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“It’s being canceled?” he said hopefully.
Mrs. Booth’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she fought a smile. “That would make you happy, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, but I doubt I’ll be so lucky. Could you get her phone number, and let her know I’ll phone her—” Alec broke off as Trimble appeared in the doorway behind the housekeeper, his expression disturbed. “Yes, Trimble?”
“We have a problem, sir, with regard to the Gardener’s Cottage. As you’re aware, it’s been undergoing renovations, and not sure how, or why, but the pipes have burst, and the cottage flooded, and has become an ice rink. It’s completely uninhabitable.” Mr. Trimble’s expression was sorrowful, as if he’d been overseeing the renovation, which wasn’t the case. “We only just moved Miss Roberts into the cottage yesterday, too.”
Alec rubbed at his forehead. “She called you?”
“No, sir. I was dropping more firewood off at her cottage when I noticed ice across the outside of Miss Roberts’s front door.”
“So Miss Roberts doesn’t know?”
“She’d left early this morning, walking into Bakewell and hasn’t returned yet.”
Alec shook his head unable to believe this was happening. His estate managers, Harry and Susan, should be dealing with this, not him. This was what they were paid for. And yet he tried to remember Mrs. Booth’s words, that this was their first Christmas together and they deserved a proper Christmas together. “Where are Miss Roberts’s things now?”
“Still in the cottage. She’s in an upstairs bedroom so I’m hoping they escaped the ice bath.”
Alec rose and glanced at Mrs. Booth. “When do you need to leave to meet your train?”
“I should be going within the hour.”
So soon. Alec tried not to be overwhelmed.
He exhaled. “Can you ask Miss Fletcher what is so important that we must speak today, and let her know I will try to respond later?” Then he turned to Trimble. “Can you retrieve Miss Roberts’s things, and bring them back to the house? I’ll drive Mrs. Booth to the train.”
“I can do both,” Mr. Trimble answered.
“No,” Alec said quickly, grateful for a reason to escape Miss Fletcher, who’d made it clear last December that she was available to help and support Alec, with anything and everything he might need. When Alec had told her that he had a housekeeper, Miss Fletcher had blushed but said she meant in a personal capacity. “I’m happy to take Mrs. Booth. She can help me phone Miss Roberts on the way and alert her to the situation.”
Mr. Trimble nodded. “Very good, sir.”
Alec waited until he’d dropped Mrs. Booth and her small suitcase off at the station to phone Cara. The call went to her voicemail.
On the edge of town, he pulled over to the side of the road, shifted into park, engine still running. Frustration welled within him, frustration and regret. And loss. He didn’t want to return to Langley, and not simply because he was worried about running into Fletcher, he was restless and finding it difficult to focus and get anything done. He couldn’t return to London, not with the candlelight tour tomorrow night, but at the same time, he didn’t want to be in the house, or alone, not today.
Madeleine wouldn’t want this. She’d say enough was enough, move forward, and Alec was trying, and generally succeeding, but this week was always hard. And today, the anniversary of her death, was the worst.
Tomorrow would be better.
And the day after that would be even better. And so on and so on.
But to be fair, even before Madeleine’s death, Christmas hadn’t been easy. Alec’s father had never enjoyed Christmas, and the holiday had never been particularly warm and festive, not even with the family dinner on the twenty-third, but they always did it—the tour, the dinner, and then the quiet Christmas when it was just the two of them.
Jump forward ten years and now his father didn’t know him. Madeleine was gone. But the relatives still came, and the tours still happened, and he had to put on a good face because it was tradition and his duty as the viscount.
It didn’t matter that none of this was what he wanted or needed. That none of this was for him. An important part of being the future earl was taking care of the relatives and community, as well as the house, the land, and the staff who were as much a part of Langley Park as his own family.
Alec was just about to shift into drive when his phone rang. It was a number from the United States. Had to be Cara. He felt a wave of relief. Perhaps he’d find a reason not to return to the house.
*
As soon asCara hung up from Mrs. Booth, she’d checked her messages and saw she’d missed a call from Alec. She wasn’t surprised as Mrs. Booth had warned her about the cottage drama, broken pipes and ice everywhere, and said Lord Sherbourne would be phoning to break the news.
“I heard you’d be calling,” Cara said when Alec answered the phone.
“Who told you?” he asked.
