Ner (Not So) Rich Millionaire Playboy: A Vintage Romance

by Amberlee Day

  “Makes you realize we’re all trespassers here,” Aunt Affie said, looking up at the dining room ceiling.

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” Beverly tugged at her gauzy floral maxi dress. She’d purchased it on a whim when they stopped in Seattle that morning, and wasn’t used to the high-fitted waistband.

  “This place. Generations have lived here, visited here. They came for a while and left. Died, moved on. Just like we will. Even you, Ned.”

  Beverly pivoted around; she hadn’t seen Ned come in, but apparently Aunt Affie had. There he was in the dining room doorway, wearing a dressy shirt with the sleeves partway rolled up. He copied her aunt, studying the carved wood above them, but glanced at Beverly with a wink.

  Ugh!

  “When you’re long gone and someone else runs this place,” Aunt Affie continued, “maybe your children, or grandchildren. This castle will still be here, standing tall on the hillside. It has a past, and a future.”

  Ned came surprisingly close to Beverly, and though his eyes were on Aunt Affie, Beverly’s skin turned prickly with awareness. “It also has a present,” he said. “And I’m interested in all three.”

  Beverly swallowed, but narrowed her eyes, wishing she could come up with a witty retort.

  “Shall we take our seats?” Ned asked. “I had them save that window table for us.”

  “Excellent,” Aunt Affie said, taking the lead.

  Beverly moved to follow, and couldn’t resist a glance at Ned as she passed. Yep, twinkling eyes on her. She worked to keep her steps unhurried so she wouldn’t appear hot and bothered. Nothing to encourage him.

  When they were seated—Aunt Affie and Beverly on one side and Ned opposite—Aunt Affie asked, “Have you decided when and where the lecture will be?”

  “In the library on Thursday, if it works for you.”

  Beverly raised an eyebrow. “A library here at the castle, or in town?”

  “Our library here at Demander.” Ned looked surprised that she’d directly addressed him. Good. He needed to know she wasn’t intimidated by him. “Here on the first floor, opposite end of the building. How about after dinner I give you both a brief tour? That is, what you haven’t already discovered for yourself.”

  Beverly focused on her menu.

  “That sounds wonderful,” Aunt Affie said. “I’ve had a nice rest, so I’m ready. And Beverly, you finished your novel. I saw the bookmark out, so you don’t have an excuse to beg off.”

  Beverly flashed her aunt a look, but received a wrinkly smile in return.

  “Are you an avid reader, Beverly?” Ned asked.

  “I read.” Beverly knew she sounded surly.

  “Oh, don’t be so coy!” Aunt Affie chastised. “Reading is all this girl does. She’d read all day if she could manage it. She’s been like that since she could read.”

  Beverly closed her eyes and willed the conversation away from herself.

  “All day?” Ned said. “Wow. That’s a lot of reading.”

  Beverly pasted on a smile. “I think I’ll have the Caesar salad for dinner.”

  “She even has her own bookshop,” Aunt Affie said.

  “A bookshop?” Ned actually sounded impressed, which made Beverly’s pulse speed up, but she didn’t look at him.

  “Does it come with chicken?” Beverly lifted the menu again.

  “A used bookshop,” Aunt Affie added. “Big old place with dark corners and chairs everywhere. And usually someone’s sitting in one just when you thought the place was empty. That’s a little creepy, but still, it’s hers.”

  “And does she manage to do it?” Ned asked. “Read all day.”

  “As far as I can see, that’s mostly what she does. But I assume she pays taxes and rent and such.”

  Beverly set down the menu with precision. “Aunt Affie, I’m sitting right here.”

  “I can see that, dear. But you aren’t contributing to the conversation.”

  “I am,” she said, a touch exasperated. “I’m ordering salad.”

  “If you like books,” Ned said, “we’ll definitely have to start with the library after dinner.”

  She stretched her smile. “Sounds fine. Can we order now?”

  “As soon as the waitress comes. What type of books do you like?”

  None of your business.

  “She likes mysteries.”

  Ned’s eyes lit up like he was strung with white Christmas lights, and he leaned back so far she thought his chair might be tipping. He was laughing at her, the dweeb. “Mysteries. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “I don’t know why it would or wouldn’t,” she said as if it was no consequence to her—though, honestly, her breath was becoming a little uneven. She looked around. “Where is the waitress? We should order if Aunt Affie’s to have a tour tonight.”

  “I’m fine, Beverly. I told you, I rested.” To Ned, Aunt Affie said, “She’ll read any novel, really, but mysteries are her favorites. Her friend Julie and she used to trade them all the time they were growing up, and now Beverly has a bookshop and Julie writes mystery novels.”

  “Does she?” Ned asked. “Sounds like you were both committed to solving mysteries. Tell me, when you were children, did you pretend to be sleuths? Maybe go exploring strange places and dark passageways?”

  Beverly covered her eyes. This was humiliating.

  “Beverly Tune,” Aunt Affie said. “Is that what you were doing when you went out today?”

  “It is,” Ned said for her, though to his credit there was a friendliness to his voice. “I caught her trying to discover the secrets of a very untidy broom closet on the fourth floor.”

  “Good heavens,” Aunt Affie said, appalled. “Why on earth did you want to do that?”

  Beverly tilted her head. “Well, clearly, Aunt Affie, I didn’t know it was a broom closet.” She looked at Ned, remembering the excitement she felt wondering what lay at the end of that dark upstairs passage. Disappointment settled in. “Was that really it, then? Just a closet?”

  He smiled, a real and very nice smile that lickety-split undid all the work she’d done to dislike him for being good-looking, and her insides went all melty. “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Just a closet. But I’ll tell you what. If we have time during our tour, I’ll take you down to the dungeon.”

  “That sounds like a fair deal,” she said, and when she smiled back at him, she saw something else that felt genuine: Instead of another flirty, cocky wink, Ned’s mouth dropped open like a fish’s. If Beverly had to guess, she’d say he saw something about her that he liked—something more than a potential conquest. The waitress arrived just then to take their order, and Beverly turned her attention there, basking in Ned-Sterling-induced fluttery delight.

  Chapter 6

  Ned worried he was talking Dr. Tune’s ear off about the castle, but if she was getting bored she didn’t show it. All through dinner she’d listened, asking the occasional question but mostly just listening. What he really felt bad about was how much of Beverly’s concentration was going into note-taking for her aunt. She’d spent so much time scribbling in a notebook, he’d barely heard her speak, though at least the hostility had left her face. When their meals finished, he determined to make it up to her.

  “How about we go see the library?” he asked them, though it was Beverly whose reaction he watched for. Bingo! When her eyes met his, there was that light. Funny how much a change in expression cast her pretty features in a way that practically glowed. He had trouble keeping his eyes off her when she looked at him like that.

  “I would love to see the library,” she said. “Aunt Affie, are you up for it?”

  Dr. Tune was already rising from her seat. “I wouldn’t miss it,” she said. “I like what I’ve seen so far of Demander Castle, but I’m anxious to see even more now that I’m learning all this history. Mr. Sterling, lead the way.”

  They got up to leave the dining room just as Ned’s father arrived. Funny how even just standing in the doorway, l
ooking at a roomful of strangers, he could make everyone uncomfortable. Ned couldn’t imagine what he’d even be doing there. Normally when he was around, he had meals at one of the steak houses in town. As hotel manager, Ned kept the castle fare lighter than his father normally liked, and no hard liquor. Ned didn’t want another confrontation, and was happy when his father only glanced their way before meandering past the other tables, the surly sneer on his face that passed for a smile these days.

  “Come on,” Ned told his companions, a little more gruffly than he intended. As the Tunes followed without a word, he assumed that they had already learned that the less Philip Sterling they had in their lives, the better.

  Ned glanced back at them occasionally as they headed down the hallway, but he’d talked so much at dinner, he wasn’t sure he knew what to say without rambling on more. Dr. Tune’s pace kept them from moving too quickly, and Beverly seemed to be taking in every picture they passed. Ned would have liked to hurry them up in case his father caught up to them.

  “As you can see,” he said, “there’s a lot of history here.” Way to state the obvious. He scratched behind his ear, trying to come up with something intelligent to say. “Since the castle has always been in the family, we have photographs, original artwork, documentation on the work that’s been done. Logs of famous visitors. All of it.”

  “Well, that is extraordinary,” Dr. Tune said. “I’ve hit a lot of coastal castles these last summers, getting information for my book. Not a lot can say they’re still under original ownership.”

  Ned’s sense of timing told him that he was getting closer to bringing up his real purpose in having her here. He glanced down the hall to make sure his father wasn’t following. “We think it’s pretty special,” he said. “Besides the things I’ve already explained—architectural influences, imported stone from Scotland, various uses before opening as a hotel—there’s a darker history involved with the castle.”

  “Really?” Beverly asked.

  Ned smiled. He had her attention. Whoops, she looked away again. It was a little like trying not to frighten a doe. If he smiled too enthusiastically, he either scared her off or got to see how even such a gentle-looking creature could have a sharp attack. He tried again. “Yes. With a history this long and guests coming and going over the decades, it would be hard to avoid it.”

  Dr. Tune said, “We’ve heard stories all summer of ghosts in castles, but so far only the expected tittle-tattle lore without documentation of factual events associated with them.”

  Ned didn’t miss the opportunity to catch the Tune women’s interest. He came to a full stop and turned to face them. “Oh, we have documentation. Plenty of it. And evidence to boot.”

  Facing forward again, he smiled. He had Dr. Tune’s attention, and just the right bait to snag her niece’s. All in the pursuit of helping the castle, of course, he reminded himself when the image of Beverly’s soft brown eyes imprinted on his thoughts.

  They remained quiet until he reached the library door.

  “It’s glass,” Beverly said, putting her fingertips lightly on the large glass pane bordered by a thick, dark wood frame. “And is it a pocket door?”

  “It is,” he said. “It slides perfectly into the wall when you open it. This is the original door put on by Nathan Demander in 1892 when the finishing work was being done.”

  “By him?” Dr. Tune asked. “Or by his crew?”

  Ned smiled. He was proud of this part of his ancestry. “By Nathan himself. He was trained as a carpenter before getting into the shipping industry. He was hands-on getting the finishing work done, and actually built and installed this door himself.” He directed their attention to a framed photograph next to the door, a faded black-and-white image of Nathan as an older man next to that very door. “No pictures of him working on it, but his son convinced him to pose for pictures around the castle in his later years of things he worked on himself.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Dr. Tune said. “Look here at the picture, Beverly. You can already see the books through the library door behind him.”

  Beverly leaned closer, her eyes wide as she took it all in and then turned to look through the door. “It almost looks the same,” she said, her voice filled with wonder.

  Ned couldn’t take his eyes off her. In that flowing blue-and-purple dress, fitted neatly around her slender bodice and floating down to the floor, she looked like a ghost herself standing in the hallway and dreaming about the past. And although she had her hair pulled up that first night he saw her at Trenforth, this long, loose braid seemed to be her preferred style. It suited her.

  “What do you think, Ned?” Dr. Tune interrupted his musings. And with the arched eyebrow and amused smile, she knew what he was thinking. But she asked, “Could we go inside?”

  He gave her a wry grin. “Of course.” He pulled his set of keys to the castle from his pocket. “The lock here is a unique one, also installed by Nathan. See, the keyhole’s on the wall instead of the door.”

  “Ingenious.” Dr. Tune shook her head. “I’ve never seen something like that before.”

  “A sturdy lock, too. This is also original.” Ned looked up proudly, but Beverly’s focus was still on the books inside. As soon as he opened the door, she slipped in.

  He tried to see the room as she would for the first time: more carved wood ceilings, a large fireplace that hadn’t been used in all the years Ned could remember, a few tables, chairs, and a love seat, and built-in bookshelves from floor to ceiling on every available wall space.

  “Incredible!” Beverly moved to the shelf straight in front of her and began looking at the books.

  Ned joined her. “You can touch them,” he said, amused that her fingers hovered inches away. “It’s not a museum.”

  “I’m reading the shelves,” she explained, distracted. “Do you know how these are ordered?”

  Ned looked around the room at the thousands of books as if he’d never really seen them before. “Ordered? I don’t know. How can you tell?”

  She tilted her head his way, those dark eyes incredulous and making his blood grow warm. “How do you know where to find books you want?”

  He shrugged, feeling like a shy schoolboy. “I usually read the books over on that wall, on the window side of the fireplace.”

  She still looked like she didn’t understand, but went where he indicated and examined the books there. “Roman Empire, New Deal, Civil War. Histories?”

  “Yes,” Ned nodded. “Lots of histories.”

  “And that’s what you like to read?”

  Was this a test? “Yes.”

  “Hm.”

  Hm?

  “Have you read them all?” she asked, making him draw back.

  “All? No. I have some favorites, though.” He looked over the shelves to prove it in case she asked which ones.

  “Hm.”

  He wasn’t standing far from Beverly, but took a step toward her so he was close enough to whisper, “Is there something wrong with liking histories?” He smiled so she knew he was teasing, but he got that defensive look again. He cleared his throat. “What are your favorites?”

  He remembered, and they said it at the same time: “Mysteries.”

  He liked being in sync with her, and nodded a smile. “I have no idea if we have any. Shall we look?”

  “You have no idea? Do you only read histories?”

  “Um, yes, I suppose. Except for business articles, travel guides, things like that.”

  She made a face at that, for some reason. “I suppose you don’t think much of fiction, then.”

  Ned shrugged. “I guess I don’t think about it at all. I mean, fantasy’s alright occasionally, but histories are the real deal.” He wiggled his eyebrows so she knew he thought their conversation was all fun.

  Beverly’s eyes stayed on his, a feeling he liked, as if she were climbing into his soul for a look around. An unfamiliar nervous wave swept through him. What did Beverly Tune see when she looked that clos
ely at him? And did she like it?

  Eventually, she blinked. “That’s alright. I’ll come and look later.” She spun around slowly for one full look at the room, before taking her aunt’s arm. “Seen enough, Aunt Affie?”

  Again, Dr. Tune with that eyebrow, watching her niece and him more than she inspected the library. “I’ve seen enough for now.”

  Ned shook his head. How was he going to keep in control of this situation with these two? One a smart old crow, and the other … well, he wasn’t sure yet what kind of bird Beverly Tune was, but he was starting to want to find out.

  “Alright.” Ned tried to assert some authority when he didn’t feel it. “How about if we move along to the—”

  A gruff, unwelcome voice came from the doorway. “Giving tours now?”

  Ned’s stomach clenched. “Dad.”

  His father sneered before he turned, apparently leaving as quickly as he’d come. “Whatever.”

  His footsteps pounded down the hallway, and the three in the library held still listening until the sounds trailed off. Ned breathed a little easier, as he always did when his father left the castle, which he was fairly certain he’d done now. He was dressed for an evening out.

  Beverly and Dr. Tune waited for Ned to speak.

  “Shall we see the drawing room before we go down to the dungeon?”

  Beverly’s eyes narrowed again, and Dr. Tune shuffled over to him, taking his arm with a bony hand. “Ned, I think you’d better tell us what’s going on with that.”

  Ned shifted his weight. Why had his father chosen to walk in right then, just to add a sour note? Whatever his reason, Ned didn’t need to give in to it. He smiled to reassure Dr. Tune, and patted her hand. “Just a grouch. Surely some of the other castles you’ve visited had their resident grouches?”

  “No, I can’t say they have,” Dr. Tune said.