The Heiress(27)

And then I began to scream.

You know the rest, darling. Or you can look it up. That part is less important to the story I’m trying to tell you. There were police (my “Conversational French” from Agnes Scott was sadly inadequate when it came to discussing something like this, it turned out) and of course it was a bit of a scandal, but the official story was that someone had seen Duke flashing his cash at a seedier casino he’d been in that night in Montmartre, and followed him all the way home with the intention of robbing him.

Duke himself assisted with this version of events by conveniently leaving the front door wide open when he came home, so eager was he to show me his new prize.

A scuffle, a loaded rifle, two panicked shots, the cash Duke’s friends swore he’d had in his jacket pocket that night all missing (tucked inside a hideous china dog I’d bought for Nelle, buried deep in one of my trunks), and there you had it.

Tragic, made more so by our youth and beauty, our clear love for each other. And on our honeymoon, too! Married less than two months.

Did people believe this story, or did Daddy’s money make it go away? I’ve never really known. It doesn’t matter.

I got away with it. That was all I cared about.

It feels good to write that down, I must say. The clear, pure truth of it, no excuses, no explanations.

I had gotten away with murder, and I was glad for it.

Is that enough truth for you, my dear?

-R





AVAILABLE SCHOLARSHIPS

The Duke Edward Callahan Memorial Scholarship was established in 1963 by Mrs. Ruby McTavish Callahan, Duke Callahan’s widow and a generous benefactor to the Preston Boys Academy, her late husband’s alma mater.

The scholarship, totaling $25,000, is presented to a graduating senior who best exemplifies the qualities Mrs. Callahan says were most present in her husband: a love of knowledge, a curiosity about the world, a skilled analytical mind, and, most important of all, kindness to his fellow man.

“While my time with Duke was sadly too short, it brings comfort to know that I can keep him alive with this scholarship to the school that shaped and molded him into the man he became. It is my dearest wish that every recipient of the Duke Edward Callahan Memorial Scholarship will use this opportunity to make the world a better, gentler place.”

––Mrs. Ruby Callahan





CHAPTER SEVEN

Jules

I was right, just so you know.

About drinking coffee on that back veranda and never being capable of unhappiness again.

As I sit in an Adirondack chair on my first morning at Ashby House, hands curled around a steaming mug, the mountain sloping down into treetops in front of me, I feel a kind of contentment I hadn’t known existed.

The quiet wraps itself around me like a cozy quilt, the soft gray of the sky giving way to a hazy blue as the sun begins to burn off the mist, and I want to start every day of my life like this, serenely gazing out at this view, knowing it belongs to me.

I’m not going to lie: last night, I was a little worried. The house was everything I dreamed, and while Libby was a bitch, she wasn’t all that bad. Neither was Ben, honestly, but Cam had seemed distant all evening. We’d eaten maybe the most delicious casserole I’d ever had, something with chicken, cheese, buttery crackers … comforting, homemade food that I couldn’t imagine anyone else in this house eating, let alone cooking. Cam had said it was the work of Cecilia, the housekeeper, and that the dish had been one of his favorites growing up.

It was a thoughtful gesture, and it should’ve made him happy, but he’d barely touched his plate, and we’d ended up going to bed before nine o’clock, like we were grandparents or something.

I’d been surprised by Cam’s room, which felt more like a very pretty guest room at a stuffy bed-and-breakfast than a place where a teenage boy had once slept. It was filled with heavy oak furniture, a big canopy bed dominating the space. But it felt like it had its own center of gravity––like if you moved a piece of art or a throw pillow out of place, the room would right itself, put everything back where it belonged.

Given that we’d gone to bed so early, I had joked about us finding some way to pass the time until we were sleepy, walking my fingers along Cam’s chest just in case he wasn’t getting the message. But once again, he’d kissed me and told me he was beat, and then lay awake next to me for hours.

It bothered me, and the hurt lingered this morning. I woke with the sunrise and went into the massive bathroom to take a shower. But after a few minutes, I heard the shower door open, felt a rush of cool air on my back, and then Cam was there, his hands smoothing down my sides, his lips finding the place where my neck met my shoulder, and we fell back together just like we always do.

So yes, life was good this morning. Comfy chair, gorgeous views, excellent coffee, and two orgasms before 8:00 A.M. What more did a girl need?

From behind me, I hear the door to the veranda open, and I turn, hoping it’s Cam. He’d promised to join me for coffee once he’d finished getting dressed and checking email. Instead, I’m greeted by an older woman, her red hair faded to a sort of apricot color, a pair of glasses hanging around her neck from a sparkly chain.

I wonder if this is Nelle—if so, she looks amazing for seventy-nine—but then she smiles and gives me a little wave. “You must be Jules. I’m Cecilia, the housekeeper.”