Page 99 of Reckless Kiss

The click of their heels on the marble floor sounded throughout the foyer. Bailey stood at the door to the study, ready to announce them. No one entered her grandfather’s study unannounced. She did it once as a child and got the hiding of her life.

“Good evening Bailey,” Cynthia’s mother said. “How’s your son?”

“He’s running us ragged, Mrs Turner. Having a toddler around the house is keeping us on our toes.”

“Don’t forget to bring him over to the house, get him used to Turner Hall, so when he takes over from you, it will be second nature,” her mother said, patting his arm.

It had been a long tradition that the generations in the servant’s families took over when the older generation retired. Many Baileys served the Turner family, and Cynthia’s mother encouraged the next generation to get familiar with the estate as early as possible.

“I will, ma’am,” Bailey answered with a nod.

He pushed open the door and led the way for Cynthia and her mother to enter her grandfather’s sanctuary.

Edward Turner, her stout, red-faced grandfather, stood with his arm over the mantlepiece, a cigar butt between his forefinger and his middle finger. His other arm bent at the elbow, holding a tumbler with no doubt brandy. Archibald Turner, her father, stood on the other side of the fireplace, one hand in his pocket and the other hand holding a tumbler with a giant ice cube and brown liquid. Cynthia knew it was whisky, his favourite tipple. Their guest, a man nearer her father’s age, stood to her father’s right, away from her grandfather, rocking back on his heels. He had an unlit cigar in his mouth, with his hand cupped around the end while keeping a match with his other hand. As soon as Cynthia entered the room, she glanced at the three men and then at Freddie without a cigar or drink.

Cynthia looked at Freddie lounging on the leather settee like he was getting used to the study one day being his, but she knew different. Freddie never wanted to call this room his.

“Ah, there are my two favourite girls,” Cynthia’s Father said, striding over in his navy velvet smoking jacket and black dress trousers. His shiny shoes glinted in the light of the fire.

When her father approached her mother to kiss her cheek, Cynthia noticed the older man she didn’t recognise nodding to her and talking to her grandfather. Cynthia’s grandfather still held a striking pose at ninety-two with his cane and straight back. He favoured the fireplace for warmth even in late August heat.

Her attention was immediately focused when her father stepped in front of her, taking up all her peripheral vision.

“Cynthia, you look lovely this evening,” her father said, kissing her cheek. “Come and meet Sullivan.”

Ingrained manners kicked in, and Cynthia moved across the carpet. She could feel her brother’s eyes on her as she stretched out her hand to shake Sullivan’s sweaty palm.

“Nice to meet you, Sullivan. Have you known my father long?” Cynthia didn’t know if Sullivan was his first name or his surname. Not that it mattered. He would be another of a long line of businessmen that would sit at their dinner table, never to be seen again.

“Oh, we go way back,” Sullivan said with a hearty laugh.

The glint in his eyes gave her pause. Sullivan was taking too much interest in her features, her body. He gave the vibe that she never wanted to be alone with him. Sullivan towered above her as he turned up his predatory gaze. He was old enough to be her father. So why was he looking at her like he would consume her? Cynthia considered faking a headache to get out of dinner, but that would only anger her parents and grandfather. Tonight, she needed them onside.

Pasting on a smile, she engaged with Sullivan, ever the dutiful daughter. Once he was gone, then she would tell her family of her plans with Jonathan Cranford.

The evening went quickly, with much laughter and banter between her father and Sullivan. Her brother was sitting opposite Cynthia at the dining table and didn’t crack a smile all evening. At one point, she gave him a look and asked what was wrong with him. He shook his head and drank his water.

When Sullivan joined her father and grandfather for cigars in the study, Freddie excused himself and disappeared from the dining room before Cynthia could quiz him. Her mother sighed contentedly and draped her cloth napkin on the table.

“Well, that went well,” her mother said.

“What went well? I didn’t have time to share my news.”

“We can’t talk about family business in front of guests. We needed to give a good impression to Sullivan. I’ll be talking to Freddie in the morning. I don’t know what put a sour expression on his face.”

“He’s seventeen. What do you expect?”

“He will be eighteen next month. Your father has high expectations of Freddie. Tonight’s behaviour will not be tolerated twice. At least you behaved yourself.”

Cynthia always behaved herself and did everything that was asked of her. So why would her mother think she would act up?

“I’m going to head up to my room,” Cynthia said.

“Good. It would be best if you had a good night’s sleep. We can talk about your future in the morning.”

“Goodnight, mother,” Cynthia said, kissing her mother’s cheek.

Cynthia hurried from the dining room and moved across the foyer’s marble floor. She could hear the deep rumble of laughter coming from the study. It made her want to cry, and she didn’t know why. Without Jonathan at her side, she felt lost and alone. Cynthia slipped off her shoes and ran up the main staircase two at a time as fast as her lungs would let her. Tears threatened to spill over her cheeks, but she swallowed them until she was inside her room.

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