Chapter Two #2
She could feel his scrutiny—not unkind but searching—and it was enough to make her regret revealing something so deeply personal.
She rarely shared the tragedies in her past, not wanting sympathy or pity.
When she was younger classmates would say, I don’t know how you did it, or I could never handle losing mine.
And it had only made her angrier. She didn’t want her parents to die.
It hadn’t even crossed her mind that they could.
They were her parents for God’s sake. Mom and Dad. The two greatest people in her life.
To shift the energy, she gave her teacup a quick, brisk stir. “I appreciate you being honest about the girls and what they’re going through. It’s important for me to know, and I can handle strong emotions.”
“I didn’t think you’d worked with children before.”
“Well, not children. They were college freshmen, so close enough.
That earned her the faintest ghost of a smile. “You may find a twelve-year-old more formidable.”
“It’s okay. I like a good challenge.”
“Somehow, I don’t doubt it. Not if you’ve spent the past two years earning two different degrees. That’s not a choice everyone would make.”
“No. Practical people get a job and get to work. I’ve put my career off for as long as possible. Now it’s time to face reality.”
“Which is?”
“Life doesn’t pay for itself. Everybody has to work. Everybody has bills to pay.”
“That sounds awfully dreary. What about finding meaning in life … work that satisfies?”
She smiled faintly. “It does sound rather dreary, doesn’t it?
I don’t mean it that way. I’m sure I’ll be happy when I’ve found a teaching position …
once I’m settled. But that won’t be until after the holidays and to be honest, I haven’t started applying and I should have.
Instead, I’ve been soaking up every minute in London, enjoying what’s left of my time here. ”
“You enjoyed London?”
“Very much so. It became home, which was nice.”
“But your family, the rest of your family, they must miss you.”
“There isn’t really a family left. After my parents died, I was raised by my dad’s mother, and she’s gone now. There are no cousins, or aunts and uncles.”
“That can’t be easy.”
“It is rather lonely if I think about it, so I try not to think about it.”
“Which is why you stay busy.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. “Pretty much.”
The intensity of his gaze made her feel a little lightheaded and strange.
She looked away toward the tearoom windows and saw that it had begun to rain, water streaking the window in long silvery threads. “It’s raining.”
“We should go and save Mrs. Johnson.”
Cat gulped down her now cold tea and gathered her things. As they stepped outside, Rhys opened his umbrella and angled it to cover her, his arm brushing hers as he tried to shield her. The gesture was instinctive, old-fashioned, and unexpectedly intimate.
Cat’s insides lurched, her pulse quickening. She couldn’t remember the last time a man opened a door for her or protected her from the rain. He was very much a man, and very disconcerting.
She glanced up at him. “Thank you.”
He nodded, eyes forward. “It’s nothing.”
But it wasn’t nothing, at least not to her. She appreciated kindness and courtesy. She also appreciated the small gestures of chivalry as they were protective, and it had been a long time since she’d felt protected.
*
By the time Rhys turned off the main road and through the tall iron gates of Langley Park a half hour later, the rain had stopped but the clouds remained. The fields rolled out on either side of the road rimmed with hedgerows and the occasional flock of sheep.
Cat leaned forward as she caught her first glimpse of the huge country house. “It’s beautiful,” she said, drinking in the sprawling red brick house with the tall rows of windows on each of the three floors, and the chimney covered roof. “How did you end up with a holiday cottage here?”
“The Sherbourne family, which owns Langley Park, rents the cottages. I believe there are five different cottages, plus the old dairy which has become an event center, popular for weddings and parties.”
“So, you found your cottage online?” she asked, enthralled by the house in the distance. Cat knew her history, particularly English history, and she could see some traces of the Elizabethan house it had been before modernized by a Georgian facade, which could have been anytime in the 1700s.
Rhys didn’t answer right away. His focus stayed on the narrow road that wound between the trees. “I grew up here,” he said after a lengthy pause. “From the time I was three until I was seventeen. My father ran the stables for the Sherbourne family.”
“You grew up on Langley Park?”
He gave a small, noncommittal shrug. “In the stable cottage, behind the main house.” For a moment there was just silence before adding, “It was a different world back then.”
She wanted to ask more, but the silence felt weighted, and deliberate, as if he’d closed a door, and so she turned back to the window, seeing how the main house rose up with sprawling wings on either side of the main building.
Smoke curled from a few chimneys. Off to the side of the house were outbuildings, brick and stone.
One of those had to have been the stables, and another the stable master’s house.
“Do you know anything about the history of Langley Park?” Cat asked carefully, not wanting to be intrusive but terribly curious at the same time. To have been the stable master’s son … to have grown up in the shadow of grandeur and wealth.
“A little bit. What do you want to know?”
“I can see in the wings the original Elizabethan design, but the center of the house is Georgian. Is the inside the same?”
“There are several different entrances to Langley Park—the formal entrance there in the middle, and then the entrance that leads to the great hall, which was the original hall in the house.”
“And that hasn’t been remodeled?”
“No, it’s still quite medieval with its heavy beamed ceiling, tapestries, armor and swords and shields.”
“I would so love to see it,” she said impulsively under her breath.
“I can probably arrange a tour for you before you leave.” He glanced at her. “I just need to find out from Mrs. Booth when the tours are, and when I could sneak you in.”
“If they do tours, I could buy a ticket.”
“The tours have already sold out. December is the only time the house is open to the public.”
“It’s decorated then?”
“From top to bottom.”
“How gorgeous it must be.”
“The medieval, Elizabethan or Georgian eras?” he asked, smiling faintly at her enthusiasm.
“All of it.”
They turned down a narrow road that traveled below the huge lawn that rolled from the lower field up to the house, passing through shadowy woods before coming out on the other side onto a wider gravel road dotted with old stone cottages.
Rhys pulled in front of the second cottage, two stories with matching windows on the first and second floor. The cottage looked rather austere in winter, but Cat was charmed by the pitch of the roof and the symmetry of the front door and windows.
He parked and cut the engine. “Here we are.”
Cat stepped out and drew in a breath as she stretched. The nerves had returned, along with a flutter of excitement. She’d never done anything like this before—nannied or lived with a family—and it was an adventure, with so much still unknown.
Rhys gestured to the car. “I’ll bring the bags in shortly, but first, come meet the girls.”
As he opened the front door Cat heard voices—young, high, and distinctly female arguing, only to be interrupted by a woman’s voice, telling them to be careful or they’d both get burned.
Rhys shot Cat an I-warned-you look as he shut the front door and then headed straight away for the kitchen.
Cat followed more slowly, taking in the thick stone walls of the cottage and low-beamed ceiling.
A huge hearth anchored the far end of the sitting room, the fireplace flanked by a pair of comfortable armchairs with a couch opposite to provide additional seating.
“You better be listening to Mrs. Johnson,” Rhys said sternly entering the kitchen. “She’s going to give me a full report when I drive her back to the house, and I trust it will be a glowing report, yes, girls?”
“Oh, we’ve had a good time,” Mrs. Johnson said, smiling at Rhys.
“We made chocolate sponge with chocolate custard for your dessert tonight. But the girls were finding it hard to wait, so we whipped up a batch of jammie dodgers. They were hoping to spread the jam but the biscuits are still too warm, I’m afraid. ”
“I don’t think they are too warm,” the taller of the two girls protested.
Fair with long dark blonde hair and blue eyes, she was quite pretty or would have been if she’d had a more pleasant expression.
“Mrs. Booth said they were,” the younger girl answered. She glanced from her father to Cat. “Are you the new nanny?” she asked.
Olivia’s hair was darker than Jillian’s, and her eyes were hazel like her father’s.
“Just until your Charlotte returns,” Cat said, extending her hand to Olivia. “I’m Catriona but you can call me Cat if you like. It’s less of a mouthful.”
The nine-year-old gravely shook Cat’s hand. “I am Olivia.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Cat answered.
She turned to Jillian, offered her hand but the girl turned away.
“Jilly,” Rhys reprimanded. “Where are your manners?”
Jillian shot him an annoyed glance before looking in Cat’s direction without actually looking at Cat. “I’m Jillian. You can call me Jillian.”
“Thank you, Jillian,” Cat replied, hiding her smile. So, this is how it would be. That’s fine. Game on.
Jillian crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you even know what jammie dodgers are?” she asked Cat, again glancing toward her without making eye contact.
“They are one of my favorite English cookies—”
“Not cookies, biscuits.” Jillian rolled her eyes. “You’re in England now.”
Cat blinked, glanced around feigning surprise. “Am I?”