Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
“It’s sweet they came, but could you tell them I’m napping? I’m not being a bitch. I really am tired.”
“Absolutely.”
There wasn’t much more said. I gave her a hug. Ian kissed her cheek. He asked if she wanted one of Bonnie’s sandwiches, and she shared she wasn’t hungry. Ian promised we’d return with provisions and then we stepped out.
“We need to hurry. Boots will be closing soon. Though, it’s just around the corner,” he said.
“Okay. How about I dash out and take care of that, you talk to your mum and the kids?”
His lips twitched when I referred to Daniel and Portia as “the kids,” but he replied, “That’d be most expedient. If I’m quick enough about it, I’ll meet you at Boots.”
“Right.”
I turned to go to the hospital entrance, but he caught my wrist.
When I looked back, his gaze intent on my face, he asked, “Are you okay?”
I felt the tears threatening, so all I had in me was to whisper, “Not now, baby.”
Understanding swept his features, and God bless him, he let me go. “See you at Boots.”
I nodded and took off.
I didn’t run but I didn’t dally either. I was on a mission.
That didn’t mean my mind wasn’t filled with thoughts, mostly about the fact Colonel Mustard wasn’t going to die that night.
But I might throttle my sister.
Nineteen
THE CONSERVATORY
Ian was again holding my hand as we walked up the front steps of Duncroft.
The door opened before we got there, the bright light from the white foyer streaming out, the shadow of the long, straight body of Stevenson filling it.
It was at once beautiful and akin to the poster of a horror movie.
He stepped aside.
We stepped in.
“How is she, Ian?” Stevenson asked with open concern before he even closed the door.
I loved it that he called Ian by his given name. It made it seem like they were family like I thought it should be, not staff and employer, when they essentially lived in the same home.
“Good. Better. Resting,” Ian answered. “They’re keeping her there tonight. She’s going back to London tomorrow.”
Stevenson didn’t hide his relief.
“I believe she’s mostly packed. Brittany and Rebecca are on for tonight,” Stevenson told Ian while closing the door.
He turned to us and held out his arm.
I understood why when Ian shrugged off his overcoat and handed it over.
All while Stevenson kept talking. “Do you want me to ask them to finish packing for Mrs. Fernsby-Ryan?”
“She’d want you to call her Lou, Stevenson,” I said.
Stevenson nodded to me on a warm smile.
“Give him your coat and purse, darling,” Ian prompted in an undertone.
I started to do that, finishing, “I’ll pack for her.”
“You’re joining me for a drink in the Conservatory first,” Ian declared. “I need a smoke.”
“It’s not much and they don’t mind,” Stevenson said low, giving me a smile and a wink and taking my coat and bag.
Ian reclaimed my hand and pulled me to the back of the foyer.
I avoided looking at Persephone as we walked by. I didn’t want her to get any ideas. She could have her Elysian fields. Lou and I were staying in the here and now for a while.
We hit the seating area in the Conservatory, which was dark. He let me go to move to the drinks cabinet, then I saw a tablet light in his hands, and shortly after, the Tiffany lamps, all of them, illuminated the space.
I hadn’t noticed the tablet before, and I wondered if all Ian’s favored spaces had been smart-ified. Neither the Carnation nor the Rose Room had.
Or maybe they just hadn’t gotten around to setting up the whole house.
“Champagne, wine, Amaretto, or something stiffer?” Ian asked.
“Amaretto,” I ordered, throwing myself on the couch and only realizing how badly I needed that couch when I was on it.
Ian handed me my snifter, his highball was definitely loaded with whisky on ice, and he folded his long body beside me and reached to his cigarette box.
He lit up while I sipped and watched.
It was horrible and alluring at the same time, the way he went about his habit.
After he returned the lighter, he murmured, “It’s a turn-off, I know. I smoke only at Duncroft, only in here, and only because my father knows I do and detests it.”
I lifted my snifter in salute, “Then carry on, milord. Got any lines of coke I can snort? I’m sure Richard would detest that even more.”
He gave me a small smile. “Sadly, no.”
The smile died and his head turned, then abruptly, he stood up, all before I noticed we were no longer alone.
Portia, Daniel trailing her, emerged from the foliage.
“You’re back,” she declared, her gaze doing what was now customary, bouncing back and forth between Ian and me.
“In the flesh,” I pointed out the obvious.
“And you’re in here relaxing and having a drink and not coming to talk to me?” she demanded.