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When Irish Eyes Are Watching is the sequel to A Summer to Remember. I wrote ASTR with the intention of a sequel but changed my mind at the last minute as I was moving. As I am “settled” in my new location, and as many of you have written and requested it, I decided to go through with the sequel. I hope you enjoy! SF69
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James Bradford stepped from the warmth of his new black Jaguar and hastily made his way up the stone steps to the sprawling front door of Bradford Manor, which was a large, renovated castle that had belonged to his grandfather and now belonged to his grandmother. He rang the bell and wasn’t at all surprised when the door opened immediately and Thomas, the elderly butler greeted him and let him inside. He shrugged out of the long coat and nodded gratefully when Thomas took it from him.
“Lady Eleanor awaits you in the dining room, sire,” he said in an accent that was as a refined as fine English tea.
James nodded once more and made his way through tall, brightly lit halls of the house that he remembered as “spooky” from his childhood memories. When he and his younger sister had first come to Bradford Manor, located in the ritzy town of Hampstead with its sprawling mansions and manicured lawns, they’d been amazed that they were related to people of such wealth. He remembered that day clearly. He’d been fourteen; Rebecca only eleven. She’d held on tightly to his hand as they’d walked into the castle alone. Neither of their parents had come and it wasn’t until later that he’d figured out that they had not been invited. His grandfather, William Earl Bradford I, had been ill and had wanted to see his grandchildren from his wayward son before he died. The first time he’d met Eleanor Bradford, she’d tried her best to intimidate him. She’d learned that day that he was quite bold and perhaps even bare-faced when he’d started asking questions about where she’d been for the first thirteen years of his life.
James and his sister had made frequent visits back to Bradford Manor on the weekends to be near their ill grandfather and even after he’d passed, James had continued to visit the manor on a monthly basis. Rebecca didn’t like it and chose to stay in the warm and happy cottage with their parents as he did so. When he’d reached the age of seventeen, his grandmother had asked him where he planned to go to university. He’d told her that he planned to work after school, and that his father had a decent job lined up for him. James remembered how her eyes had become hard and how she’d struggled to get out her words when she’d told him that she would have to speak to his father. Whatever had transpired between his grandmother and her son, he’d ended up applying to both Oxford and Cambridge, been accepted to both and had decided on Cambridge. It was there that he’d formed an attachment to his sly cousin Richard and there that he’d perfected the image of playboy and had scandalized his grandmother with how quickly he went through “decent” girls, as she put it. It was due to a tabloid appearance of a very drunk James Taylor Bradford sprawled atop a half nude Megan Kensington which the caption, “Upper Crust of Society?!” that his grandmother had promptly sent him away for the summer. When he’d returned from that summer, his grandmother had complimented him on “growing up” and had watched him and the tabloids like a hawk since then. After graduating with a degree in Finance and Business Administration, Eleanor had immediately given him a job in the company. He’d worked his way up in no time and it was for that reason that after only nine years, he held the position of CEO of Bradford’s, a title that had been in his family since the company started.
James entered the large dining room where his grandmother was sitting at the end of the table. She looked immaculate as usual with her ivory hair pulled into a bun away from her face and neck and a glass of sherry—it was her favorite drink—in her hand. Her golden eyes lit up as she surveyed him.
“I was beginning to think that you were otherwise occupied,” she said in her usual dry tone.
He walked over to her and brushed his lips against her porcelain cheek. “When have I ever broken a dinner date with you, grandmother? Never.”
James returned to the other end of the table and took a seat. Eleanor called out to her servants and the food began to pile onto their plates.
Somewhere through their idle conversation, Eleanor asked, “How is Richard handling his new position in the company?”
Seeing no need to spare her feelings, he answered honestly, “Richard could give a fig about the company and is currently scheming ways to get you to give the position to someone else.”
Eleanor sniffed delicately at the use of such language, as if “fig” was a curse James’ thought amusedly, and replied, “In time, he will grow to love it.”
He clucked his tongue at that and took a hefty swallow of his brandy. “Grandmother, we both know that he isn’t cut out for that job. Richard would be happier and would make my job much easier, if he was doing something else…like modeling, or acting, or whatever he wants to do.”
He watched as his grandmother drew herself up regally and said in what could only be called hefty disdain, “I would rather force him to work in the companies than have him drag such a grand name as ours through the mud. Movies…and modeling…ha! No heir to the Bradford fortune will get one pence of my money if he does something so degrading. I no longer wish to speak of him. How is your sister?”
James sighed and a genuine smile formed on his face as he spoke about his sister. Eleanor smiled as well. She’d always liked Rebecca, who with her golden hair and blue eyes was by far the radiant beauty of the family. It was unfortunate that Rebecca blamed Eleanor for her mother’s illness and death and refused all of the invitations that she sent to her. Eleanor did not blame Rebecca; in truth, she was partly responsible for Claire Bradford’s death. Claire had passed away from a heart attack but she’d never been quite happy as Eleanor had refused to see her son for disobeying her and marrying Claire. She’d always blamed herself for the dispute. And it hadn’t helped one bit when Eleanor had pushed her way into Claire’s life through James. She’d been the one who paid for James’ education and she’d been the one to spoil him as well. When James had done well, Eleanor bought him something—something that was usually worth more than anything that his parents could afford. It had created an even deeper wedge between Claire and Eleanor but had started one between Claire and James as well. Claire wanted her son to grow up working hard for things that he received and Eleanor wanted him to grow up as a Bradford. In the end, Eleanor had “won” and Claire’s health gradually deteriorated.
Eleanor sighed and stared at the handsome young man who with his grand posture, and aristocratic features, was her pride and joy. She truly counted her blessings that she’d been given such a wonderful grandson. James did not know it, but he was truly her heir. She raised her glass to her lips to stifle the chuckle as he went on to tell her about his three year old niece, Laila, who had decided once and for all that he was to be her human-pony.
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2 months later…
Bradford’s, Oxford St.
“You absolutely must help me, Branna,” Richard was on his knees, his hands holding on for dear life on Branna’s as she stared incredulously at him. A smirk appeared on her face and she rolled her brown eyes.
“You’d better get up before someone walks in and thinks you’re proposing to me. What would they think of you then?” she chided humorously, extracting her brown hand from his fairer one. She stepped around him to the pile of papers on his desk and picked some up.
“Branna, my love, you are not listening,” Richard stood, brushing his knees with both hands as he moved behind the desk to sprawl ungracefully in his chair. The black leather chair had built in massage instruments that Richard allowed her to use when he believed that she was stressed out.
Every time Branna entered his office, she had one thought.
This is my boss? This guy who sits in his massage chair, sends all outside correspondents to me or Mr. Shaw and looks completely bored every time I talk about business? And then she put that thought out of her mind and got to work. Richard Bradford was the Manager of Internal Affairs and Shadow Site Manager. She’d found out during her two months with this branch of the company that he was one of the heirs, the other being James Bradford who she knew about as he was the CEO of all of the Bradford’s.
“Your love, Mr. Bradford?” she pretended to be mortified at his use of such informal terms but they were passed that. She’d truly found a friend in the easy-going playboy that was Richard Bradford. After that first week of seeing him as potiential dating material, she’d removed that from her head completely. Richard was a great guy but he wasn’t her type. She’d only dated two men in the years following that accident and on both occasions she’d called it off with them after recognizing that there was something missing from the equation.
“Love, we’re past such formalities,” Richard informed her in his best bored voice and then he perked up once more, “Please Branna Jackson, if you help me I’ll do whatever you want for a…a week.”
Branna’s eyes lifted from the accounts as she thought of that. Richard had been helping her carry her groceries and heavy material in his SUV on occasion since he ate at her place more than he did his own, and she did have to stock up on some more groceries.
“One week?” Branna twirled her pen around as if she was seriously contemplating it. Richard squirmed in his seat before saying, “One and a half?” When she shook her head, he amended with a smile that looked sickly, “Two then. I’ll spend two weeks in your service.”
Branna plushed herself down on one of the comfortable chairs that faced him. He was sulking. He looked downright adorable but she wasn’t about to tell him that.
“Stop sulking, Richard,” she told him with a smile. “What is it that you want me to do?”
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When James drove up to Bradford Manor for the scheduled family dinner that his grandmother had orchestrated, he was completely tired. He was also late as there were still a few loose ends concerning a new location that he’d recently purchased. It was why he’d been at his office with his acquisitions team since 8:00 am on a Saturday morning to 6:00 pm. He’d barely had time to drag himself back to his London high-rise and freshen up before he was on the road heading to Hampstead. He noticed the array of cars and mentally ticked off who was already there. Frank Bradford, his uncle, and family had already arrived as the telltale black Benz was parked beside a fiery red Lamborghini that could only belong to his son, Richard. Next to those cars were a pearly white BMW that probably belonged to one of his cousins, Susan or Margaret, another fast sports car that probably belonged to their younger brother, Ian, and a familiar black Toyota. James paused and stared at the Toyota, a small lump forming in his throat before he cleared it and pushed his feelings away. William Bradford II, his father, had also decided to show up for the family dinner. James braced himself and trudged up the stone steps, hoping for a peaceful dinner but instinctively knowing that tonight was one of those nights that had probably been fated and there was no use in trying to stop, change, or avoid fate.
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Branna had known from the beginning what she was getting herself into but she hadn’t quite understand its magnitude until Richard had picked her up in his ridiculously expensive car and whisked her off to one of the largest and most gorgeous houses that she’d ever had the opportunity to lay eyes on. Richard had seen the look in her eyes as they drove down the paved path leading to the house and had promised her another week of chores. Seeing that she looked ready to bolt anyway, he’d turned to her with sincere eyes and had said, “Please, Branna. It’s only one night and then I swear to you, I will never ask you for anything—well, anything like this—as long as I live!”
She’d chuckled at his attempt at a promise and then had decided to carry it through. Why not? He was her friend and she sympathized with him. Plus, it was only one night. What could it hurt?
Branna found out just how much it could when she and Richard were led to the sitting room by the butler and then announced. Every head had swiveled toward them with smiles and then they’d faded as looks of confusion passed among the family. She was a big girl so she wasn’t drastically affected by the way the various members of his family kept staring at her, or the fact that when she was introduced to Lady Eleanor Bradford, the woman had smiled politely at her before excusing herself. She knew what good manners were, and she easily recognized bad ones too. Lady? she quipped to herself. So much for that. Eleanor had ’snubbed’ her. Even Richard, who’d been prepared to be reprimanded, had been upset by that behavior.
For crying-out-loud, it wasn’t her fault that she was with him. He’d dragged her here. He was sitting on the settee, staring at Branna who was holding a cup of tea in her hand, sipping it in slow increments and pretending to be unfazed by his family’s lack of interest in her, when he’d finally had it. He stood abruptly and walked over to her, drawing the attention of his entire family, especially his grandmother. He bent and retrieved her cup from her, causing her to start slowly as she came out of her reverie. Her eyes caught his and he smiled gently at her. Richard placed the saucer and cup on one of the tables and pulled her up. He spun to his family, his glare touching every face, before he tucked her hand into his sleeve and began a brisk walk from the room.
“Richard!” he heard his mother call angrily. He ignored her. He’d been ignoring her for years yet she still thought to control his life. She and his grandmother didn’t seem to learn a thing from past mistakes.
Richard was reaching for the brass knob on the door when it swung inward. He hastily pulled Branna back and glared. Thomas stepped inside and pulled at his lapels, looking the part of the sophisticated butler.
“Mr. Bradford has arrived,” he announced and then stepped aside as James walked in, looking every bit of the powerful CEO and Bradford heir that he was. He just had that air about him. His eyes immediately landed on Richard, who looked ready to explode with anger. His lips turned upward as he noticed his cousin bent out of shape and wondered what had taken him to that state. No doubt it had something to do with his grandmother.
“Richard,” he began in a calm voice, “You’re not leaving already, are you?”
The glare that Richard sent his way was ferocious in its intensity and James smirked even more.
“As a matter of fact, I am. You’re the only grandson she needs anyway. We don’t need to be here,” he said angrily and for the first time, James noticed the woman next to him. Well, she was technically behind Richard but when he looked in her direction she stepped forward. The first thing he noticed was cinnamon skin, and then his eyes drifted to her face, caressing every plane as he remembered a passionate girl that he’d met ages ago at a summer camp. His gaze traveled down her body, touching curves that a slinky black dress caressed intimately.
Richard cleared his throat and James lazily turned his gaze back to his cousin who was glaring at him in obvious disapproval.
“James, allow me to introduce you to—.”
James took her hand before he’d even finished and Branna gasped as every nerve ending in her body seemed to come to life. He said one word as his fingers gently kneaded her palm, “Branna.”
Richard seemed even more irritated by that and looked between the two of them incredulously, “You two know each other?”
Branna’s mind returned to her body instantly and she pulled her hand away from the handsome stranger who was James Bradford. The color of his hair could be described as wheat gold with darker streaks in all the right places. It was combed slickly away from his harshly beautiful face with intense green eyes that reminded her so much of the ones she dreamed about. There was something deeply familiar about this man, something that her heart protested against yet deeply yearned. She turned to Richard and shook her head quickly.
“I don’t know him,” she said evenly and she didn’t have to look at James to see that his face had turned to ice, his manner following on its heels.
Richard stared at her for what seemed like eons before he turned his attention back to James who glared at Branna in confusion before wiping all expression from his face. “It seems I have your Branna confused with someone I once knew.”
James moved past them and into the room, where he greeted his family members one by one. Richard looked down at Branna and leaned closer to whisper in her ears, “Are you sure that you two have never met?”
Branna closed her eyes and then opened them, staring up at Richard with her heart in her eyes.
“I don’t know, Richard. Please, I’ll explain everything some other time.”
“Well, since we are all here and Richard has yet to walk rudely out of the front door, we shall all head to the dining room,” Eleanor announced in her regal voice. Richard’s lip curled on a snarl and Branna pinched his arm, causing him to squeal before he pasted a smile on his lips.
“Thanks for coming with me. Without you, I probably wouldn’t have made it through the front door,” he whispered in her ear as he led her from the sitting room.
Branna chuckled softly and shook her head. She was willing to think of anything that didn’t involve James Bradford. She didn’t notice the glare the James through her way as she looked so at ease with his cousin. Nor did she see the narrowing of his eyes or the cynical curling of his lips. James Bradford had judged her and the judgment was anything but pretty.
They were halfway through their dinner and Branna and Richard were in some form of deep conversation when Eleanor’s voice rang out clearly, her question directed at Branna, “So, Miss Jackson, how is it that you’ve come to know Richard?”
All other conversations at the table stopped immediately, except for James who finished what he was saying before turning his attention on Branna. She stared at him for a few seconds as her mind played frustrated havoc on her, and then she turned to Eleanor.
“Well, Mrs. Bradford, we work—.”
Richard cut her off immediately. “We both work on Oxford Street. We met in a coffee shop.” His hand immediately covered hers in what must have appeared to an intimate touch but what registered in Branna’s mind as ‘let me do the talking.’
Eleanor passed a withering glance at her grandson who seemed immune to it before turning her hard stare back to Branna, “And what is it that you do, Ms. Jackson?”
Branna stared Eleanor directly in her glittering black eye when she replied, “I’m a Financial Manager for a department store.”
There was a slight shifting around the table. Forks chimed loudly against plates and some of the coldness seemed to move away from Eleanor as she surveyed Branna and then Richard.
“Ah, I see. If you don’t mind me asking, which company do you work for?” Eleanor was once more asking questions. Her voice seemed less haughty if that were possible.
Richard squeezed her hand again and said in an offended tone, “Grandmother, I invited Branna here as a guest. I did not know that she would face the Grand Inquisition.”
