Lauren burrowed between the sheets. The house was quiet, though she could pick up muted and indistinguishable voices that wafted up the stairs.
“Ben Lockett, how could you do this to me?” she asked into her pillow, and was immediately ashamed of her thoughts.
After the dreadful scenes she’d been subjected to before leaving North Carolina, Ben’s strength, affection, and warmth had been her salvation. She had hoped to start a new life with Ben’s family. Now, all those hopes were dashed. Ben was dead. This splendid house seemed to swallow her. And what of the cold, formidable woman who dominated it?
It occurred to Lauren then that Ben’s widow hadn’t shown any signs of emotion. Maybe Olivia was one of those people who expressed their grief privately. Maybe. The thought was disturbing.
What would Jared Lockett think when he learned of his father’s death? Why would a man who had money and position get blind drunk and make a public spectacle of himself? Ed Travers had intimated that it wasn’t at all unusual to see Jared in such a condition.
Well, it’s none of my concern, Lauren thought as she resolutely closed her eyes. She wouldn’t have any dealings with him.
He was very tall, wasn’t he? She wished she could forget the tremors that had coursed through her when his hands had closed around her waist and caressed her back. The heavy pressure of his hea
d against her breasts hadn’t been an altogether unpleasant sensation. His hair was light brown. Did sunlight bring out streaks of gold as she knew it did in the down on his chest?
* * *
Lauren awoke languidly, after ten hours of sleep. The room was awash with sunlight, which filtered through the airy, yellow drapes in the east windows.
She flung off the covers and padded into the bathroom. Desolation over Ben’s death and uncertainty over her future still weighed heavily on her mind. She couldn’t stay here now. And she definitely couldn’t return to North Carolina, either.
Elena came in just as Lauren finished dressing.
“Buenos días, señorita,” she greeted her cheerfully.
“Good morning, Elena,” said Lauren, continuing to brush her thick, black hair.
“Did you sleep well?” Elena asked conversationally as she spread the covers smoothly over the bed. She busied herself with straightening the spotless room, watering the plants and flowers, and arranging the breakfast dishes on the same tray that had held Lauren’s dinner the previous night.
“Yes, very well.” Lauren swallowed uncomfortably when she recalled some of her dreams. They had been unsettling. Tall men stalked her. One man had white hair and Ben’s smiling face. The other’s face was shadowed by a large black hat, but she recognized the physique. It was imprinted on her mind with indelible clarity.
After eating the large dinner last night, she didn’t think she could be hungry. But the fresh melon slices were delicious and juicy. She drank the hot coffee, though she would have preferred tea. Timidly she asked Elena if she could have tea from now on.
“Oh, sí, sí. My mamma, she is the cook.” She laughed at the startled expression on Lauren’s face. “She work for the Locketts since before I was born. You call her Rosa.”
“I hate to think of you carrying that heavy tray upstairs for my meals, Elena, but Mrs. Lockett made it clear that I am to stay as close to this room as possible during the funeral preparations and while they’re receiving callers.” Her gaze drifted to the open windows as another wave of sadness ebbed over her. “Is the funeral still scheduled for tomorrow?”
“Sí,” Elena answered softly. “Lots of people coming from places far away.”
“Well, I guess I shall busy myself somehow,” Lauren sighed.
She managed to while away the long hours reading and embroidering a sampler she had brought with her from Clayton. She was denied Elena’s company; the girl explained that she was needed to help her mother in the kitchen.
The day passed slowly. To Lauren, who was accustomed to activity and would seek out chores if none were apparent, it seemed interminable.
Late in the afternoon, she paused in her reading when she heard a heavy tread in the hallway. Whoever it was entered a room before reaching the end of the hall where her room was located. Slipping off her eyeglasses to rest her eyes, she listened closely to the sounds of drawers opening and shutting, of wardrobe doors swinging back, of heavy shoes or boots dropping with a thud onto the floor. Stockinged footsteps shuffled back and forth.
Lauren heard the clink of glass on glass, water splashing, a few low mumbled words, the scraping of furniture against wood floors, the rustle of clothing.
Some minutes later, the person was finished with his toilette and left the room. A door closed quietly and footsteps receded down the hall. Someone occupied the room on the other side of the bathroom. Lauren hadn’t been aware of anyone being in there since she had moved in.
That evening, Lauren was embroidering as Elena gathered up the dinner tray and said goodnight.
“Elena,” Lauren asked, “who occupies that room through the bathroom?”
“Ah! That is Señor Jared’s room.” Elena’s eyes widened expressively. “My Carlos threaten me never to go near it.” She giggled as she adjusted the tray around her expanded belly. “He say Señor Jared can please any woman.” She winked broadly as she closed the door.
Lauren’s gray eyes stared unseeingly at the bright bead of blood on her pricked finger.