Chapter 9

Nine

THE WHISKY ROOM

To say I was in a mood when I stormed down the white staircase later that morning was an understatement.

I hadn’t been able to get back to sleep, and I was a sleep person. Two nights interrupted, and not enough, I was not in good spirits.

I’d told Bonnie last night that breakfast in bed was awesome, but it wasn’t quite me.

She’d offered another seat at her chef’s table for breakfast, which was a worktable in her massive, modern kitchen (again, Richard had spared no expense on those updates, that kitchen was a dream), and I’d taken her up on it.

She told me she’d cook to order when I arrived.

I was intent to arrive, specifically to drink lots and lots of coffee.

I’d checked in on Lou before heading down. She was still getting ready and told me she’d meet me down there.

On my way, I ran into Stevenson.

His eyes lit when he saw me, if he didn’t allow his face to do the same (I didn’t spend much time with him last night, he and some kid named Jack were serving the main dining room).

Still, he looked way more friendly then at our first meeting.

“Good morning, Stevenson.”

“Good morning, Miss Ryan. Can I show you to the kitchen?”

“Actually…”

I looked down the southeastern hall.

As noted, yesterday, during my tour, I hadn’t run into Richard or Jane, only heard Richard during his fight with Ian.

Now, I wondered why.

Had they known the tour was happening and hidden themselves in their rooms so they wouldn’t run into me?

Ian and me?

Lou or Ian or me?

“Is Lord Alcott around?” I asked Stevenson.

“Yes. He’s in his office.”

His office.

I’d noted it yesterday. It was the Whisky Room.

Though, I wondered what he did at that big, baronial desk, since, as far as I knew, he didn’t have a vocation.

“I’m going to pay him a visit,” I said.

Stevenson hesitated, unsure.

He was right to be unsure, but I didn’t tell him that.

“As you wish,” he murmured.

I smiled at him then headed down the hall.

The door was closed.

I knocked.

“Come!” Richard called.

I opened the door and walked in.

At first, he couldn’t hide his surprise.

Then he blanked his expression and rose from his chair behind the desk.

“Miss Ryan.”

“Daphne,” I corrected. “Where’s my car?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Where’s my car?”

“In the garage, where else would it be?”

“I’d like my fob back and to be shown where the garage is.”

“You can have both of these by calling Stevenson. He’ll have Sam or Jack show you.”

In other words, Why are you bothering me with this?

“We need to talk,” I told him, coming farther into the room.

Inexplicably, he appeared panicked for a moment, before he schooled his features and queried, “And why would we need to do that?”

“Because I’m concerned about your son’s intentions, and his true affections, and I have control of my sister’s money. I figure you know this, but I’ll tell you anyway. My father didn’t come from money. He turned a dying local hardware store into a multinational company, and he didn’t do it by being an idiot.”

“No one said he did.”

“And so,” I carried on like he hadn’t spoken, “when he carved his fortune up to give to the three women he loved in his life, he did it carefully, with forethought and planning.”

Richard’s eyes flicked behind me in a manner I twisted at the waist to look that way.

Ian was lounging in the doorjamb.

He looked good enough to eat.

Eat.

“Touché,” I said.

He grinned at our inside joke about me eavesdropping last night, and him sneaking into this conversation now.

“Good morning,” he replied.

It would be when I had coffee.

“Don’t mind me,” he prompted.

I returned my attention to Richard.

“I can’t, for undue reasons, withhold Portia’s money,” I informed him. “Though, for due reasons…”

I let that lie.

“And what would those due reasons be in regard to my son?” Richard asked between gritted teeth.

“Well, I did mention not too long ago my concerns about his intentions and affections,” I reminded him.

“Daniel is besotted with Portia,” Richard declared.

Besotted.

I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and started tapping on it.

“Miss Ryan…Daphne—” Richard began impatiently.

I lifted a finger but kept looking at my phone. “A second. There we go. ‘Besotted. Strongly infatuated. Archaic: Intoxicated. Drunk. From late sixteenth century, make foolishly affectionate.’” I raised my head, skimmed a glance through Richard and then twisted back to Ian. “You’re right. It’s not what it seems to be.”

“I know I’m right, darling,” Ian purred.

I felt that purr in my mouth.

And other places.

Jesus.

This guy.

I felt a wave of emotion, not the good kind, come tumbling at me from Richard’s direction when he heard Ian’s endearment.

I turned again to him.

Indeed, he didn’t like Ian calling me darling.

I fought smiling and kept speaking.

“I’m going to need to be certain about Daniel’s true feelings and his commitment to my sister. And I’m going to need this not only because I love my sister, but because my father did, and he trusted this to me. Now, in full disclosure, if she messes things up for a long haul, say, marrying someone who wants her for her money, then she doesn’t get that money. Ever. It’s absorbed into mine and Lou’s trusts. She doesn’t even get a stipend. She’s cut off. Completely.”

Richard blanched.

“Thus, this bullshit play that’s happening,”—I whirled a finger in the air—“I’m not having it. Someone needs to tell Daniel to get his ass home and bring my sister with him. It’s beyond rude they dragged Lou and I here then took off to regroup when things started off rocky. I have a life. I have a business. I have people who count on me. They’re talented. Beyond competent, they can carry on without me. However, I love my work, and when I decide it’s one of those rare times I’m going to leave it, I don’t want to be jacked around like I’m a fool. I’m not a fool, Richard. I’m my father’s daughter. And for more than one reason, it’s time your son, the second one, stopped treating me like one.”

On that, with Richard’s face red with fury, I turned on my heel and walked to Ian.

“Are you coming to breakfast?” I asked when I stopped.

He took my hand. “Absolutely.” We walked down the hall, and he didn’t bother waiting until we were completely out of earshot before he said, “Well done.”

“It was bitchy,” I replied, beginning to feel bad I’d been so frank, and done it being so curt.

I probably should have found Richard after I had coffee.

“He would have disregarded you entirely if you’d been polite,” Ian shared. “As he has been for the most part since you arrived. Disregarding you. He agreed to you being here. You’re our guest. I’ve seen how he’s been acting toward you. It’s beyond rude. You have no responsibility to be nice to someone who’s being rude.”

Well, if you completely disregarded the most important rule of all, the Golden Rule, he was right.

But I made a note not to confront my host again, or at least not for the rest of that day.

Ian yanked on my hand, effectively stopping both of us.

I looked up at him.

His eyes scanned my face.

“Did you sleep?” he asked.

Great.

Apparently, I looked as shit as I felt.

“I’m having some bad dreams.”

He tugged on my hand, and I hurried to keep up with him as he started prowling toward the servant’s stairs all the while growling, “We’re moving you out of that fucking room.”

“It’s not the room, Ian. It’s worry about my sister. And sure, yes, this place and all that happened in it doesn’t help. It’s sneaking into my subconscious. No surprise.”

He stopped abruptly, stopping me with him. “No more stories of murdered women.”

I felt my eyes get big and pointed in his face.

“There!” I crowed triumphantly. “You think she was murdered.”

“Christ,” he muttered, continuing to prowl and dragging me with him.

“Admit it, you think she was murdered. It was no accident. So now you have to tell me who you think dunnit.”

“No talk of Dorothy Clifton until you get a full night’s sleep.”

“No fair.”

He stopped us again at the top of the stairs. “I’ll tell you more if you let me help you sleep.”

“And how would you do that?” I asked, though I figured I knew the answer.

“First of all, you wouldn’t be in bed in the Carnation Room.”

“Dearie me, Lord Alcott,”—I fluttered my eyes—“are you suggesting something untoward?”

“By untoward, if you mean fucking you until you’re exhausted, yes. That’s what I’m suggesting.”

Take two with my eyes getting big.

“Yeesh, babe, you should try being honest once in a while,” I teased. “All this roundabout talk is exhausting.”

He tugged me down the stairs, saying, “You’re cute when you’re being a pain in the ass.”

We hit the kitchen and Bonnie, at work at a bowl, and Harriet, sitting on a stool, eating some toast, immediately smiled at us.

What a difference a day, and a decent guy treating them like humans, makes.

Ian immediately spoke.

To Harriet.

“Louella is being moved to the Poppy Room and Daphne to the Rose Room.”

For some reason, Bonnie gasped at this news.

“Oh, thank God. That Carnation Room gives me the heebie-jeebies,” Harriet said.

“Hang on, Lou is going to the Iris Room. We decided. She loves irises,” I reminded Ian.

“The Poppy Room is next to the Rose Room,” he reminded me.

“They don’t have to move me.”

“You’re moving.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re moving.”

“Am not.”

“This isn’t up for discussion.”

“It so is.”

“What’s happening?” Lou asked from behind us.

“The girls are moving you and Daphne to different rooms,” Ian told her.

“Why?” Lou asked, squeezing around us and sending greeting smiles to Bonnie and Harriet, also Rebecca, who’d just walked in.

“Because your room is shit,” Ian, King of Honesty, announced.

Lou bit her lip, not about to confirm, but what he spoke was so true, she didn’t have it in her to deny.

“And because Dorothy Clifton stayed in Daphne’s current room,” Ian went on.

“Oh my God!” Lou cried, her face draining of color.

“Now look what you’ve done,” I snapped at Ian.

And Lou totally lost it.

It was nearly a shout when she exclaimed, “I can’t believe they put you in her…her…room! That’s diabolical!”

“See, samesies,” Rebecca whispered to Harriett.

Harriet gave a fake shiver.

“Shh,” Bonnie shushed.

“It’s fine,” I assured everyone.

“She’s not sleeping,” Ian told on me. “She’s having bad dreams.”

I tore my hand from his. “Oh my God, will you shut up?”

He was completely unperturbed. “Yes, when you stop fighting about moving rooms.”

Lou spoke. “You’re moving rooms. We’re both moving rooms. This is…no.”

Lou gave me the hand when I opened my mouth to speak.

I closed my mouth.

“We’re moving,” she decreed. “I like irises. I also like poppies. But I want to be close to you and you are not sleeping another night in that room.”

Why was I fighting this?

“Okay, whatever, everybody chill,” I muttered.

“God, I have a headache,” Lou complained as she moved toward Bonnie’s workbench.

I squinted at Lou’s back because that was headache number two so far. She had bad head pain, and it wasn’t infrequent. But then she’d take something, rest, and be okay.

“You need coffee,” Bonnie prescribed, turning toward the kettle.

“I’ll take some of that,” I said, starting to follow Lou, but I got caught short when Ian grabbed my hand again. “I’m mad at you,” I told him when I looked back.

I was pulling at his hold.

He wasn’t letting go.

“I have sleeping pills. You’re taking one tonight.”

“Oh, it’s Doctor Alcott now, is it?”

He tipped his head to the side. “Shall I ask Lou?”

Bah!

“You fight dirty,” I groused.

“You can’t even imagine.”

I rolled my eyes.

Finally, he pulled me to the workbench.

I looked to Sam. “Hey, after breakfast, can you show me where my car and key fob are?”

“Sure,” Sam answered.

“Going somewhere?” Ian asked.

“No, but if you keep annoying me, after I murder you, I’ll need a clean getaway.”

Lou gasped.

Bonnie and Sam chuckled.

Harriet and Rebecca giggled.

But Ian?

Ian busted out laughing.