AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“What is it?” she asked quietly. “What did I say?”
“Nothing.” Alec met her worried gaze, held it just a moment before looking away. He just had to get through the next week and he’d be fine. Back to London, back to work, back to a life where he stayed too busy to think or feel.
*
Cara knew she’dsaid something to change the mood at breakfast, because Alec withdrew and was rather silent for the rest of her meal. He didn’t seem angry, just quiet. Pensive. She glanced at him a number of times and there was emotion in his face, but it wasn’t the kind of emotion one shared.
Leaving the café, they walked the two blocks to Alec’s car. It was a different car than the one he’d arrived home in yesterday, a dark green convertible that looked almost black, with pristine paint and a luxurious caramel leather interior.
She didn’t come from a family of car people, they were all too practical, but it was impossible to not be dazzled by the low, sleek vintage Jaguar with intricate spoke hubcaps and headlights that looked surprisingly futuristic. “This isn’t the same car as yesterday,” she said.
“No, it’s not. This is one of my father’s cars that remain on the estate. I inherited my love of British cars from him.About fifteen years ago, he turned the stables into an enormous climate-controlled garage. He still has four. I haven’t wanted to sell them even though he can’t drive anymore.” Alec opened the passenger door for her. “It’s a cold day for a convertible but I needed to at least start the car and warm the engine. Cars need to be driven.”
“You know, the shape of this Jaguar reminds me a little bit of the 1960 Corvettes.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You’re a car buff?”
“Not exactly. I dated a race car driver briefly—not a very interesting story—but, through him, I came to appreciate cars. They’re truly an artform.”
“Why isn’t it an interesting story? Dating a race car driver sounds more exciting than Chet.”
Cara laughed. “Your father might have thought so. I met Daniel my senior year of college and he was already a professional driver. He loved speed—boats, cars, you name it—and I’m all for adventure, and don’t mind risks but his career scared me. It’s dangerous. People get hurt—”
“Or worse,” Alec interjected.
“Or worse,” she agreed. “He actually lost a friend the year we were dating and it shook me. I liked him, but couldn’t cope with his career.” Eager to change the subject, she asked him about his father’s car collection. “Who takes care of the cars when you’re in London?”
Alec started the engine, and eased from the tight parking spot onto the road. “Mr. Dune does, or did. He just left Langley Park a few weeks ago. I’ll need to find someone new, ideally someone a little bit younger who can also give a hand to Trimble. It’s a lot of work taking care of the estate.”
“Does Mr. Trimble live at Langley Park?”
“No, he and his wife live here, in town.” Alec pointed down a picturesque street lined with old stone houses. “They actuallylive just down that way. Mrs. Trimble once worked at the house but began to have issues with the stairs. We tried to find a place in the kitchen with Mrs. Johnson, but her arthritis made even kitchen work difficult.”
“It sounds as if most of your staff has been with you for years.”
“Some like Trimble and Booth have been at Langley all their lives, as their parents worked at Langley in similar capacities. Johnson, or Cook, started at Langley when she was in her late twenties and has been with us for twenty-five years now.”
“Mrs. Booth said Mrs. Johnson had worked for the royal family.”
Alec shot her an amused look. “The royal family intrigues you.”
“Of course, as do castles and palaces, because when you’re a little girl, you get told fairy tales, and most fairy tales have a prince and princess and they live in castles and there are beautiful clothes and balls…” Her voice faded and she sighed. “It just sounds lovely, even if the reality isn’t so wonderful.”
“I take it you are a Jane Austen fan then.”
Cara hesitated. “I’ve seen the movies, but haven’t read all the books.”
“That surprises me. Most women your age coming to England want to visit Bath and see where Jane lived and wrote.”
“My sister probably would. She’s a bigger reader than I am. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like history and can’t appreciate it.” She hesitated. “Since it sounds as if you’re not at Langley Park very often, would it make more sense to sell it and buy something closer to London?”
He nearly slammed on the brakes as he looked at her, astonished. “Sell Langley? Why would I do that?”
Embarrassed, Cara struggled to explain herself. “Well, I-I imagine it’s expensive, and it sounds inconvenient.”
“One doesn’t just give up one’s ancestral home,” he said, diction rather clipped, “not even when there is a reversal of fortunes. Instead of giving it up, you think of ways to reduce expenditures and increase revenue. This is why many of the great homes, as well as the historic country homes, open to visitors at different times of the year. It’s also why you find souvenir cookbooks and coloring books being sold at various homes.”
“How often do you open Langley Park to visitors?”
