Julia’s personal shipping came from home, boxes and boxes of clothes and shoes, mementos, photos and things of Gavin’s that she and Patricia wanted the children to have. Most of it was to go directly into storage but as Mrs. K controlled all storage issues in the house and she was unavailable for two weeks and catching up on backlog when she came back. The result was that Julia’s rooms were a mess.
Through all this, Julia was working longer hours than she promised, scouring through budgets, creating reports and writing business plans.
To her surprise, Douglas had retreated completely. There were no more insane conversations filled with marriage proposals and salacious innuendo.
Not that the last conversation was innuendo at all.
He had been quite clear, concise and detailed about everything he wanted.
Indeed, he’d been crystal clear, perfectly concise and exceptionally detailed.
Just the thought of it made Julia blush and, sometimes, squirm (but, she had to admit, most times she thought of it, she’d shiver, in a good way).
And she thought about it a lot.
Too much.
In fact, all the time.
There had been times when he could have, and in the past would have, made some kind of advance, but he didn’t.
Making matters worse, it seemed that Lizzie was throwing herself into a matchmaking role. If Douglas walked into the lounge while the children and Julia were watching television and Lizzie was sitting next to Julia, Lizzie would shoot to her feet and call out to him, “Uncle Douglas, sit here.” Or if they were out to dinner or all getting into the Bentley, she’d boss Ruby and Willie so Julia would have no choice but to slide into the booth or car next to Douglas or else make a scene. Or if Julia was talking about anything at all, Lizzie would declare, “Uncle Douglas is good at that,” or “You should ask Uncle Douglas, he’s the expert!”
Douglas didn’t seem to be the slightest bit aware of Lizzie’s endeavours, though that didn’t stop her from trying. Julia knew that Lizzie was trying to recreate the loving family she once had and even if this would ultimately lead to nothing, it was far better than her despondency so Julia’s heart went out to the girl, so much so she couldn’t bring herself to disabuse her niece of her notions.
In the meantime, Douglas took them to London to fulfil his promise to Ruby and so they could go Christmas shopping. Monique had (thankfully) been in Paris. While they were there, Charlie helped Julia find a gown for Tamsin’s charity ball.
Douglas even spent time with them during this trip but all the while he was an utter gentleman. He often took Julia’s elbow or put his hand in the small of her back to guide her but that was it.
However, sometimes, when she would talk to him on a crowded pavement or in a store, she noticed that he’d lean down to hear her and his eyes would be so warm and intimate, just looking into their dark depths made her belly melt. In those seconds, she believed he was still up to his tricks. But they were just seconds and nothing would come of it.
They had been photographed in London twice by the paparazzi and both times it had been in the papers (which was something else Julia didn’t need as it was sure to set Monique stewing). One time, it was late in the afternoon, outside Harrods, while they were waiting to get into the Bentley. Ruby was exhausted and Douglas had picked her up and was carrying her as if she weighed no more than a doll. He’d had his sling removed the week before and behaved as if nothing had ever happened, including heaving Ruby around. The little girl had put her head on his shoulder and her arms around his neck. While holding Ruby, Douglas put his hand on the small of Julia’s back to guide her just as she was herding the other two children into the car.
Lord Ashton out shopping with his new family including stylish sister-in-law, Ms. Julia Fairfax, the caption had read.
She’d clipped the picture for reasons she wouldn’t allow herself the time or energy to consider (though Julia had to admit to liking the adjective “stylish” being attached to her). In the picture, he looked so handsome and devoted to his “new family” that if she gave herself a moment, she would have talked herself into believing what the picture looked like what it showed.
They were also photographed in Bristol when he took them all out to a South American restaurant for dinner. This, too, was printed in the paper. Willie had said something funny and Julia had lost herself for a moment, grabbed Douglas’s upper arm and laughed. All three children were giggling and even Douglas was smiling.
Lord Douglas Ashton, now familiarly accompanied by Ms. Julia Fairfax and their nieces and nephew, that caption had read.
She’d clipped that one too and kept it in the upper drawer of her writing desk with the other as well as the one from the night at the gallery, which she also, for some reason, couldn’t allow herself to part with.
While recuperating, Douglas was home all the time but after a few days, he’d fallen into his earlier pattern of being at the breakfast table, going out during the day and returning home, now usually by suppertime.
Through all of that, no brazen advances.
He was spending more time with the children, taking Lizzie and Willie out to ride the horses, answering questions about their homework, sharing the responsibility of getting Ruby to bed, taking them all out to dinner, ferrying them to parties, wading in to handle arguments. All of this he did with natural skill, innate fairness and extraordinary negotiating ability and, again, if Julia allowed herself to think about it, she knew she would be undone.
So, she didn’t think about it.
But he had retreated.
Julia knew it.
She knew it because, just the night before, Julia had approached Douglas in his study. He was reading through some documents, striking things out boldly with his Mont Blanc pen and writing things in the margins. The children were in bed and she and Douglas were alone.
She hadn’t knocked before going in, simply walked up to his desk. His head came up when he caught sight of her movement and she knew she’d startled him. It had always felt like he felt her very presence in a room, even if he hadn’t seen her, not only since she’d moved there but before, all those times she visited. Something about knowing he’d dismissed her so thoroughly made something inside her die. She hated to admit it, but the fact was, it was true.
“Julia,” he muttered, putting his pen down, her name on his lips sending unwanted pleasant shivers across her skin.
She pushed these thoughts to the back of her mind.
“I wanted to ask a favour.” Julia had stopped in front of his desk, she was holding her business plan for the charity and he looked at it.
“Another list?”
This was said without humour or teasing, just polite curiosity. It made her even more nervous, both about asking him what she was going to ask him and about the fact that if he was going to go back to his insolent ways, now would be his golden opportunity. And she had no idea how she would respond, most especially if he didn’t.
“I’ve written a business plan,” Julia informed him.
He quirked an eyebrow.
Anxiously, she continued. “I’m going to present it to the trustees after Christmas and I wondered if… well, if you had time, could have a look?”
She extended the plan to him and he automatically reached out and took it.
She held her breath but he did nothing but nod. Then he set her plan atop a pile of other papers and looked back down at his own.
That was it.
She didn’t move, frozen to the spot, disappointment so keen it felt like a pain in her chest.
When he realised she hadn’t left, he looked up again.
“Is there something else?” he inquired politely.
Was there something else?
Yes, there bloody well was! Part of her mind cried.
“No, nothing,” she replied and tried her damnedest to saunter casually from the room.
Now, she was being primped and primed to go to Tamsin’s ball. Sam had hired a
stylist and makeup artist for her. It was unnecessary; somewhere in her heart she knew the only person she wished to impress was unimpressible.
He’d taken her at her word three weeks ago. He knew what she meant that night in her bedroom. If he persisted in his flirtation and got what he wanted, he’d have an unwanted attachment on his hands, a lovesick, heartsick albatross and he’d thought better of it so he’d cast her aside.
It was for the best, she knew.
At least it was better now with Douglas being around for the children.
As for Julia, the logical part of her brain reminded her it was safer this way, certainly her heart was safer and she knew she should be happy. She even tried to be happy.
But she was anything but happy.
“That’s it, you’re done,” Sylvie, the hair stylist, announced, pulling Julia from her dismal thoughts. “Magnifique!”
Rosie, the makeup artist, handed her a tube of lipstick and a blush compact. “For touch ups,” she explained.
Julia looked at herself in the three-way mirror and pulled in a breath.
Magnifique was right.
“Girls, you’re miracle workers,” she told them.
They looked at her and then at each other in surprise.
“You shine a perfect diamond, it only glitters a bit more,” Sylvie replied.
Julia laughed at her remark as if it was hilarious and stared at herself in the mirror.
She was wearing a green velvet grown made by Charlie’s most favourite new English designer known only as “Gregory” (with the quotes). The velvet was of such a dark, rich green it appeared to be black with only a sheen of colour. It was sleeveless with a low-cut, v-neck. It had no back at all, falling in an elegant, dramatic and slightly risqué drape just under the small of her back with only one thin strip of velvet that held the sides together under her shoulder blades. It moulded her body snugly, the skirt falling straight with a generous kick-pleat at the knees in the back leading down to a small train. She wore long, black, fitted, satin gloves and black satin, stiletto-heeled pumps. She’d put on her “essence” and the pair of emerald cut emerald studs that her mother had given her when she graduated from college. She felt the dress needed no other adornment and anyway, she didn’t have any to do it justice.
Sylvie had swept up her hair and pulled it back from her face softly and whirled and twirled it in dozens upon dozens of different curls pinned to the back of her head. Rosie’s makeup was not subtle, it was dramatic and glamorous and Julia felt just like a movie star.
Gazing at herself, Julia was beginning to look forward to the evening.
“Whoops, we’re late and so are you,” Sylvie noted, glancing at her watch.
She hugged them both (to their surprise), dropped her new lipstick and compact into her jet-beaded evening bag and took out generous tips to give them both.
“No, we’re covered,” Rosie said, holding up her hands.
“Then Merry Christmas,” Julia replied and firmly pressed the notes in both their hands.
The girls packed up their things and left as Julia squirted one more spray in her cleavage, grabbed her wrap (this made from black velvet and lined in green-black satin) and threw it around her shoulders to allow it to settle in the crooks of her elbows. Then she scuttled out to see Veronika loitering in the hallway.
“I thought you’d gone home!” Julia cried.
Veronika stared, her mouth agape.
“Are you okay?” Julia asked, concerned when Veronika didn’t speak, just kept staring.
“I waited… to see…” Veronika paused then exclaimed, “You are movie star!”
Julia giggled and struck a pose. “I know, didn’t they do a great job on my hair and makeup?”
Ronnie continued to stare at her and then said firmly, “No,” she pointed at Julia, “you look just like movie star.”
Julia’s giggle died at the earnest look in the girl’s eyes, she pulled her close and hugged her.
In her ear, Julia whispered a heartfelt, “Oh Ronnie, thank you.”
It was just the boost of confidence that she needed.
Ronnie hugged her back tightly, pulled away and gave her a brief smile before disappearing toward the kitchen.
The children were at Mr. and Mrs. Kilpatrick’s for the evening; Julia rounded the door to the dining room and saw Douglas through the opposite doorway standing in the hall at the end, looking unbelievably attractive in a well-cut tuxedo. His dark, overlong hair brushed at his collar and something about the fact that he always seemed to be so impeccably turned-out, so in control of everything, yet always seemed to need a haircut was endearing to her.
If she were his wife, she could remind him to get a haircut.
That tugged at her heartstrings too but she refused to allow herself to dwell on it.
He was scowling at his watch and she was slightly surprised. She hadn’t seen his scowl in awhile or his grin or smile or his hilarious arrogance. He’d been reserved, remote, expressionless, the same old Douglas.
That thought started to drag at her budding excitement and, hiding her disappointment, she tilted her head down to adjust her glove and called out, “Sorry, sorry, I’m ready.”
The glove was tangled at the back of her arm so she stopped to give it a good tug and, once it was smoothly pulled into place, she looked up to see the old Douglas, scowl gone, he simply regarded her coolly. He showed no reaction to her transformation and she realised he had most likely spent considerable time waiting for women far more glamorous than herself.
Julia instantly deflated like she was an overblown balloon that had been pricked by a pin. She stopped in front of him and tipped her head questioningly.
“Ready?” She hoped she sounded distracted instead of disappointed.
“Not quite,” he replied and pulled a thin, black velvet box from the inside breast pocket of his tuxedo jacket.
She watched in mute stupefaction as he opened it and she glimpsed a stunning emerald cut emerald, ten times the size of her studs, set without further ornamentation and suspended from what looked like a simple platinum chain.
He pulled it out of the box without any ado and moved to stand behind her. She saw the emerald dangle before her eyes for a moment and then felt it settle heavily on her chest, resting just above her breasts. She then felt his hands make light work of clasping it at the back of her neck, his fingers brushing her faintly there, causing a delicious, dual tremor, one that slid down her spine, the other up into her scalp.
The whole time he worked at her neck, Julia opened and closed her mouth, words tumbling into her head but her brain would not engage with her mouth to let them out. Her skin tingled where his fingers touched and the hairs raised with acute awareness down her neck, back and arms.
He came around her side and threw the box carelessly on a table in the hallway.
“Now we can go,” he stated casually, as if he hadn’t just clasped an expensive jewel around her neck, and offered her his arm.
She didn’t move to take it.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking down at her and barely masking his impatience.
“The…” she stopped.
What’s wrong? She repeated his words in her head incredulously. He’d just put what was an incredibly expensive emerald around her neck, for goodness sakes!
“The necklace,” she finally explained, touching the stone lightly with the tips of her fingers. Her voice sounded strained to her own ears.
“It’s nothing, an early Christmas present,” he replied tersely, the subject obviously closed and even more obviously meaningless to him, as if he gave enormous, precious jewels to women all the time, which he probably did. “We’re late, there’ll be traffic enough as it is.”
He offered her his arm again and she took it, still mentally reeling.
Then Julia walked out to the Bentley at Douglas’s side thinking that she might be the only woman on earth who could have a perfect emerald affixed around her neck and still consid
er her brief feelings of the excitement for the night were well and truly dead.
* * * * *
Three hours later, she was no longer feeling the same.
This was because of Charlie, who was determined to show her a good time and because of six glasses of champagne, which would make anyone start to relax.
“All I can say is, forget about him!” Charlie declared and then blew out a stream of smoke. They were on a terrace and hiding from Oliver. Charlie had quit smoking over Thanksgiving but was now what she called, “Christmas-stress-smoking”.
Julia had thrown caution to the wind and, after glass of champagne number four, had confided in her new friend about Douglas, the marriage proposal, everything.
Charlie, at first, had stared at her in dazed disbelief and then she’d muttered triumphantly, “I knew it!” After that, she’d hugged Julia and shouted, “Hurrah!” so loudly that everyone around them turned to stare.
After glass of champagne number six, Julia had gotten around to explaining how it all ended and the way it was now. In response, Charlie had grabbed her and two more glasses of champagne and pulled her out to the terrace.
“There are men who would kill for you in there!” she announced, extravagantly gesturing back to the ballroom. “If he doesn’t want you, find one who does!”
Julia giggled before declaring, “Hardly. And anyway, it’s not that easy. I live with him, remember?”
“It’s just that easy!” Charlie decided, but her eyes were glittering with something Julia couldn’t quite make out. “He doesn’t care, so be it. He wants to live in his shell, he’s welcome to it. But you live your life.” Charlie came forward and linked her arm through Julia’s, saying firmly, “Let’s go.”
Charlie smashed out her cigarette in a thoughtfully provided ashtray and pulled Julia back into the crush of the ball.
Julia and Douglas had arrived three hours ago to the flashbulbs and shouts of the paparazzi, but now they were shouting her name too. She held on to his arm for dear life, doing her best to keep a slight smile pinned to her face (it wouldn’t do to have her picture flashed across the newspapers looking like a deer caught in headlights or worse). They’d also had to stand for photos for the society papers and magazines as they were not only representatives of Tamsin and Gavin, who were being memorialised in the programme, but Douglas was the largest benefactor of the event.
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