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* * *
Alessia is giddy with delight. She cannot believe she’s managed to move the tank she is driving. But most of all, she’s thrilled because she doesn’t want to let Maxim down. He seems to think that she should be able to do this.
And so she has.
His faith in her is touching.
As they round a bend in the lane, she spots the gatehouse and the cattle grid and the road forks in three directions.
She panics for a moment.
Which is left?
O Zot!
Rather than turn at all, she slams on the brakes, throwing them both forward and stalling the car.
“Sorry!” she says quickly.
“It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. You remembered the brakes and stopped the car. That’s the most important thing. Not sure of your left?”
Alessia laughs, and she suspects it’s more in catharsis than amusement. “No. I was confused.”
“It’s okay. You could have gone either way. This is all estate land. Turn the ignition off. Car into neutral. Brake on.”
Alessia follows Maxim’s instructions and takes a deep breath.
She can do this!
“Do you want to try again?”
She nods.
Maxim sweeps his hand forward. “Go ahead.”
She turns on the ignition, and the engine grumbles into life. She stamps on the clutch, wanting to show it who’s in charge, and she slides, then pushes the stick into first. The gears make an awful grinding noise. Alessia chances a glance at Maxim, who’s wincing, so she quickly looks back at the road and revs the engine, easing her foot on the clutch, releasing the handbrake… and they’re off once more.
No stalling!
Alessia wants to cheer from the rooftops.
She turns the heavy steering wheel, and the car moves slowly to the left and continues along the lane.
“Second gear?” Maxim says gently.
She nods and changes gear, keeping the car going. They pass one of the fields, and Alessia catches a glimpse of Jenkins on a tractor pulling a trailer. He gives them a wave, which Maxim returns, but Alessia keeps her hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel. As they head down the lane, Maxim continues to offer his support with sweet words.
He’s pleased.
Alessia catches sight of another gatehouse and slows down as she approaches it. From beyond the gate, a small motorbike shoots in and across their path, the driver wearing black trousers and boots, and fastened to the rear, there’s a carrier holding what looks like a small furry passenger. Alessia slams on the brakes as the motorbike continues at a pace up the driveway and doesn’t stall the car!
Go, Alessia!
“Shit. It’s Father Trewin,” Maxim exclaims. “Driving much too fast. It must be God’s will that he’s still in one piece. Better follow him.”
Alessia does and speeds up to see if she can catch him.
“Steady,” warns Maxim, and she slows down again. “We’ll see him at the house. He’s probably here to congratulate us. Or he’s going to berate me for not coming to church yesterday. Probably both.”
Alessia stops beside Father Trewin while he’s unfastening his Norfolk terrier, Boris, from his carrier on the back of his moped. Jensen and Healey are eagerly waiting to play, their tails frenetic flags.
* * *
I clamber out of the car, walk around to open Alessia’s door, and turn to greet Father Trewin.
“Maxim, my lord. Congratulations on your marriage. How are you?” He offers his hand and gives me a firm handshake.
“Good. Thank you, Father. May I present my wife, Alessia, the Countess of Trevethick?”
“Lady Trevethick, what a pleasure to meet you again.”
“Father Trewin, how do you do?” Alessia shakes hands with him. “Would you like to join us for tea?”
“I’d be delighted.” He gives us both a broad, benevolent, reserved-for-parishioners smile.
We make our way through the boot room and out into the west corridor, where we’re met by Danny. “Good afternoon, everyone,” Danny greets us. “How was the car, my lady?”
“It was a tank!” Alessia beams. “But I got it going.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“May we have some tea?” Alessia asks.
Danny smiles. “Yes, my lady. The west drawing room?”
Alessia glances at me. I nod.
“Please.”
“We didn’t see you at our service this Sunday,” Father Trewin says once we’ve sat down.
Bugger. I knew it. I’m going to get a lecture. “Yes. I had to catch up here,” I mutter, desperate to change the subject. I lean down and scratch Boris behind his ears, wondering where Jensen and Healey are. “And I was showing my wife around the estate.”
“Well, my lord, as I’ve said before, we lead by example. Perhaps next Sunday, you could do a reading.”
What?
I clear my throat. “Sure. I’d be delighted.”
Liar.
“Your brother was a keen supporter of the church.”
Trust Kit. The nerd! I smile, my heart sinking.
That was Kit—the perfect earl. It’s not me.
Mate. The irony.
“Will you choose a reading?” I ask.
“Of course. And might we expect to see Lady Trevethick there?” He casts his beady eyes at my wife.
