Authors: Kate Perry
“None of that, Lady Jacs.” Fran gave her an admonishing look. “We all have faults. He tried to be the best he could be.”
Sipping, Rosalind wondered how generous Fran would be if Reginald had actually left everything to his mistress.
Her mother gave Fran a sardonic look. “Next you’ll tell us he loved us all in his own fashion.”
“Of course he did,” she said stoutly.
Rosalind smiled. “You’ve always said that. You used to always say that if he didn’t love us, he wouldn’t care to criticize us.”
“If he didn’t care, he wouldn’t have bothered.”
Jacqueline studied her wedding ring on her left hand. “Sometimes I wonder if a complete lack of caring might not have been preferred.”
Fran hissed in disapproval. “Jacs.”
“I don’t want to talk about Reginald.” Jacqueline turned to her. “Where have you been this evening?”
She felt herself blush a little, remembering what she and Nick had been doing out back.
“I know that look,” Fran declared. “Does this have to do with the handsome chap you were kanoodling with in your father’s study?”
“Kanoodling?” Jacqueline smiled. “Really, Fran, how do you think of these words?”
“If you’d seen them”—her old nanny pointed at her—”you’d say they were kanoodling, too.”
“We weren’t kanoodling,” Rosalind lied. “He was helping me look for, um, something.”
Fran snorted. “Lose your earring in the couch cushions then?”
“You didn’t mention you were seeing someone,” her mother said, angling her body toward her. “How long has this been going on?”
“Since I arrived home.” She thought about the way he whisked her out of the memorial to give her a break and kissed the breath out of her, and she felt herself go warm and gooey all over again.
Her mum studied her carefully. “You like him.”
She liked him a lot. She liked that he was smart, his considerate nature, and the way he touched her, as if he’d never get enough. She liked the reverent way he watched her, as though he couldn’t fathom his good fortune for the privilege.
“You quite like him, based on the smile on your face,” Jacqueline declared. She frowned between her and Fran. “Why is this the first I’m hearing about him?”
“I think that’s my cue to hie myself to bed.” Winking at Rosalind, she patted Jacqueline on the shoulder. “You two have a nice chat. Goodnight!”
Rosalind shook her head as her former nanny waddled out. “That was neatly done.”
“I’m serious, Rosalind. Why haven’t you told me about this man?”
She faced her mother. “You’ve been preoccupied with Father and his death. I didn’t think you’d care about my holiday fling.”
“Is that all it is?”
She glanced away from her mother’s knowing gaze. “He lives here, and I live in San Francisco. What more could there be?”
Jacqueline said nothing, her hands cupping her glass. After a long introspective moment, she said, “Tell me about him.”
Rosalind blinked. “Really?”
“Unless you’d rather not,” she said, hesitating.
“No.” She just couldn’t remember ever telling her mother about any of the boys she’d been interested in. Bijou’s mum, Lara, was always the one who’d listen avidly to their dating updates. “He’s nice.”
“Surely you can do better than that, Rosalind.”
“Well, I’m not sure what to say. We’ve never done this”—she waved her hand between them—”before.”
“We haven’t, have we?” Jacqueline said, wistful.
“Not that we can’t start,” she said quickly, feeling guilty. “I just don’t know what to say.”
“He’s handsome, I imagine.”
“Very.” She thought about Nick’s tall dark looks and wanted to purr. “But the best thing about him is his thoughtfulness. When I’m with him, I feel like only I exist in his universe.”
“What does he do?”
“He’s a solicitor. Sort of.” She pursed her lips. “He’s taking a short break from work. He’s thinking of changing careers.”
“You were with him tonight.”
Her cheeks went crimson.
Her mother gave her a slow, womanly smile Rosalind had never seen from her before. “He must be talented in other areas as well.”
“Maybe.” She cleared her throat.
Her mother watched her as she swirled the cognac in the glass and inhaled the aroma. Then she stretched out her legs and said, “I was such an idiotic romantic when I was younger.”
Rosalind shook her head, confused by the unexpected segue. “How do you mean?”
“I was twenty-two, younger than Titania, when I met Reginald Summerhill. He was older and an earl and so very proper.” She stared off in the distance, lost in her memories. “The future I pictured was full of rose petals and dancing.”
With Reginald Summerhill? “I never saw Father dance.”
“That was the first problem with my dream of the future,” her mum said with a self-deprecating smile. “I thought life was like a Shakespearean comedy. Even after my wedding, when it became obvious I wasn’t going to have a happy ending, I still wished it for you girls. That’s why I named you all as I did, after the heroines who’d found love.”
“I used to console myself with the fact that at least you didn’t name me something like Bijou.”
Her mother smiled. “Her name suits her.”
She thought about her brilliant, sparkling friend and grinned. “There’s no doubt about that.”
“When I was pregnant with Imogen, I considered naming her Ophelia because I was feeling less than positive,” Jacqueline admitted.
“Somehow you got over that.”
“Did I?” Her mother studied her.
“Didn’t you?”
“I suppose.” She sighed. “Do you believe in love?”
“Yes,” she said without thought. She’d witnessed it firsthand, with Lara and Anson, and KT and her new husband Chance, and Bijou and Will, who looked at her best friend like she was Christmas every day.
Her mother took her hand, shocking her. “Do you love this man you’ve been seeing?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, although she suspected she might.
“I wish”—Jacqueline shook her head and withdrew, cuddling her cognac to her chest—”I just wish something different for all you girls, and I’m afraid I’ve poisoned you from it, the same way I encouraged all of you to leave.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t encourage us to leave.”
“Didn’t I?” Her mum’s smile was brittle. “I certainly didn’t encourage you girls in any way to foster sisterly love. You’re all strangers to each other.”
“Not Bea.”
Jacqueline chuckled, her expression softening. “Yes, well, Beatrice is the determined one, isn’t she?”
“I think of her as the lynchpin.”
“She had to be.” Her mother’s face grew sad again. She swung her legs down and slipped into her mules before standing. “In the absence of a caring mother.”
“Mum—”
“I’m off to bed.” She started for the door, her glass cradled to her chest. But then she whirled around and returned to drop a kiss on her head. “Goodnight, Rosalind.”
Rosalind wanted to call after her to give her assurances, but she knew they’d both know they wouldn’t be true. The Countess of Amberlin
had
been absent during their childhoods.
She touched the imprint on the settee where her mum had sat. She liked this new, approachable Jacqueline Summerhill. Hope rose in her chest, wondering if they were finally gaining a real mother.
Chapter Nineteen
Em stared down the hall. Joe was in his office—his door had been closed when she’d arrived this morning, and it was only ever closed when he was in there. She’d been at her post for almost three hours, and he hadn’t come out yet.
Yesterday he’d kissed her.
He’d
kissed
her.
The phones rang and she picked up the handset blindly. “Orson & Tomlin. How can I direct your call?”
“Yes, can I have—”
The door to his office opened.
Putting the caller on hold, she sat up, but it was only Joe’s assistant who walked out.
Shaking her head, she slumped in her chair. That one kiss had done something to her. She’d been so sure about her course of action, but that kiss had her questioning everything she wanted. She felt like she was spiraling down a path that she didn’t want to follow.
She’d had wanton thoughts because of that kiss last night.
She’d tried everything she could to dislodge it from rooting in her head. She’d opened the book she was reading on the history of salt, but she hadn’t been able to concentrate. She’d made tea but hadn’t been able to drink it because its blandness hadn’t suited her tastes. She’d even taken a cold shower, but her nipples had puckered hard, the way she’d imagine they would if Joe licked them, because he’d take his time and be thorough, slow rasping laps of his tongue, teasing each peak until she was squirming for more.
She’d had mad thoughts because of that kiss.
Thoughts that involved poufy white dresses and forever. Daydreams of being curled up with Joe on their couch, him rubbing her feet as she told him how their children had driven her insane that day.
This was not good, and she didn’t know what to do about it. She nervously strummed her fingers on the desk, staring down the hall.
The phone rang again and she picked it up. “Orson & Tomlin. How can I direct your call?”
“I’ve been on hold forever! I want billing.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She winced and transferred the person, paying attention so she wouldn’t accidentally drop the call. The line lit up again immediately, and she sighed. “Orson & Tomlin. How can I direct your call?”
There was a pause, and she was about to snap at the person on the other line to speak up when a hesitant voice asked, “May I speak to Em Shepherd?”
“This is Em. Who is this?”
“It’s Ben.”
“Ben?” She wrinkled her nose. “Why are you calling here? Do you need a lawyer?”
“No, I’m calling for you.”
She frowned at his tentative tone. “You don’t sound sure of that.”
“No. I mean, yes, I’m sure.”
She almost asked if he was certain he was sure. She smiled at one of the legal aides who walked past her desk as she waited for him to say what he wanted. When he didn’t say anything, she finally asked, “Well?”
“Oh, right.” He took a deep breath. “I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me sometime. Or dinner. Either.”
Her frown deepened. Was this because of Joe?
Of course it was. She drummed her fingers, not sure how to feel. Glad that Joe showing interest woke Ben up, or annoyed that Ben was interested now, proving Joe right? At this moment it was mostly the latter.
She mentally cursed Ben. Then she mentally cursed Joe for spoiling this moment for her.
Someone came to stand next to her. The way her nipples perked up told her it was Joe. She looked up and glared at him.
He smiled, obviously amused. Taking a notepad and pen from her desk, he scribbled on it, tore the sheet off, and handed it to her.
Good morning, gorgeous.
She flushed with pleasure, damn him.
“Em?” Ben said through the receiver. “Are you still there?”
“Yes, Ben.” She set the note down and gave Joe a reproaching look.
His face clouded over, and he ducked his head to write another.
Sighing, she took it from him when he held it out.
Is that the gardener?
She nodded, and he quickly scribbled:
What does he want?
“Em,” Ben said, unaware of a secondary conversation happening, “I know asking you on a date must seem like a shock, but I think we’d suit each other rather well.”
Joe slapped a piece of paper on the desk in front of her.
Tell him to go away.
Frowning, she shooed him with her hand. To Ben, she said, “Maybe now isn’t the best time to discuss this.”
Joe held another note in her face.
It’s really not.
She rolled her eyes and added it to the pile on her desk.
“Then maybe we can discuss it when we have lunch?” Ben asked hopefully.
“Sure,” she said, wincing as she heard the reluctance in her voice.
Joe slapped the notepad down and crooked his finger at her.
Em blinked, confused. And intrigued. “I have to go, Ben,” she said, warily watching Joe. “We’ll set a date later.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed angrily, and she knew better than to wait for Ben to say anything. She set the receiver down and pushed back in her chair.
“My office,” was all he said before he marched off.
Really? She crossed her arms, tempted to sit back down. Did he expect her to obediently trail after him?
Yes, obviously.
She tapped her foot, about to rebel. Only what did he want? Dying to know, she followed him—slowly. No sense in him thinking she’d jump to attention whenever he snapped his fingers.
“Close the door,” he said when she walked in.
His back was turned to her, and he looked out the windows at the rooftops below. While he looked at the view, she admired his backside, which filled out his trousers quite nicely.
He suddenly turned around. “You aren’t going out with him, are you?”
She wasn’t sure how she should answer, so carefully she said, “I would be a fool not to, don’t you think?”
“Just the opposite, actually.” He glared at her. “You can’t seriously think he would be good for you.”
“I do, actually.” She lifted her chin. “He’s a good man.”
“You’d be bored out of your mind with him.” Joe stalked toward her, his gaze locked on her like he was intent on eating her up.
Air catching in her throat, she stepped back. “Joe, I don’t understand.”
“You really don’t.” He caught her arms and looked deep into her eyes. “How can you possibly think that man is enough for you?”
“Ben is—”
“Boring,” he stated. “Worst, he’s oblivious to you. How long have you been toiling in the dirt waiting for him to notice you?”
She stabbed him mentally. “Six months.”
“And did he notice you for yourself? No. Your stock suddenly rose because I showed up there.”
Glaring at him, she tried to tug herself out of his arms. “That’s remarkably cruel.”
“Yet accurate, and you can’t deny that.” He held firm, never wavering.
“You’re an ass when you want to be.”