Fiona Hood-Stewart - The Journey Home

“You’d be surprised.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Most people only invite me to their homes when they want something. They can’t cut straight to the chase, so they go through the BS of having me to their home, wining and dining me, before getting to the point. But the first time Peter invited me here, he genuinely wanted me to come, and I felt it. You guys have made me feel at home ever since.”

“Well, you are rather a decent chap. If you weren’t so odiously overbearing, I’d have a go at you myself,” she said teasingly.

“Forget it. I’m a rolling stone.”

“You pretend to be but I don’t believe you are at heart. You can be quite sweet at times, when you want,” she added perceptively.

“Chloë, give me a break. I’ve had a long day. I only got back from Dunbar a couple of hours ago. Serena drove me.”

“What, that horrible creature?”

“No shit!”

“Swear away, don’t worry about me!” Chloë said blithely. “Though I agree with you about Serena. Behind all that elegance and class, India’s a very lovely, sensitive person. And a lot of fun, too, when she wants,” she continued as though the subject hadn’t changed.

“She seems to know her business back to front.”

“We have been observant, haven’t we?” she teased. “What was Serena doing there anyway? Getting ready for the spoils, no doubt.”

“Looks like it. Apparently she’s inherited Dunbar.”

“That’s very possible. Lady El may have left it to her. Maybe she thought Serena might as well have Dunbar. After all, Indy’s never really been attached to the place. I’ll go over early tomorrow to give her moral support. She’ll need it with Serena around. By the way, that brings something to mind,” she said, a mischievous grin replacing the sad look of seconds earlier. “What happened that night at the party in September? I saw the two of you slipping upstairs.”

“That’s none of your business. I will only say that it was a regrettable incident that I’m not proud of. Anyway, a nice girl like you shouldn’t be talking these things over with guys.”

“It’s not guys, it’s only you,” she said disdainfully.

“Thanks a lot. Just don’t you start opening your big mouth to Peter and Di.”

“Promise.” She crossed her heart, looking pensive all of a sudden. Jack watched as her eyes turned misty, and she gazed into the flames.

“New man in your life, Chlo?”

“How did you know?” she exclaimed, almost spilling her drink.

“It’s written all over you.”

“Jack,” she said, eyeing him seriously, “I think this time it’s the real thing.”

“Shoot.”

“He’s…different, you know, not like the other chaps I meet.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “That’s what you said about the last three.”

“There! You see? I knew I shouldn’t have said anything, now you’ll be horrid,” Chloë exclaimed crossly.

“He’s bought the magazine. He’s diversifying his interests,” she added grandly.

“And what are those?”

“He’s in oil and all sorts of things. He’s from Texas.”

“What does he want with a gossip magazine?” Jack asked, curious.

“He wants to expand it. In fact, he’s offered me the job of chief editor in New York,” she said casually, knotting the fringe of the cushion. “I don’t know, though. I love London, but everything is happening over there. Lots of Brits in the business on Madison Ave., you know.”

“Do you come in the package with the paper?”

“What a horrid thing to say,” she exclaimed, aiming the cushion at him. He dodged it. She brooded for a second then asked, “Did Indy look miserable? I talked to her yesterday, and she sounded pretty down in the dumps. Not her usual self at all. Lady El was so super, we’ll all miss her.”

“I don’t know.” He replied, his tone noncommittal, “I learned about her mother’s death by pure fluke. If I hadn’t put my foot in it, she probably wouldn’t have mentioned it. She was the perfect hostess.”

“Typical!” Chloë exploded. “I wish she’d loosen up. It was that marriage to that prick, Christian, that made her clam up like that.”

“She’s married?” He felt an inexplicable stab of disappointment.

“Not anymore, thank God,” she added darkly, taking a long, thoughtful sip of her drink.

“How long were they married?”

“A couple of years.”

“What happened?”

“Now who’s being nosy?”

“Mere curiosity.”

Chloë frowned. “He dropped her like a hot potato for a German heiress, a Princess von something-or-other, when he found out that Lady El had pretty well got through Indy’s father’s fortune. Hopeless with money, poor Lady El. I can’t think why India’s father didn’t leave it in trust for them, but anyway, he didn’t. So that was that as far as the dashing Comte de Monfort was concerned.” She looked up, her eyes full of anger. “The coward didn’t have the guts to tell her outright. He wrote her a long rambling letter—he even had the bloody nerve to say he owed it to his family to preserve the family fortunes and the purity of their lineage. Can you believe it?”

“What a jerk,” he said, feeling unaccountably angry on India’s behalf.

“Yes, and now all she ever does is work. I could murder Christian for what he did. It was the last straw. It affected her more than she’ll admit. That’s why she’s thrown herself into La Dolce Vita so intensely. That and the fact she needed to make money or she would have lost Chantemerle.”

Jack listened intently, dying to ask more, but knowing it would only excite Chloë’s curiosity.

She yawned. “I’d better go and phone Indy, poor darling, then I’m off to bed. I’m exhausted.”

“Good night, brat.” Jack rose and handed her the fur coat.

“Brat indeed,” Chloë sniffed as she picked up her bag.

“You need a guy who can keep you in line, young lady.”

Chloë stuck her tongue out at him and left.

Jack turned back into the room, smiling. He picked up a book left open on the table next to the sofa and glanced at it. It was the latest Grisham. That should keep him busy for the evening.

Making sure the fire was out, he turned off the lights. Then he walked into the hall and slowly up the main staircase, his mind straying back to India. By the time he reached his room, he’d persuaded himself there was nothing unusual about his interest. It was just an interesting set of circumstances and frankly, he’d feel sorry for anyone in her situation—it was only natural.

He glanced at the book wryly. It was a long time since he’d needed anything to keep his mind from straying to a woman. Don’t get involved, Jack. It’ll only mean trouble, a little voice inside him warned. But his gut told him otherwise, and Jack always followed his gut.

The visceral attachment to Dunbar that India was experiencing had caught her wholly by surprise. Considering she’d never lived or spent any long periods of time here, she was unable to fathom why everything felt so strangely familiar. She hadn’t been back much since her childhood, yet she felt at home, as though part of her being had remained fettered here all these many years. It was like a colorful tapestry and she a silken thread, woven into the intricate pattern that reached deep into Dunbar’s soul.

She wandered through the picture gallery and gazed up at the portrait of Lady Helen, her great-grandmother. Something in the soft hazel eyes spoke of wisdom and understanding, as though Lady Helen were telling her not to worry, to go on her way in peace. India found herself smiling back.

Moving silently in the early-morning hush, she went from room to room, etching each detail to memory. This was a special moment, possibly one of the last she would ever spend here.