Dirty Aristocrat

‘Oh, Mama. I’m afraid,’ I whispered.

The last thing she told me before she died floated into my head. ‘Ain’t nothing to be afraid of, honey. Take a deep breath and count to what you are. A ten.’

I started to count. There was a discreet knock on the door and I whirled around and walked quickly into my bedroom. ‘Come in,’ I called.

The housekeeper stood holding the door handle. ‘The car is here. Are you ready, Mam?’ she asked.

Oh, how I miss being back in warmth of the Southern states again. Everyone here was just so damn polite and so hidden. There were layers and layers of mannerisms to trip on and show

yourself up as the foreigner, the person who did not belong.

‘Yes,’ I told her nervously.

‘Good. It’s getting late and the car is waiting downstairs.’

‘Thank you, Mary.’

She nodded and closed the door softly.

I went to the dresser and picked up a framed photograph of Robert and me. My arms were thrown around him. The sun was shining and we were both laughing. It was taken during my first

summer in Barrington Manor. I didn’t know he was ill then. He did though. My heart felt like it was in a vise. I put the photograph down, slipped into a thick woolen coat, and pulled on

my black gloves. Deep breath, I told myself and went down the curving stairs and out through the great doors.

Outside it had stopped snowing, and there was neither wind nor cloud. Just sub-zero temperatures and everything covered in a pristine layer of white. Even the leaf stems were white and

sharp. Winter was always my favorite time at Barrington Manor. I looked around at the still wonderland with a kind of dull pleasure. I recognized its beauty even though I was too heavy

hearted to actually appreciate it.

Still, how bizarre! All this now belonged to me.

The chauffeur opened the back door of the black Rolls Royce. I walked up to the car and with a grateful smile in his direction, slipped into it. It was warm inside the car. I breathed in

the apple scented air-freshener and arranged my skirt over my legs. Then I leaned back and calmly stared out of the window at the passing scenery. My mind was mercifully blank. I would

make it through this ordeal. I would wear my brave face. No one would ever know what I was really feeling.

Let them think I was a cold bitch.

CHAPTER 3

Tawny Maxwell

As soon as we reached the church I spotted my stepchildren.

Robert’s oldest child, Rosalind, looked at me. Her eyes were shining with malice and hatred. She was the most dangerous and most vindictive of his children. At twenty-nine she was a

tall, dark-haired, plain woman who had unfortunately inherited Robert’s big nose and strong jaw. She was married to a spineless man who hardly spoke at all and had two young children I

had never met.

The middle child, Bianca, was much prettier since most of her genetic identity came from her mother. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for me she was not the sharpest pencil. She was

engaged to a well-known footballer who was standing beside her looking rather ill at ease. She was what my grandma would have called an undercover hater. She flashed me a fake smile

before turning back to her fiancé and leaning her fair head dramatically on his shoulder.

The youngest was Robert’s only son, Dorian. He was the best looking of the three. He had a full head of straight, dirty blond hair, smoldering blue eyes, and dimples when he smiled. He

had charm and confidence, but underneath it lurked something dark. Much darker. In truth I was very wary of him. Slowly, he winked at me.

It was so insolent, so inappropriate, and so disrespectful, I felt something crumple up and die inside me. Robert was wrong. I couldn’t handle these people. Not in a million years. Not

alone, anyway. They were a totally different species than me. They were devious and cunning and false.

My shocked gaze ricocheted away from Dorian and fell upon Ivan. He stood head and shoulders above everyone else. He was wearing a dark coat and his hair was slightly disheveled from the

wind.

Still, it was his face that made me freeze.

Against the whiteness of the snowy landscape it was as if it was hewn from stone. His eyes were almost silver and shone out of his face like lights directly into my eyes. Through the

distance something passed between us. Something electric that made the hairs on my body stand. I couldn’t look away. It was the strangest feeling. As if I had been walking for a long

time in the wilderness and I was finally home. I had come home. As if even the life that I had lived was not my own. My life was with him.