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“Mm. That’s the spirit.”
I almost laughed at her. “Now, to answer your questions,” I said to my daughter. “Mrs. Berry has the day off, so you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid. And no, there isn’t lunch ready, but I believe Boris just let Mrs. Bell in, so if you go to the kitchen and ask her very nicely, I’m sure she’ll be able to find you some dippy eggs.”
She gasped, then jumped up and ran out of the living room. Her footsteps thundered against the wooden floors, and the sound wasn’t too dissimilar to a herd of elephants stampeding.
At least, that’s what I imagined a stampeding herd of elephants sounded like.
I turned to look at Adelaide. “Now how on Earth did she decide she suddenly wants to write a book?”
CHAPTER FIVE – ADELAIDE
I sighed, running my hand through my hair. “I’m really not quite sure,” I admitted. “She was reading in the armchair, so I thought I’d open my manuscript and edit the first five chapters to get them to my agent for his opinion while she was busy. It must have taken me longer than I thought, because I found her looking over my shoulder.”
Alex chuckled.
“Thankfully, this one has no… inappropriate… language for her age.” My cheeks flushed lightly.
The last thing I wanted was for him to find out I didn’t just write young adult fiction.
He did not need to know that I moonlighted as a spicy romance author under a pen name, thank you very much.
Belle St. James would stay my little secret. Amen, thank you, and goodnight.
“She asked me what I was doing, so I explained to her that I was writing a book. She asked if she could write one, too, and… Here we are.”
“I suppose it might keep her out of trouble,” he said slowly. “But she’s going to make me read it fifty times, isn’t she?”
I grinned. “Probably. But count yourself lucky—you’ll get an edited version. I’ll have to turn it into some lessons for her.”
“You have the patience of a saint, Adelaide.”
“Not quite, or I’d actually put my degree to work and be a real teacher.”
“One child is quite enough.”
“I can’t help but agree,” I mused.
“Are you done for the day now?”
I nodded. “Yes, I don’t want to overwhelm her. She’s making such good progress, and she’ll tell me when she’s ready for more.”
“What are your plans now?”
I motioned to the laptop on my thighs. “I was going to go out for some lunch and then write a few thousand words I’m sure to hate in the morning.”
His lips curled to one side. “You’re really hard on yourself, you know that?”
“All writers are. It’s part of our personalities.” I shrugged and crossed my ankles.
“Do you want some company for lunch? You can stay here, you know.”
“Oh, I know, but I realised yesterday I haven’t really explored the village much. I’ve hit a bit of a block, so taking a quiet walk through Whitborough might help me figure some stuff out.”
Alexander nodded slowly. “If you ever want to talk anything over, I’d be happy to help you.”
My heart skipped. “Thank you. That’s kind of you. I’ll keep it in mind.”
He smiled. “It would be a pleasure. When are you heading out?”
I checked the time on my phone. “I think I’ll leave in a minute. Any recommendations for a nice lunch spot?”
He tilted his head to the side, and his eyes sparked with pleasure. “I thought you’d never ask. What do you fancy?”
“Maybe just a café or something? Nothing fancy.”
“There are two. Mrs. Bell’s café, Busy Brews Coffee on the square, and Map Room Café down by the river.”
“Which one would you recommend?”
“I’m partial to Mrs. Bell, naturally, but it tends to be busier at her place. If you’re looking for somewhere a bit quieter, definitely go to Map Room Café.” He tapped his finger against his chin. “Maggie does the best fresh soup.”
Yum.
Soup sounded amazing, even if it was warm outside.
“Map Room Café it is, then.” I slid my laptop off my legs and stood up. “Would you like me to bring anything back for you?”
His eyebrows quirked as if they were about to shoot upwards, but he’d stopped them. “No… Thank you, though.”
I held his gaze for a moment longer before I nodded and turned away, leaving him to himself. The look of brief surprise on his face was… jarring… to me. He had a whole host of staff in this manor house, and from what I’d heard, he was hugely respected in Whitborough.
Did nobody ever ask him if he wanted anything?
Well, of course they did. What a strange thought for me to have. People asked him daily what he wanted—did he want these flowers in that room or this? Would he like the new towels in blue or green? Did His Grace want chicken or duck for dinner tonight?
