Chapter 15 Mona #2
“I prefer my normal room. It won’t be a problem.
Doug will want to make sure I have my preferences.
Who have you given my room to? There’s no one here who will mind swapping with me, so if you’ll just let them know, I’m sure it won’t be a problem.
During dinner, you can move their stuff to the downstairs room and take my luggage up to my room.
You’ll have plenty of time to clean the room before I’ll need it.
I can make do until then.” She leans over and picks up one of the smaller bags.
“I’ll just go to the powder room here to freshen up, and then I’ll find my own way to the library. ”
And that’s it. She takes her small bag and strides off to the bathroom off the main hall.
I stare down at the remaining pile of her luggage, upset and flustered and disoriented.
I have no idea what to do. I shouldn’t have to give up my room because this woman has announced it should be hers. If I ask Douglas, he’ll probably let me keep the room that’s been mine since I’ve arrived, but it would definitely turn into a thing.
A big embarrassing deal.
It’s not worth it. I don’t want to be dragged into a conflict over something as inconsequential as a room. So as much as I hate it, I shrug away the resentment and haul Blakely’s luggage up to my room.
My room.
It takes me almost half an hour to collect my stuff, change the sheets on the bed, and give the attached bathroom a quick wipe down. It doesn’t reach my normal cleanliness standards, but it will have to do.
I carry down all my stuff and set it just inside the big room that was intended for Blakely. Then I hurry to the kitchen to help Colleen and Roy serve dinner.
* * *
Dinner doesn’t improve my mood.
Douglas’s attention is completely dominated by Blakely.
She’s after him. That much is obvious. She’s attached herself to him in the way I’ve seen girls do since high school whenever they decide they want a particular guy and bulldoze over everything and everyone else to claim him.
I try to focus on my duties, making sure everyone’s glass is topped off and plate is full without drawing any notice to myself.
But my eyes keep straying to Douglas’s face.
He’s listening to her with his characteristic, kind sobriety.
He’s really hearing her. Valuing whatever it is she’s going on about. Taking her seriously as a human being.
He does that with everyone, so of course he’ll do the same with Blakely.
And it’s clear to me that the dear, clueless man has absolutely no idea that she’s set her sights on him.
In a different circumstance, I might have found it funny, but there’s nothing amusing to me about this.
He’s already closed the door on anything serious happening between me and him. Blakely is a much more appropriate match for him than I am. And I know from experience that when men are clueless in this regard, they can sometimes be manipulated.
If he’s not more careful, she’s going to maneuver him exactly where she wants him.
And he’ll be even more lost to me.
I’m so upset I’m almost dazed with it as the long dinner finally concludes. My eyes and my throat are aching. My cheeks are hot and probably embarrassingly red. I don’t feel put together in either my appearance or my emotions. I’ve been kicked out of my pretty room.
And Douglas has apparently forgotten that I exist.
“Girl.” I hear the voice but don’t process it. “Girl.”
“Mona.” That’s Douglas’s quiet voice, politely correcting Blakely’s rude method of summoning me.
I turn toward them with a forced, shaky smile. “I’m so sorry. What do you need, Ms. Iverson?”
“My mousse is quite runny. Can you please get me a better serving?”
I glance down at her chocolate mousse, which Colleen spent a lot of time and effort preparing. It was perfect when it was served, but Blakely must have played with it in the bowl so much it deflated.
Swallowing hard, I hold on to my smile. “Of course. I’m happy to get you a fresh serving.” Because I won’t throw Colleen under the bus for any reason, I add, “It’s one of Colleen’s specialties. I’ve never had anything so delicious.”
“It really is amazing,” Greer puts in, having overheard my comment. “Please tell her it’s once again the best thing I’ve ever eaten.”
The chorus of agreement around the table makes me feel a little better.
Douglas, bless his guileless heart, has been studiously comparing the mousse in Blakely’s dish to his own, which he hasn’t yet started on.
“I don’t understand why that happened to it,” he says.
“But I’m sure it tastes just as good. Here, you can have mine, and I’ll have this one.
Mona doesn’t need to make a special trip down for more. ”
“Oh, I don’t mind at all.” I deftly remove Blakely’s bowl of mousse and slip out of the dining room.
I spend a couple of minutes taking deep breaths in the kitchen before I get more mousse.
“You okay, hon?” Colleen asks.
“Yes. I’m fine. It’s been so quiet here this month I’ve forgotten how challenging it can be trying to make so many people happy.”
“Especially if they’re as demanding as that Iverson woman,” Colleen says in a covert whisper. “I can’t believe she stole your room. She’s been after poor Doug for years, and he still doesn’t realize it. Don’t tell anyone, but I was hoping she wouldn’t be invited this year.”
“Wh-why was she invited?” I want to know so much that I risk the question.
“She was a friend of Greer’s all through school. I don’t think they’re close anymore, but she always spent Christmas with us back then, and they just kept up the tradition. I really think if Doug would just come out and tell her he’s not interested, she’d stop bothering.”
“Oh. I see.” I blow out one more breath as I spoon out more mousse. “Okay. I better get back. Everyone was raving about the mousse, by the way. The best thing they ever ate.”
Colleen is preening as I leave the kitchen.
* * *
After dinner, everyone goes back into the library. I know I shouldn’t feel this way, but I really don’t like it.
The library feels like ours. Douglas’s and mine. That’s where we’ve spent the majority of our time together other than his bedroom.
As much as I like most of his family, it bothers me that our private space has been invaded.
I want everyone to leave.
I want it to be like it was before.
But it’s not. And it won’t be again. Because these people will be here all week, and after that the month will be almost over.
That last thought makes everything worse. So now I’m jittery and unsettled and annoyed and about to cry.
I’ve been doing this job for too long to fall apart no matter the state of my emotions. I keep on my professional face as I hide in corners, only emerging when one of the guests needs something.
Blakely is now perched on the arm of Douglas’s chair.
After a while he gets up and leaves the room. Probably going to the bathroom. When he returns, he walks over to where I’m standing near the window seat.
“What’s the matter, my dearest one?” he asks very softly, scanning my face with his sober scrutiny.
The endearment causes a little sob to lodge in my throat. It takes several seconds to clear it. “Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“It’s just a change. With everyone here. I feel… flustered.”
“Ah.” His expression relaxes slightly. “That makes sense. You haven’t seemed like yourself since dinner.”
“Doug! Doug, darling, what are you doing over there?”
Blakely. Of course.
There’s the slightest flicker in his expression. I barely catch it. But it looks almost like impatience.
It disappears as quickly as it appeared, and he murmurs, “I’ve been summoned again. They won’t be here forever.”
No. They won’t.
But neither will I.
* * *
The evening doesn’t improve. In fact, it gets worse.
When she first arrived, Blakely’s behavior toward me was impersonal. She had no idea who I was and didn’t care.
But now she treats me worse. Like maybe she’s picked up on some sort of barely there undercurrent between me and Douglas and she resents me for it.
At one point I overhear her complaining about me to one of the other family friends. Talking about my presumption in claiming the best room for myself.
Later, she quite clearly implies I’m a fortune hunter trying to snare a rich husband like Douglas.
And at another time she gives me a little covert lecture, under the pretense of being nice to me, about how my outfit is inappropriate for this level of society. That’s what she says—this level of society.
Not once are any of these small stabs done in Douglas’s presence. She’s obviously clever enough to realize he’d never allow it.
Not simply toward me but toward anyone.
But the cumulative effect leaves me hurt and battered. And upset not only with her but with Douglas, who still doesn’t realize how hurt I am or how she’s been treating me.
He’s a brilliant man. Why can’t he notice?
He doesn’t. At least he gives no sign that he does. And when Aunt Augusta declares it’s time for bed, I’m finally allowed to clear the rest of the trays and glasses from the room and escape from the torment at last.
* * *
An hour later, I’m crying on the phone with Quince.
It’s almost midnight and I woke her up, but she was fully on board with the conversation as soon as she heard the tears in my voice. I bumbled through as much of the story of today as I could through my sobs, and she asks some questions to clarify details I forgot to mention.
My mood is finally sinking into an achy heaviness as I finish explaining everything that happened. There’s a brief silence as Quince finishes processing it all.
“You should talk to him,” she says at last.
“Wh—?” I choke on the word. “What exactly am I supposed to say?”