He expected his staff to respect him, to be quiet and go about their duties but he never expected, or to this point received, fear. He knew the staff were anxious around his mother but they’d never appeared that way with him.
“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.