Chapter 7 The Day Trip
THE DAY TRIP
I swam out of sleep the next morning to what appeared to be an unusual sunny day in England and the understanding my slumbering self was the entertainment of a green-eyed Persian who, last night, brought a friend.
Snowball was lying beside me, concentrating on bathing her ruff with her tongue, and accompanying her was Gingerface, a cat I’d met last night. He was a thick-furred ginger with huge round eyes and an adorable round face, the former now aimed at me curiously.
“You’re both bed hogs,” I accused.
Snowball ignored me.
Gingerface took my speaking as an invitation to cuddle, which he did, easily and with practice, since last night he made clear his cuddling tendencies.
I buried my fingers in his fur at the same time I fell to my back and turned my head to see the smart screen told me it was six fifty-two.
I then looked up at the canopy above me.
Yesterday, I’d discovered that Lady Marie Talyn’s painting studio was a living dream.
A little cottage tucked in a corner of the gardens, abutting a field that held fluffy sheep and was flanked with two forests. It was about a five-minute walk from the main house.
And come time for the wisteria to bloom, considering the amount of it crawling all over that cottage, it was going to be an extra something to see.
It had lots of sparkling-clean windows, whitewashed walls, and just outside the front door that was off to the side, a little patio adorned with a cute cast iron bistro table and chairs and lots of pots filled with flowers.
Inside, there was a desk in the center, a black stove in a corner and a Victorian chaise lounge draped in fringed shawls across from it in the other corner. A stool at an easel with a half-finished watercolor on canvas sat across the room, just in from the door.
There was a breakfront filled with a disorganized collection of paint things, all old and undoubtedly not a bit of it fit for purpose anymore.
There were scattered threadbare rugs on the wood plank floors that had probably been usurped from the main house.
And there was a long shelf in front of the side-by-side, diamond-paned windows opposite the desk, all of it and all the space under it, containing boxes of…everything.
Journals, ledgers, letters, framed photos, unframed photos.
A cornucopia of Talyn history laid out like a mouthwatering smorgasbord in front of me.
Prudence knew I’d hit my Nirvana (probably around the time I shouted, “Oh my God, this is Nirvana!”), so she just gave me the skinny before she took her leave.
First, if I got cold and wanted a fire, since there was no other heating, I should just use the telephone (which only called to the main house) to ask if Scotty or Harry could build one for me.
Second, if I needed anything, like lunch brought out or something to drink, again just use the phone.
Third, the place might not have heat, but it did have electricity, and they’d set up Wi-Fi for me out there (so sweet!).
En fin, last night’s protocol held with people turning up in what I thought of as the plum parlor at around six thirty, and since it wasn’t going to be a celebration like last night, what I was wearing would be fine for dinner.
She then let me have at it, and I didn’t want to be that person, but I was, because I barely noticed her going.
I was dying to just grab anything, sit in the beige, buttoned, arched, tub backed antique rolling Victorian chair behind the leather-topped Victorian desk and dive in.
But that wasn’t how it worked.
I had at least a solid day of organization in front of me, and that meant cataloging and dating so when I finally jumped in, I could start at the beginning.
Therefore, that’s what I did.
By the time it occurred to me that quite a bit of it had lapsed since Prudence left, the entire space was covered in stacks of papers, books and pictures, my phone said it was six forty-seven, and since I missed lunch, I was starving.
“Shit!” I cried, shoved my phone in my back pocket, turned out the lamps and hightailed it to the big house.
I hit a parlor full of Talyns.
But only Battle (of course) raised his eyebrows at me.
Fitzgibbons smiled at me.
“Drink, Miss Vivienne?”
Since he said they had everything, I challenged him with, “A paloma, please, Mr. Fitzgibbons.”
“Right away,” he replied without missing a beat and headed to the drinks cabinet.
Everyone was sitting where they had been the night before, so I decided to sit in one of the chairs opposite, not beside, Battle.
He had no response to my changed situation whatsoever.
I didn’t want to be, but I was disappointed about this.
“How’d you get on?” Prudence asked me.
“Well, I’m about a third of the way done with cataloging and organizing.”
“Cataloging?” Temperance asked.
“Everything set out there for me,” I answered.
“My book won’t have footnotes, but my author’s note will, as will my personal notes, and I’ll need to keep track of where I read something.
To make this more straightforward for me later, I start by cataloging my research documents.
It also helps if I have to go back to something. It’ll be easier to find it.”
Fitzgibbons was there with a tray on which was my paloma. I took it and thanked him.
“No offense, dear, but that all sounds dreadfully boring,” Temperance decreed.
I shrugged. “To each their own.”
“Indeed,” she replied.
I glanced at Battle to see he was having some quiet conversation with Chastity.
And that would be the theme for the night, through drinks and dinner.
Prudence, Temperance and I would chat, Chastity and Battle had their own whisper thing going on, and only occasionally would they join in with ours.
And on those occasions, it was only Chastity that joined. Battle would just listen.
No one acted like this was weird.
But it was kinda weird.
For the most part, even if I was seated right next to him again, it was like I wasn’t there.
Outside the brow raise, gone was the high and mighty duke, also gone was the flirty player.
At least Bartholomew hadn’t forgotten me.
He’d left his daddy to come lie beside me during drinks and resumed his snooze between Battle and me at dinner.
But I discovered the five-course meal the night before was, in fact, a celebration, because last night’s dinner started with a salad, then a main and finally a dessert.
It was just as delicious, but it wasn’t as grand.
Or as long.
And after it, Chastity and Battle immediately disappeared (alas, Bartholomew went with them).
Temperance joined Prudence and I for another drink in the plum parlor, but she eventually wandered away, leaving Prudence and I to chitter chatter for a spell, this being when Gingerface made his appearance, and he and I got introduced.
Eventually, we both got drowsy enough to call it a night, and Prudence and I walked up the stairs together, parting on the landing for her to go south, and me to go north.
Which brought me to now.
Glastonbury day.
We were leaving after breakfast.
And I was thinking His Grace probably thought I was a bit of fun.
But now he had his signed agreement. I wouldn’t write anything he didn’t want anyone to read. I was his sister’s friend, not his. A guest in his house, though he wasn’t there normally, and after he went back to regularly scheduled programming, he would rarely see me.
I’d then be in a cottage an hour away, and except for him approving my chapters, he’d have nothing to do with me.
And I would have nothing to do with him.
Although this left me with a stupidly crushed feeling that made no sense (right, so it did, since he was that gorgeous and that good of a flirt), it was for the best.
I did not need to be flirting or sparring with a friend’s older brother, or my host.
Acquaintances, good.
Anything else, bad.
Looking on the bright side, after my walk through the ballroom, nothing peculiar, paranormal or eerie befell me, so there was that.
“Ugh,” I said to Snowball and Gingerface.
Gingerface purred.
Snowball stepped delicately onto my chest and stared down at my face.
She then jumped off the bed.
And she was right.
Time to get ready for breakfast.
And Glastonbury.
* * *
It was only Prudence and I for breakfast again.
And I knew when our breakfast ended.
That being when Fitzgibbons showed at the door and announced, “Your car has been brought around, Miss Vivienne.”
I smiled my thanks to him and immediately looked at Prudence.
She was taking a final sip of coffee and seemed to be okay.
Well then…
Shoo.
The hermit wasn’t freaking about being unhermited.
That was good.
I got up and grabbed my tan crossbody.
Today, I was wearing another slouchy sweater, this one a soft gray-blue, with a flippy navy skirt with little gray-blue flowers that hit a couple of inches above my knees. Also, another pair of booties, these tan with a lower heel, so I could walk farther more comfortably, but they were still cute.
I settled the strap of my bag across my chest, sucked back the last dregs of my own coffee and turned to Prudence.
“Ready for our adventure?”
She studied me a moment before she asked, “How do you make everything seem so fun?”
I tipped my head to the side, contemplating this.
I righted it, sharing, “No clue. But you’re home.
I’m not. This might be a once in a lifetime opportunity for me, and that’s always exciting.
On the other hand, you’ve been there before, and you can trundle down the road and experience it anytime you want.
That said, all of life is an adventure, and we can choose how we face it.
I choose to decide it’s going to be fun. ”
“I might take that advice,” she mumbled.
I hoped she would.
We left the breakfast room, walked down the hall, through the foyer and out the front door.
As expected, my Peugeot was there.
Not expected, Battle and Temperance were there too, with Bartholomew…and Chastity.