Then Patricia decided she was not sure about the gloves.
Then Patricia launched into her (oft-heard) lecture about how high heels would ruin your back.
Then Patricia doubted the wisdom of having only one wedding colour, ivory, saying they should add a last-minute infusion of something else, like pink.
And so on.
Before preparations to her toilette began in earnest, Douglas had walked into Julia’s rooms causing Patricia to shriek and Gregory to hyperventilate, waving his hand in front of his face like a wilting Southern belle.
“You can’t see her before the wedding!” Patricia exclaimed, her voice shrill.
Douglas ignored his very-soon-to-be mother-in-law and just stared at Julia with an intense ferocity that she had learned from experience looked at lot worse than it was. Before he could say what he came to say, Julia spoke mainly because she’d had enough.
“You sure you want to do this? You’ve got a good fifteen, twenty years having to put up with this crazy old bat.” She indicated her mother with a frustrated jerk of her head.
“Well, I never!” Patricia cried.
“I wish!” Julia retorted.
Charlie giggled.
Julia swung back to Douglas. “If you’re going to pull out, pull out now. It’s not too late. You’re rich enough, you can buy us an island where we can live in sin and install ground-to-air missiles to shoot her down should she try to chopper in.”
Apparently Douglas decided whatever he came to say that had caused that intense look was not nearly as important as exiting the room with all due haste.
Which he did but only after he quirked an arrogant brow at her while he awarded her with one of his diabolically sexy grins.
The Night of the Russians (as Julia now referred to it) or Archie and Ruby’s Release (which was another way she liked to term it) or Villainous Valentine’s Day (another of her favourites) ended with nearly more drama than it began.
Not five minutes after Lady Ruby and Archie had faded from sight, the police crashed through the house in a noisy rush, one of them actually breaking through the glass of the French doors. This caused everyone, already tense, to go wired.
Roddy Kilpatrick aimed his shotgun.
Nick pulled the knife out of the back of Douglas’s belt and waved it about threateningly.
And Douglas thundered, “Is this what you call ‘proceeding with caution’?”
Luckily they recognised Douglas and there was no further bloodshed.
Some high up official from some government organisation that outranked the police came not long after and took control of the situation. There was no press, only interviews with all involved (and signed gag orders masquerading as “confidentiality agreements”) and dozens of people milling about taking pictures, gathering evidence, removing bodies or hauling others off to hospital.
It all seemed very curious to Julia but evidently this was somewhat of an international incident and the Russians wanted the criminals (or what was left of them) returned with as little muss and fuss as possible, issuing fervent apologies along the way.
Douglas was treated at the scene, a flesh wound to the upper arm that was stitched together by the same doctor who had come the last time.
Nick was taken to hospital for observation for a concussion. He’d been unconscious for quite some time and even though at first he refused, both Julia and Mrs. K nagged him until it became obvious that he could either go or expire due to extreme molly-coddling. Furthermore, what caused him to go down was a bullet that had ricocheted off something in the hall, grazing him in the back (also requiring nothing but a few stitches) but not entering his body. Remarkably, it glanced off a rib but with enough force to knock him off his feet and bang his head.
This caused him to slap his ribs and gloat, repeatedly, for weeks, “Bones of steel,” anytime he saw Julia and Douglas.
Carter came home and promised to guard the house and Lord knew the children were safe with the shotgun-wielding Roddy. No one could really inhabit the house considering the number of bloodstains, broken doors, gunshot holes and shotgun blasts and it would likely take Mrs. K at least a day (maybe two), to sort out all the damage.
Once Douglas had cleaned himself up and changed clothes, he whisked Julia off to Bath anyway even though it was long past time to enjoy any kind of Valentine’s Day celebrations. He seemed not to realise that evening’s dramatics may have been an everyday occurrence for him but not for Julia.
On the way to Bath Douglas briefly, curtly and in no detail (because, he told her, in all seriousness, if he went into detail, there was a good possibility he would have to kill her, or, if not him doing the deed, someone else would) explained something about the MI6 (or MI5, she didn’t hear him correctly and was too scared to ask), Russians, the mysterious two-year disappearance (training and undercover work) and white slavery.
There was a quick, impersonal account about Veronika, but Julia read between the lines and realised he’d saved her from a fate worse than death (thus Julia understood Ronnie’s declaration of New Year’s Night that Douglas was her hero, this caused a bit of the frightened-to-death, oh-my-God-we’re-all-going-to-die feeling to melt away, but just a bit).
Nick was definitely involved and somehow, along the way, Carter was involved too (indeed, he’d recruited Douglas).