“It’s just,” she went on, interrupting his thoughts, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her and it held both a tremor of fear and, if his hearing didn’t deceive him, a note of anger, “those children need something decent in their bellies, something they like to eat. And Lady Ashton won’t allow me to add anything to the grocery list or Carter to buy anything more. It’s a long way for Miss Julia and little Ruby to go, carrying back bags and all, especially when it’s raining. And since Lady Ashton forbid them to use Carter unless she gave her express permission, then they had to walk all last week. I thought that they’d get to use a car, seeing as Miss Julia has a license now and she was so excited about it. But today, Lady Ashton said now she couldn’t use a car unless she gave her express –”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kilpatrick,” Douglas cut her off, turned away and walked toward his study, his jaw set, his gait determined. The annoyance was escalating to an extraordinary feeling the like of which he had not felt for a very long time.
Then he turned back and called down the hall. “Mrs. Kilpatrick,” her head shot up and her hand flew to her throat in fear, “tell Carter to go fetch them. When he gets back, tell him I want to see him.”
“Yes sir!” she replied and walked swiftly towards the front door. As she passed him, he could tell she was holding back a smile.
For his part, Douglas found nothing to smile about.
His phone was ringing when he walked into the study. He strode to his desk, jerked it angrily out of the cradle and answered curtly, “Yes?”
“Oh no, sounds like you’re having a bad day,” Oliver Forsythe returned.
“I’m hoping it’ll get better,” Douglas ground out as he sat, turned in his chair and stared out the window, thinking of Julia and little Ruby tramping out there in the cold and mud, heaving carrier bags of groceries home all because of his bloody mother.
“I’m afraid I’m calling to tell you it’s going to get worse. Charlie had a conversation with Julia this morning and now she’s…” the other line buzzed and Douglas swivelled in his chair to look down at the phone while Oliver finished, “on the warpath. She told me she was going to call you.”
“I don’t think she’s wasted any time. The other line is going.”
“Good luck, mate,” Oliver replied, his tone amused, and rang off.
Douglas hit the button to connect to the other line and before he could speak, Charlotte exploded, “Douglas, have you lost your mind?”
“Hello Charlotte,” he responded evenly to her irate voice.
“Don’t you, ‘Hello Charlotte’ me. Do you know where Jewel is right now?”
He wondered vaguely when Julia had become “Jewel” to Charlotte and he felt a bizarre twist of jealousy slice through his gut.
“The supermarket?” Douglas ventured.
“Do you know how she got there?” she yelled.
“She walked. Listen Charlotte, I just got home last night –” for some reason, far beyond him, he felt compelled to explain. Even though his feeling the need to explain was a rather spectacular event, Charlotte ignored him and broke in angrily.
“And that’s another thing, you’re gone too much. Not only have you left Jewel like a lamb at the slaughter that is Monique, you’re never home. I called this morning to tell her I have some friends who are trustees at a faltering charity and they need some quick, and cheap, as in free, consultation. With a little work bringing her up to speed, and Sam could do the research for her, Jewel could have helped them. It would have been a great way for her to get some experience, start to network, learn the ways in a different country. But, no…” she drew out the last word sarcastically, “she doesn’t trust Monique with the children and doesn’t want to ask more of your staff, so she refuses to leave the children behind and won’t do it.”
He had barely processed her speech when she went on, telling him of Monique’s little “tea party” and something about “lollipop girls” and how Monique told Lizzie she was overweight. His brain conjured an image of the girl with her sunken cheeks and bruised eyes and his jaw tightened again.
“Enough, Charlotte,” Douglas interrupted her curtly. “I get your point.”
“You’d better because it isn’t fair on her, putting up with all of that and dealing with her homesickness and her and the children’s grief. I didn’t expect much of you, and, doubtlessly, neither did Tammy, but I expected more than this.” Before he could reply to that cutting remark, she said, “I’ll see you on Thanksgiving,” and the phone went dead in his hand.
He replaced the receiver and stared at the phone. As Charlotte and Mrs. Kilpatrick’s words started to penetrate, he felt a slow, unfamiliar, but not in the slightest indecipherable, burn begin.
“Darling! You’re home! How lovely.”
He looked up from the phone and saw his mother in the doorway.
Monique had very bad timing.
Douglas didn’t like what he was feeling. He had, for many years, guarded against feeling anything at all. He’d had to or he would have been crushed by his father’s tirades. But now the thoughts were racing through his mind and anger was boiling at his gut.
While he’d been away, he thought a great deal about Julia.
Once he made up his mind about something, he didn’t often turn back. He was intent on starting his strategy to win her around to his way of thinking, of making her his wife and then, or before (if he was successful) taking her to his bed.
But he’d allowed himself to think of that kiss. That extraordinary kiss in the dining room and just how easily she responded to it. Sean Webster had been a wealthy man of position; it wouldn’t be the first time Julia had found herself a good catch. Douglas was definitely her type if Webster was anything to go by.
And Douglas had allowed himself to believe from his vast experience of human behaviour that no one did something for nothing. Especially if that something required a great sacrifice that altered their entire life and their future.
And he had limitless knowledge of conniving women who put on a great show for the ultimate goal, which was him.
So he berated himself for his quick decision to make her his wife, which would be exactly what she wanted. He talked himself into believing the worst of her and then decided to confront her with it. He’d been thrilled she’d given him that opportunity quickly by appearing so fortuitously in his study last night. He intended to trip her up, make her expose herself and then he intended to kick her out.
He had not expected how their conversation would turn. He had not expected for her to admit to sustaining the same abuse from Webster as he himself had endured from his father.
And lastly, he had not expected his intense reaction to it.
When she said the word “hurt” in that awful voice as if it was dredged up from her very soul, he knew it corresponded to a feeling long since buried deep in the pit of his own.
Rage and sorrow for another human being, he found, did not mix well. Julia had never let on, not once, to the extent of Webster’s callousness. She had always put on a brave face.
He found, to his surprise, that he wanted to do something about it, to take away her pain, her bitterness, to make her happy.
Her face had been in shadow but her words were enough. She was either the best actress in the world or she was innately damaged. Her proclamation that she’d next marry a balding short man who would clean the bathroom was said with such force, he thought she believed it.
He then decided immediately to resume his strategy. She would not next marry a short, balding man unless he himself started to lose his hair and shrink.
And not only would he never, but she would also never again clean a bathroom.