Free Sommersgate House by Kristen Ashley

was a guest there, but still,
the arrogance! She tried to think of some way of responding to his
outrageous behaviour and decided diplomacy was best.
    “I can’t…” she
started only to be interrupted again.
    “You can and
you will,” he commanded, dipping his head to her plate, his gaze
firm on her face and she found herself too tired, too stunned and
too hungry (and maybe a bit too chicken), to argue.
    Therefore, she
tucked into the food.
    “Sunday
evening, when we get back from the city, I’d like to have a talk
about our arrangement,” Douglas announced.
    She took a
bite of bacon and watched him. He showed no signs of anything, no
emotion, no sadness at his sister’s passing. Last night he got home
late after a day of whatever it was that he did, and was up again,
early, dressed and ready to go back to whatever it was and he
looked like he just left a spa.
    “Julia?” Now
he no longer looked emotionless, he looked impatient.
    “Yes, that’s
fine. That’s a good idea. I look forward to that.” She was
babbling.
    “Good.” He
took a last sip of his coffee and threw down his napkin. “I’ll see
you Saturday evening.”
    She nearly
choked again.
    Saturday
evening!
    “Saturday
evening… but it’s Wednesday!” she cried.
    She said it to
an empty room.
    He was
gone.
    And Julia
still felt like she was being watched.
    * * * * *
    Veronika was
surprised to find Miss Julia’s bed made when she walked into her
room.
    She’d heard
the American woman on the phone in the kitchen and she’d hurried to
do the cleaning while Julia was otherwise engaged. She bustled
around the room, intent to perform her duties to the exacting
standards that Lady Monique Ashton expected them to be done.
    Bathrooms
cleaned thoroughly, daily. Used towels were taken away and washed,
daily. Also, dusting and hoovering done, daily. Sheets were changed
on Wednesdays and Fridays. Clothes were picked up off the floor and
all of the outerwear was put in cleaned and pressed linen sacks and
taken by Carter to the dry cleaners. Unmentionables carefully hand
washed and air dried. Towels, sheets, serviettes, tablecloths were
all washed, starched and ironed, by Veronika. The heavy cleaning
was done on a strict rota that Mrs. Kilpatrick oversaw with a
devotion akin to religion.
    The American
was like no one Veronika had yet met in England. She made her bed.
She folded her towel and put it back on the rail. She spoke to
Veronika in a normal voice and smiled at her, even when Veronika
was just passing.
    Veronika
didn’t know what to make of her.
    The Lady
Tamsin had been quite like that but careful not to be overly
familiar when Lady Ashton was around. Veronika had only seen Mister
Gavin once, for the briefest of moments, and he’d been kissing Lady
Tamsin at the time so Veronika had left them to it.
    Veronika felt
a great deal of guilt as she was the only one in the household who
had gained from the lovely couple’s deaths. Mrs. Kilpatrick’s hours
went from abnormally long to ungodly long. Veronika, who worked
Wednesday through Sunday and had Monday and Tuesday off had gained
a lot of extra hours and overtime pay the last five months. This
had eased her burden tremendously.
    She was able
to move out of the cold and cramped old servants’ quarters and she
got herself a small, shabbily furnished bedsit in the local town.
She was also able to buy a beat-up old car. She put in a telephone
(even though she had no one to call). She even bought plates,
cutlery and pretty plastic glasses at the local Tesco that had
bright circles printed on them.
    Even with all
the good luck Veronika had since meeting Lord Douglas Ashton that
dark night nearly seven months ago, she still didn’t trust it.
    Veronika was
not a lucky girl, never had been.
    And in
that dark alley, so many months ago, she was certain her luck had
run out. She was vulnerable, alone and the men who had been
tracking her finally had made their move. They’d trapped her in
that alley, beat