Just then, Veronika shooed in a tired Lizzie and Will while Mrs. Kilpatrick and Julia brought in stacks of pancakes, platters of scrambled eggs, bacon and sausages, hash browns, jugs of syrup and, in the middle of the table, Julia set down an enormous coffee cake.
“Dig in, folks,” Julia announced, taking what had naturally, over the weeks, become her place at Douglas’s left side while Monique sat across from her on his right (the table was far too long for Douglas to take the head and Monique to take the foot).
Douglas saw his mother stare at all the food in disgust but everyone tore into it like they’d been starved for months, especially the children.
“Tell us the story of Thanksgiving, Auntie Jewel.”
This, Douglas heard with surprise, came from Lizzie.
He’d taken special care with Lizzie, not because he wanted to, but because Julia wished it. It wasn’t the easiest task he’d undertaken, facing the grieving twelve year old image of his sister, the sister who, at that age (especially at that age) was the only one who fought his losing corner.
But Lizzie had responded to him immediately and he found she was not at all like his cheerful, bright-eyed, romantic sister.
The depth of pain and feeling in her eyes matched what he saw in her aunt’s and that he found, albeit contradictorily, was far easier to handle.
Furthermore, he came to the uneasy realisation that he enjoyed her response and, watching the despair that clung to her like an aura slowly disappear, further was pleased to know he had a hand in it.
“The true Thanksgiving story is hogwash,” Julia told the stunned table. “Something about pilgrims and Indians and bounty. I don’t know. It’s all perverse considering the pilgrims most likely murdered the Indians after supper.”
Monique gasped in outraged horror (something she seemed to be doing a lot lately and, Douglas thought cynically, had nearly perfected). Ruby, however, giggled excitedly. Will muttered, “Wicked,” not at his aunt’s words but that she was so blunt at telling the truth and, more than likely, outraging his grandmother for whom, Douglas had grown to understand, none of the children cared much (and he didn’t blame them).
“Thanksgiving is just a day to be thankful, for your family, your friends, who…” Julia went on, turning to Charlotte, “are the family you choose for yourself.” Julia took in the table at large and continued. “The food is just celebration. This afternoon, when we get dinner,” she told the children, “you’ll all need to think of something you’re thankful for and if you feel like it, you can tell the whole table.”
“I know what I’m thankful for!” Ruby shouted.
“I know I’d be thankful if you’d quit shouting,” Lizzie pit in and at that, Julia turned her startled, pleased eyes to Douglas.
When she did, he felt his chest tightening at her bright-eyed look and he had to stop himself from touching her flushed cheek. The scene which would ensue from a gesture such as that as witnessed by Monique would kill the moment and, Douglas found, he very much liked the moment.
Further, he didn’t want the children aware of his plans until Julia had firmly agreed to them. He’d promised Julia that.
Tearing his gaze away from Julia, Douglas saw Ruby poke her tongue out and Lizzie.
“Not at the table, Ruby,” Douglas warned automatically, sounding to his own ears like the doting but strict father-figure.
Before he could react to this unwelcome thought, however, Julia shot him another pleased look, her green eyes melting from bright to tender. His chest constricted further and he used every ounce of willpower to ignore it even as he noticed Charlotte give Oliver a meaningful look and Sam hiding her grin by shoving a fork full of coffee cake in her mouth.
“Sorry Unka Douglas but can I say what I’m thankful for?” Ruby asked politely, at a decibel level that was still loud but didn’t shake the windows.
“Please do,” he invited.
She screwed her face up with her big announcement and then broke out into a crooked smile, “I forget!”
Everyone burst out laughing and Douglas watched Julia. The exhaustion that had been etching her features since she arrived was gone, the light was back in her eyes. Her glance fluttered to his yet again but this time she turned away and busied herself with filling her plate.
“We’re not eating again until three or four so you better fill up now,” Julia told the crowd, acting the kind and efficient hostess and making Monique’s dark expression turn black.
Julia didn’t have to encourage anyone, all plates were piled high, except Monique, who had a small bit of eggs and a rasher of bacon.
Regardless of her expression, Monique was being uncharacteristically well-behaved and Douglas didn’t trust it. She had something up her sleeve and Douglas was keen to give Julia her Thanksgiving weekend. Having friends and family around her seemed to delight and relax her and he planned to take best advantage of that.
Last night, he’d seen a serious thawing of the icy reserve Julia had been showing him since he announced his intentions.
He still couldn’t credit the moment when she’d leaned over him, her br**sts brushing his back, and blew in his ear. He’d nearly grabbed her, thrown her over his shoulder and carried her to his bed like a caveman.
He’d never had such an acute and uncontrolled reaction before, to anything, much less a woman.
He knew she was more than slightly inebriated at the time but he had never worried too much about the ethics of his tactics, just as long as, in the end, he got what he wanted.
However, unfortunately, he knew it was too soon and Julia would have been furious at such an action perpetrated in front of Charlotte and Oliver, so he kept control of himself, but only just barely.
And Douglas was more and more determined to get what he wanted, for a variety of reasons.
In a short time, Julia had a remarkable effect on everything around her and thus everything around him.
Sommersgate itself had changed. It was more welcoming than he’d ever felt it. The staff were more cheerful, even smiling openly to each other, Julia, the children and even him (they were still dour-faced and smile-less when Monique made an appearance). Last night, entertaining friends, the house felt normal. Although he’d never really known normal but he knew that Sommersgate felt no longer cold and forbidding but instead warm and even welcoming.
Douglas cleared these thoughts. He’d never believed what many of the staff, local myth, and even Tamsin thought as the house having its own personality.