“You haven’t met Camille.”
“That is precisely the problem.”
Julian sighed.
“Camille is kind.”
“To you?”
“Yes.”
“That matters. But it matters even more how a person treats someone who cannot advance her career, improve her reputation, or offer her anything.”
Julian was silent.
Evelyn recognized that silence. It was the same one he had used as a child when calculating complicated problems in his head.
“What do you want?” he finally asked.
“I want to meet the woman you intend to marry.”
“You will.”
“I don’t want to meet the polished version she presents to your mother.”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
Evelyn looked around the kitchen where Julian had once repaired computers and studied for scholarships.
“I will stay at your estate for a few days.”
Julian laughed with relief.
“You’re finally agreeing to move in?”
“Not as your mother.”
His laughter stopped.
“As what?”
“As a temporary housekeeper.”
“No.”
“Listen first.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You asked for my blessing.”
“I did not ask you to infiltrate my house.”
“I need to know who Camille is when she believes no one important is watching.”
“You want to wear a uniform and pretend to clean my home?”
“Yes.”
“That is completely unreasonable.”
“It is cautious.”
“It is madness.”
“It is motherhood.”
Julian groaned.
“Camille is preparing for a wedding. She will be under pressure.”
“Marriage brings pressure. Illness brings pressure. Children bring pressure. Financial problems bring pressure. I need to know whether pressure makes her impatient or cruel.”
“You’re judging her before you meet her.”
“I am giving her the opportunity to reveal herself.”
Evelyn softened her voice.
“I raised you alone because a charming young man loved me only until loving me required sacrifice. I will not watch you marry someone who loves you only when life is comfortable.”
The line remained quiet for a long time.
Finally, Julian said, “And if she treats you well?”
“I will welcome her as my daughter.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“You will be grateful that you discovered it before the wedding.”
Four days later, Evelyn entered Julian’s estate through the service entrance wearing a simple gray uniform and carrying identification under the name Nora Caldwell.
Julian had informed the staff that she was a temporary replacement from a domestic agency. Only he and the head of security knew the truth.
When he first saw her carrying folded linens toward the back staircase, pain tightened his face.
“This is wrong,” he whispered.
Evelyn kept walking.
“Then pay attention so it ends quickly.”
Camille arrived the next afternoon.
Two vehicles pulled into the circular driveway. Assistants unloaded suitcases, garment bags, hatboxes, beauty cases, and several sealed packages from luxury boutiques.
Camille entered wearing cream trousers, a cashmere coat, enormous sunglasses, and an expression that seemed to inspect the room before greeting anyone inside it.
“Darling,” she called.
She kissed Julian briefly.
“This place feels more beautiful every time.”
Julian smiled, but his gaze flickered toward Evelyn.
“Camille, this is Mrs. Caldwell. She’ll be helping temporarily.”
Camille glanced at Evelyn once.
“Tell someone to take the white luggage upstairs. It’s handmade, so please don’t scrape it against the steps.”
Evelyn lowered her eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Camille removed her coat and placed it into Evelyn’s arms without looking at her.
That was their introduction.
At first, Camille’s behavior could have been mistaken for perfectionism.
“The drinking water is not cold enough.”
“The towels in the guest bath are folded incorrectly.”
“I dislike citrus cleaning products.”
“The flowers in the sitting room look inexpensive.”
“The candles are uneven.”
“The silver tray has fingerprints.”
Each complaint was delivered with an expression suggesting Evelyn had personally offended the laws of civilization.
That evening, Evelyn prepared a roasted chicken dish Julian had loved since childhood.
Camille tasted one bite and set down her fork.
“Is this meant to be rustic?”
Julian looked at her.
“It’s a family recipe.”
Camille immediately smiled.
“How sweet. Very nostalgic.”
When Julian left the dining room to answer a business call, the smile vanished.
“Do not serve that again,” Camille said.
“Was something wrong with it?”
“He may have grown up with very little, but he no longer needs to eat like a struggling child.”
Evelyn felt the words settle inside her.
Struggling.
She had struggled.
She had also survived.
She had worked while ill, skipped meals, repaired torn clothes, and kept the electricity on through winters when every dollar had already been promised elsewhere.
“Yes, ma’am,” she answered.
Later, Julian found her folding napkins in the laundry room.
He closed the door.
“Mom.”