“This is such a mess.”
“It is. But we can make it better.”
“I don’t know. This isn’t like the others.”
“Which is exactly why we have to make it work. You’ll see.”
CHAPTER ONE
Elephants are majestic animals. A long list of adjectives popped into Iris Colby’s head. Huge being at the top, followed by enormous—no, make that ginormous. Next would be powerful, and as the animal in question lifted his trunk up high in the air blowing out a deafening sound that bore an unbearable resemblance to an off-key tuba, the word petrifying beat out all the others.
“Iris,” a voice called from the thatched greenery behind her.
She really hadn’t wanted to accompany the Throckmortons to India. Her parents had told her dreadful things about the weather, the crowds, the food, and assorted unpleasantries. On the other hand, romantic childhood images of the Taj Mahal and devoted princes urged her to be more adventurous. Get out of her comfort zone. Away from the big cities. Anyone could shop the Champs-Élysées in Paris, but to ride an elephant in India?
The elephant stomped closer, shaking the ground beneath her feet at the same time the voice called a little louder. It was the touch of the giant beast’s trunk on her shoulder that had her voice tearing from deep in her lungs.
“Miss Iris,” another voice screeched almost as loudly.
It took Iris a few seconds to realize she was no longer in India, or Thailand, or Timbuktu for that matter. She no longer worked for the Throckmortons, and the poor woman she’d just scared half to death was the Belton’s new housekeeper. “Sorry.”
Now halfway across the room, standing frozen in place like a petrified tree trunk, the shaken woman managed to exhale a barely controlled breath. “You said not to let you nap more than an hour.”
Iris glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Yes. Sleeping had been difficult. Ever since her run in with that all too playful elephant on the last trip, her nights had been restless and filled with worst case scenarios. Not even changing jobs, taking the prospect of distant travel and spoiled full-blown teenagers off the table, had helped. “Thank you, Ella. I’ll be downstairs momentarily.”
“Also, Master Michael phoned. He’s been invited to dinner at the Carmichael’s. What shall I tell him?”
Running the list of acceptable companions and invitations the Beltons had left her, she clearly remembered the Carmichaels were at the top of the yes-by-all-means list. “That will be fine.”
Wringing her hands, Iris shook her head and blew out a sigh. The Belton’s daughter Tiffany would be home soon. Then the battles would ensue. Homework first, girl talk second. More than once Iris had come close to burning the pre-teen’s cell phone in effigy to whoever had actually invented the blasted thing. The privileged daughter had been helicoptered her entire life. Who was Iris kidding, the girl was just plain spoiled rotten, and Iris doubted any amount of restricted parenting at this point could turn that around. Tiffany would no doubt become one of those uppity society mothers more than ready to raise another generation of self-absorbed children who would grow up to believe everything in life could be resolved with a signature at the bottom of a check. Any delusions Iris may have had that she could make a difference in these pre-teens lives had pretty much come and gone as swiftly as her nightmares.
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
Lost in her own thoughts, Iris hadn’t even noticed Ella had remained watching her. The fear in the housekeeper’s voice had shifted to concern in her eyes. More than one night, Ella had come into the kitchen when she should have been sleeping because she’d heard Iris making tea. “That would be nice, thank you.”
Her cell phone beeped and the familiar number brought a smile to her face. “Hello, General.”
“You still sound…tired.”
Her grandfather was the most imposing man she knew, and yet she loved him with all her heart. “Have I said thank you lately?”
“Thank you?” The gruff voice faltered in confusion.
“For raising Mom and my aunts like normal people and making sure all of us kids did normal things and grew up level headed and well—”
“Normal,” he repeated. “Yes, you have. But I can’t take the credit for that. If your grandmother had let me have my way, you’d all have grown up with revelry, mess call, and lights out. Could have been like boot camp.” The last part came out sort of wistful and made Iris smile.
The man had indeed tried to impose early to bed and early to rise rules on his granddaughters and every so often even on his guests, but their Grams had indeed kept things blissfully unmilitary. “Then thank you for marrying Grams.”
The bluster in the old man’s voice made her laugh out right. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard the man be in anything except utter and complete control.
“Yes. Well. About you coming to the lake,” he sputtered.
How could she have forgotten? Working as a nanny for New York’s upper crust, she’d done her share of traveling. The Throckmortons, however, had upped the concept of travel a notch. The family had her traipsing around every nook and cranny of the world while homeschooling their two children. Not that they ever really had a home, more a house for the season. She hadn’t minded at first, but as the cute children sprouted into disrespectful self absorbed teenagers, the job had grown tiresome. India was the last straw. Not to mention, despite her best efforts, those same cell phone addicted teens had developed an attitude of entitlement where they’d begun to look down at her as mere hired help. That made Iris laugh. She could match her education and pedigree notch for notch with the best families on the New York social register, she just didn’t see any reason to. Working for the Beltons was supposed to be more of a nine to five, Monday through Friday arrangement, allowing her more time to visit her family on the lake. She missed spending time with her cousins. Their lives were moving on and she was beginning to feel a bit left out. In the weeks she’d been at the Briarcliff estate, the children had been left solely in her care more often than not. There could be no taking even an afternoon off, never mind escape for a weekend to the lake. Like it or not, she was seriously over being responsible for other people’s children. “Things aren’t working out the way I’d hoped.”
“Young lady, you were very clear. This latest governess job would be strictly weekdays only.”
She stifled a giggle. No one used the word governess anymore. “As I said, things haven’t worked out as planned. Mr. Belton has had to extend his business dealings in London and Mrs. Belton has seen fit to join him.”
“Perhaps if they didn’t have someone as competent as you to rely on, the mother would return to her post and do her duty.”
Yes, Iris would get right on explaining to Abigail Smythe Belton how she needed to come home and do her duty. Iris glanced out the window. Although. “You know, sir, that may not be a bad idea at all.”
Now all she had to do was enlighten her newest employer that the General always knew best.
* * * * *
This was the right decision. The right thing to do. Definitely the right thing. Glancing at the rearview mirror at the two young children in the back seat, Eric Johnson prayed this was the right thing to do. If it weren’t, he was just plain out of ideas.
The moping four year old little boy clutched at the stuffed leopard backpack and shifted his gaze from the window to the front seat. “Are we here yet?”
“Almost.”
Hart House couldn’t be close enough. The same question had been asked and answered multiple times in the last thirty minutes. Just ahead, to the side of the road, a huge sign with a lake vista background covered in large neon white letters declared Welcome to Lawford. The vise that had been squeezing his heart for the last few hours, a painful reminder this was his last hope, eased slightly. According to the GPS, the rambling white house, literally pretty as a picture, should be just around the bend. His only connection to the past and the future had been the cheery card he’d come across confirming the reservation for another perfect family getaway.
Perched deep into the wooded lot, the rambling Victorian house boasted a wrap around front porch that invited a weary traveler to sit down, take a load off his feet, and indulge in a cool beverage, almost whispering you made the right choice. Nothing could have made a prettier sight. Well, maybe Adele waving madly with a bright smile across her face.
The circle drive seemed to cut the property in sections. Elevated on a slight hill sat the welcoming house. Opposite the drive, patches of green grass dotted with small white cabins cascaded down the hillside to the lake. Any other time and he would have simply taken in the splendid view. The postcard hadn’t exaggerated.
“I want to go home.” The little boy frowned, strangling his stuffed backpack. His only comfort.
As expected, the stubborn cry had wakened his sleeping sister. Almost two years older, Emily blinked quickly, looked left then right, and for a split-second Eric thought he saw a spark of contentment in her eyes before she silently turned to her brother and softly whispered, “Me too.”
“You’re here!” The loud, enthusiastic call startled Eric away from the sad sight in the rearview mirror.
“We’ve been waiting.” A grinning middle-aged woman in a gingham dress reminiscent of something Andy Taylor’s aunt would have worn, clapped her hands together. “My, how you’ve grown.”
Beside the friendly greeter trotting in their direction, a sleek woman with shoulder length gray hair practically glided down the stairs and flashed a photo perfect smile. “Oh, my Lucy, I think you’re right.” Even wearing a bright blue and orange flowing floor length dress, she reminded him of royalty. Her face could have easily been the inspiration for a hundred ancient statues.
The first woman, Lucy, swung the rear door open before he could fully escape from the car. She looked to Emily. “I have peanut butter cookies fresh out of the oven.”
This time he was sure a flash of delight flickered in his niece’s eyes. He’d have to make a note. Emily liked peanut butter cookies.
“And you, young Mr. Gavin,” she turned, smiling at the frowning boy, “chocolate chip with M&Ms for you.”
The frown slipped and a smile most definitely pursed the child’s lips for a full five seconds before he remembered he wanted to go home.
“Come on now,” the woman clapped her hands, “can’t let the cookies get cold.”
Though still not smiling, neither child complained. To Eric’s surprise, they’d unbuckled their safety belts, scrambled out of the car and each taking hold of a proffered hand, followed the woman up the stairs. The almost too-friendly woman continued talking as though this was the happiest day in anyone’s life, including the two silent children.
“It takes time.”
He’d forgotten about the other lady.
“I’m Fiona Hart.” She extended her hand.
“Pleased to meet you.” He stole a quick look at the now empty porch stairs. “I gather those are the children’s favorite cookies?”
“They are.” The woman nodded. “Or at least they were when they stayed here last year. Lucy didn’t mention it, but she made fresh sweet lemonade too. The children loved it during their last visit.”
He nodded, not convinced Gavin was old enough to remember, but hopeful the flicker of light in Emily’s eyes meant she did. “I know so little.”
“The same can be said for parents of newborns. No one is handed a child with instructions. It will come together.” Her hand landed on his forearm.
For the first time since that horrible phone call just over a week ago, Eric thought maybe she might be right. He looked to the back of the car and wondered if it would be all right to check in and take the luggage to their cabin or if he should wait to do that later and follow the children instead.
“They’ll be fine with Lucy if you’d like to check in. My husband will come and get your bags.”
Eric didn’t mean to let his surprise show, but at the chuckle the lovely woman failed to suppress, he must have looked very surprised. Not that he meant any offense, but the woman was most definitely old enough to be his… mother’s older sister.
“Career military. The man could probably still march a fifty pound pack across Camp LeJeune in the dead of summer during a hunger strike.”
“Make that one hundred pounds.” Flanked by a dog at each side, a tall man with a full head of white hair and broad shoulders that shouted they’d done more than their share of work, appeared and shoved his hand at him. “General Hart.”
Despite his current civilian status, Eric was overcome with the urge to salute.
“This is the young man using his sister’s reservation,” his wife said softly.
“Oh, yes.” The man’s booming voice lowered, the bright smile slipped. “Awfully sad business, all of that.”
Awfully sad about covered it. As if confirming the consensus, one of the dogs stepped forward with one paw, stretched his neck and licked Eric’s hand. He almost felt like smiling.
The General gave his dog a pat of approval and tipped his chin in his wife’s direction. “You go with Fiona and she’ll get you the keys.”
“Under the circumstances, we thought it best to have you in a cabin closer to the main house. You’ll still have the lovely view.” Fiona waved him on. Eric hesitated, looking toward the back of the new SUV he’d bought. The General seemed to be hauling out the bags as if they were filled with feathers. By the time Eric turned back, Fiona was up the stairs and at the front door. He’d had to take the steps two at a time to catch up.
Inside, the main house was everything the exterior implied. Large dark wood pieces from centuries past took up space against light airy walls. Vases filled with fresh flowers shared space with bowls of fruits and colorful dishes of assorted candies.
Fiona made her way into the parlor, opened the drawer on a massive partners’ desk and handed him a key. “Here you go.”
“Don’t I have to sign anything?”
“Why?” She smiled. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Well, uhm. Thank you.” He supposed that was one way to look at it. He was indeed here and he had given his credit card number online. But for the first time since finding himself lost and confused, like Alice in Wonderland suddenly in a bizarre and unfamiliar world, he dared to hope this other worldly place might be his salvation.
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