Scowling, he opened the door to the office. He blinked, looking around the interior. The walls were a warm yellow and there were cozy prints of the city on the walls. The hardwood floor was gleaming where it wasn’t covered by a subdued Persian rug. The leather furniture looked new and inviting.
Definitely not his office. It was a testament to his state of mind that he’d walked into the wrong one. He backed out and checked the door. Smith & Associates, in block letters on the plaque right outside.
He walked back inside and frowned at it all. What the hell had happened?
Trudy.
As if his thought called her, she walked out from the supply room. She still had the streaks of vibrant color in her hair as well as the leather ensemble, but there was something more refined in how she looked. “Are you wearing less makeup?”
“Gosh, I missed you, too,” she said with her usual biting attitude.
“What did you do here?” He waved at the office, still unable to believe this was the same place that he’d been conducting business for the past eight years.
She lifted her pointy chin. “I improved it. You’re welcome.”
“With what?”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “The money from my last bonus.”
“You were supposed to pack it up, not remodel it.” He held out his bag. “I found proof of Huber’s guilt.”
She stared at his bag and then burst into tears.
He stepped back, horrified as she put her hands to her face and sobbed. Shifting his weight, he wondered what to do. Then he awkwardly patted her shoulder.
Trudy curled into him and continued crying on his chest.
It was one thing hearing her sobs, it was another feeling her shake against his body. Panicked, he froze. Even the time he’d snuck into the Columbian drug lord’s compound to extract the young woman they’d taken hostage and found himself surrounded by men with AK-47s, he hadn’t felt this panicked.
She lifted her head. Her makeup had made heavy black rings under her eyes and her nose was red. She rubbed the back of her hand across her cheek, making a black smear across her face. “I just thought you’d come back and you’d see what a good thing we have here. It seemed like we were starting a new chapter. I get it, you don’t want to dodge bullets any longer. But we could be private investigators, and then we could still be together.”
He shook his head. “It’s not going to work, Trudy.”
“Why not?” she exclaimed, glaring at him. “The only reason it won’t work is because you’re being stubborn.”
“I don’t want to stay in London.” Even as he said it, he had a flicker of doubt. If Summer were his, he’d stay.
If Summer were his, he’d do whatever she wanted, to make sure she was happy.
Shaking her head, Trudy stepped back. “You haven’t opened the present I got you, have you?”
He winced, thinking about the pretty package with the pink bow sitting in the top drawer of his desk. “I’m savoring it.”
“You’re scared of it, because you don’t know how to accept anything.” Trudy poked him in the chest. “You’re daft, too, because you have a great thing here and you’re tossing it away.”
He didn’t argue. There wasn’t anything he could counter the truth with.
Chapter Twenty-four
“You’re up early.”
Jacqueline glanced up from her journal, where she was pouring her thoughts. Because her thoughts were bitter and brutal, she closed it so Sebastian wouldn’t be subject to them. “I could say the same for you.”
“Jetlag.” He shrugged, standing with his hands in his pockets.
“Still?” She arched her brow, gesturing to the coffee she’d made. “You’ve been here for too long to have jetlag.”
“You’re right. I have mental issues.” He poured himself a cup. “Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not.” She cradled her coffee in her hand, even though it’d gone cold. “We can compare notes for our mental illnesses.”
“I’m relieved to see we’re in the same boat.” He sat across from her. “You want to share first, or should I?”
“You go first,” she said, sitting back. “Aside from the fact that you have no family, I know nothing about you, Sebastian.”
“I’m an enigma.” He raised his cup to her, drank a careful sip, and then shrugged. “I lived in New York.”
“Lived?”
“I’m having an existential crisis that makes me question where I might actually belong.”
“Aren’t we all?” she murmured into her coffee.
“You too?”
“Not about where I belong, because that’s obviously here.” She gestured to the house, because even though it’d been in the Summerhill family for ages and she’d only married into the family, the house was hers now. “But yes, I wonder what I’m going to be when I grow up, too.”
Sebastian rested his chin on his palm. “Do you know what that may be?”
“A writer.” She frowned at her notebook, remembering what Declan had said. “Despite the fact that I can’t write.”
“I don’t believe you can’t write.”
She smiled at him. “Aren’t you dear?”
“I mean it, Jacqueline.” He looked her in the eye, suddenly all business. “You see people, and that’s important for a writer. Plus you’re articulate and intelligent. If you wanted to be a writer, you’d teach yourself, period.”
She shook her head. “You’re very kind, but you haven’t read my work. I’ve been told by a good source that it’s superficial.
I
reread it and found myself yawning.”
“Then you aren’t writing about the right thing.”
She blinked at him. “You say that so surely.”
He leaned forward and took her hand. “I say that with the knowledge of someone who’s spent a number of years building something that I have no passion in. When you said you wanted to be a writer, there was a light in your eye, until you let the doubts creep in. Jacqueline, there are always going to be people who say you won’t succeed. You don’t seem like the type of woman who’d listen to them.”
She sat up. “I’m really not.”
“Well then.” Grinning, he patted her hand. “So all we have to decide is what you’re going to write about. What do you know?”
“What do I know?” she repeated with a frown.
He nodded. “They always say ‘Write what you know.’ So what is that?”
“Family,” she said without hesitation. She stilled, the idea settling over her like cashmere on a cold night.
Family
.
“Family.” Sebastian nodded. “People who are linked to you through time and history are important. So you write about your daughters. And Franny, of course, because she’d hit you over the head with her skillet if you left her out.”
Her daughters and Fran
. She shook her head. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? It was so clear now—eight stories woven together. Nine with her own. It’d be fraught with emotion, but ignoring her feelings had brought her to this place. It was time to face them.
She got up and went to Sebastian, who also stood. She took his face in her hands. “You’re brilliant.”
He smiled. “So few people realize that.”
“I doubt that.” She kissed him on both cheeks. “When you’re ready, I’m here to help you find your way, too.”
His expression softened. “I’m going to hold you to that.”
“Good.” She hugged him, knowing this man would be the first worthy Earl of Amberlin in history.
Chapter Twenty-five
The last thing Summer wanted today was to go to tea. She tossed the napkin on her lap and frowned at the menu.
Normally, she loved tea, especially at the Connaught. Everything about it delighted her: the formality of the pouring, the precious place settings, and the delicious little cakes. Her mother had loved tea. Some of Summer’s best childhood memories were of afternoon tea with Tabitha.
She frowned unseeingly at the menu, her hands in her lap. All her mother had ever wanted for her was to find her Prince Charming and to be happy. It didn’t seem like a difficult promise to keep. She thought she’d had it under control.
Her mother would be so disappointed in her.
“Sorry we’re late.”
Summer startled out of her thoughts as Viola sat into a chair that Rowdy pulled out.
The large man grinned at her. “Hope you don’t mind me crashing your party. I just love tea time. It’s the best thing you’ve got here in England.”
“Not at all,” Summer murmured. She’d never been sure what to make of the man. He played rugby and looked, quite frankly, like a brute. But Titania loved him, and Titania didn’t casually give her affection away. Obviously Viola enjoyed his company, too.
“Have you ordered?” her older sister asked, looking at the menu.
“We should go with the full-on afternoon tea.” Rowdy rubbed his hands together, a childlike gleam in his eyes. “We’ll want to try everything, because we want your research to be complete.”
Summer shook her head. “I don’t understand what we’re researching.”
“Vi’s new career,” he replied, signaling to the server.
“A first career,” her sister corrected. “A new career implies that I had one before.”
“Raising a kid is a career.” He gazed at Viola sternly. “You did a great job with Clo, and that’s harder than anything.”
Vi gave him a flat look. “Have you looked at my daughter? She takes fashion advice from Dracula.”
“Nah.” Rowdy nudged her with his shoulder. “She’s just trying different things, to find what’s right for her.”
“Chloe didn’t want to come?” Summer asked, trying not to feel jealous over the casual camaraderie between them. The only person she was that easy with was Nick, and she couldn’t face him saying
I told you so
right now.
She’d been like that with Jon, too, actually. She frowned.
“She’s at the house with Rosalind,” Vi said, setting her menu aside. “Ros has been making her a dress, and they have the first fitting. I told them we’d come over after.”
The server arrived with a friendly but reserved smile, as appropriate for afternoon tea. “Have you had time to look over the selections?”
“We want it all, sugar.” Rowdy handed her the menus. “As long as it includes the little cucumber sandwiches.”
The woman smiled at him less formally. “It does, sir.”
“Awesome.” He smiled wide. “I love those things. And cake? You’ve got cake?”
“I think we can manage a nice selection of treats for you.” The server winked at him. “I’ll get your tea started.”
Looking around, Rowdy nodded and then declared, “I love this place.”
“It’s Summer’s favorite teahouse,” Viola said, studying the environment. “It’s furnished quite nicely, though they could have done a better job with the paintings.”
“They could?” Rowdy and Summer asked at once, turning to look.
“Their designer picked the obvious. I’d have mixed some modern pieces in there, to break up the monotony.” Vi shrugged. When she saw them staring at her, she said, “I like art.”
“Maybe you should be an artist,” Summer said.
“I’m thinking about opening a teahouse. I can do a teahouse. A teahouse would be easy. I’m a good hostess.”
“As long as you have someone else make the pastries,” Summer said, remembering the macarons.
Vi laughed. “My baking experiment didn’t go so well, did it?”
“Why do you need to do anything?” Summer asked, genuinely curious. “You have a home and a daughter. Isn’t that enough?”
Her sister sobered. “Chloe is going to leave home in a couple years and then what will I have? Worst, who will I be anymore? Look at Mum. She was the Countess of Amberlin all her life, and now who is she?”
Summer frowned, thinking of Jacqueline. “She’s a formidable woman.”
“A formidable woman who’s never had happiness.” Vi crossed her arms. “I don’t want that.”
The server brought them their tea and poured it into their cups, another server behind her with their tower of sandwiches and pastries.
“Now we’re talking. Thanks, sugar.” Rowdy rubbed his hands together. He set three sandwich wedges on his plate as well as two scones. “Summer, Vi said you just got back from the country. How was it?”
Awful. She set her cup down with a clatter, trying not to picture Jon staring at her blankly, hiding his thoughts and emotions from her. “The country is overrated.”
“Is it? I always thought it looked charming.” Rowdy slathered his scone with clotted cream and moaned as he chewed the first bite. Nodding, he swallowed and daintily drank some tea, his little finger elevated. “One day, I’m going to meet a special lady who’ll take me on a tour. It’s got to be the perfect romantic getaway.”
Summer thought about Jon and the way the sun had streamed over them the last morning and shook her head. “It’s not very. Lots of bugs.”
“I think I hate tea,” Viola said suddenly, frowning at her teacup.
“Good thing you discovered this before opening a teahouse,” Rowdy said before he popped an entire finger sandwich in his mouth.
“No, I’m being serious.” Vi set the cup down. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I hate the taste. I always have. And I don’t like the ceremonial aspect of it. What was I thinking?”
Summer picked up the lemon cake she loved, looked at it, and then set it back down again. She wasn’t in the mood. “There must be something you like.”
“I like tequila.”
“Maybe you should open a bar,” Rowdy suggested, reaching for another sandwich.
“That’s an idea.” Vi perked up. Then she turned to Summer and started to say something, but she closed her mouth and frowned. “You don’t think that’s a good idea?”
“No, it’s a fine idea.” Summer tried to look encouraging.
“Then why do you look like you just swallowed sour tea?”
“I don’t.”
Rowdy stopped eating and stared at her. “Honey, you look like you lost your best friend.”
She had, she realized with sudden clarity. Tears filled her eyes as hopelessness filled her heart.
“Uh-oh. Now you’ve done it.” Viola pushed back from the table and took Summer’s arm to lift her, too. “Come on. We’ll go for a walk, and you can tell me all about it. Rowdy will handle this.”
He nodded. “Meet you back at the ranch.”
“Ranch?” Summer said, trying not to cry.
Vi handed her a tissue. “A figure of speech.”
“As long as you aren’t entertaining becoming a shepherd or something.”