Lady: Impossible (29 page)

She looks me dead in the eye. ‘I confronted him about the money rumours.’

‘Seriously?’
 

She nods bravely. ‘Yes. I told him what Andrew heard, and then about your chances with Oliver being ruined thanks to Alastair. He admitted there are things he needs to tell us. He’ll be arriving tomorrow to discuss the situation in person.’

‘In person?’

He wouldn’t come down to London to see us in person if it wasn’t a matter of importance. When decorum dictates that the conversation takes place face-to-face, you can generally expect unpleasant truths to be revealed.
 

‘I don’t know what’s going on, but he guarantees that he’ll be here tomorrow.’

I set the tray table aside. ‘Wait. Does this mean that there are financial difficulties beyond what you and I are aware of?’
 

‘Let’s not make presumptions. There’s no use scaring ourselves.’

Despite her words, my mind goes into overdrive, and my heart starts to pound as I dream up scenario after scenario. I’ve crunched numbers with him watching over my shoulder, but I’ve been based in Fife for the past year. Maybe the tours and film work are set to generate less revenue than expected. Or perhaps additional repairs need to be done around the property.
 

Andrew’s acquaintance painted a bleak picture, one direr than a slowdown in business though.
 

‘I suppose I should’ve been more diligent,’ my mother says. ‘I had a feeling he was hiding something, but he’s always been so proud. I fled instead of asking.’
 

I sit back against the headboard, troubled. ‘I guess we’ll have to wait for tomorrow.’

‘I suppose so.’
 

We sit in silence for a little while. We were so staunch in our response to Andrew, yet here we are mute with uncertainty.
 

Eventually she stands, absentmindedly touching her hair. ‘I had better inform Blair of your father’s visit. It’ll be intimidating for him.’

Blair and my father in the same house. It’s a situation I honestly thought would never happen, and I doubt that either of them will be enthused at the other’s presence. Blair is going to need every ounce of professionalism he can muster.
 

‘Will Father be staying for a while, or is this going to be one of those visits that sees him hotfooting home with his tail between his legs?’

She shrugs. ‘I haven’t a clue. Perhaps it depends on what he has to say.’

‘Hmm.’

This is bound to be uncomfortable for all of us.

‘Anyway, are you sure you won’t come with me to the gallery? It’s a lecture I’ve been looking forward to for weeks.’

‘I think I’ll stay at home today.’ I pause, struggling to interpret her expression. ‘Unless you really want me to come?’

‘No need. I was merely wondering.’

‘Okay.’

She and I are never like this, gentle and overly conscious of what the other person may want. Personality-wise, I take after her in that I always know how to stand my ground. My decisions stay firm. I’m never at a loss for words. When we’re both thrown by a course of events, it’s incredibly unsettling.

Probably spooked by the atmosphere, she motions to leave. ‘I’ll let you finish eating in peace.’

‘Err, thanks.’

I place the tray table back over my lap, all the while wondering what tomorrow will bring. Patience has never been my speciality.
 

In fact, two hours later, Blair returns home and opens the front door to find me pacing around the main hall, waiting for him. I got tired of worrying alone and realised I needed someone to talk to. Of course, Blair doesn’t know that
talking
is my intention – he’s guarded when he steps through the door, probably thinking I want sex here and now.

I stop in my tracks. ‘Hi.’
 

I wince at how unnaturally bright I sound. There are rules about sounding too eager, and I’m already pushing them by waiting around for him.
 

‘Yes, hello, m’lady.’ He carefully shuts the door, juggling a bag of groceries and a new mop in the other hand. ‘I was given permission to use the front door, in case you were wondering. Bit tiring carrying all the shopping to the back door at times.’

‘Doesn’t bother me. Besides, I was waiting here and not in the kitchen.’ I step forward and point to the mop. ‘Do you need a hand with that?’

‘Um, no, thank you.’ He looks at me a little quizzically, just enough to indicate his discomfort.
 

‘I’m not asking for sex, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ It can’t hurt to admit this now. Saves us a stilted back-and-forth.
 

He shoots me an unimpressed look. ‘Emilia, I’m working.’

‘I know. That’s why I’m not trying to have sex with you. I just wanted to hang out. While you’re working.’

‘Hang out?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not getting anywhere near me while you’re wearing that,’ he says, cocking his head at my nightie. ‘I actually have to get things done. With your father arriving, I need to make sure this place is tidy.’

‘About that…’
 

‘Can we walk and talk? I’m trying to be efficient here.’

‘Oh, of course.’ I pad after him as he strides down the corridor towards the service stairs. ‘Are you freaking out at all?’

‘Freaking out? I’m a grown man. I can deal with the presence of other grown men.’

‘But it’s weird, isn’t it? You work for my mother, and now her husband is showing up out of the blue.’

‘Well, as you so kindly pointed out to me last week, it is
his house
.’ He slows his pace when we get to the stairs. ‘Are you freaking out? It seems like that’s what you actually want to talk about.’

I wrestle the mop from him, determined to assist. ‘I’m worried. I don’t think he’s coming here to deliver good news. Did my mother say anything to you in the car?’

‘Not everything she tells me can be openly discussed with you.’

The line is delivered casually, but I get the feeling he’s privy to more information than he lets on. I’m left wondering about the extent of this knowledge. It’s possible that part of the reason my mother hired a new butler is so she has a new confidant. Certainly, none of the maids at the estate would be interested in keeping her secrets.

Perhaps I’m reading too much into things.
 

I follow Blair into the pantry and hover as he packs away today’s shopping. ‘She’s quite worried, isn’t she? She’s not herself.’

He stalls, rearranging the tinned foodstuffs on the middle shelf. ‘Your observational skills are as good as mine.’

I lightly prod his shin with the mop. ‘Blair.’

‘Lady Emilia, I would appreciate it if you didn’t dirty my suit. That mop has been trailing on the floor.’

Chastened, I take a step back, almost bumping into the opposite shelves. ‘Sorry.’

He finishes tidying tins and turns around to face me. ‘You must be anxious if you’re being this docile.’

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. ‘I shouldn’t be poking you with cleaning equipment anyway. It’s practically harassment.’
 

For whatever reason, he finds my attempts at being coy amusing. ‘If I didn’t know you, I’d describe you as
adorable
right now.’

‘I can be adorable.’
 

‘Yeah, of course you can.’

‘I sense sarcasm.’

‘Then you sense correctly.’

He steps over and leans in for a kiss. I immediately let go of the mop, sending it crashing to the floor. As soon as our lips touch, I wrap my arms around his waist, moaning softly as he weaves his fingers in my hair. He could take me right here against the shelving if he wanted to.
 

However, he pulls away before things get to that stage, placing his hands on my shoulders to gently push me back.

‘I have work to do.’

I resist, pressing my body into his. ‘You’re not sending me away, are you?’

‘Actually, I am. Now let go of me.’

I sigh dramatically and release him. ‘Fine, I’ll let go, but please let me hang around. I’m going mental thinking about tomorrow. I probably shouldn’t tell you this… There could be a money problem. If my inheritance is in trouble, I don’t know what I’m going to do.’

‘How about get a job?’
 

I tilt my head to the side. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘Look, this is obviously a family matter.’ He pauses, bending down to retrieve the mop. ‘It’s your mother who pays me – not your father – so, as far as I’m concerned, I’m going to continue doing what I’m doing. As for you, you’ll just have to wait patiently until tomorrow. Speculation will drive you mad.’

‘Perhaps speculation is prudent.’
 

He stares at me for several seconds, tapping his fingers on the mop handle. ‘What are you going to do? Traipse down the London streets, dropping off your CV at every turn?’

I fold my arms across my chest. ‘I do not
traipse
.’

‘Whatever it is, it’s probably not that bad. And if you have Abby’s driver ferrying over borrowed clothes because you don’t want to buy anything new, then you’re already being prudent, are you not?’

‘S’pose so.’ I tuck my hair behind my ears. ‘I should stop talking about it, shouldn’t I?’

‘I can’t tell you what to do.’

‘No, please, give me something to do. I can fill up the bucket with water and detergent?’

His eyes sparkle with mirth. ‘I will be hung, drawn and quartered if I let you do any housework. You can watch me. You might as well – you’re always watching me.’

I follow him out of the pantry. ‘You watch me too.’

‘Yes, but there’ll be none of that tomorrow. Remember that.’

I will remember to keep my eyes off him, but if my father’s news is truly terrible, then the first thing I’ll want to do is run to Blair – a problem in itself.
 

Chapter 15:

In a worrying sign, my father postpones his visit to Thursday – tomorrow – a move that prompts sheer panic here. No reason is given for the delay, so all Mother and I are left with are our own theories, most of which are dire and frankly more suited to a soap opera than our own lives. There are many ways to lose a fortune. Blackmail. Gambling problems. Extreme antiquing. Anything’s possible and, in the course of two days, we have driven ourselves to our wits’ end.
 

‘He’s afraid of us,’ she muses for the thousandth time. ‘So the news must be terrible.’

I nod solemnly and try not to drop the tray of food I’m carrying. We’re having a cream tea beneath the gazebo in the garden, a solemn affair complete with appropriate weather: grey, cloudy sky and a chance of rain. As it’s Blair’s day off, we’re fending for ourselves. Never mind that the extent of our foraging was the discovery of pre-baked scones in the pantry – it still counts as self-sufficiency. I even whipped the cream myself.

My mother sits herself down at the table. ‘Are you sure Eliza isn’t cross with you for rearranging your brunch?’
 

‘She’ll live.’

I won’t leave my mother’s side while we’re in this purgatory. It would be selfish to go out with my friends and leave her all alone to her fretting.
 

‘It’s not a matter of mortality. I’m worried she’ll start excluding you, as she does Abby.’

‘Really, she’s fine.’ I put a scone on her plate and pass her the cream and jam before taking a seat myself. ‘And if not, I’ll blame Al.’

‘Right, of course.’

The weariness my mother exudes is astounding. She has dark circles under her eyes and rollers still in her hair, her choice of outfit – a creased, black shift dress – just as tired. This is taking an incredible toll on her. She even cried last night after leaving a pleading message on my father’s mobile. She’s not one to beg or pander, so I can only assume that in her heart of hearts she’s deathly worried that Andrew’s acquaintance is right.

I, too, am starting to think along those lines. The only reason I haven’t resigned myself completely to them is because Blair keeps reminding me to stay calm for my mother’s sake.
 

She frowns, the lack of make-up increasing her pallor and forlornness. ‘And you’re certain that Polly is okay with you not coming in until next week?’

I try my best to remain patient. ‘It was her idea, remember?’
 

‘Oh, yes. It was. Sorry.’

Forgetting the details of my matchmaking journey is another sign she’s out of sorts. I called Polly back on Monday with the intention of buying some time. I was planning to say I was traumatised by Oliver’s rejection and needed another week or so to get over it – an excuse to confirm my financial standing before proceeding with another match. But she was the one to advise patience, claiming we should give Oliver time to reconsider. For some reason, she’s convinced he’s still grappling with the decision to cancel on me. Despite my scepticism on this point, I agreed to wait and see, thereby securing the time I so desperately need.

‘Millie?’

I look up from my untouched scone. ‘Hmm?’

‘If we are in trouble, we should take Andrew and Abby out for dinner. Apologise to Andrew for claiming he was mistaken.’

‘We can certainly do that, Mother. But we don’t know anything yet. Let’s try to stay positive, shall we?’

She drops her knife with a clang, flecks of whipped cream mottling her dress. ‘And another thing – when I hired Blair, I promised I’d look after him. Whatever happens, I will make sure he won’t suffer because of us. I’ll sell my jewellery if I have to.’

I sit back in the chair. ‘Did you hire him because you felt sorry for him?’

Her eyes are focused on something far away, like she’s straining to see hope in the distance. ‘You should be nicer to him. Had luck been on his side, he would’ve been running The Savoy, not serving there.’

‘He does seem very switched on.’ I refrain from saying more, not wanting to let on that I’ve been closer to him than I should have.
 

Several minutes pass as we pick at our scones silently. It’s excruciating, this morose mood. I can’t stand it. I push my food around until my plate is a mess of cream, jam and the baked good formerly known as ‘scone’. It’s just mush now, really.