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“Exactly on time. Follow me, please.”
Lord Sherbourne was already waiting in the dining room, standing before an immense white marble fireplace. The fireplace had to be huge because the room was massive, so bigit could have been a ballroom, the dining room able to seat one hundred or more.
Two of the three blond Labradors jumped up and barked as she entered, but Sherbourne uttered a quiet command and they lay back down, looking up at him, and then at her, expressions apologetic.
Cara smiled. “They’re lovely,” she said, “and apparently sorry.”
“These are litter mates,” he said, pointing to the two that had jumped up. “Milo and Albert, still learning.”
“Aren’t we all?” she said. “And your good girl? She is a girl, isn’t she?”
“She is,” he agreed. “That’s Lady.” Just saying her name made the beautiful dog look up at Lord Sherbourne. He leaned over, scratched her head, murmured something just to her.
Cara’s heart turned over. Lord Sherbourne was so good looking, just looking at him made her feel slightly dizzy, but when he focused on Lady, giving her ears a scratch, he was… breathtaking.
A storybook hero.
Cara glanced away, looking up at the ceiling, gorgeously painted, blue sky and clouds, angels and saints. Her heart still felt funny. She felt funny, not just because of the jet lag, but this was all so foreign, so otherworldly. Maybe beautiful, wealthy American women dined with aristocrats, but not women like Cara.
Lord Sherbourne approached the table. “Did you have a hard time finding the dining room?”
She moved closer to the table, too. “No, Mrs. Johnson was waiting for me, led me here.”
“It’s easy to get turned around. Glad she was keeping an eye out for you.”
The table had been set for two, and thankfully, the two place settings weren’t at opposite ends of the long table, which would have made conversation painful, if not impossible. Instead, she was seated to Lord Sherbourne’s right, and for a moment, Cara thought of the Disney film,Beauty and the Beast, except he was no beast, and she was no beauty, but the formal dining room with the very long table glowed in the firelight, the burnished wood highly polished, the table settings exceptionally fine.
Lord Sherbourne held her chair for her and she sat down. The dogs remained at the fireplace, warming themselves.
She smiled at the dogs and then at Lord Sherbourne as he took the place at the head of the table. “I’m almost sad that you don’t have chairs for the dogs at the table.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Lady might be fine, but the other two, they wouldn’t behave. They don’t have any proper table manners.”
Cara slowly smiled. His answer delighted her. She hadn’t expected him to answer playfully and was grateful he did.
Cook entered from a side door, carrying a tray.
“I’m glad we can at least discuss dogs,” Cara said as Mrs. Johnson placed a bowl of steaming soup before each of them. Cara thanked her before looking at Lord Sherbourne. “It makes conversation easier.”
He placed his white linen napkin on his lap. “Were you worried about conversation?”
“I can talk to most people about almost anything, but you’re not most people, are you?” She smiled though, because really, this was all a bit of a dream. She’d just been thrown into this setting and it was for a night, and then tomorrow she’d be in her cottage and trying to keep herself entertained.
“I am just a person,” he said with a faint twist of his lips. “I have a career. I have a small home close to my work. I have a car, and drive myself wherever I need to go. Don’t let all this—” hesaid, gesturing to the grandeur around them, “confuse you. This here is not my life. It’s a responsibility, something I take care of for my family, but it’s not how I define myself.”
Cara swallowed a spoonful of delicious soup—similar to French onion, but not quite French onion—blotted her lips, considering his words. It was interesting. He was interesting.
She wasn’t comfortable but nonetheless intrigued. “Do you have a first name, like everyone else? Or were you christened Lord Sherbourne?”
His mouth quirked, his blue gaze warm. “It’s Alec. Alec James Sherbourne.”
“Is that a family name?”
“James was my grandmother’s father’s name. My mother apparently just liked the name Alec.”
“So not for your father, or is your father also James?”
“My father’s name is William, and no I wasn’t given his name. I’m the younger son.” He hesitated, sipped his wine. “My older brother, the namesake, died when I was almost two. He was four.”
