Once in a Lifetime

He spun around at the sound of Drake’s voice. “She stays. What else can I do? She has to work, and she has a child. I—”

“That’s a great little girl, too. Don’t sweat it, Telford. We’re in the doldrums; been in ’em for years. I liked sitting at a properly set table. Hell, half the time, Henry serves the food right from the pot so he can wash one less dish.”

“I know, but it’s… Well—”

Drake’s hand clasped his right shoulder. “Don’t let it get to you. You’ll either like it or it won’t amount to a thing. Trust me; I’ve been there.”

He looked at his brother, the person closest to him, and shook his head. For all Drake’s apparent frivolousness, his insight into human feelings and behavior could be startlingly clear, so he didn’t try to mislead him. “Right. It may take me a few days, but I’ll get it together.”

“I may be a little late for breakfast tomorrow morning, Tel,” Henry called from the door. “I don’t suppose that matters, though, since it’s Saturday. But I thought I’d run down to Bridge Market and get some of that good double-smoked bacon. We ain’t got nothing here but country sausage.”

“Isn’t that what we always eat for breakfast?”

“Yeah, but Tara told me she likes pancakes with bacon and maple syrup. We got the syrup, but we ain’t got—”

Telford held up his hands, palms out. “All right, all right. Get the bacon. Anything else she wants. I hope I get my breakfast before I have to leave for Baltimore.”

“Do my best.”

Do his best. “Henry knows breakfast is my favorite meal. I have to change my suppertime, eat in the breakfast room, walk around in the house fully clothed with dust flying around in my face, wait till you get home before I can eat and I’ll probably have to give up sausage and eat bacon with my grits?” He threw up his hands.

“Don’t look at me,” Drake said, his white teeth sparkling against his olive complexion. “And quit complaining. Just think of the fun you’re probably going to have.”

“Man, you’re wasting your thought process. I’m not going that way.”

“If you say so. A first-class woman is in the house.”

Drake raced back upstairs, and his thoughts turned inward. If only he were as sure as he’d sounded.

Chapter 2

Alexis crawled into bed long after midnight, having survived a day in which she’d turned her life around, hurtling from society matron to live-in housekeeper, from college teacher to a woman with limited means of earning a living. At nine o’clock yesterday morning, the judge had banged his gavel and finally closed her custody case for all time, thwarting Jack Stevenson’s last effort to take their child from her. Jack had badgered and threatened her until she relinquished her share of their joint property in exchange for Tara’s custody. A month later, supported by his enormous wealth and high-priced lawyers, he challenged her fitness as a mother, as if to break her spirit by depriving her of her only remaining treasure. All of her savings had gone to lawyers’ fees, but she had her child, and that was all that mattered.

She leaned over the sleeping little girl—conscious that they were sharing a bed for the first time—and closed her eyes in gratitude. Tara was hers, and the future was bright, or would be if… She bolted upright and tremors streaked down her limbs as she recalled Telford Harrington and her reaction to him. She still felt the shock of seeing the man for the first time, of looking into hazel-brown eyes that mesmerized her, of having the stuffing knocked out of her. When she’d finally gotten back in her room, her fingers shook so badly that she could hardly remove her shoes. She didn’t know how she’d do it, but she’d deal with it. She had to; her life and that of her child depended on it. She kissed Tara’s cheek and turned out the light.

She had a home for herself and Tara and she could save a little money. But what if… Perspiration matted her hair. If he discovered her education and social status in mainline Philadelphia, he’d fire her as an imposter. She prayed he wouldn’t investigate her. She hadn’t lied, but no sane man would have hired her as a housekeeper if he knew the life she’d lived.

Alexis didn’t know how long she counted sheep, but she awoke from peaceful oblivion to hear Tara say, “I wanna go eat, Mummy. Mr. Henry’s cooking something for me.”

“In a minute, and say please.”

“Please.”

She dressed Tara and then herself and went downstairs, where Telford and Drake sat at the table in the kitchen. Drake got up immediately and went to the breakfast room to get two chairs.

“I hope you slept well,” Telford said when they greeted each other, warily, like two cats who’d lost their night vision.

“Well as could be expected.”

He stopped chewing and looked directly at her. “What do you mean by that? If you weren’t comfortable, I’ll get you some new mattresses. Today.”

“I was very comfortable, and the room is delightful. But… Telford, I’ve just changed my life. It’s going to take some getting used to.”

She had his full attention then, and her nerves rioted as his piercing gaze focused on her, his beloved sausage and grits momentarily forgotten. “If you have a problem you think I can help you with, let me know. That’s what I’m here for.”

She hadn’t expected that show of compassion, and her eyebrows arched sharply. “I appreciate that, Telford, but if you and I get along well, that’s all the help I think I’ll need. Now where on earth did Tara go?”

He waved his fork in the direction of the kitchen stove. “She’s over there admiring Henry. I hope she can get him to cook something other than hamburgers, steaks and chops. I’ve begun to hate that stuff.” Something suggestive of pain streaked across his face.

“I’ll see what I can do about that. Not to worry.”

He stared at her for a long time before he asked, “You can cook?”

“Wouldn’t you expect a housekeeper to be able to cook? You bet I can.”

“Right on!” Drake said, walking back to the table holding two stacked chairs in one hand and Tara by the other. “Maybe we’ll get some variety in these meals.”

Telford’s face creased into a smile. “If Henry hears you say that, we’ll be eating cabbage stew until he decides he’s had adequate revenge.”

“Tell me about it. You going to Baltimore this morning?” Drake asked Telford. “It wouldn’t hurt you to take a Saturday off once a year.” He took his plate to the stove for more eggs and bacon.

“Can’t. That school’s going to be perfect if I have to lay every stone with my own hands. The Harrington name will stand for the last word in building again, for the very best. People will take notice, if I die trying.”

She didn’t like the harshness of his voice or the rage that she sensed just below his veneer of gentility.

“I’ll drag old man Sparkman and his gang down to their knees, if it’s the last thing I do,” he spat out. “That school building is going to be a symbol of quality, and I’ll bring it in on time and on budget.”

Alexis looked at Telford’s clenched fists and the muscles working in his jaw. Her gaze moved to his eyes and the fierce emotion that robbed them of the warmth that had cast a spell over her the night before. Oh, those eyes held fire, all right, but a different kind of fire, the fire of animosity and a hunger for revenge.

She didn’t know the reason for his hostility, but she knew that it made him hard and vengeful; no person could be happy feeling as he did.

The fingers of her right hand closed over his left wrist. “If you dislike this man so much, he will occupy your thoughts when your mind should be free for other concerns. Whenever you hate anyone, you’re the loser.” His glare didn’t shake her resolve. “What I said is true,” she continued. “Do what you have to do, but don’t think about the man; these feelings you have…they’re…they’re destructive.”

“Look here. You don’t know anything about this, nor what this man has cost my family. You’d do well not to talk out of turn.”

She couldn’t let it go at that. This man hurt, and he would go on hurting until he got the better of his enemy, but she knew that when he did, he’d have a hollow victory.

“I don’t mean to offend you, but you’ll never be at peace this way.”

He pushed his chair back from the table and put his hands on his knees in a move to leave. “I don’t care for namby-pamby. That’s not… Wait a minute, you’re not a pacifist or a…” His eyes widened. “A—”

She finished it for him. “A Quaker, a member of the Society of Friends. I am not namby-pamby, as you put it, and I stand up for my rights. But I do not argue or hold grudges, and I don’t let anger get in the way of my common sense. Yours is ruling you.”

He leaned back in the chair. “Who the… Who’d have thought it? Did you come from a family of Quakers?”

She shook her head. “I was raised a Methodist.”

“Why the change? Is your ex-husband a Quaker?”