AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“The house itself only opens for the Christmas tours. I tend to be a private person and find it excruciating having hundreds of strangers troop through the house on tour days.”
“Never mind sitting at your breakfast table,” she said, remembering his words this morning and glad she could tease him now.
“I am sorry—”
“I’m just playing with you,” she said interrupting the apology. “And I shouldn’t enjoy your discomfort. It’s not very nice of me.”
“I don’t suppose I’m in a position to scold.”
“No,” she answered, smiling at him, aware that he looked impossibly dashing.
She supposed he’d look good behind any wheel with his thick, dark hair swept back from his brow, deep blue eyes, and masculine, chiseled features. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she felt a flutter of nerves, her pulse jumping a beat.
Cara couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this attracted to anyone. She certainly hadn’t ever lusted for Chet. Feeling a need to distract herself, she asked Alec about the things she should see while staying at the cottage.
Her question was a good one because Alec launched into the history of Bakewell, telling her that little of medieval Bakewell remained, but there were some things dating to the Middle Ages, the bridge, for example, All Saints Church, and foundations ofbuildings. But settlements around Bakewell existed far before then, dating back to the Iron Age as Bakewell—named not for puddings or desserts, but from ‘Bad-kwell’, meaning ‘bath-spring’—once had a dozen mineral-water springs.
“Most have gone dry,” Alec added, “but back in the eighteenth century, intrepid locals tried to turn Bakewell into a spa town like Bath or Buxton, but it didn’t take. At least Bakewell remains a market town, and celebrated throughout Derbyshire for its architecture and charm.”
He was still talking about significant architecture when they passed through Langley Park’s front gates and traveled up the long drive. It wasn’t until he parked in front of the garage—and, yes, she could see now how it might have once been a stable—that he broke off and grimaced. “I’m afraid I told you far more than you wanted to know,” he said, coming around the car to open her door for her. “I’m sure you have a dozen guidebooks to help you.”
Chet never opened her door for her and Cara hated making comparisons, but it was a lovely chivalrous gesture on Alec’s part. “I like being told the history of things,” she said, rising. “I prefer audio books to reading books, but none of my audio books have such a gorgeous, posh narrator voice as yours.”
His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “That’s a compliment?”
She could tell from his expression that he didn’t know what to think, much less, what to do with her.
Cara held back her laugh. “It is, Lord Sherbourne. But it’s okay, you don’t have to thank me. That would only make us both uncomfortable.”
*
Inside the house,Alec watched Cara disappear up the stairs. He didn’t know what to make of her. She was like no one he’d evermet before, and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.
He liked things orderly and desired control.
He worked hard and, when he wasn’t working, preferred quiet so his tired brain could just rest. But even when things were quiet, he found it hard to let go. Unplug.
He couldn’t even say he came from a long line of workaholics. The truth was, his grandfather Sherbourne was the first to really work. Before that, the family, like most peers, lived off the profits from their land and its rental income. At one point, the Sherbourne holdings were enormous, but the twenty-year agriculture depression at the end of the nineteenth century put every estate in peril, and then World War I doomed others. The Sherbournes survived, but only because they shook off their pride and went to work in London, finding a home in the financial district. They invested and pursued new technologies and hoped hard work would save them. And it did.
*
Although Cara hadalready packed and carried her luggage downstairs, she returned to her room on the third floor and stripped the sheets from the bed and gathered both sheets and towels, carrying them four flights of stairs to the laundry in the basement. Mrs. Booth was horrified Cara had wanted to start the laundry, too, saying it wasn’t necessary.
“I don’t mind,” Cara answered. “I like to be busy.”
“But you’re a guest here, and it’s not your job,” Mrs. Booth answered, still a little flustered.
“Does that mean you won’t let me make up the bed with fresh linens?”
“That’s correct,” Mrs. Booth said firmly, before smiling. “But you’ve been raised very well. You’ll have to tell your mother I said so.”
“I will.”
Cara hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”
“I’ll try my best to answer.”
Cara took a quick breath. “Last night at dinner, Lord Sherbourne said there was an older brother.” She paused, not knowing how to continue or what to say next.
