Chapter 21
Albie
Extend the Hand of Friendship to Others
The weekend following Rosie’s birthday party, Albie gathered the Commonhold Association in the manor’s ballroom.
A luxurious space, it stretched across the rear of the ground floor, a series of stained-glass doors leading onto the back lawn, fluted columns gracefully arching under a gilt-vaulted ceiling and showcasing over two centuries of historic charm.
Tori stopped at the threshold, brown eyes rounding as she craned her head back and gazed at the opulent crystal chandelier. Stepping into the vast room, and taking in the lemon-hued silk wallpaper and lofty dimensions, she breathed, ‘Wow, this is like the ballroom in Beauty and the Beast.’
‘Yes, but your dress isn’t yellow like Belle’s,’ Rosie sang out, skipping past with hair in blonde bunches, and pointing at Tori’s white, high-necked dress.
Kirsten jogged in behind her, panting. ‘Slow down! I swear, one of these days I’m going to lose you.’
‘Don’t be silly, Mummy,’ the little girl kicked her trainers off, ‘I couldn’t get lost in the manor. It wouldn’t let me.’ Whooping, she raced across the polished wooden floor in lacy white ankle socks, sliding to a stop an inch from the wall, pink dress fanning out around her.
‘Oookay then. Weird child,’ Kirsten muttered, as her daughter turned and set off again. ‘Enjoy yourself,’ she called, ‘but no more missing teeth please, the tooth fairy’s almost bankrupt.’ Walking over to Albie, she greeted warmly. ‘Morning.’
‘Morning.’ Watching Rosie, he chuckled and boomed across the ballroom, ‘I’d join you if my knees weren’t so old and creaky.’
‘Nonsense, you’re never too old for fun.’ An amused, refined voice spoke from the doorway.
‘Clover. You made it.’ Pleasure bloomed in his chest, warming his face as he admired her satin green dress and fire-engine red lipstick, striking against her silver hair.
‘Thank you for coming.’ Had she seen the rule for living he’d pinned up earlier, and understood the significance?
Then his brow creased. ‘Did you find us okay? I suppose one of my neighbours let you in?’
She sashayed into the room, mouth curving.
‘Why wouldn’t I be able to find you? I was only here a week ago.
And no one let me in, the front entrance was unlocked.
Thanks for having me, I wouldn’t have missed it.
’ She glanced around. ‘This is marvellous. They must’ve held quite some parties, back in the day.
Assume it was built in the early 1800s?’
‘Turn of the century,’ Albie stuttered, aware Kirsten and Tori were watching their exchange avidly. And was the manor meddling, extending friendship to this woman? ‘Um, in 1798. It’s Georgian.’
‘Yes,’ Clover agreed, ‘the Regency period followed, from 1811. Names aren’t the only things I’m interested in, I like history too, so am a big Bridgerton fan.
I did enjoy the romping Daphne and Simon got up to in the first season,’ her eyes twinkled, ‘but the slow burn between Kate and Anthony in season two was extraordinary. I do love all that yearning, near-touches and pent-up desires.’ Joining their little group, she gave Tori a once-over.
‘You’re quite a beauty, but more importantly, Albie says you’re a big reader, and whip smart.
A journalist, yes? And generous with your time, helping others.
Caught sight of you at the BBQ but we weren’t introduced. ’
‘Vittoria Bianchi, but I go by Tori,’ she mumbled, uncomfortably.
‘Bianchi?’ Clover released a peel of laughter, the sound echoing off the vaulted ceiling. ‘Why, that’s just perfect. Bianchi is Italian for white, and that’s my surname.’
‘What a strange coincidence,’ Albie remarked.
‘Just one of life’s little symmetries.’ Clover’s teeth flashed. Turning to Kirsten, she said, ‘Lovely to see you again, and looking like a Titian goddess in a wrap-around dress. Bestowing some of your delicious cakes on us today?’
The redhead beamed. ‘Yep, once the business bit’s done with.’
‘Speaking of which, I hope you don’t mind me inviting Clover,’ Albie rallied, ‘I know she doesn’t live here so technically can’t be in the association, but she’s looking for another project, and we could use all the help we can get. We’re making astonishing progress but—’
‘Absolutely,’ Kirsten slid her arm through Clover’s, ‘the more the merrier. Also, anyone who calls me a Titian goddess can visit as often as they like.’
‘Seconded.’ Tori nodded, still looking a bit poleaxed.
‘I’m sure the others will be fine with it too,’ Kirsten said. ‘Now, who else is comi—?’
‘Oooooowwww!’ A loud wail bounced off the walls, and Rosie flew across the room toward them, spread fingers covering her face. ‘I-I c-couldn’t s-stop,’ she hiccupped. Kirsten opened her arms, but darting past her mum, Rosie ran towards the man entering the ballroom. ‘H-Harley. I hurt my nose!’
Dropping his toolbox, he scooped her up and she buried her face in his neck, letting out a sob. Patting her back, he asked, ‘That’s not good. What mischief were you getting into?’
‘S-sliding across the floor,’ she hiccupped.
‘Hmmm,’ he said gravely, but tinged with amusement, studying the large expanse of polished wood. ‘I can see the attraction, but the trick is to stop before you crash into the wall.’ Looking across to the cluster of adults, he said, ‘Kirsten, got a tissue?’
Mouth agape, she pulled a pack from her dress pocket and thrust one at him, murmuring under her breath, ‘What is going on? Have I entered a parallel universe?’
Not replying, he peered down into Rosie’s face and wiped it carefully, dabbing away the trickle of blood. Giving her snub nose a gentle tweak, he reassured, ‘The good news is your face is okay, kiddo. Don’t think anything’s broken.’
It was odd, Albie mused. There’d been a change in Harley since moving in, a thawing of the cynical demeanour and rounding of prickly edges, but his manner with Rosie today was like someone more youthful and completely at ease with children.
Kirsten gave Harley a melting look, one Albie knew well, because Rose used to wear the same expression whenever he held a baby.
She’d called it her ‘ovary-twanging’ face.
It was such a shame a family had never been possible for them.
Clover squeezed his fingers, and he realised he’d drifted away with his memories.
Perhaps he’d looked sad at the recollection of his lost love.
‘All right?’ Clover murmured.
He nodded, enjoying her delicate touch but guilt-wracked holding another woman’s hand.
Gently extricating himself with a whispered thank you, he turned as Theo walked into the room with a clean-shaven Kit in tow.
Ezra was in his pushchair kicking his legs against a blanket covered in bunnies and making squawking noises.
Kit sighed. ‘You can’t need feeding or changing again yet.’
Hustling forward, Kirsten unstrapped him. ‘Come here, sweet boy.’ Lifting the baby against her chest, she jiggled him around crooning a nursery rhyme and Ezra quietened. ‘He just wanted picking up.’
‘If I hold him many more hours a day, my arms will drop off,’ Kit said dryly. ‘As it is, feeding us both, keeping the flat semi-respectful and having a daily shower’s a challenge.’
‘Welcome to the wonderful world of single parenting.’
‘Yeah. It’s great,’ he deadpanned. ‘I’m a natural. Anyway, I think it’s being picked up by his favourite babysitter. My son knows when he’s with a pro.’
Albie nodded at Kirsten. ‘You’ve been looking after Ezra?’
‘Only a few hours a week. He mostly gums on a teething ring in his bouncer while I bake.’
Shooting her a grateful look, Kit added, ‘Helps me catch up on sleep. I wish you’d let me pay you—’
‘Friends help each other, and I know how hard it is raising a child alone. Wish I’d had someone around for support when Rosie was little.
Unfortunately, I was estranged from my parents.
’ A shadow crossed her face, and she switched her attention to Albie.
‘Besides, we can’t forget about strong community bonds and the Roseto effect, can we? ’
‘That’s right.’ He agreed, knowing prolonging life expectancy wasn’t the reason she helped others.
‘Laurie adores her too.’ Vanessa strode in wearing stilettos and a tight black dress with a row of gold buttons down the front.
She tipped her golden head towards her son, who’d trailed in after her, toy dog stuffed under his arm and waving excitedly at Kirsten. ‘I appreciate having time to myself.’
Harley frowned at Kirsten. ‘You’re taking on too much. Are you trying out for superhero status or something?’
‘I’m happiest when I’m busy.’ She dismissed, jiggling Ezra on her hip. ‘And it’s none of your business. Bit rich talking about superheroes when you’re rocking the black-haired, blue-eyed Superman look.’ Her cheeks flushed deep pink, and she looked mortified. ‘Uh, we should start the meeting.’
Following her lead, Albie pointed to the gilt chairs lined up against the wall. ‘Yes, let’s put those out in a circle.’
Just as they finished setting up, Gilly and Ariel arrived. After an initial glance at the baby, who Kirsten had swaddled and tucked back in his pushchair, Ariel pulled her fiancée into the seat beside her.
Albie caught the drift of Clover’s perfume as they sat down, fighting the temptation to inhale.
‘There’s certainly some interesting dynamics in this group,’ she whispered, ‘but they’re quite something, aren’t they?’
‘Yes, they really are.’
‘And that’s Harley Bellmont, yes? I knew he was familiar, and now I know why.’
‘Yes, but he’s fiercely private—’
‘I’m not interested in all that,’ she waved her hand, ‘it’s his name I’m fascinated by.’
‘Oh. What does his mean?’