The Actress and the Aristocrat by Katie Ashley
Chapter Five: Randall
As I sat at my office desk, I found it harder and harder to keep my attention on the spreadsheets in front of me. Instead, I continuously found my ears perking up at the sounds on the Remains of the Season crew on the front lawn. After almost a month away, they had returned two nights ago to film something called a pickup. Although it had apparently been in the contract that they had permission to return, the director had personally called me to request permission.
With the crew filming at other locations and Rob back in London, it had been quiet around the house. Unbearably quiet. Although I’d originally balked at the idea, I’d somehow pleasingly managed to lose myself in the hustle and bustle of the cast and crew. Since we weren’t opening the house to tours during the production schedule, there hadn’t been any crowds to pick up the noise or emptiness. It had left me far too much time in my head.
In my newly divorced head.
Of course, with the cast around, it also meant I’d seen Charlotte. Since our initial meeting, she’d gone out of her way to avoid me. But upon her return, I suppose it that even in a house as vast as mine, it was inevitable we would bump into each other. I just hadn’t imagined literally bumping into her in the hallway outside my bedroom.
The soft curves of her female form had molded against me, as her sweet-smelling perfume tickled my nose. God, she’d felt and smelt fucking fantastic. For a moment, we’d almost been cordial—friendly—until I became the pretentious prick again by bragging about the size of my estate.
Seeing her cheeks flush at her costar’s crassness had intrigued me. Not what he said, but her reaction. She’d seemed embarrassed, something I hadn’t expected.
His crassness? While I’d come to know many of the cast well, I hadn’t been too impressed with Cas Armstrong Jones. Maybe it was because he reminded me a bit too much of Michael with his roving eye towards anything with a nice pair of tits or a firm arse. I’d glared at him for a moment before turning my attention back to Charlotte.
A knock at my office door brought me out of my thoughts. “Come in.”
Maude breezed through the door. “Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning,” I repeated.
Like every morning through the week, Maude took a seat in the chair in front of my desk to go over my schedule. Although everything was kept digitally, she also handed me a hard copy. “I wanted to remind you of your meeting with the land agent at two.”
I starred the time on the calendar. “Got it.”
“Oh, and I also just finished outlining your calendar for the season.”
Staring out the window, I swallowed hard at the mention of that dreaded word. God, if only I could escape for a few months. Hop a plane to destinations unknown and not return until the whole fucking mess was over.
“Sir?” Maude prompted.
I jerked my gaze to hers. “Yes, I heard you about the fucking calendar.” At the curtness in my voice, she cringed slightly, which immediately made me feel like a tremendous arse. “My apologies, Maude.”
Although she had every right to scowl at me, her expression as one of pity. “If I may, your lordship, I understand how difficult this season will be.”
Sodding hell. First, it was Rob insinuating how I needed someone on my arm when I faced Lydia again. Now I had to deal with it from Maude as well. Of course, her pity seemed even more emasculating, and after you’ve had your wife leave you for another man, you already feel like a eunuch. “Thank you, Maude,” I muttered as politely as I could.
Rising out of her chair, it seemed to physically pain Maude to hand me the crisp white paper. “As of now, you are scheduled to attend all of the previous years’ events.”
Buggar me. I’d rather walk across a bed of nails. Without looking at the paper, I forced a smile to my face. “That will be fine. Onward and upward.” I’d been in uncomfortable moments before. It was often part of my job to be places that I didn’t want to be. I was a fucking earl, for God’s sake. I can spend an hour per event. Two at the maximum. Make the insufferable small talk. That would do it.
Although she bobbed her head, I could tell from the way Maude fiddled with one of the lacy sleeves on her blouse that she wanted to say more. I imagined she often struggled with teetering on the line of being somewhat of a mother figure to me as well as being the “help.”
Nodding at her, I said, “Go on, and say it.”
“Well, your lordship, I just wanted to make you aware that the itinerary isn’t set in stone. I can make changes.” She swallowed. “Or deletions.”
Once again, I felt like a bloody eunuch. There was no way in hell I was going to have Maude cancel events like I was some primary school baby having his mummy handle his battles. “That won’t be necessary.”
Although she appeared dismayed by my response, she gave me a tight smile. “As you wish.”
Since I wanted to be free of her pity, I said, “If there’s nothing else, I’ve got a lot of paperwork to deal with.”
“That’s all at present, your Lordship.”
“Then thank you, Maude.”
With a resigned sigh, she gathered up her things. Once I was alone, I exhaled a relieved breath. But I soon found being alone didn’t help my feelings.
The longer I stared at the itinerary before me, my throat began to swell shut. It became so intense I reached up to loosen my tie. When that didn’t help, I rose out of my chair. Like a caged animal, I felt trapped by duty. I could just say sod it all to hell and not attend a damn thing. Or I could feign being away on business by going abroad as a cover. There was no bloody way I could possibly stay in England during the season. The gossip would be legendary.
“Did you hear about Earl Whittingham not having the balls to show up at any of the events, not even the ones for charity?”
“He’s probably still embarrassed about his wife shagging his best friend.”
I then strode over to the liquor cabinet. After pouring myself a heaping glass of Scotch, I threw back a satisfying gulp. Just as I began to feel the alcohol spreading through my system, the door to my office blew open.
When I whirled around to blare at the offender who dared to enter without a knock, my words caught in my throat at the sight of red-faced, chest-heaving Charlotte.
“Um, hello,” she hiccupped.
“Hello to you.” We stood there staring at each other for a few moments. At the sight of her tear-stained cheeks, I tilted my head at her. “Did you just come from filming?”
“No.”
“Then why do you appear so emotional?”
“Because I am. I’m terribly emotional right now!”
“And you felt the need to interrupt me to tell me this?”
She furrowed her brows at me. “Huh?”
“Is there a reason why you came into my private office to tell me you’re emotional?” I repeated.
Charlie’s nose wrinkled. “I know it’s not the time or place to mention this, but has anyone ever told you you’re seriously lacking when it comes to compassion and empathy?”
“Once or twice,” I mused.
A frustrated breath huffed out of her lips. “If you will stop being insufferable for one minute, I’ll tell you why I’m here.”
I leaned back against the liquor cabinet. After crossing my arms over my chest, I said, “I’m all ears.”
Now that she had my full attention, Charlotte’s resolve seemed to fade. She opened and closed her mouth several times. When she began pacing while wringing her hands, I lost my patience. “Well, out with it,” I finally demanded.
It appeared my words rebranded the usual fire in her. “I found one of my costars in your library.”
“And?” I prompted.
“He was screwing the chambermaid on your couch.”
“Settee.”
With an exasperated snort, she replied, “Fine. The settee.”
Crinkling my brows, I replied, “It was one of my maids?”
Charlotte furiously shook her head. “No. She’s from the supporting cast.”
“I see.” As I stared at her, I couldn’t imagine she was such a prude that she would be so visibly upset about catching two people in flagrante. But then it hit me which costar she was talking about. “It was Mr. Armstrong-Jones, wasn’t it?”
Her eyes shuttered in pain. With an agonized whisper, she said, “Yes.”
“While I’d like to say I’m surprised, I’m not.”
Charlotte’s eyelids popped open. “What do you mean? Did you see him with someone before?” she demanded.
“No.”
“Then how can you make such an accusation?”
“Because I know the type.”
“Well, apparently, I lack your cheating-bastard radar,” Charlotte snipped, but at the same time, her eyes pooled with tears.
Since I wasn’t a bastard, I reached for my handkerchief. When I offered it to her, she blinked at me in surprise before murmuring thank you. After swiping her eyes and dabbing her cheeks, she blew her nose rather forcefully. When she started to hand it back to me, I held my hand up. “Please, keep it.”
“Sorry. I don’t think a man has ever offered me his handkerchief. It seems so British.”
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, I cleared my throat. “Was it merely the need to tell me of Cas’s infidelity that brought you here or something else?”
She paled slightly. “Actually, it’s something else.”
“Okay,” I replied curiously.
“You see when I walked in and saw Cas, all these emotions swirled in my head. While terribly hurt, I must admit, I was also angry.” A shudder went through me. “I was very, very angry.”
At her pained pause, I said, “Do go on.”
“And then I saw this vase.”
Bloody hell. My mind quickly mentally catalogued the different vases in the library. Normally, I wouldn’t have an inventory of what was in every room, but the library happened to be a favorite of my late mother’s. She also happened to have a favorite oriental blue vase that sat on table. I would’ve had them packed away, but the library had been off limits to the film crew.
“Which vase?” I choked out.
“It was this blue one with yellow swirls.”
No, it couldn’t be. Out of all the pieces in the library she could’ve thrown, she had to throw my mother’s favorite. “Why did you have to be violent with a vase?”
“Um, hello, he was cheating on me.”
“And that necessitated breaking a priceless heirloom?”
She glared at me. “Did you just sit down for a spot of tea after you caught your wife in the stables?”
For the love of Christ. Her words delivered such a punch that I had to brace my palms on the front of the desk. This was so fucking different. “As a matter of fact, I did start drinking, but it sure as hell wasn’t tea.”
“So, can you not understand how I felt?”
“No. She was my wife. We’d been married for five years. That did not mean I wanted to break things,” I spat. My last words were a lie both to Charlotte and myself. I wanted to tear him limb from limb for even daring to lay a hand on my wife. I wanted to slap the arrogant smirk off her face.I wanted to kill them.
Although it pained me to admit that if I’d been close to a weapon, I probably would have killed them. Then I would’ve found myself physically in prison, rather than an emotional one. Would I ever find the right key to unlock that door?
Sweeping her hands to her hips, Charlotte countered, “Let me guess it was the traditional stiff upper lip that prevented you from showing any emotion. Or perhaps it was the pretentious stick up your arse!”
“Did you honestly just say arse?”
“Yes, I did. Since I just came off filming, I suppose I’m still in character.”
“I don’t recall Lady Rowena acting like a petulant child, and as a thirty-five-year-old man, I won’t either. Tantrums are beneath my dignity.” And that was the truth. I hadn’t thrown a childish fit. I merely walked out of the stables and called my attorney.
“You didn’t even confront them?”
The truth was the sight of Lydia with another man had gutted me to the extent where I couldn’t speak. It felt like a dagger had been run through my throat. What was the point of words when vows—former words—had been broken? There was no way to recover from that. Not for me, anyway “What could I have possibly said in that moment that would’ve changed anything?”
With a shrug, she replied, “Probably nothing, but I can imagine it would’ve felt pretty good to unload a few expletives on them like I did to Cas and Selena.”
“Not to mention a vase?” I added with a smirk.
She winced. “No. I wouldn’t advise that one. More than anything, I wish I could take it back, not just for what I imagine are the painful financial ramifications.” With a truly remorseful look, she said, “I’m very, very sorry, Earl Whittingham.”
“While I appreciate your apology and I’m truly sorry for what you’ve been through, there is the pressing matter of the vase.”
With a painful sigh, she said, “I think we both know I don’t have the means to pay for the vase. The only solution I can think of is to sign a contract with you to set up monthly payments.” Monthly payments. Is she fucking kidding me? How can she not understand the word priceless?
I didn’t need this. There was nothing I could do about the vase. It just added to the absurdity of my life. I once again stared down at the itinerary Maude had brought me. I thought of the dates that had been looming over me for months. But this time my chest didn’t coil in agony at the prospect of seeing Lydia. Instead, a devious plan of revenge swirled in my mind.
“Actually, I don’t think a payment plan will be necessary.”
“Excuse me?”
“Upon further consideration, I’ve come to the conclusion there might be another way you could repay me.” At her expression of confusion, I said, “One that doesn’t involve you going into any monetary debt.”
“I don’t think I follow you.” When I cocked my brows at her, Charlotte’s mouth dropped open to her chest. Color rushed to her cheeks. Jabbing a finger at me, she shrieked, “Listen here, you perverted bastard, I might not have a lot in this world, but I do have my reputation!”
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t go acting all innocent now. You think you’re the first jackass who has propositioned me for sex? The last two years of my career has been full of power-tripping assholes like you.”
Bloody hell. “You think I wanted you to sleep with me?”
“What else could you have possibly been alluding to?”
“First of all, I’ve never paid for sex and never plan on it—”
“So, you say.”
I held up my hand. “Let me finish.”
With a huff, she replied, “Fine.”
“I was alluding to a business proposition, not a sexual one.”
She narrowed her eyes to suspicion filled slits at me. “Go on.”
“I’m assuming when you were researching Lady Rowena, you also researched the social season?”
“Yes. I did.” At what must’ve been my expectant look, she replied, “What? Would you like me to recite it to you?”
“I would like to see what you know so I can fill in the gaps if necessary.”
“Of course, you do.”
“Just humor me.”
“Fine. Hundreds of years ago the season was created around the royal family. Specifically, around the time of year the family was residing in London palaces, rather than their country estates.”
I nodded. “Yes, that is correct.” Angling my chin at her, I added, “Any other reasons?”
“It also coincided with the time when the landed gentry would leave their estates in the country to go to London.”
“Right. And why were they going to London?”
“Well, considering the outbreaks of plague in the 17th and 18th centuries and then the pollution in the 19th and 20th, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t for the fresh air,” she quipped.
“Cute,” I muttered.
“Lighten up. You’re acting like this is a life or death quiz.”
I exhaled loudly through my nose. “They were going to London to—”
Rolling her eyes, Charlotte said, “Cast their votes in the House of Lords.” With a sickening sweet smile, she replied, “Just like Lady Rowena’s father.”
“Precisely.”
“Since I’m versed in the Edwardian history of the season, I assume it hasn’t changed much in the last hundred years.”
“You assumed correctly.” I walked around the side of the desk to stand in front of her. “As a member of the aristocracy, I’m expected to attend all these events. Not only is it extremely undesirable having to attend them solo because of the irritating and incessant need for small talk, but I’ll also be forced to see my ex-wife and her new husband.”
“Is the new husband the bloke she was shagging in the stables?”
Bloody hell. “Okay, you really don’t have to go there with the British vernacular.”
“Staying in character, remember?”
“Well, I can assure you an upper-class noble woman would not have been saying ‘bloke’ and ‘shagging.’”
“Just answer the question.”
“Yes. Michael is the man who was sleeping with my wife.” I conveniently left out the part about the tosser also being my friend.
“So, you’re facing seeing your ex-wife at boring social events. I’m still not following what that has to do with me and your allegedly not illicit proposition?”
Since it was apparent I was going to have to spell it out for her, I drew in a deep breath. “I will forgive the price of the vase if you’ll attend the season with me. As my date.”
“Fuck,” she whispered.
“Yes, the logical side of me echoes the sentiment.” It didn’t just echo the sentiment—it blared at me that I had utterly and completely lost my mind. I tried to rationalize that I hadn’t been left with many options, and that this was inevitably a win-win scenario for both myself and Charlotte. A means to an end.
“I would pretend to be your girlfriend,” Charlotte stated absently.
If only it were that simple. “There’s more.”
“More than pretending to be your girlfriend?” At my nod, she replied, “Maybe I should sit down.” Once she eased down into one of the chairs in front of my desk, she glanced up at me. “Go on.”
“The two of us dating is a little more complicated than you would think.”
“Why is that?”
“You see no one in my circle would ever believe I would date an actress, least of all an American one.”
Her neck snapped back like I had slapped her. “You’re a real charmer, you know that?”
“It’s not a remark about the differences of our class. It’s more about me personally. Like I wouldn’t attract one the way that I am.”
If I thought my comment might endear me to her, I was mistaken. With a roll of her eyes, she jabbed, “Please. Don’t turn on the pitiful act like you’re Quasimodo in the bell tower.”
“I don’t get what you mean.”
Rolling her eyes, she replied, “Duh, you’re good-looking, handsome, a hottie, etc.”
“You think I’m handsome?” I questioned while resisting the urge to puff out my chest like a Neanderthal.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
And with that, my inflated ego was deflated. “Why do you say unfortunately?”
“Because I don’t like being attracted to assholes.” Throwing up her hands, she added, “Apparently after what happened today, I have a gift for being attracted to them.”
“He’s an overgrown child, not a man.”
She blinked at me in surprise. “Yes, he is,” she murmured.
“The sooner you realize he wasn’t worthy of your time and the demise of my vase, the better off we both will be.”
Her scowl was evidence she didn’t seem to appreciate my last words. “Look, regardless of what you look like, your money is incredibly attractive to a lot of women.”
Now it was my turn to scowl. “If I wanted a potential gold-digger, I could hire an escort. I’m talking about a real woman.”
“Considering I’m an actress from America, I’m not sure how real I am,” she countered.
“You’re playing an aristocratic British woman, are you not?”
“Yes.”
“I would imagine you had to be pretty damn convincing to get the part over all the other actresses who auditioned, especially those who are naturally British.”
She once again repeated, “Yes.”
“Then I have no doubt you can convincingly play the role I give you.”
Charlotte slowly shook her head. “Okay, this is seriously getting weird. I don’t like the whole Henry Higgins vibe you have going on.”
“I’m not asking you to change who you are. I merely want you to play a part as you accompany me to events during the social season.”
“And precisely what part would that be?”
Fidgeting with my cufflink, I replied, “I’m not exactly certain.”
“That’s comforting.”
“Excuse me for not having all the particulars ironed out. It’s barely been a half hour since you burst in here. Not to mention the fact this is something seriously out of character for me.”
“Fine. Whatever,” she muttered. Silence hung heavy around us. Charlotte appeared to be finding the Oriental rug particularly fascinating. After an uncomfortable period, she jerked her head up to stare at me. “I can already see a small snag in your plan.”
“How’s that?”
“I might not be Julia Roberts level fame, but I would think someone would recognize me, especially since I’ve been seen around the estate filming a movie.”
With a shrug, I replied, “You would simply need to alter your appearance.”
“Alter my appearance?” Her eyes bulged. “You must be joking.”
“Wouldn’t you do the same for a film or television role?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Then this shouldn’t be any different.”
Slowly, she shook her head. “Forget the Henry Higgins vibe. You’ve gone full-on Svengali now.”
Perhaps I had. “All I’m asking is for you to play a part.” And for you to help me save face in front of the world’s stage.