The Davonshire Series 2: Loving Words (15 page)

Wilfred’s three-day stay turned into two weeks. David had struck again and had signed a new contract with a Nigel Strathmore of Strathmore Textiles. Evidently Sir Nigel refused to fly “across the pond” and the initial meeting with Vanity Devons would have to be done in London.  David had also set up a tour of the Milan production center of Strathmore Textiles and Willie was due there in two days.

“Please go with me, Will, please.”

On the way to London, it amused him how extremely nervous Willie was. In an effort to calm her, Wilfred moved closer, placing his arm around her shoulder.  “What can I help with?”  There were several benefits to being twins – one included not needing a great number of words to understand what the other was feeling. However, the drawback was intense emotions and feelings were often shared.  At the most inopportune times.

“It’s the men’s line.”  She took out her sketchpad and showed him some of the new designs. He was impressed. “I don’t want a traditional launch with the same pecs, abs, and half-shaven, oiled up, pretty boys.”  Wilfred quietly thumbed through the sketches and suddenly a smile overtook his handsome face.

Willie was smiling, too, while tearing off three blank pages.  “Let’s hear what you’re thinking.”

Wilfred talked about the two of them having private companies that were invested in by just family members.  “Since we’re family owned, family run and family managed, why not make the launch of the men’s line a family affair?”

She looked confused, but continued to hear him out.

“Launch the line with the Devonshire Men and call it the Devonshire Collection.” Willie was beaming, encouraging him to go on, while she made notes.

“Line us all up, shoot it on a green screen and you can counter impose any background for any holiday.”

She encouraged him to unfold the idea.  Wilfred suggested she start from oldest to youngest.  “Uncle James is at the end with a pair of…” he sorted through her sketches and found the pajamas, “… wearing these with a Christmas box under his arm.”  She nodded.

“Then Uncle Earl in this lounge set and a Vanity’s Pleasure solid V-neck tee, holding a bowl of popcorn.”  Willie was tickled when she asked, “And Daddy?  What would you put him in?”

“Boxers, of course, white with a white standard cotton tee, wearing his glasses and holding up a Wall Street Journal.”  Willie was clapping.

She added, “Then put David in black boxer briefs, a black tee, and put an iPad in his hands.”

Wilfred was rubbing the hairs on his chin.  “We need to break it up a bit there, make a transition.” She wanted to know how.

Wilfred snapped his fingers. “Put Chuck in his captain’s hat and a hot red thong!”

“Chuck would never go for that!”

Wilfred rolled his eyes.  “Oh yes, he would. He is constantly talking about the work on his glutes. Let him show them off.”

He continued by saying he would be next in the line.  She asked, “What are you thinking, big brother?”

The reference was ridiculous since he was only three minutes older than her.  “Well, let’s use what we have.  Let my hair down, add a fan to the scene to billow my hair, put me in some snug black briefs, and take off my shirt.” 

This time she rolled her eyes.  “And what would we put in your hands?” 

He thought for a minute.  “If we go with the stereotype, we need something really cheesy and over the top.”

“A glass of cognac!” they both said at the same time.    To complete the line, Wilfred suggested that Jordan be put in boxer briefs in a solid color with matching wife-beater, holding a smart phone with headphones.  Willie suggested putting Gianni in patterned boxer briefs with a tee covered in text language.  “Add text language to the boxer briefs as well. Put an Xbox controller in his hand.”

They were both pleased.  “You can end the line with Stefano Jr. in kiddie boxers with a Vanity’s Pleasure kind of a super hero tee, with his favorite skateboard.”

“I love it, but there’s just one problem,” she said.

“And that would be?” Wilfred asked.

“How the hell do I convince every male relative to do this?”

“Tell them they get free underwear!”  They sat back and enjoyed the rest of the flight.

The twins arrived in London, both dressed to perfection in black suits and dark shades with their hair in ponytails.  Strathmore Textiles reeked of old money, stodgy British ways, and outdated fabrics.  Willie wasn’t sure what David was thinking setting up this appointment.  She didn’t make lingerie for fox hunts or sexy leggings for wearing under kilts. 

Nigel Strathmore was prompt, impeccably dressed and holding a cup of Earl Gray.  He was six-foot-two and in excellent shape.  Willie figured he played rugby or soccer or some other dodgy British sport.

Nigel was everything that Vanity despised in a man and everything David thought she needed in one.  Someone with enough of his own wealth with no direct links to Hollywood who would be in no direct competition with what she did for a living.  He was tall, well educated, and of the nobility. 

Wilfred told her, “His father was the Duke of Strathmore and his mother was a Baroness of something or other. Their textile company was established in the late 17th Century and had been passed down from generation to generation.”  Nigel was now in charge of the fabric empire and taking it in new directions.

Willie didn’t care.  As she switched into Vanity Devons, she prepared herself to mentally meet with the man she was sure was going to bore her to tears.

David had become interested in the company when he saw some of the new silks that were being shipped in from Milan.  Nigel spotted the two and had them come into his office, offering both a cup of tea.  Sir Nigel immediately noticed the similarities between the two when they removed their shades.  His eyes rested longer on Willie.

“Vanity Devons, what a pleasure to welcome you to Strathmore Textiles.”  He looked at Wilfred, who offered his hand and said, “Wilfred Devonshire.”

Nigel nodded.  “Ah, the other brother.”

Wilfred corrected him.  “I am the twin brother.”

Willie had not moved, but sat looking extremely bored with the whole insipid affair.  Nigel kissed her hand, which in itself was gallant, but not enough to make her swoon.  His dog and pony act was old hat.  She sat for fifteen more minutes listening to him drone on and on about the textile industry. 

“I suggest we take a tour of factory since I seem to be boring you to inattention, Ms. Devons.”  She only gave him a cursory glance confirming his thoughts.   Nigel was looking at her feet.  “Size nine and a half Ms. Devons?”

She looked at him as if he asked her what size her underpants were.  From his closet, he removed a pair of safety boots.  Before Willie could open her mouth, he was at her feet, taking off her shoes and slipping on the boots.  “Do you have a foot fetish, Mr. Strathmore?” she asked as he held her calf a little too long for her comfort.

“No, I figured since you were not interested in my business that it would be necessary for me to do as most men are accustomed around you – sit at your feet.” He snapped on the second boot with extra force.  “Besides, you can’t wear those ridiculous shoes in my factory.”  He extended his hand for the tour to begin.  Wilfred was impressed that Nigel had brought his sister down a peg and just may have earned a bit of her respect. 
This is fascinating
.

The factory tour pretty much went as expected and Willie just wanted to leave until he showed her a piece of silk so delicate that she stopped breathing.   She handed Wilfred her bag and removed her jacket, handing it to Nigel.  She had perfectly toned arms and Wilfred noticed Nigel watching her closely.  She ran the silk across her arm, allowing the fabric to drape.  The fabric was then pulled across her forearm to feel. “Hmm,” was all she added when she turned and pulled up her skirt to reveal her thigh.  Nigel and Wilfred both turned their backs as she went through the same process on the well-toned leg.

“This material is fabulous.  Is this what you make in Milan?”

Nigel nudged Wilfred, asking him to look to see if the coast was clear.  Will was shaking his head no and didn’t want to turn around, either.  Instead, Willie came around in front of them.  “Let’s head to Milan.  I would like to see more of this, Mr. Strathmore.”

Nigel did not break a smile or a sweat at her suggestion.  “It’s the end of the day and time for supper.”  He suggested they head to Strathmore Manor for dinner and on to Milan in the morning.

“Don’t be silly, we can be there in an hour, I brought my plane.”

Nigel was unfazed.  “We can leave in the morning,” he paused for effect, “and we can take my plane.” Wilfred liked this guy more and more.  Nigel helped her put her jacket back on and again kneeled at her feet to remove the boots before slipping her shoes back on, Cinderella style.  If Wilfred had not been watching, he would have missed the twinkle in Willie’s eyes.

“My pilot is still on the plane, Mr. Strathmore, as well as our luggage.”  He ushered her towards the Bentley that awaited them at the front of the building.

“Chuck, your pilot, is at the manor in the hot tub and your luggage has been brought over.”

There was no more arguing.  They were headed to Strathmore Manor.

Strathmore Manor was a castle.  Dinner was pleasant but more focused on fabric than anything else. The conversation took off between Nigel and Willie as they discussed fabric and trends. Both lit up like Christmas trees to talk to another person who understood what they were talking about. Neither Chuck nor Will had any clue what they were talking about and didn’t care to know.  Chuck and Will almost fell asleep.

Wilfred asked her, “Willie, you got this or do I need to stay?”

She rose and kissed him on the cheek.  “I’m fine.”  She looked back at Nigel, who nodded to Will, indicating she was in good hands.  He and Chuck excused themselves while Nigel and Willie sat in front of the fireplace talking about her fall line and her fabric requirements.  Midway through he asked, “It’s been a long day, would you mind if I got a tad bit more comfortable?”

“It’s your castle,” she said to him as she turned to examine a painting on the wall.

“There, that’s better,” he told her as she turned.  He had removed his jacket, waistcoat, and cufflinks.  Nigel kicked off his shoes and wiggled his toes in front of the fire.

“It’s August.  Why is there a fire burning?” she asked as she pulled the pins from her hair, allowing it to unravel.  With a shake of her hand, the hair fell loose and tumbled down her back.  Nigel actually gasped.

“Bloody hell, it is real.  I’ve seen it in photographs, but never imagined it was actually real.”  He stepped closer to her. She could smell the bergamot on his breath from the tea.  “Might I feel it?”

Willie lowered her eyelashes and nodded her consent.  Nigel’s fingers slipped inside the tresses and went all the way to her scalp.  His fingers slid through the strands as if he was searching for the trigger, or release mechanism to her spirit.  His hands rested at the nape of her neck with his fingers gently prodding the tight ball of tension that had rested there earlier in the day.  Instinctively, she placed her hands on his waist for balance, allowing her eyes to close as she gave in to the tender moment.  Her mouth fell open as she exhaled into his mini-massage.  As suddenly as it had started, he stopped and stepped back.

“Forgive, Ms. Devons.  I have been far too forward,” he told her as he stepped away.