Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(129)
Author: Kristen Ashley

Cash nabbed his dressing gown, shrugged it on, tightened the belt and walked from the room, soundlessly closing the door behind him.

He went directly to the kitchens where a woman named Jane, who he knew did the cooking for the castle, was sitting on a stool reading the paper and sipping coffee.

The minute she saw Cash, she jerked straight and jumped from the stool.

“Mr. Fraser,” she murmured, “you’re an early bird. No one is ever up this early. It’s always just me.” Then she blathered on nervously, “I come in early to get myself sorted and because I like the castle when it’s quiet. It never feels peaceful, except in the mornings.”

Jane would, Cash hoped, find things different from this day forward.

“I’m always up this early,” Cash informed her of a fact that she would need to know as she was now in his employ. He didn’t, however, share that with her but instead requested, “Can you prepare breakfast for myself and Ms. Butler, please?”

“Of course, what would you like?” she replied.

Cash considered the question and smiled to himself when he could say with authority what Abby’s preferences were for breakfast. “Coffee, strong, and something light. Croissants and fruit.” She nodded and Cash continued. “Give it some time, half an hour or more and, if you would, please deliver it to our room.”

She nodded again and busied herself with her task. Cash watched her a moment then looked about the vast kitchens, rooms used to prepare food for his line for centuries.

Now his kitchens.

Cash smiled again and walked out of the room.

Slowly he allowed himself time to move through his home.

He strolled through the armoury, the billiard room, library, conservatory, drawing room, inner and outer halls, dining room but stopped in the study. The tips of his fingers glided across the desk, another smile forming on his lips before he turned and looked out the still dark windows of pre-dawn at the back of the desk, his brain knowing there were acres of wood and pastureland surrounding the castle beyond the tor. Land, luckily, that Alistair had not yet sold. Land, now, that Cash owned, as his father before him and his father before him and so on.

He left the study, climbed the steps and walked to the gallery. His mind did not wander to the events of the night before. Instead he walked to the light switch, flipped it on and strode directly to Alistair’s portrait.

His hands went to the frame and he lifted it, pulling it off its mount, he turned its face away and set it on the floor against the wall.

Once done with this task, Cash turned to the alcove where his father’s portrait hung. He took hold of it and moved it to the gallery proper. He hooked it on the mount which had held Alistair’s portrait and straightened it, stepping back to make certain it was positioned properly.

Even though it was half the size of Alistair’s pretentious painting, it looked far more like it belonged where it was.

Studying his father’s image, Cash again did not let his mind wander to the night before. As with most everything else that happened last night, he’d process it with Abby when the time was right.

Instead he felt something settle in him, as if the small task of switching paintings was a far more grand and important feat than wresting his legacy out of the hands of a man who’d abuse his family and commit fratricide.

Cash considered this feeling and realised what he felt was justice.

He walked through the room, turned out the lights and headed to his and Abby’s room.

As he moved through the house, Cash saw a glow coming from the sewing room. The door was open and he stopped in it to see Nicola, her face free of makeup, the heels of her feet up on edge of a plush armchair, hair loose around her shoulders, arms wrapped around her calves, body enveloped in a soft throw, eyes staring unseeing out the dark window.

She looked, Cash thought, twenty years younger.

Her expression in profile was not sad nor was it troubled.

It was hopeful.

“Nicola,” Cash murmured.

He watched her jump and her eyes flew to him.

“Cash,” she whispered but she didn’t move.

Cash walked in. “You’re up early.”

She smiled up at him as he came within a few feet of her chair. Still she didn’t move.

“I haven’t slept,” she told him.

“I’m sorry,” Cash said.

“I’m not,” she replied.

Seeing she was going to remain in her casual pose instead of assuming the role of courteous hostess per usual, Cash moved away from her. Her demonstration of casualness and familiarity, Cash noted incidentally, was something he enjoyed.

He sat on the arm of the chair opposite her.

“A great deal happened last night,” he remarked watching her closely for signs of post-traumatic stress.

Her hand came out from under the throw and she waved it in front of her.

“That,” she stated, “Fenella, Suzanne and Honor filled me in last night.” She grinned at him in a way she’d never done before. Her grin was filled with her usual friendliness but now also had an easy openness that was something else Cash decided he liked.

It was then the sharp realisation hit him as to just how guarded she’d been, likely due to necessity, when Alistair had been around.

“Last night,” Cash said, his voice had grown deeper, “what I said about you and the girls staying here, I meant it.”

Her hand disappeared under the throw and he saw her pulling it tighter.

“I know, dear,” she mumbled, her eyes moving back to the window, “but we couldn’t.”

“You can,” Cash asserted and her gaze came back to him.

“You’re very kind, but we couldn’t.” When Cash opened his mouth to speak she shook her head. “I don’t know where we’re going but we can’t stay here with you.”

“Why not?” Cash asked and he watched her expression turn confused.

“I… well,” she hesitated then continued, “you and Abby will want some time to –”

Cash cut her off. “Yes we will.”

The confusion left her face, she nodded and her lips tipped up at the ends. “So, we’ll go.”

“No,” Cash returned, “you’ll all stay at my home in Bath for a few months. Then you and the girls, if they haven’t moved on, will come home.”

“Cash,” she started.

“Nicola, I’m not arguing about this.”

“We can’t,” she said more forcefully, her heels coming off the edge of the chair and she leaned toward him.