Once Upon A Kiss...: The Cinderella Act / Princess in the Making / Temporarily His Princess

“Vicki’s an old and dear friend of the family. I’m surprised you haven’t met her before, Annie.”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of a visit to the Drummond manse,” said Vicki, hoisting her snakeskin clutch higher under her arm. “Funny how the years have slipped past. I’m thrilled to be here with you all.”

Annie caught what might have been the barest possible hint of sarcasm in her voice, and her back immediately stiffened. Was Vicki here to take advantage of their hospitality, then make fun of them? She certainly didn’t look like Sinclair’s usual friends, with their carefully coiffed blond hair and cashmere twinsets.

“And we’re thrilled to have you here, darling.” Mrs. Drummond walked up to Vicki, placed a hand on either side of her head, and gave her an effusive kiss on the cheek. Vicki’s eyes closed for a second, and her forehead wrinkled with a pained expression. Annie stood staring. She’d never seen such a display of emotion from Mrs. Drummond. “It’ll be like old times.”

“God, I hope not.” Vicki shook herself. “I do hate traveling backwards. But it is good to be among old friends.” She looked ahead down the hall. “Which is the blue one? I’m dying for a shower.”

Annie jolted from her semifrozen state. “Sorry, it’s this way. I’ll bring fresh towels. Do you need some shampoo and conditioner?”

“I’ve got everything I need except the running water.” Vicki’s gaze lingered on Annie a teeny bit longer than was conventional. Annie’s stomach clenched. She got a very odd—and not good—feeling about Vicki. Who was she, and why was she here?

For dinner, Annie prepared one of Katherine Drummond’s favorite meals, seared salmon with blackberry sauce, accompanied by tiny new potatoes and crisp green beans from the local farmers market.

“How lovely! Obviously Sinclair remembered to tell you we were coming. I’m never sure if he will.” Katherine shot a doting glance at her son.

Annie smiled, and avoided looking at Sinclair as she served them. Experience had taught her to be prepared for almost anything. And she did get real satisfaction from doing her job well. The room glowed with fresh beeswax candles handmade by a local artisan, and the windows sparkled, letting in the warm apricot light from the evening sun. If anything about the house was the least bit unwelcoming or unpleasant, it wasn’t from lack of effort on her part.

She leaned over Sinclair to top up his white wine. His dark hair touched his collar, in need of a haircut. Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered its silky thickness under her fingers.

An odd sensation made her look up, and meet Vicki’s curious violet gaze. She turned away quickly and topped off Katherine’s glass, then Vicki’s. Had Vicki noticed her looking at Sinclair?

“It doesn’t seem entirely fair for Annie to be running around topping things off when she made this lovely meal.” Vicki’s silvery voice rang in the air. Annie winced.

“She’s right, of course,” chimed in Katherine. “Annie, dear. Do bring a plate and join us. We’re just family tonight, after all.” She reached across the table and took Vicki’s hand.

Vicki’s eyebrows lifted slightly, but she held Katherine’s hand and smiled. “You’re so sweet.”

Annie hesitated, humiliation and mangled pride churning inside her. She’d been enjoying this meal as the server, but sitting down at the table with them opened all kinds of uncomfortable doors. How would she know when to get up and bring the next course? Should she join them for a glass of wine, or stick to water so as not to burn the chocolate soufflés? “I already ate, thank you.” The lie burned her tongue.

“Do join us anyway, won’t you?” Katherine indicated the empty chair next to Sinclair. “I’m dying to hear how your investigations in the attic are going.”

Annie pulled out the chair, which scraped loudly on the floor, and eased herself into it, as far away from Sinclair as possible. He hadn’t looked up from his salmon. Had he even glanced at her once all evening?

Better that he didn’t. She couldn’t bear the thought of him looking at her with disgust and disbelief at his lapse of judgment. “I’ve gone through quite a few of the old boxes and trunks. I’ve made an inventory. Shall I get it?” She itched to get up. At least her notes would give her something to do with her fingers.

“No need for that right now. I’m guessing you haven’t found the cup piece yet.”

Annie shook her head. “I’m looking at every item I pick up to see if it could possibly be part of a cup, but so far nothing even comes close. I don’t suppose there’s a description of it?”

Kathleen sipped her wine. “Only that it’s silver. It isn’t jewel-encrusted. In fact we suspect it’s not silver at all but pewter or some base metal. Odd, really, that something so precious to them would be so valueless.”

Vicki leaned back in her chair. “It demonstrates an awareness of human nature. If it had real value, someone might have melted it down or pried the gems off to make earrings. By making it valueless to anyone but the family, they ensured its survival. Was it contemporary to when the brothers sailed from Scotland?”

“We don’t know.” Katherine took a bite of her green beans. She ate very slowly and cautiously, as if she wasn’t sure whether the food was poisonous or not. Probably an effect of her illness, but it didn’t help Annie’s already frayed nerves. “The cup could be much older than three hundred years if it was passed down through the Drummond family before they came to America. No one knows where the legend about it first came from. When I first married Steven, Sinclair’s father …” she looked at Annie “… his mother was still alive and loved to tell stories of the family history. She often wondered aloud whether it was time for us to put some serious effort into finding the cup.” She raised a brow. “Her own marriage wasn’t a happy one, and all of her sons—including my own husband—were rather wild.”

She looked thoughtfully at Sinclair for a moment. He appeared to be engrossed in cutting a potato. “Since then I’ve often wondered if finding the cup would somehow shift the course of fate and make life easier for all members of the family.” She leaned conspiratorially toward Vicki. “The legend says it will restore the fates and fortunes of the Drummond menfolk, and I think as women we all know that makes life easier for us, too.”

Annie felt a nasty jolt of realization. Katherine Drummond had brought Vicki here in the hope that she really would become a member of the family—as Sinclair’s next wife.

A cold stone settled in her empty stomach.

“There are all kinds of interesting things up in the attic,” she said quickly, anxious to pull herself out of a self-involved funk. “So far I’ve found everything from an old hunting horn to a huge pearl brooch. That’s what made me decide to make a list. It would be a shame for so many special things to stay buried.”

“Sometimes keeping things buried keeps them safe,” replied Katherine with a slightly raised brow. “Especially in the age of eBay. Though I imagine Vicki might disagree.”

Vicki laughed. “I believe in matching objects with their ideal owner.”

“Vicki’s an antique dealer,” explained Katherine.

“Though some people have other words for it.” Vicki lifted a slim, dark brow. “After all, value is in the eye of the beholder.”

“I thought that was beauty.” Sinclair said what were possibly his first words of the whole dinner. A hush fell over the table.

“Aren’t they really the same thing?” Vicki picked up her wineglass and sipped, gaze fixed on Sinclair.

Annie swallowed. Vicki oozed confidence, both intellectual and sexual. Of course Sinclair would be interested in her. She, on the other hand … “Let me clear the dishes.” She rose and removed two of the serving platters.

“Value and beauty often have no relationship at all.” She heard Sinclair’s voice behind her as she exited for the kitchen. “Some of my most profitable investments have been in things that no one wants to look at: uranium, bauxite, natural gas.”

“So you most value things that are plain and dull.” Annie cringed as if Vicki’s comment was directed at his interest in her. Not that he had any obvious interest in her. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t looked at her at all since their perfunctory greeting.

“I most value things that are useful.”

“What are we going to do with this son of yours?”

Annie scooped leftover potatoes into a plastic container to save for her own dinner.

“Well, Lord knows I’ve tried to loosen him up over the years, to no avail.” His mother’s voice carried from the dining room. “I think this legendary cup may be our only chance.” The women’s laughter hurt her ears. She was so clearly not a part of this tight-knit group.

And she’d better go retrieve the rest of the plates. She entered the dining room quietly. Conversation had shifted to some upcoming party. For a split second she felt like Cinderella, destined to help everyone get ready for the ball, knowing she’d never get to go.

She picked up the untouched plate of bread rolls, and couldn’t resist sneaking the briefest glance at Sinclair as she lifted it off the table. When she looked up, their eyes met.

His cool, dark gaze sent a chill through her, at war with the swift, hot wave of attraction. Then he looked away. “I’m going sailing tomorrow.” He spoke in his mother’s direction. “I’ll be gone all day.”

“All the more time for Vicki and myself to make ourselves at home in the attic.”

Annie’s hands trembled, clattering the two plates she carried. Was she being ousted from the task of looking for the cup? She realized with a pang of disappointment that she’d come to feel quite proprietary about the attic and its trove of discarded treasures.

Which was silly. None of them were hers and they never would be. That blue dress hung in the closet a few yards away from where she stood, in the spare bedroom. For a few brief moments it had felt like hers, like she was meant to wear it. In retrospect it had been wearing her, and had turned her—briefly—into another person. Maybe it was better that she stay away from all this odd old stuff with mysterious powers.

She carried the plates into the kitchen, scraped them and put them in the dishwasher. Her ears were pricked for the sound of Sinclair’s voice, but all she heard was the chatter of the two women.

He doesn’t care about you. It was a momentary lapse of judgment. An act of madness.

“Annie.” His voice right behind her made her jump. She wheeled around and saw him standing, larger than life, in the kitchen. “We need to talk.”