27. Lizzy #2
Shit, but something about her words sounded right.
Was she right? Oh, bloody hell. The truth seeped into me slowly, then unmistakably, until the full weight of the realization settled over me with a kind of quiet horror.
I’d avoided all conflict between my couple, because I’d been going through so much pain personally—disappointed with Darcy and wrecked by Jane’s sadness.
All that writing craft and structure I’d spent hours learning and putting into practice over the last ten years had flown out the window.
My panicked pulse roared in my ears, my vision blurred. “I can’t write,” I wailed. “This is the end for me.” Oodles looked up at me, sadder than usual.
“No, this is not the end. But it will be if you miss this deadline. You’ve been so traumatized by Darcy that you’ve gone in the opposite direction and resolved everything before you’ve started.”
I gave a disgusted exhalation. “Is there anything about the pages we can save?”
“Not that I can see. You’ve even set it in a local estate, which has been used time and again, by you and—let’s look in their About Us pages—hmm, about fifty other Regency romance writers and a TV show.”
I kind of knew that but was blocking it out.
“Let’s start with something easy,” Charlie suggested.
“How about this? Take a week off and visit an estate that hasn’t been featured in any Regency romances and base your story there.
You know the marketing team needs to have a clear and unique—yet familiar—path of messaging, and this would be a brilliant start. You’ll have Cosmo spoofing himself.”
My editor Cosmo’s voice rang out in my ear. Give me the same but different, sweetheart. Don’t make life unnecessarily hard on yourself. Save your energy for our publication date piss-up.
“I’m sending a definitive list of stately homes and manor houses,” Charlie went on. “Ones that have been overused and you can safely avoid.”
She hung up and a ping cut through the air as her help arrived.
I clicked into my email and ran my eye down a familiar list of castles and manor houses under her heading: AVOID THESE SETTINGS LIKE THE PLAGUE (and other clichés).
I took a look at the list and felt even more depressed.
Many of these places were my go-tos, as the Cotswolds was the land of castles and manor houses and stately homes, close by and easy to fact-check by popping over or making a quick call to the estate managers, who loved that being featured in my pages boosted visitors.
Oodles gave me a mournful face to match my mood.
He’d been in the dumps for the past week, lost his appetite, was sluggish, not interested in playing.
At first, I’d thought it had been because I was so low.
And Jane was miserable when she visited.
Mum was constantly popping over, wringing her hands about what a mess it all was and how her two girls would never settle down now with a good prospect.
Then I’d wondered if Oodles was ill. I’d taken him into Knightley for tests yesterday, and our follow-up today would tell us the results.
“C’mon, boy. At least I can fix one thing today,” I said, leading Oodles out of the car and into the vet’s.
Inside, the clinic receptionist, Hetty Bates, chatted my ear off about the other clients this morning as she ushered me into the back. Knightley greeted me and explained the results, going through the paperwork.
“I don’t understand this,” I said as he read off a whole bunch of numbers and names.
“This young lad has nothing wrong with him.” Knightley gave Oodles a chuck under the chin. “But still, there’s something wrong in his life.” He sighed. “I’ve seen this happen before.”
“What is it?” I asked. Some sort of illness? Oh no, on top of everything else, I couldn’t handle if anything happened to my beloved pupster.
“Has Oodles seen Max since a week ago?”
“No, of course not. I mean, I love Max, but that man…”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to remind you of bad memories.”
How embarrassing. Even if Knightley hadn’t seen the heated exchange between Darcy and me at the front door promoted on the show’s socials, everyone at the inn must have heard or seen that appalling scene.
“But,” Knightley went on, “I’m pretty sure that explains why Oodles is down.”
I tilted my head, puzzled. What explained why he was down?
“He’s grieving. I noticed Oodles formed an instant bond with Max. Over and beyond the connection many dogs have. And he hasn’t seen him for a week. All indicators point to the fact that he’s missing him terribly.”
I got it. In a way, I’d missed Charlie terribly since she’d gotten together with my sister.
I loved that my best friend and agent had found happiness, but she wasn’t my special person anymore like she’d been before.
All those nights experimenting with a new cocktail as we edited sex scenes, laughing around the kitchen table in my much-loved thatched-roof cottage in the woods, were no longer.
I missed her. I loved Jane, but I couldn’t have the same down-and-dirty conversations with her or the same endless discussions about writing craft and tropes.
“What’s the cure?” I asked, knowing and hating the answer.
Knightley fiddled with his stethoscope. “He’s not going to see Max again?”
A hollow ache spread under my ribs at the prospect of never seeing Max again. Part of me missed Darcy too, and that frustrated me. “No. Never.”
“Then only time will heal him. Or get a new companion for him.”
I looked at the scruffy, scraggly fur ball at my feet, and my heart thudded, heavy and wrong. I couldn’t get another dog. There was nothing I could do for his sadness, like there was nothing I could do for mine.
I stared at the wall, tears pricking at my eyes.
A local news article had been pinned to the bulletin board about the flurry of animal adoptions since the Amor Inn retreat had screened the previous weekend.
The article featured a photo of our dog training on that Sunday.
Of course the piece included a photo of Emma, a flash of pink and bright blond hair amid the peaceful country scene.
“I haven’t seen Emma since Amor Inn,” I said. “We should all get together.”
“Yeah.” His face was distant, and he didn’t seem certain. “Maybe. She’s been in London a lot.”