Christmas at the Château
Autor:in
Rochelle Alers
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HarlequinChapter One
Viola Williamson shifted on the cushioned rocker and closed her eyes. I can’t believe I’m a Jersey girl once again, she mused.
It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with living in the Garden State, but after growing up in Belleville with four older brothers, Viola had attended culinary school in Hyde Park, New York, and after graduating had moved to the West Village where she’d become a city girl in every sense of the word. There were times when she even found herself wearing all black year-round.
Turning on her heel, she left the balcony and closed the sliding screened-in doors behind her. Walking to the bedside table where she’d left her cell phone, she tapped a number. It rang twice before there was a break in the connection, and she smiled when she heard her best friend’s voice.
“I thought you’d still be asleep.”
“That’s not happening anymore, Sonja.”
When she’d worked at The Cellar, she usually slept in late because most days she didn’t get home until well after midnight, and then it would take a while for her to wind down from the nonstop frenetic activity in the restaurant’s kitchen. She’d shower and then get into bed to watch a recap of the day’s news and, on occasion, a movie she’d missed. It would be close to dawn before she would be able to fall asleep.
“Taylor reminded me last night that your mother was leaving for her cruise today.”
“The car service picked her up a few minutes ago. I know this is going to sound crazy, but now that I’ve moved in with her, I really like hanging out with my mother.”
Sonja’s sultry laugh came through the earpiece. “It’s the same whenever I spend time with my mother. Even though we’re mother and daughter, it’s different because we’ve come to relate to each other as adults and whenever we have discussions, nothing is off-limits or even taboo. I told my mother that Taylor is the only man that—”
“Don’t say it!” Viola interrupted, laughing. “I truly don’t need to know what goes on between you and my brother in your bedroom.”
Sonja also laughed. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Viola Williamson. That’s where I draw the line because I have no intention of talking about my sex life with my mother. I wanted to say that Taylor is the only man that I’d want to father my children.”
Viola ran her fingers through her curly hair. “Well, that can become a possibility in the future.” She’d recommended architectural historian Sonja Rios-Martin to her brother to assist him on the Bainbridge House restoration project. No one had been more surprised than Viola when Sonja admitted that she and Taylor were living together and had planned to marry at the mansion the following Christmas.
“That’s going to be sooner than later because Taylor and I have decided to marry this Christmas now that your mother is going to be stateside at the end of the year.”
Viola curbed the urge to do a happy dance. “When did you two decide this?”
“Last night. Your mother gave us her cruise itinerary and even though she’s going to be away for Thanksgiving, she plans to return to the States for six weeks beginning the first week in December. I told Taylor that I’ve always wanted a Christmas wedding and that if he can restore the smaller ballroom, the first-floor kitchen and a few of the second-story bedroom suites for out-of-town guests, then there’s no reason why we can’t have it at the château. But, before we make any more plans, I’d like to ask if you would stand as my maid of honor.”
Viola paused, unable to speak because she was still attempting to process Sonja talking about marrying her brother at the end of the year. It was now mid-September and that meant they had three months to plan a wedding and reception. “Of course,” she said once she recovered her voice. “I’m honored that you’ve asked me to be your maid of honor.”
A beat passed before Sonja said, “I’d also like to ask another favor. I—”
“I know what you want to ask,” Viola said, cutting her off. “You want me to prepare the food for your reception.”
“How did you know?”
She heard laughter in her future sister-in-law’s query. “Because how would it look if you hired another caterer to prepare the food when your fiancé’s sister is a chef?”
“That thought would’ve never crossed my mind. I know you’re ready to supervise your own kitchen and what better way to advertise your mad skills than at your brother’s wedding.”
Viola felt a shiver of excitement wash over her as she thought about preparing a wedding banquet at the French-inspired château. Sonja talking about holding the ceremony in one of the ballrooms and putting up out-of-town guests in the second-story bedroom suites meant those areas would have to be completely restored before the wedding. And that also included the smaller of the two kitchens.
“We have to get together to figure out what you want to serve. But before that, I need to go to Bainbridge House to really check out the kitchen to ascertain what appliances need to be replaced or updated.”
The first time she’d visited the abandoned house was Easter Sunday when Elise had taken everyone to the property. Her mother had called the on-site caretaker to inform him she was coming and that he should open the gates protecting the estate from trespassers. Viola realized she’d been as awestruck as her brothers when they’d all stared at the structure that had reminded her of Disney’s Magic Kingdom.
“Why don’t you come now? You do remember how to get here?”
Viola scrunched up her nose. “Very funny, Sonja. Of course I remember. I’ll text you before I get there so you can have the caretaker open the gates.”
“That won’t be necessary. The gates are opened around seven in the morning and aren’t closed until five or six, because of the number of workers coming and going. When you get here, just ask anyone where the library is.”
Viola ended the call and walked over to the closet to change out of her shorts and flip-flops and into jeans and well-worn Dr. Martens. Picking up a wide-tooth comb, she pulled it through her mussed curls before leaving the bedroom and heading for the staircase. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the entryway mirror as she scooped up a set of keys for the condo and the fob for her mother’s late-model Subaru. Her hair was longer than she usually wore it, but she decided to wait to visit a salon until later in the month.
Twenty-five minutes after leaving Sparta, Viola drove along the private road leading to Bainbridge House. The massive iron gates were open to the path bordered on both sides with towering age-old trees. She was awed by the panorama unfolding before her eyes. It was as if she’d stepped back in time when landed gentry lived on luxurious estates while competing with one another to host the most sought-after social events of the season. Viola still did not understand why her father had never mentioned the property. It wasn’t until after his death that they’d been privy to the historic estate that bore his ancestor’s family name.
She’d grown up with her four brothers in a 5000-square-foot farmhouse built on four acres with an in-ground pool and tennis and basketball courts, yet there was no way she could fathom living in a French-inspired 86,000-square-foot château with more than one hundred rooms. The nineteenth-century estate, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, was set on more than three-hundred-fifty acres with guesthouses, barns, a bridle path, vineyard, orchard, stables, formal gardens and a nine-hole golf course. Sonja had uncovered facts that the Gilded Age Bainbridge family had used the castle as their summer home to host lavish parties for heads of state, Hollywood stars, and occasionally, European royalty. Although the château had been abandoned years before a trust had been established to cover property taxes and salaries for generations of resident caretakers.
Viola noticed the number of vans and pickups lining the circular driveway and several dumpsters positioned on either side of the house. She maneuvered around to the rear to find a space where she could park without blocking other vehicles, and that was when she recognized Taylor’s gray Infiniti SUV and pulled in next to it. Cutting off the engine, she slipped the Subaru’s fob into her crossbody and walked around to the entrance of the magnificent structure.
Opening the door, she encountered a cacophony of sounds and activity from workers hammering, drilling and shouting over the upbeat music coming from a boom box. Builder board—temporary floor protection—was taped to the floor and the steps of twin circular staircases, concealing the original marble flooring in the entrance and great room. Yards of plastic covered furniture lined up against walls with fading and peeling wallpaper. She glanced up at the ceiling with capped wires that had once held a massive crystal chandelier.
She waited until someone noticed her. “Can you please direct me to the library?” she shouted to a stocky man in coveralls. He stared at her at the same time he ran a hand over his bushy gray beard. “I’m Taylor Williamson’s sister.”
The last time she’d come to the château she had taken a quick view of the kitchens. She hadn’t lingered any appreciable length of time because workers had been involved with putting up scaffolding inside and around the building.
He nodded. “Come with me.”
Viola followed the man down a wide hallway, also covered with floor protection, passing a room where several men were installing new windows. Taylor had mentioned it would take at least two years before the entire estate would be restored. Once she’d informed her brother that she was willing to become the executive chef for the future hotel and wedding venue, she’d decided not to live in the château. She planned to move into one of the guesthouses because she didn’t want to live and work under the same roof.
“This is the library, miss.”
“Thank you.”
Viola knocked lightly on the ornately carved oak door and within seconds it opened. Sonja reached for her hand, pulled her inside and quickly shut it. She barely had time to examine the large room with its wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling built-in shelves packed tightly with leather-bound books.
“I’ll never get used to all the noise whenever the door is open,” Sonja explained.
Viola smiled at her friend. Falling in love and living with Taylor seemed to agree with the architectural historian. And it appeared as if she had put on weight. Her face had filled out and Viola wondered if her brother and his fiancée had moved up their wedding date because Sonja was pregnant. She stared at the ring on Sonja’s left hand; a ring that had been passed down through generations of her father’s side of the family. Sonja told her she’d had the ring appraised and the two-carat, flawless Asscher-cut diamond flanked by half-carat sapphires was priceless. She’d also had many other precious estate jewel items appraised and insured for more than eighteen million dollars.
“You look different, Sonja. What aren’t you telling me?”
It wasn’t her longer curly hair or the summer sun that had darkened her nut-brown complexion. Sonja lowered large brown eyes. “I wanted to wait and tell you in person.”
Viola blinked once. “Tell me what?”
“That I’m pregnant, but it appears as if nothing escapes you.”
Viola curbed the urge to scream. “When? How?”
Sonja rolled her eyes at her. “You have to know how. It was when your mother moved into her condo and Taylor and I began living together. I’d planned to take a contraceptive, but I kept putting off making an appointment with my gynecologist. Meanwhile we were relying on condoms for birth control, but then one night things got out of control and yours truly missed her period... When I finally took a home pregnancy test, I knew for certain that I was carrying Taylor’s baby. I have an appointment to see my gynecologist this coming Friday.”
Throwing her arms around Sonja’s shoulders, Viola hugged her. “I’m going to be an auntie,” she said in singsong. Easing back, she met Sonja’s eyes. “Does my mother know?”
Sonja nodded. “Yes. I waited until she was at the airport to FaceTime her. And you know what she said?” Viola shook her head. “She said if I’d told her earlier she would’ve canceled her cruise to help me plan the wedding. And that’s when I told her that’s why I decided to wait.”
“So that’s what you meant when you told your mother that Taylor was the only man with whom you wanted children.”
Sonja smiled and nodded. “Yup. I really wanted to wait at least a year after we were married before starting a family, but apparently, that wasn’t in the stars. I’m going to be thirty-five in November and my biological clock will begin ticking, so it’s better now than later.”
“Who else have you told?” Viola asked Sonja.
“Just you, your mother and my parents.”
“How did Taylor react when you told him?”
“He started dancing.”
“You’re kidding?”
“I wish,” Sonja said as she struggled not to laugh. “He did a few Bruno Mars moves before he attempted a split and fell over laughing so hard, he couldn’t get up for at least a couple of minutes.”
Viola clapped a hand over her mouth to stem her own laughter from exploding from the back of her throat. “That’s hilarious. Taylor only knows how to slow dance. But let me warn you that my mother is going to knit a complete layette for you with hats, booties, sweaters, blankets, and maybe even a stuffed dog or teddy bear. Momma still spends all her free time knitting. She never had to buy hats, gloves, scarves, sweaters or even mittens for any of us when we were younger. She claims knitting is therapeutic for her.”
Sonja smiled. “I suppose it would be when raising five children.”
Viola closed her eyes for several seconds. “I had the best childhood any kid could ever wish for. If or when I ever have children, I pray I would be half the mother Momma is.”
She’d been truthful when disclosing to her friend that Elise Williamson was the perfect mother. Unable to have children of her own, Elise had fostered four boys and one girl, homeschooling everyone, and then legally adopting all of them.
Resting a hand against her flat belly, Sonja nodded. “It’s too early to think about what kind of mother I’ll become. But whether I have a son or daughter, I want them to know they’re loved and protected.”
Her brother’s fiancée lowered her head as tears filled her eyes. During the time she’d come to know Sonja Rios-Martin, Viola had never witnessed her become emotional. Even when she’d revealed details of her first marriage, it was as if she’d rehearsed everything she’d wanted to say to visibly conceal the horror she’d experienced with a much older, controlling husband. Now she’d been given a second chance with a man who loved her unconditionally.
“There’s no doubt you and Taylor will be incredible parents. And whenever my niece or nephew comes to visit Auntie Viola, she’s going to spoil the hell out of them.”
Sonja blinked back tears. “I don’t mind as long as they turn out like Bébé’s Kids.”
Viola smiled as she recalled the animated film about a man seeking to impress his new girlfriend and agreeing to look after her children, who turn out to be uncontrollably rambunctious. Pulling out a chair opposite Sonja, she sat. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired and a little queasy at times, and occasionally out of sorts, which I attribute to hormonal changes. I’ve also been reading about alternatives to morning sickness, so I try to have a few unsalted crackers on hand.”
Viola shifted her attention to the table covered almost entirely with monogrammed silver table settings. Sonja had mentioned she’d spent countless hours cataloging sets of china, crystal and silver pieces. And that was another reason why Viola had deliberately stayed away from the estate: she didn’t want to interfere with Sonja’s recording of the items the Bainbridges had amassed during their lifetimes. Plus, Taylor had also revealed that there were a few projects underway, with contract workers arriving and leaving in different shifts that also added to the restorative goings-on.
“I hope you’re not going to overdo it when you should be resting.”
A hint of a smile tilted the corners of Sonja’s mouth. “I go to bed a lot earlier than I used to. No more sitting up nights watching movies on Netflix.”
Viola gave her a sheepish grin. “I have to confess that I binged Bridgerton a couple of weeks ago, watching all the episodes in one sitting. Then I waited a few days and watched it again, but only two episodes at a time.”
Sonja rested a hand on her throat. “I also watched it twice. When I saw the reenactment of the balls, all I could think about was what Bainbridge House would’ve looked like when Charles Bainbridge and his wife hosted formal affairs with enormous banquets for their guests.”
Viola gasped. “That’s a fabulous idea for a Regency-themed wedding.”
“Bite your tongue, Vi.” Sonja scrunched up her nose. “The only thing that will resemble a Regency ball will be my empire gown because, by that time, I probably will have lost my waistline. And besides, it’s going to be small and intimate. I doubt if we’re going to invite more than thirty guests.”
“That is a small wedding. Have you set a date?” Viola asked.
“Not yet, but I did tell Taylor that we have to give folks enough time to reply since it will be during the one of the busiest holiday seasons of the year. I’d like a Christmas Eve ceremony, but that may not be possible when people make plans to spend that time with their families.”
Viola nodded. “You’re right. What about the week before?”
Sonja stilled, appearing to be deep in thought. “That is a possibility.” Reaching for her cell phone, she scrolled through the calendar. “This year, Christmas falls on a Saturday, so we can have out-of-town guests come in either late Thursday or early Friday to settle in and relax before the ceremony.”
A jolt of excitement eddied through Viola. “I can prepare an evening buffet dinner for those coming in on Thursday and a buffet brunch for Friday. What you have to decide before creating the wedding menu is if you want a buffet or sit-down dinner.”
Sonja pulled her lower lip between her teeth. “Will a sit-down be too much for you?”
“No,” Viola replied while at the same time shaking her head. “If you’re only having thirty guests, then that’s not a problem. Of course, I’ll hire enough waitstaff to make certain everything runs smoothly.”
“You’re definitely who I need to make certain everything runs smoothly.”
“Have you thought about hiring a wedding planner?” Viola questioned.
“Yes, even though my mother has offered to help me plan everything. I told her I just want her to come and enjoy herself. It’s the same with your mother.”
“Planning a wedding is certain to keep everyone involved busy.”
Sonja paused. “My mother never said it, but I know she felt slighted when I didn’t give her the chance to be mother of the bride when I married Hugh. And when I told her about the baby and Taylor, and that I plan to marry this Christmas, she asked me if I was going to have a wedding with family and friends in attendance. That’s when it hit me that I’d not only cheated her out of seeing her only daughter get married, I’d neglected to tell her about Hugh until after we’d exchanged vows.”
“Now you’ll give her the opportunity to witness her daughter having a traditional wedding ceremony.”
Sonja gave Viola a steady stare. “You’re right about that.” She paused again. “Now that you’ve agreed to become the executive chef for Bainbridge House, you and I will have to put our heads together to create a menu for the reception.”
Viola had predicted it would be close to two years before she would actively supervise the hotel’s kitchens, but once she’d become responsible for her brother’s wedding reception, she could exhibit her training and experience to potential guests even before the hotel officially opened for business.
“If you’re estimating thirty guests, then that’s very doable. And to be safe, I’ll probably prepare enough for fifty.”
Sonja exhaled an audible breath. “That’s one thing I can now cross off my do-list.”
Viola wanted to tell her friend that, as the maid of honor, she would help any way she could. And then there were the mothers of the bride and groom who were certain to assist to make the occasion special and memorable even if Sonja decided not to hire a wedding planner.
“What time of day do you plan on holding the ceremony?” Viola asked.
“That’s something else I’ve really not thought about,” Sonja admitted. “I do know I want a sit-down dinner followed with music and dancing, but I’m not certain whether I want formal or semiformal. What do you suggest?”
“I prefer semiformal.” For Viola, that was a no-brainer. Men would have the option of wearing business suits rather than tuxedos and women could wear either cocktail dresses or floor-length gowns.
Sonja smiled. “I was hoping you would say that. What I don’t want is a stuffy affair where people hold back having a good time. It will be the Christmas season and I want everything to be fun and festive.”
“Do you have a color scheme for the decorations?”
“Red and green.”
“Have you thought about a Christmas tartan?”
Sonja shook her head.
“My father’s middle name is Bainbridge and it’s Gaelic for ‘bridge over bright waters.’ Although my brothers and I don’t share Bainbridge DNA, it would be nice to honor Daddy’s Scottish ancestry.”
Sonja flashed a brilliant smile. “That’s a wonderful idea. I’m familiar with a number of red-and-green tartans that would be perfect for boutonnieres, corsages and bouquets.”
Viola was certain Sonja’s day would be a special one as she stared at the ornately carved handles of the forks and spoons. “How many sets and serving pieces have you cataloged?”
“Too many to remember. There was one with place settings for one hundred.”
“Who buys that many forks, spoons and knives?”
Sonja snorted. “Folks with an extensive social guest list who do a lot of entertaining. It appears that your father’s ancestors were party animals. I’ve found receipts from various stationers for engraved invitations with gatherings ranging from fifty to more than one hundred guests at any given time. Smaller soirees were held in the ballroom with a maximum capacity of ninety, while the larger ballroom can hold more than one-fifty.”
Viola’s slowly shook her head. “That’s comparable to a state banquet at Buckingham Palace.”
Sonja’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Well, those were your father’s people, and it looks as if the Bainbridges wanted to imitate European royalty even if they weren’t.”
“And they can now,” Viola drawled, smiling. “Even though we are Bainbridges through adoption, there’s no reason why the modern Bainbridges can’t compete with those from the Gilded Age. And the first test will be your wedding.”
Sonja held up both hands. “I don’t want a spectacle, Vi.”
“Thirty to fifty guests isn’t a spectacle. One hundred and fifty or more is. Christmas is the most festive holiday of the year, and the food and the red, green and white color scheme can become the backdrop for the inaugural twenty-first-century wedding celebration at Bainbridge House.”
Sonja’s demeanor changed as a wide smile parted her lips. “We can have a huge live tree decorated with thousands of tiny white lights in the great room and the ballroom can be filled with red, white and green poinsettia plants.” She pressed her palms together. “Oh my gosh, you’ve really got me thinking about what I’d like. I’ve toured enough historical homes during the Christmas season to have Bainbridge House appear as if we’ve gone back in time to the early twentieth century. I’d like the decorations to be ornate without being ostentatious.”
“Everything is going to be perfect for your special day.”
“I’m hoping it will,” Sonja said. “Once we decide on a date, I’m going to ask my father to contact my brother so he can request a leave from the marines to attend the wedding. It’s been a while since he, his wife and kids have come east for a visit. My mother complains that she doesn’t get to see her grandchildren enough.”
“At least your mother has grandchildren,” Viola remarked. “I’ve overheard my mother tell her friends who are grandmothers that she doubts if she will ever reach that status before she turns eighty. I did remind her that my brother Patrick is engaged, even though he and his fiancée haven’t set a wedding date.” She didn’t want to tell Sonja that Elise wasn’t particularly fond of her future daughter-in-law.
“Well, Taylor and I will make her a grandmother either late May or early June. I told my mother that I want my parents’ and your mother’s name on the invitation.”
“What did she say?”
“She loved the idea that your family will become her family.”
Viola’s gaze shifted to the leather-bound books tightly stacked on shelves. There were also ladders suspended on rails for easier access to the upper shelves.
“If you need my help with anything, and I mean anything, you know I’m just a text away. The last time I was here, Taylor took me to see one kitchen and I jotted down some notes, but I need to see it again, so I know what I’ll be working with.”
Picking up her cell phone, Sonja tapped an icon. “I’m going to contact someone to see if he’s available to take you around.” She waited for a response and then nodded. “He’s on his way.”
Three minutes later, there came a knock on the door. When it opened, a tall, slender man with a raven-black, lightly gray-streaked man bun and large dark green eyes in a deeply tanned face stared at Viola. Graying hair aside, his face was unlined. She estimated he was no older than her thirtysomething brothers.
Sonja stood, Viola rising with her. “Viola, this is Dominic Shaw. Dom, Viola Williamson, Taylor’s sister and my best friend. She’s the chef who will supervise the kitchens once the hotel is up and running. If you’re not busy, I’d like you to take her to see the kitchens.”
Galvanized into action, Viola took a step and extended her hand. “It’s nice meeting you, Dominic.”
He grasped her outstretched fingers, his larger hand closing over hers. “Same here. And it’s Dom.”
She recoiled as if struck across the face while easing her fingers from his firm grip. Why did she feel as if he’d chastised her because she’d called him by the wrong name? “If that’s what you want, then Dom it is.”
His eyes bored into her like shards of chipped green glass. “It is what I want. Come with me and I’ll take you to the kitchens.”
He turned on his heel, expecting Viola to follow. Rude. Uncouth. Ill-mannered. The derogatory adjectives flooded her mind when she really wanted to tell the man exactly what she thought of him. She shifted her gaze to Sonja, lifted her shoulders while shaking her head, then walked out of the library to find Dom standing a short distance away, waiting for her.
“Let’s go,” she ordered, hoping he would recognize she could hold her own when it came to men believing they could intimidate her. After all, she’d grown up with four older brothers.
She wanted to ask him who or what had set him off, but held her tongue. His less than affable mood was not her concern. Becoming the executive chef for Bainbridge House was.
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