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“You’ll freeze,” he said. “Why don’t I come pick you up?”
“From the Bakewell station?”
“No, from Buxton. It’s just a twenty-five-minute drive. It’ll get me out of the house.”
She thought of Mrs. Booth’s warning. “Is that a good thing?”
“Yes.”
Cara wondered just what it was that Alec was trying to escape, but she wouldn’t press now. “If you can make it work, why not come meet me for lunch? That way I can visit the Crescent and explore the historic old town. Paul mentioned that I might like lunch at the Old Hall Hotel, it’s the oldest hotel in England, and I’d planned to eat there before heading to the train station.”
“I’ll meet you there,” Alec said. “What time?”
“Twelve thirty? One o’clock?”
“I’ll make a reservation for half past twelve. See you then.”
Cara had an amazing morning in Buxton. She did the Crescent tour, and sampled the water—terrible—and explored town, doing some shopping, picking up some little gifts to take back home with her, teas and shortbread for her mother, some bath and spa products for her sister and sisters-in-law, and for the guys… she didn’t know what they’d like and hoped she’d find something in Bakewell before she left.
She was outside the Old Hall Hotel a few minutes before their reservation, but Alec was already there. He was taller than most, and dressed in that long black wool coat, open over a black sweater with a gray cashmere scarf knotted casually mid chest. The coat highlighted his broad shoulders and the cold wind had put color in his cheeks.
His eyes were a brilliant blue as she approached. “Hello, Lord Sherbourne,” she said, smiling at him even as her pulse did a jagged rhythm. He was far too handsome and too sophisticated for someone like her, but she could appreciate his beauty and style, because he had plenty of both.
He smiled back at her. “Hello, Roberts. Shopping?”
“I have been. Buying things to take home. Fortunately my Christmas shopping is all done. These are just little souvenirs.”He opened the door to the hotel for her and she entered to escape the cold. “What about you? Have you done all of your Christmas shopping already?”
His expression turned rueful as the door closed behind them. The interior was brighter than she expected, given the age of the hotel, but his features were shadowed. “My assistant in London does the shopping for me. She sent the gifts to Langley a few weeks ago. I imagine Mrs. Booth has put them somewhere until they’re needed.”
“What lucky recipients!”
“Sarcasm noted,” he said dryly, glancing down at her.
“Why bother with gifts if they’re not from you?”
“Because its tradition,” he answered, a hand going to her back to steer her through the crowded entry toward the restaurant. “And expected.”
“Do you even know what you give people every year?”
“No, but I know who I give gifts to. Uncle Frederick, Aunt Emma, Aunt Dorothy.”
“What about your staff?”
“They get a Christmas bonus, and a bottle of their favorite drink. Whiskey for Trimble, port for Mrs. Johnson, and champagne for Mrs. Booth.”
“Just one bottle of champagne for Mrs. Booth?”
His lips twisted. “It’s very good champagne.”
Entering the dining room, they were greeted warmly and seated immediately without Alec even having to say a word.
Cara looked at Alec as the hostess walked away. “How did that work? Were you recognized or had you checked in earlier?”
“A little of both.”
She noticed he didn’t elaborate and she didn’t press. Instead, she glanced around the spacious dining room. The tables weren’t smashed together the way they might be in an American restaurant, and a wall of windows provided naturallight. Greenery garlands topped the tall narrow windows, while an elegant Christmas tree filled one corner of the room. Delicate fresh flowers were on every table with green and gold ribbons laced through the white blossoms. “This isn’t what I expected. Paul told me that the hotel was built in the 1500s, for Mary Queen of Scots to visit—”
“It wasn’t a hotel initially, and it wasn’t for Mary to visit. She was housed here in a tower between 1576 and 1578, while in custody on orders of Queen Elizabeth I. For eighteen years, Mary was imprisoned and moved from fortress to manor house to fortress, nearly all them here in Derbyshire, including Chatsworth House, which I know you are still hoping to visit. Mary’s last stay here was around 1584.”
