The Perfect Bride

Chapter Seven


“Oh, Jillian, I forgot to ask. What did you think of Hawthorne?”

Jillian glanced up from her plate to find Meredith smiling at her from across the dining room table. From the moment Rosie had served the meal, Meredith had been making a valiant attempt to keep a conversation going. No easy feat since she and Jillian were the only ones speaking.

Adam sat at the head of the table to Jillian’s right. Ever since he’d entered the room he’d mostly avoided looking at her. Every once in a while she’d sensed him glance in her direction, the feeling of his gaze now familiar, his focus hard and intense. She’d studiously avoided looking at him, either, the memory of their encounter in the driveway too fresh. And after a moment he’d look away.

“It’s lovely,” she said in answer to Meredith’s question. “Even smaller than I realized but really pretty and charming.”

“I know it’s small and less geared to visitors than a lot of towns in the area,” Meredith said. “But if you want to explore further or think your guests would, there are plenty of other nearby towns and places to see within driving distance I could point you toward.”

“Well, I’m glad I had a chance to explore it, but I’ll probably stick a little closer to Sutton Hall the rest of my time here.”

“Especially since your rental car seems to have broken down,” Adam observed.

It was the first time he’d spoken since they’d sat down for dinner. The sound of his voice sent an unexpected frisson of shock through her. His tone was mild, but the words sounded vaguely insinuating. As though he thought she’d done something to disable the car.

She forced the sweetest smile she could manage. “Fortunately they already brought a replacement.”

“So you could leave anytime you like,” he said slowly.

“If I wanted to. I just don’t think I’ll see the need.”

“And you never know when something else might happen to the new car.”

“Why would it?” she challenged him.

His lips curved slowly, the smile looking more like a smirk. “I can’t imagine.”

“What did the rental company say when they picked up the car?” Meredith interjected, shooting her brother a look.

“They couldn’t immediately tell what was wrong with it, but they’re going to check it out.”

“Good. Well, I’m glad they were able to take care of it so quickly. And that Adam came along when he did so you weren’t stranded out there,” Meredith added after a beat.

Jillian figured she was better off not commenting on that. Adam didn’t, either, lowering his gaze to his plate.

Trying to put him out of her mind for the moment, Jillian turned her attention to the fourth person at the table. Grace sat to Meredith’s right, giving Jillian a prime view of the woman. Jillian had been mildly curious about the fact that the housekeeper had eaten dinner with them the night before, when none of the rest of the staff had. Rosie had served the meal, with Ed helping her, as they did tonight. Ray and Zack were nowhere to be found, presumably handling their own dinner arrangements. That just left Grace.

Last night she’d chimed in to the discussion, describing some of the features of the house as they talked about the wedding plans. Tonight, though, she seemed to have little to say. Of course, given the tension hanging over the meal, she might just think it was better to keep her mouth shut.

The woman certainly didn’t act like a housekeeper. Sitting stiffly in her chair, her head held high, she had the regal bearing of a queen. Jillian almost thought she looked as though she belonged at the head of the table.

Given a few of the looks Jillian caught her slipping Adam, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Grace thought so, too.

“So, Grace,” Jillian said as casually as possible. “I think Meredith said you’ve been here for almost thirty years?”

The housekeeper nodded, meeting Jillian’s eyes with a small, polite smile. “Yes, that’s right.”

“So you must have known Kathleen Sutton.”

“Mrs. Sutton is the one who hired me. I came here when she did.”

“Oh, really?” Jillian said as if she didn’t know. “Where are you from originally?”

For the first time, Grace hesitated, the pause long enough to be noticeable. “Philadelphia,” she said.

Jillian wondered about her reluctance. Was it that she simply didn’t want to share anything personal, or was there something particular about that piece of information? “Is that where Mrs. Sutton was from, too?”

“Yes.” Grace quickly turned her attention back to her plate.

“I’d love to hear more about her and Jacob. His love for her is so inspiring. It would be great to find out more about them as a couple.”

Jillian almost wondered if she imagined the way Grace seemed to tense, the reaction so slight it was nearly imperceptible. “They loved each other very much. They were very happy here.”

“What was she like?”

Grace appeared to consider the question. “She was very kind,” she finally said, her voice softening in a way Jillian had never heard before. “Quite beautiful as you could see from the portrait in the main hall. Generous. Well liked. Well loved. And, I suppose...irreplaceable, really.”

It was a strange choice of words, especially toward someone who’d been her employer. Irreplaceable. It almost seemed to indicate attempts had been made to replace her and come up short.

Studying the woman’s downcast eyes, it occurred to Jillian that, as the head of the household, Grace herself had essentially been Kathleen Sutton’s replacement. In every way but one.

And that was when Jillian knew.

Grace had loved Jacob Sutton.

Her choice of that word and the way she said it told Jillian everything she needed to know. It made sense. Grace had stayed here for thirty years in this isolated location, taking care of him, never leaving to have a family or life of her own away from here, away from him. Loyalty to her employer could only explain so much.

Jillian remembered the way Grace had been staring at the portrait of Jacob Sutton yesterday. Was that the reason for the look on her face, because she’d been in love with him? If it was true, it would seem her affections hadn’t been returned, especially if Jacob had spent his final years sitting on that balcony, thinking about his late wife.

A Sutton man loves forever.

Maybe a romantic sentiment to some. But not for someone in love with a Sutton man who would forever love someone else.

“What about you?” Jillian asked. “Do you have any family?”

“No,” Grace said flatly.

“Thirty years is a long time. You never wanted to live anywhere else? Try a different job?” Love someone else, especially since Jacob Sutton was gone?

Grace lifted her head. Her face never shifted, the slight, enigmatic smile still on her lips, her expression as cool and composed as ever. No one else in the room would have seen the change. Only Jillian, who was staring directly into Grace’s eyes, could have seen the hardness that entered her stare as Grace looked back at her with a sudden coldness that chilled her to the bone. “This is my home.”

“And we’re glad to have her,” Meredith said finally into the silence that followed.

“Of course you are,” Jillian said. “I’m sorry,” she told Grace. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

The woman smiled thinly, meeting Jillian’s eyes with a look that said she knew perfectly well that was exactly what Jillian had been doing.

The door to the kitchen suddenly swung open, and Rosie emerged, carrying a tray with four bowls on it. Ed followed close behind her. “Who’s ready for dessert?”

“I’m not sure any of us have room after that meal,” Meredith said with a smile. “Rosie, you outdid yourself.”

Rosie practically glowed at the praise. “Well, no meal is truly finished without dessert, so you’d better have room. I made a nice rice pudding.”

The husband-and-wife team began moving around the table, Ed taking the used plates and utensils and placing them on the tray he carried, Rosie following closely behind and setting a bowl and clean spoon in front of each of them.

“I do apologize, though,” Rosie said. “I was going to bake a cake, but Ed didn’t come back from town with the sugar I asked for.”

“I’m afraid I forgot,” Ed said lightly, a hint of sheepishness in his voice as he took Jillian’s plate.

“Even though I gave you a list so you wouldn’t,” Rosie returned.

“It’s fine,” Jillian said quickly. “It’s been a long time since I had pudding. It’s a nice change of pace.”

“Sad to say, it’s from a mix,” Rosie said with a sniff of disdain. “But sometimes we just have to make do with what we have.”

“It’s not a problem,” Meredith said. “I’m sure this is great, and Jillian will be eating plenty of cake soon enough. Right, Jillian?”

“Right,” Jillian said, forcing a chuckle.

Rosie placed a bowl and a fresh spoon in front of her. Jillian automatically picked up the spoon. As she raised it to the bowl, she glanced up and across the table.

Grace was watching her, her gaze intense and unwavering. Jillian nearly shivered.

As soon as Jillian’s eyes met hers, Grace smiled thinly again before lowering her gaze to her bowl.

Jillian continued to stare at the woman for a moment, considering what lay behind that placid exterior and cold stare.

This is my home, Jillian heard in the back of her mind.

And she suddenly wondered exactly what Grace would do if there was someone in her home she didn’t want here.

* * *

BY THE TIME Jillian made it back to her room a few hours after dinner, she was ready to turn in early. Even if she hadn’t gotten little sleep the night before, the endless day had left her exhausted. Barely able to keep her eyes open as she prepared for bed, she locked the door of the suite, blocking out the rest of Sutton Hall and its inhabitants, and eagerly climbed beneath the covers. Her head had barely hit the pillow before she was asleep.

She couldn’t escape Sutton Hall even in her dreams. It rose up in her mind, even more beautiful and unsettling, lush and grim, than it was in real life.

She dreamed she was wandering its halls, the corridors long and unending, thick with shadows. They seemed to go on forever, and no matter where she turned she couldn’t escape them. Emma’s words seemed to fill the air, echoing all around her.

Be careful....

Watch out for yourself....

Just in case...

She dreamed of Courtney, dressed in her wedding gown, begging her for help. She floated backward down the shadowy halls, as though being dragged away by unseen hands. All the while, she reached out to Jillian, her arms outstretched, her face contorted in terror, her mouth open in a silent scream. Jillian tried to go to her, but Courtney drifted down the halls away from her, always out of reach, her eyes bright with fear—and what seemed to Jillian was a hint of betrayal. Until finally she disappeared entirely, leaving Jillian chasing after nothing.

She dreamed of Meredith and Grace, of Rosie and Ed, of Ray and Zack. As she wandered down the dark, endless hallways, she passed them, again and again. They were always watching her silently, their expressions intense and unreadable, their eyes following her wherever she went. She tried to run, to escape them, through the never-ending maze of halls. But no matter where she turned, they were there, their faces growing darker, more sinister with every glimpse. She ran faster, harder, desperate to get away from them, until she ran straight into—

Adam Sutton, the lights from the house shining down on one side of his face, leaving the other shrouded in darkness.

He didn’t touch her, didn’t say anything. He simply stood there, looking down at her.

She stared up into that compelling face, the expression on it as cool and remote as ever, searching those impenetrable eyes for any hint of what he was thinking. The longer she looked, the less it seemed that she saw. Instead it felt as if she was losing herself, falling hopelessly into his mysterious gaze. Her heart pounding, her lungs tightening, she tried to look away, only to find she couldn’t. She could only stare into those bottomless eyes that revealed nothing. They seemed to consume her, pulling the very life out of her, the feeling overpowering. It was almost as though she was choking, suffocating, completely unable to breathe. And all the while he simply stood there, watching her, as her terror climbed higher and higher.

Her preservation instinct kicked in, and she realized this was only a dream. She could wake up. She needed to—

Wake up!

The image of him vanished. She stared into blackness, unable to see anything. But still she couldn’t breathe. The feeling was worse than ever, the darkness absolute, her lungs clutching, screaming for air—

Wake up!

And then somewhere in the panicked recesses of her mind it hit her. She was awake. Her eyes were wide open. She just couldn’t see anything. She could feel the mattress beneath her, the sheets around her, far more sharply than she had in the dream.

This wasn’t a dream. It was real. She was choking, suffocating. Something was on her face, pressing down, cutting off the air.

The pillow. The pillow was over her face.

She threw out her hands, clawing at whatever was forcing the pillow down. Her fingers made contact, gripping whatever they encountered.

Wrists. Arms. They began to thrash, resist, as hard as she was. The pressure on her face increased.

A person. It was a person. Someone was holding the pillow down, trying to suffocate her, trying to kill her.

She fought harder, even as she felt her body weakening from the lack of air, her lungs seizing, her limbs tensing—

She lashed out with her arms and legs, her hands beating against the ones holding the pillow, her feet flailing to make contact with any part of the attacker. She threw her full weight from side to side, twisting her neck, trying to break away from the pillow just enough for one precious breath of air.

And then it happened.

An instant later, the pillow disappeared. Cool, fresh air wafted over her face.

She sucked in a breath with a loud, ragged gasp that filled her ears. Her lungs were so tight she could barely get any of that precious air into them. Jerking upright, she breathed in again, and again. Even as she did it, she peered into the darkness, willing her vision to clear, so she could see who—

The light. She needed the light.

Lunging for the bedside table, she fumbled for the lamp, her fingertips searching the darkness as desperately as her eyes did. Finally, thankfully, her fingers made contact with the knob. She gave it a furious twist, automatically jerking her head from side to side as a pale pool of light flared to life, revealing the room, and—

She froze, her heart in her throat, shock rocketing through her.

There was no one there.

She gaped in disbelief, jerking her head to take in the room, seeking out every inch of the space. The result was the same.

The room was empty, as peaceful and undisturbed as it had been when she’d gone to bed, the door firmly closed.

She was alone.

No. She almost shook her head in denial. It wasn’t possible. Whoever it was had to be hiding, maybe waiting for her to lower her guard so they could burst out and attack again.

The thought instantly spurred her into motion. She shoved the covers aside and jumped to her feet. Scanning the space for the nearest possible weapon, she spotted a fireplace poker on a stand next to the hearth. She raced for it, fully expecting to be intercepted at any moment. When she finally had it in hand, she gripped it in front of her with both fists and considered the room, looking for anyplace someone could be hiding.

Her gaze fell on the bathroom door.

The bathroom.

The door was slightly ajar. Had she left it like that? She didn’t remember. The attacker could be in there, might not have been able to shut the door.

She wasted no time second-guessing herself. Crossing to the door in two strides, she raised the poker in her arms, drew back her leg and kicked the door in.

It flew inward with a bang, crashing against the inside wall. She waited for a cry of surprise, of someone lurching out of the way, for any hint someone was in there.

Nothing.

Inching forward, she reached in carefully with one hand and flipped on the light.

The room was empty.

The discovery only stoked the agitation burning in her gut, her chest tightening until it felt as though she was running out of air again. It wasn’t possible. The intruder had to be here somewhere. Unless they’d somehow managed to get out the door...

Turning on her heel, she marched over to the entrance to the suite.

The door was still locked.

She really was alone.

But she hadn’t been. It didn’t matter that she didn’t see anyone now. She knew it, certainty pounding through her veins as hard as the adrenaline still filling her body.

Someone had been in the room with her, attacked her in her sleep and escaped before she could turn on the light. She didn’t know how, but somehow they’d managed to do it, vanishing into thin air.

Almost, she thought as a whisper of unease crawled along her skin, like a ghost.

Except it hadn’t been a ghost, she told herself firmly. Whoever it was had been very real.

She looked around the vast suite, the room no longer seeming remotely safe. She had a momentary impulse to leave, but that didn’t exactly seem like a better choice. If the intruder was no longer inside, he—or she—was somewhere out there now.

She considered her options. There seemed to be only one.

Climbing back into bed, Jillian pushed the pillows up against the headboard and propped herself up against them. There wasn’t much chance she was going to get any more sleep tonight, not with the uncertainty of what had just happened clouding her brain, not with the remembered terror of those moments still thrumming through her.

Laying the fireplace poker across her lap, she sat there, eyes still searching the room for the intruder she knew had been there, and waited desperately for morning to come.