Cheryl Wolverton - Among The Tulips

Slipping in some conditioner and gel, he quickly scrunched it so it would hold the style before grabbing his electric razor and trimming his beard to keep that two-day-old look. He then brushed his teeth.

Slipping on a pair of leather loafers, he headed upstairs to start his day.

Passing the housekeeper he paused. Turning back around, he asked in Dutch, “Is Miss Hooper up yet?”

“Yes, sir. She was looking through her clothes when I left.”

“You didn’t stay with her?” he asked.

The housekeeper dropped her gaze. She was in her thirties and lived in a house about five minutes away with her husband who was the gardener here at the chateau. “She doesn’t speak the language, and she didn’t seem to want my help.”

Victor sighed. “She might not act like it, but she is pretty helpless even if she can’t understand you.”

He paused then added, “Go to the cook, ask her to write a note in English telling Miss Hooper that breakfast is ready, and I’d enjoy the company if she feels up to it. If she does, I’ll be glad to help her downstairs.” If she doesn’t want to use the service elevator, he silently added, thinking most of his guests would never be caught in the service elevator in a chateau.

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