Dirty Beautiful Rich Part Three (2 page)

“Julie,” Damian said gently. “Make no mistake, you’re mother is here too.”

She nearly gaped at Damian. The hard, no nonsense businessman, who wore power with the ease that most men wore their coats. “Do you truly believe that?”

“I do.”

And as if to confirm his opinion, she could almost here her mom laughing and teasing,
Oh, Julie what a gorgeous young man you’ve found.

She grinned.
Yes, mom I have
. Only he wasn’t hers. She had to remember that or she was setting herself up for some serious heartbreak.

They suddenly made a turn to the right down a narrow road with stacked stone walls on each side. The road was so narrow, the running boards of the Range Rover barely cleared the stones. A gatehouse that resembled a mini castle all of its’ own loomed in the distance.

“Does anyone live there?” she asked.

“Yes. The game keeper, actually.”

A gamekeeper? They had a permanent gamekeeper? Like in her historical romance novels?

Apparently, she looked shocked.

“We have hundreds of wild deer,” he explained. “And then there’s the fish that run our streams. The birds are tended well and then there are those lovely beasties.”

He pointed into the distance.

Over the stone dotted field, she spotted them. Horses. So many horses. It was a herd of absolutely, jaw droppingly beautiful white horses.

“We’ve entered the Connemara region and my family has let the ponies roam wild on our estate since time out of mind.”

She couldn’t believe it. The ponies ran and head butted at each other, engaging in play.

In all her life she’d never seen anything like those many horses grouped together. Their beautiful white mane flickered in the wind coming in off the Atlantic. “Do you ride any of them?”

“Not really, no.” He said, slowing so she could look her fill. “We let them be free. It’s their nature, and I’d hate to break that. A few of the ponies like humans, those will occasionally be taken in for riding, The vast majority keep to themselves, wandering over the fields and mountains.”

Even now, with the approach of the Range Rover, the herd began to charge off, down towards the coast.

Freedom. What a wonderful thing. And how wonderful that the Fitzgeralds had never tried to take the wild horses out of their natural habitat or make them something they were not.

As they raced down the road, the stone walls gave way to towering ancient oaks. The trees branches spun overhead like gnarled old witch fingers. It was magnificent.

“Brace yourself,” he said.

She twisted her hands in her lap, determined not to let her nerves show any more than they had.

They came up over a rounded curve and there it was.

A sprawling castle stood surrounded by ancient trees. This was no gothic castle. Oh no. It stood magnificent, barbaric, massive. A few things had been groomed here and there, upkeep over hundreds of years and modifications had been made, but for the most part it was an ancient stone edifice with windows that peered down at her like watchful eyes waiting for invaders.

She couldn’t wait to go up and investigate the castle walk. She bet she’d be able to see for miles and miles.

Damian pulled the Range Rover to a halt on the gravel in the circle stone drive before the intimidating entrance.

Wide stone steps led up to the hugely impressive double oak door.

Julie opened the car door and stepped out. The gravel crunched beneath her feet. The air was shockingly damp. She shivered. And then she wanted to laugh. The fabulous mist settling on her eyelashes and jacket was something she had only ever imagined and the castle seemed to be wrapped up in an embrace of slight cloud and dark, ancient trees.

“Are you ready?” Damian asked.

Good grief. Were they storming the castle?

It was odd because he suddenly had a strange look on his face, as if he was considering piling her back in the Range Rover and shipping her back to Denver.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “Are
you
alright?”

“Definitely.”

And then the door opened at the top of the stairs and a flurry of dogs, barking, and wild movement rushed towards her.

Julie resisted to take a step back as the pack of animals raced down and descended on her. The massive gray Irish wolf hands looked like they might be able to compete with the Connemara ponies for size but they were wagging their tails as they circled her.

One immediately attempted to stick his nose into her crotch but before he could, a strong yet slightly scratchy woman’s voice called, “Diaramuid, down!”

Diaramuid, the dog, immediately backed off and plopped his huge backside on the gravel. The other dogs followed suit and Julie was surrounded by a horde of sitting gray wolf hounds, who all now staring in absolute adoration at the old woman at the top of the stairs.

Julie felt her stomach drop. This wasn’t the sweet, tough old Irish grandmother she’d been raised with. Oh, her grandmother had been a terror, tiny, and completely dominant. But she’d also handed out cookies and wise words.

This woman stood in her tweet skirt, cream colored sweater and worn, but clearly expensive leather boots, with an authority that reminded Julie of a queen. All she needed were the pearls. It was impossible to imagine the woman doing anything so grandmotherly as baking cookies.

“Hello, grandmother,” Damian called.

This was his grandmother? The grandmother he wanted to spare from merciless and boring bits of history? Jeez. The woman at the top of the stairs looked formidable enough to have fought bare breasted against barbarian hordes. Julie was fairly sure the older woman didn’t need protecting from anything.

“Damian, darling, who is your friend?”

Damian took the steps and kissed her wrinkled cheek then looked down at Julie. “This is Julie Doyle. She’s here to write a family history. Julie, this is my grandmother Lady Clare.”

And there it was. The eyebrow arch. Suddenly, Julie knew exactly where Damian had gotten his inherit confidence. Maybe she should have jumped back into the Range Rover, because the old woman was eyeing her scuffed boots, clothes bought from H&M, and faux leather bag as if Damian had possibly brought back something for the dogs to play with. Then, his grandmother looked him in the eye for a long moment. Her face softened and she turned to Julie and descended down the stairs, still with the carriage of a monarch.

“Welcome my dear.” She stretched out her slightly gnarled but strong hand. “Any friend of Damian’s is a friend of mine.”

Julie clasped the older woman’s warm fingers and to her absolute shock, she realized from the firm handshake that Lady Clare meant exactly what she said.  “Thank you.”

“You look like a girl who gets on with dogs?”

Julie almost laughed but she realized it was very real question. “I do. I grew up with collies.”

“Indeed?” Lady Clare gave an appreciative nod. “Marvelous breed. Did your your family farm?”

“Farm?” Julie echoed.

“Grandmother assumes your collies were working dogs,” Damian said, that grin pulling at his lips again.

A grin. It was such a different look for him. Ireland was different for him, and she loved it, loved it too much.

Julie shook her head, trying to imagine her mom and dad as farmers. “No. But we took the dogs for runs everyday in the park by the house.”

Lady Clare looked at her as if such a thing was positively bonkers. “Well, at least they were exercised.”

“Oh definitely.” If they hadn’t taken the dogs out it would have been mayhem. Even a backyard wasn’t enough for collies. “My mom adored dogs too.”

“Good.” Lady Clare approved. “Women who know where the most loyal friends are. Dogs will never  disappoint. Would you like to walk with myself and the pack?

The Pack
? She realized Lady Clare meant the five. . . No, six wolfhounds now happily laying about, panting.

Damian gave a tiny shake of his head, but Julie couldn’t turn the offer down. Besides, the chance to get to know anyone in Damian’s family was too much to resist. “That would be great.”

Lady Clare stared again as if Julie was speaking a hacked up version of her language but then she smiled at last. “Five am tomorrow.”

Patting Damian’s scruffy cheek, Lady Clare said, “Any woman who likes dogs and walks is a good one.”

Damian’s lips twitched. “Yes, Grandmother.”

Julie couldn’t believe it. Someone patted Damian’s cheek. It was almost unbelievable. It made him so human.

“Good lad. Now,” Lady Clare smoothed a hand over her steely silver hair. “Take her in and get her a drink. She’ll need it before she meets your mother.”

With that, Lady Clare headed down the gravel drive, her dogs happily trotting behind.

“Five in the morning?” Julie said, just to be clear.

“I tried to warn you,” Damian said, turning the huge brass door handle and pushing the door open. “Welcome to Castle Clare.”

She stepped over the threshold and felt her jaw drop. She loved Downton Abbey. This put the entry hall to shame. The ceiling towered overhead, decorated with more colors than she ever would have thought. It was Tudor style, if she had to guess. And, clearly the castle had been done over in the Gothic style but some ancestor. There were flying buttresses everywhere.

The floor was polished dark wood, covered in an oriental rug that looked like it might cover a football field. In fact, it was everything someone might image a fabulously rich castle to be. There were no damp stone walls or terrifying dark corners, despite the Gothic touches. No. Everything was covered in rich tapestries, stuccoed stone, dark wood, and lights. Lights everywhere.

She was tempted to ask if someone had seasonal affective disorder but she held her tongue.

“Should we get my suitcase?” she asked.

“A maid will take it to your room. Would you care for a drink?” he asked as he headed off down a wide hallway;

A maid
? Of course there was a maid. There were probably several. What had she thought,  that Lady Clare and Damian’s mother went around with pine sol and wax polishing the floors? “A drink would be great.”

She followed him into another room, the ceiling just as high. But this one was filled with lovely stuffed couches and tables. A fireplace framed by carved marble dominated the room. In fact, it looked like she could lay down or stand in the fireplace. . . if it hadn’t been full of flaming logs at present.

The fire gave the room a delicious heat and she realized she hadn’t known how cold she was, even in the entry hall.

Damian went to the drinks tray and without question poured out a gin and tonic, adding just two cubes of ice.

She clasped the Waterford crystal tumbler. “Thank you.”

He let his fingers caress hers. “Don’t let all this intimidate you. We’re really very ordinary.”

She snorted then to cover her smooth move, she took a quick drink.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Damian, you couldn’t be normal if you spent years trying.”

That slow burn smile was back, heating her in a way the fire could never manage. “You like that though, don’t you?”

Her heart was hammering again. “Yes.”

He brushed back a lock of hair from her forehead. “You belong here. Just as much as I do.”

Oh how she wished it was true, but she felt so out of place. In fact, she’d never felt so out of place.

“Julie,” he said firmly. “This is your home for the next few months. Act like it from the beginning and it will be much easier for you.”

“You don’t usually bring your women here,” a voice cracked from the arched doorway.

Damian’s face tightened for an almost imperceptible moment. “Mother, may I introduce to you Julie Doyle, writer and our guest.”

Julie looked to the doorway and her tongue literally tied. She’d never seen such a beautiful older woman. Silvery blond hair was swept back from high cheek bones. Perfect lips were marred only by a slight frown. Razor sharp, crystal blue eyes peered back from immaculate white skin.

A deep blue sheath of cashmere framed Damian’s mother’s slender frame. The woman, who she’d guess wasn’t quite sixty, stared at her for a long moment but there was none of the sort of rough charm of Damian’s grandmother.

In fact, his mother, like the perfect strand of pearls about her neck, seemed cold. It was almost as if someone had stolen her heart and left her here on this earth without it. 

Julie cleared her throat and stuck out her free hand. Damian was right. She had to start acting like she belonged, like she wasn’t some mouse to be trapped and tossed out. “Hello. I’ts nice to meet you.”

Damian’s mother eyed her hand then at last touched it with her fingertips. “Is it? I suppose it is. We so seldom have guests, I barely know what to do with one.”

“Well, I’ve never stayed in a castle, so I suppose we are on equal footing,”

Damian’s mother gave her an icy look that said they never could be nor ever would be on equal footing.

And suddenly, the whole fantasy of staying in a castle was evaporating. If this was the reality, it was going to be a lot tougher to earn her salary than she’d thought. Twenty minutes ago, with his grandmother,  she’d thought she’d fallen into a dream. To Julie’s growing dismay, with the advent of his mother, in Damian’s castle there seemed perhaps to be the faint hint of a nightmare.

Chapter 2

Damian refused to have second thoughts. This was the best job for Julie. This was the best place for her. The castle was beautiful. It was the place where he could most be himself. Even if that meant he was surrounded by his past.

But memories of his past were what kept him grounded. He didn’t want to forget what had made his mother so cold. And well, Julie was strong enough to deal with Alanna Fitzgerald, Countess of Clare. Julie might not really know it yet, but she was. And his mother needed to be around a woman like Julie. Strong, capable, but not hard.

It wasn’t exactly as if Julie’s life had been a bed of rose petals. Oh no. There had been thorns. Just like in his mother’s life. But the women couldn’t be more different. He refused to consider that that might be one of the reasons why Julie was so appealing to him.