Lois Richer - Faithfully Yours

“Would you mind very much telling what in the dickens is going on in this nuthouse now? I mean since you are my fiancee and everything!”

His scathing tone rasped over her nerves, but there was no way he was intimidating her, Gillian decided. Once today was enough. She glared back at him, daring him to holler at her again.

“Well? Exactly when did we become engaged, Miss Langford?”

Gillian couldn’t help it, the grin popped to her mouth, splitting it wide with mirth. “Since I’m your fiancee and everything,” she murmured slyly, “don’t you think it’s about time you started calling me Gillian?” Laughter burst out of her at the stupefied stare on his face. “Well? Jeremy?” It was the first time she’d seen him dumbfounded, and it was very refreshing. “Honey?” She shook his arm teasingly.

A second later the grin was gone from her mouth as he tugged her into his arms and kissed her on the mouth. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, or even a very practiced one. In fact, Gillian suspected it had more to do with anger than anything.

Still and all, it shook her. She liked the feel of his firm lips against hers, she decided dazedly. And his arms were strong, but gentle, around her.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she stammered at last, staring up into his glittery blue eyes. They had a wariness about them that added to the unreality of the situation.

“Kissing my fiancée. Surely that’s allowed?”

Gillian stared at the transformation taking place in front of her. For once, the stern, haughty face had been replaced with a handsome, smiling countenance that drew her like a magnet. It was disconcerting to find that he affected her so. Clearly he wasn’t nearly so bothered by that kiss. His entire demeanor was calm, cool and collected. Carefully she extricated herself from his embrace and stepped back.

“Not this early in the relationship,” she murmured, peering up at him from between her lashes. When he said nothing, she pressed on. “Your aunt is a little confused,” she told him quietly. “I don’t know where she got the idea that we are a couple. Maybe it’s due to the fire.”

His face blanched.

“Then there really was a fire.” He smacked his hand on his pant leg. “Darn. I was afraid of that.” His eyes had dimmed to cool gray again. “What happened?”

“She was flambéing cherries jubilee, and I think they caught on fire, which in turn started the pot holder smoking. She had everything well under control when I arrived,” Gillian lied. “I merely opened the doors and windows to let the smoke out. No damage done.”

“No damage done?” Jeremy stared at her as if she’d grown two heads. “Miss Langford, really! My aunt almost burns her house down. While she’s inside, incidentally. She decides to cook cherries jubilee in the middle of the afternoon, and then, out of the blue, decides you’re my fiancée.” His eyes narrowed as he stared at her calmly nodding head. “I don’t think you are a very good influence on my aunt.” He shook his dark head vehemently. “Not at all.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Gillian said, chuckling at his stern look. “I got her uppity nephew engaged to me without even trying. I must be doing something right.”

The whole town was loony, Jeremy decided, staring at the vibrant young woman in front of him. Absently he noted the way her freckles drifted across her nose and cheeks.

It was her eyes that really got to him, though. They were like jade daggers, stabbing at him in angry little jabs as she bristled up in her chair.

“Oh, for goodness sake,” she complained at last. “Can’t you tell that your aunt’s a little confused? Cut her some slack, would you?”

Jeremy stared. “I beg your pardon?” he murmured, trying to figure out what she was talking about. “Cut some slacks?”

Gillian Langford sighed, pleating her trousers between her fingers as she stared back at him.

“How old are you, Mr. Nivens?”

“Thirty.” Jeremy was too shocked to stop his immediate response. “Why?”

“Don’t take this personally,” she told him with a teasing little grin that reinforced how beautiful Gillian Langford really was, “but you act like you’re from another planet. Where have you been for the past thirty years?”

“England,” he murmured at last. “At least for twenty-eight of them. I was raised in Oxford and attended school there. I was headmaster at a school nearby until this summer, when I returned to the States.” His brow creased. “Why?”

Gillian’s narrow shoulders shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” she murmured, tugging her mane of reddish gold off her face. “Anyway, the point is, your aunt is a little mixed-up. For some reason she’s decided that you and I are engaged.”

He laughed harshly.

“My aunt is a lot more than slightly confused. She is forgetful, absentminded, preoccupied and inattentive when she is cooking. That’s why I’m trying to persuade her to sell this house and go into a nursing home.”

“What?”

Jeremy winced at the shrill shriek of her voice. He would have pointed out that the whole affair was none of her business, but he didn’t have time. Miss Langford advanced upon him like a Mack truck, letting nothing stop her surge of fury until she stood directly in front of his chair, green eyes glittering.

“You can’t! No way. She loves this house and the memories that are hidden away in every nook and corner. You can’t expect her to just give it all up. What about getting someone to live in?”

Jeremy snorted. She might be beautiful, this new teacher on his staff, but she wasn’t in the least practical.

“In Mossbank? Population five thousand, and that’s a high estimate?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“But a nursing home? She doesn’t need it. She’s perfectly self-reliant.” Her lips had carried an angry tilt to them. “She just forgets things once in a while.”

“I know,” he nodded. “Like the fireplace going or the stove or the kettle. One day it will cause a fire. Like today?” He peered at her with one eyebrow raised inquiringly. “What aren’t you telling me that she forgot today?”

“Nothing,” Gillian answered stoically. “She just let the liqueur get a little too hot when she was flambéing the cherries jubilee. It was out before I got here. I told you that.”

“Yes,” he nodded slowly. “I heard exactly what you said. It’s what you didn’t say that has me worried.” He studied the flaming sparks that reflected off her hair in the late-afternoon sun. “And it’s knowing that my aunt is a loose cannon, waiting to go off, that is forcing me to consider a facility that can care for her.”

“But you can’t!” Gillian was aghast that he would consider such a drastic action. “She loves the freedom of cooking and cleaning in her own home. I can’t believe that she’s in danger. Not really.” She glared at him through the fringe of bangs that fell across her forehead. “Anyway, Mrs. Flowerday and my aunt Hope will be watching out for her. And I certainly will. Among the three of us, she’ll be well cared for.”

Jeremy was shaking his head.

“But you can’t be here all the time, and neither can I. There will be those occasions when she will decide to cook some elaborate dish at five in the morning and no one will be able to stop her. Next time she may well set herself on fire.” His face glanced down at Gillian sadly. “I don’t like it any more than you, but I simply will not take the risk of her hurting herself.”

“I don’t think you have the right to make such a decision,” Gillian sputtered angrily. “You’ve only just arrived on the scene. Faith has been managing alone for years now. You can’t just waltz in here and uproot her from everything that’s familiar. It will only confuse her more.”