caroline smiled. “It’s very gracious of you to ask.”
“Well, we must get acquainted,” Delfina insisted, hooking her arm in hers and leading her through the house.
Caroline glanced toward the suite of offices where she was supposed to be working. “But I think Mr. Monterey is expecting me.”
“Stephen is working. He’s always working,” Delfina said. “We must have tea first.”
Delfina guided her to the doorway of a sitting room decorated in deep green and oak.
“Isn’t this a lovely room?” she asked.
The view from the French doors gave the room its charm, opening onto the rose garden on the west side of the house.
“Yes,” Caroline said. “It’s very nice.”
“I hate it…I think.”
“But you just said—”
Delfina shivered. “Too dark. Depressing. I want it redone in something light, I believe. A lady’s room. But that decorator. Oh, dear, that decorator. Pushing me all the time for decisions. Well, I’m sure Stephen will come up with a perfectly lovely color scheme.”
“Mr. Monterey is picking out the decor of a lady’s sitting room?”
“Oh, yes. Stephen takes care of everything,” Delfina said. Her lips drew together in concentration. “That reminds me. I must speak with Stephen about the spring cleaning. It should be under way already, but the schedule hasn’t been passed along to the staff yet.”
“Mr. Monterey runs the household staff as well?” Caroline asked.
“Of course. His uncle Colin took care of all these things, and since he passed away last winter Stephen has stepped in, naturally,” Delfina said.
“But didn’t Stephen run the business while his uncle oversaw everything else?” Caroline asked.
“Oh, yes,” Delfina said. “Now Stephen does both.”
No wonder he had those little worry lines around his eyes, Caroline realized.
“If you’d like,” she said, “I could help you organize the staff for the cleaning.”
Delfina blinked up at her. “Me? Organize the staff?”
“Actually, I meant that I could assist you.”
“Really?” Delfina’s eyebrows crept together. “You could do that? Organize the staff?”
It was simply a matter of deciding what needed cleaning, insuring staff and supplies were in place, making assignments and then supervising. Not a big task at all.
“I’m certain,” Caroline said.
Delfina frowned. “I don’t know. That seems like a great many decisions to me.”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Caroline said. She smiled. “And in the process, you could give me a tour of this beautiful home.”
Delfina pursed her lips. “Well, all right. I suppose we could try. I’ll ask Stephen if he—”
“I don’t think you should do that,” Caroline said.
“Why?”
Because she was here to work as a graphologist, not organize the spring cleaning. Caroline doubted Stephen would be too keen on her jumping into that project, taking time away from the task she was being paid for.
But organizing the staff was such a simple matter. She’d seen Stephen’s desk piled high with reports, correspondence, ledgers. He certainly had more important matters to attend to. Caroline didn’t mind helping out…helping Stephen.
“We’ll tell him when we’re done,” Caroline said. “I think he’ll be very pleased that you handled the cleaning yourself.”
Delfina thought for a moment, then finally nodded. “Well, all right.”
“Do you have something we could make notes on?”
“Notes?” Delfina sighed heavily. “Now, you see, things are getting complicated.”
“If you’ll just point me toward a tablet,” Caroline said quickly, “I’ll handle the note taking.”
“Well, all right, then. There’s one in the sitting room down the hallway. I’ll fetch it.”
Delfina trundled out the door, and Caroline couldn’t help but wonder what she’d gotten herself into.
Stephen squared the thick stack of papers in front of him and started over again on the top line. He’d expected this report from his man in Johannesburg three weeks ago and was anxious to find out what was going on over there.
But he couldn’t get through the first page. In fact, he couldn’t get past the first paragraph.
Stephen determinedly focused his eyes on the words, only to find his mind drifti
ng away again. He stopped and drummed his fingers on the desk. How was he supposed to concentrate when his new employee was being deliberately disobedient?
He glanced at the clock above the mantel. Caroline had returned twenty-one minutes ago. He knew because he’d pressed his face against the windowpane and watched the carriage pull up, seen her alight, seen the afternoon sun glow against her cheeks. He’d heard her voice in the vestibule, floating toward him like the music of last night’s orchestra.
He slumped against his desk, remembering….
The words of the report in front of him came into sharp focus, reminding him that he had a business to run.
But Stephen pushed the report away. He had a more immediate problem to deal with. Obviously Caroline needed additional instruction on what was expected of his employees. She should have reported to his office promptly. It seemed he needed to explain a few things to her.
Better to handle these problems when they occurred. Stephen rose, tugged on his vest and strode out of his office.
Finding her was not a problem. He didn’t need to ask Charles, call out her name, hunt through every room. Stephen only had to sniff the air. That scent…Caroline’s scent. His nose guided him to the sitting room off the rose garden.
He stopped at the doorway. A pain tightened his chest at the sight of Caroline strolling through the room, her hands clasped in front of her. Graceful fingers…
Her lips were pressed together as she studied the painting above the marble fireplace. Full, pink lips…
Tiny lines of concentration wrinkled her forehead and rounded her big, expressive eyes.
She drew in a deep breath, which lifted her breasts higher, tighter against her blouse.
The pain in Stephen’s chest arrowed downward with predictable results. He braced his arm against the wall and rested his head on his forearm.
How could this keep happening to him? Every time he looked at Caroline Sommerfield his body reacted this way. He had to get control of himself. He couldn’t—
“Mr. Monterey?”
He jumped. Caroline peered out the doorway, her big blue eyes looking up at him.
