I took her gloved hand in mine and headed for the house. The front door opened just as we tromped up the steps.
“Mr. Campbell!” the older woman greeted in surprise.
I frowned and looked down at Barrett.
“Hildie,” Barrett introduced. “She and her husband live in the converted carriage house and take care of the place.”
“Pleasure to meet you,” I said, holding out my free hand to the woman.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, sir.” She took it immediately and gave it a hearty shake. “I thought you weren’t joining Mrs. Campbell.”
“Change of plans,” Barrett interjected quickly.
“Did you bring the children with you?” Hildie asked with an eager smile, looking over my shoulder as if I’d stashed them somewhere out of sight.
“No, they’re still with their great aunt and uncle in Ireland,” I explained.
Barrett said, “Hildie has been wanting to spoil the bairns ever since I showed her photos of them.”
Hildie stepped back to let us into the house. I looked around the foyer, seeing it for the very first time.
I was in Dolinsky’s home—the place he’d brought Barrett all those years ago.
It was beautiful and opulent. The wooden bannister had clearly been carved by an expert craftsman. The crown moldings, along with the architecture itself was unrivaled. I knew this place held dark memories for Barrett, but I wondered if they were all unhappy. This was the place she’d discovered that she could be as ruthless as any man.
“I’ll bring tea to the salon,” Hildie said, jarring me out of my reverie. “And a plate of ham and cheese croissants.”
“Thank you,” Barrett said as she began unzipping her coat.
Hildie looked at Barrett and then at me before nodding and turning away to head down the hallway.
We removed our outer wear and boots in silence. My eyes drank her in. We’d been separated for only a few days, but it was enough for me to see a change in her. Her normally luminous skin looked wan. When she started walking toward the salon, she rubbed her hip. I wondered if it actually bothered her, or if it was more of a reflex.
The salon was lit from large, open windows that let in the low winter light. A cheerful fire glowed in the fireplace. Logs crackled and popped, and the scent of oak filled the warm, dry room.
Barrett took a seat on the L-shaped gray couch and curled her wool sock clad feet beneath her. She grabbed a black blanket next to her and covered her lap.
I settled beside her.
“I expected you to yell,” she said, staring into the flames instead of meeting my gaze.
“I can yell, if you want.”
“I deserve it,” she said flatly. She paused a moment and then finally looked directly at me. Her hazel eyes appeared watery, like she was about to cry.
“Aye, you deserve it,” I agreed.
We fell silent as Hildie entered the salon, carrying a tea tray laden with two saucers and a pot of steaming water, cold milk, and honey. The ham and cheese croissants were arranged in a neat pattern on white china with rose gold edging.
I hadn’t eaten in hours and despite the unresolved tension between me and my wife, I was hungry.
“Thank you, Hildie. It looks delicious,” I said.
“You look like you need some good hearty food, and a nap, too,” Hildie remarked as she set the tray down on the wood coffee table. “You look almost as tired as Mrs. Campbell.”
I raised my brows and glanced at Barrett. She leaned over and began fixing two cups of tea. “Hildie offers her observations without reserve, and at no additional cost.”
She plopped two lumps of sugar into a teacup and stirred it before handing it to me.
