Chapter Fourteen #2
Inside, the house smelled of evergreens and polish and something sweet baking already in the kitchen.
Garlands of greenery and gold and white ribbon framed the archways, the marble floors gleamed, and then there was the soaring tree that rose up at least two floors, filling the curving staircase, reaching up high toward the elegant glass dome.
Mrs. Booth materialized to take Cat’s coat and then was gone just as swiftly.
“Mrs. Johnson has already laid out the tea things for us,” Cara said, leading the way. “Today we’re going to take tea in the blue music room, my favorite room in the afternoon as it gets the most gorgeous light.”
Cat had seen the room before, on the Sunday Mrs. Booth gave them a house tour the day before the holiday tours began, and the blue music room was even more exquisite now, all pale light and soft color.
A fire burned low in the grate, and on a small table near the sofa, a silver tea tray gleamed with China cups, scones, and tiny sandwiches arranged in neat tiers.
“It’s beautiful,” Cat said softly.
Cara smiled. “It’s my favorite room in the house when no one else is here. Alec prefers the library, the green salon is ideal for family and friends, but I like this one best. It’s the right size when it’s just me, or me taking tea with a friend.”
They sat together, and Cara poured the tea, asking undemanding questions that required no real thought, questions meant to help Catriona relax.
Cara shared about her family in Bellingham, Washington and how her sister was there now with her husband, Baird, a very hunky Scottish lawyer her sister Ella had met at Cara and Alec’s wedding in the San Juan Islands.
Cat loved how Cara called Baird hunky. She also loved the story of how Ella and Baird, both part of the wedding party, had met and had a moment—before becoming enemies, and then later, in England two years ago, becoming lovers.
“It’s the power of this place,” Cara said. “Langley Park has a special magic of its own.”
She looked at Cat over the rim of her teacup. “Have you by chance felt any … magic?”
Catriona felt heat race through her, her cheeks burning, and she shook her head.
But Cara’s eyebrows arched as she took a small sip of tea and then carefully set her cup back in the saucer. “If I didn’t think the world of Rhys, I wouldn’t care. But he’s a lovely man and a very devoted father.”
“He is,” Cat said, forcing herself to speak.
“I think he has feelings for you.”
Cat’s head jerked up, and she looked uncertainly at her hostess. “I can’t imagine Rhys Harmon confessing feelings.”
“You mean to me?” Cara laughed. “True, not so much in words, but it was in what he didn’t say. He cares for you but you’re returning to Michigan soon, I believe?”
Cat nodded. “I’m interviewing now for teaching positions … well, interviewing as much as one can over the winter holidays.”
“My father is a professor,” Cara said. “My sister earned her PhD but isn’t teaching at the moment, just happy being a newlywed.”
“I don’t have a PhD,” Cat said, almost regretful.
“No. Just two master’s.” Humor flashed in Cara’s eyes. “You know, you are perfect for him. Is it that you don’t like England? You can’t imagine living here any longer?”
“That’s not it at all. I’ve loved being here. I really like London.”
“Why not get a teaching job here then?”
It crossed Cat’s mind that someone had been filling Cara in.
She definitely knew quite a lot about Catriona’s life …
and future. “I have things to settle in Michigan. I need to sell my grandmother’s homes, and they are full of things, her things, my grandfather’s things, my parents’.
I’ve put it off because it’s overwhelming, but I can’t just ignore the places any longer.
It’s time to do something with them … and all those things. ”
“Do you have anyone to help you?” Cara persisted.
Cat hesitated and then shook her head. “No. But I can hire some movers and get Goodwill to come with a truck and take away the clothes, dishes and furniture I don’t need. There’s no point hanging on to everything.”
Cara refilled their teacups. “I wish I lived closer. I would love to help you. In fact, maybe I could fly over—”
“No, Lady Sherbourne—”
“Cara, please. I’m just like you.”
“Except you’re a countess.”
“It’s really my husband’s title. I just…
” Then she shook her head and laughed. “I’ve been married for four years and I’m still finding it strange.
But I am sincere. If you could use help, I would like to.
I come from a very big, often annoying, family but we have each other and I hate to think you’re alone dealing with all of this. ”
Cat’s eyes felt gritty and she blinked hard.
She didn’t know what she’d expected coming to tea with Lady Sherbourne, but it wasn’t this. “You are very kind.”
“I like to have a purpose.” Cara lifted a hand, gestured to the gorgeous room with the afternoon light.
“And yes, my children and husband keep me busy, but I’m never too busy to help a friend.
” She gave Cat a warm smile as she leaned forward to whisper, “In case you didn’t know, I’m claiming you as my friend, so call me if I can come help you. ”
*
Rhys deemed Olivia well enough for them to go into the village for dinner on Christmas Eve, and the girls were excited to get out and enjoy the decorations and the Victorian carolers filling the square.
They didn’t walk far, just enough for them to stretch their legs and get fresh air, as well as teasing whiffs of the cinnamon and sugared nuts a vendor was selling in the square.
The girls wanted hot cider, but Rhys persuaded them to wait for dinner and save room for a special pudding afterward.
Bakewell’s restaurants were nearly all filled, but Rhys was able to secure them a small table in a small pub off the main road where the windows glowed amber, and the fire inside crackled cheerfully.
The four of them squeezed into the little booth, the wooden table scarred with age, and they all ended up ordering the Christmas special—roast beef and gravy with Yorkshire pudding, roasted potatoes, carrots, and parsnips with traditional Christmas pudding for dessert.
Green garlands hung from every window, as well as along the bar itself.
A late afternoon football match was just ending, the pub televisions broadcasting the game, and every few minutes a roar rose from the football crowd near the bar, swelling through the pub before easing back into the usual clink of glasses and low murmur of conversations.
Rhys barely glanced at the screen; the girls didn’t so much as blink at the noise, but Cat sneaked peeks toward the TV.
“They don’t always have a match on Christmas Eve,” Rhys said, amused by Cat’s interest. “It will be over soon.”
A fresh roar went up from the football fans gathered near the bar, the sound rising like a wave before settling back into the clink of cutlery and low conversation.
Cat glanced at the screen, checking the score, before looking at Rhys. “I like it. Not sure why.”
“Do you have a team you follow?”
She flushed. “Actually … yes.”
His eyebrow lifted. “Go on, then. Who is it?”
“Brentford.”
“Brentford? Not one of the big London clubs?”
“I like an underdog. They work hard, don’t swagger, and their supporters are good people. I’ve been to a couple of matches with friends from school, and I just … liked the feeling of it.”
His gaze skimmed her face, the warmth in her eyes, the shape of her mouth, appreciating her all over again. Because of course she’d choose Brentford. It was exactly like her, and exactly why he liked her so much.
If only he could convince her not to return to Michigan right after the holidays, that maybe she should give him—them—a chance. He was fairly certain she was as drawn to him as he to her, but in light of their current situation, neither of them could act on the feelings.
The idea of her not rushing back to the States, the idea of her remaining in London, even if just for the winter, seemed right. He wanted time to find out if there was something real between them, something that could be … more.
By the time they bundled themselves back into the car for the return home, Olivia was half-asleep, and Jillian was coughing. Rhys frowned as his oldest coughed again.
“Are you coming down sick, Jilly?” he asked, reaching into the backseat to put a hand to her forehead.
She was warm but not hot.
“I don’t think so. I just have a tickle in my throat.”
“Is it sore?”
She shook her head. “Not really. Not like Livy’s … at least, not yet.”
Not yet, he silently echoed, exchanging glances with Cat.
Alec had invited them for dinner at the house tomorrow, but they couldn’t go if Jilly was coming down sick.
Alec had elderly relatives that joined him for Christmas every year, and Rhys couldn’t risk their health, or the little ones. Any of them, actually.