“Those were fake,” she said, looking at him lovingly.
“You think so?”
“If that was 16th-century bobbin lace, my love, then I am a purple-winged faery,” she said pleasantly, fluttering her eyelashes at him. “Sam would have gotten up and walked out, I daresay.”
“And you didn’t?”
“Well,” she said with another polite smile, “I had you to look at, didn’t I? No reason to spoil the view by not lingering where I could watch it.”
He smiled pleasantly. “And the spoons?”
“That’s your purview, my lord, not mine.”
“Silver plate,” he said, as blandly as if they’d been discussing whether to have supper at six or seven. “Nice art, though.”
“We might help them improve their taste,” she offered. “They were willing to pay quite a robust sum for more items of interest.”
“Should we help them?”
“I’m not sure how we could possibly refuse.”
“Bettering the world wherever we go,” he agreed.
She nodded with another polite smile and allowed him to help her into the back of a sleek Mercedes. She smiled politely at Rufus and kept her best side toward the window on the off chance she was being photographed. She felt for Oliver’s hand once he was safely seated next to her, but continued to wear her company face until they were well off the grounds and she could relax.
“Interesting afternoon, loves?” Rufus asked.
“Lots of dosh but absolutely no taste,” Oliver said with a sigh. “We’ll see what can be done about the state of their collectables, but they certainly won’t be selling any of them any time soon.”
Mairead listened to them launch into a discussion about what sorts of new things might suit the family, then closed her eyes and allowed herself the pleasure of her own thoughts whilst she was being ferried about by someone who took great care to keep them safe.
During her original fortnight in London with Oliver, she hadn’t believed such a thing was possible. The city had seemed so full of people that she’d feared she would never be comfortable.
But then she’d realized that Sunny was also there, and Samantha, and Emily, and even the granny who guarded Cameron’s offices and sent messengers scurrying with just a look. She’d been grateful for that small circle of companions, especially since a great deal of Oliver’s labors took place in London. They had also made many trips to several different places in England and Scotland during the fall, which had been very interesting.
And then one evening, he’d handed her what he’d called plane tickets and showed her a photograph of an island in what he called the Caribbean.
She had discovered that she was exceptionally fond of flying.
She was also hopelessly fond of the man sitting next to her, rubbing his thumb over hers and looking as if he might soon fall asleep. He opened one eye and looked at her.
“I’m awake.”
She smiled and shifted a little to look at him. “I had an email from Jamie yesterday.”
Oliver looked slightly uneasy. “Is he rescinding his blessing?”
“’Tis a bit late for that,” she said dryly, “but nay, he likes you well enough, which you know. He actually had a few details he thought I might like to know about.”
“Concerning bad actors in the past?”
She nodded.
“Well,” he said, “you do like to know how things end. So, what happened?”
“Where shall I begin?”
“In the middle?”
