by Lisa Norato
“No, of course not, Sal.”
And why should she mind? This meant she’d have William all to herself. A dream come true. Good going, Emma, she thought. Marcella had been outclassed by a better offer, but so what? C’mon, what fashion-conscious female in her right mind would choose pasta primavera over an afternoon of shopping in London with a British celebrity escort?
Marcella would. She just had.
“Have fun,” she said. “Enjoy yourselves.”
“We will, thanks.” Sallie beamed. She gave William one final appraisal, caught Marcella’s eye, and bounced her brows. “You, too.”
Emma jangled her car keys. “Super. We’ll need to pop round my flat in Earl’s Court to drop off Quincy. I live walking distance from Knotting Hill. Just five minutes to the nearest tube stop, if you’d fancy a look round.”
“I’d love a tour,” Sallie said.
“Great. We’re off, then.”
It all happened so fast. They exchanged goodbyes and soon Marcella found herself watching her best friend head out with William’s ex.
She’d made those reservations herself. The Savoy had been her brainstorm. Marcella had been looking forward to it for months. But who needed the Savoy, right? She was with William, dressed to the nines, and ready for their date. Starting now. At church. In a quiet country village. Out in the middle of nowhere.
He stepped up beside her. “It’s not too late to join them. It’s all right, you know. I’d understand.”
He sounded so defeated, Marcella felt herself flush. Had she insulted William with her longing glances after Sallie and Emma? Sure, William might claim to understand if she left now, but he’d be hurt.
As she turned to face him, she saw the hope and expectancy in his eyes and felt her heart melt from deep inside.
“I want to be here.”
“After meeting me, you couldn’t imagine leaving England without what?”
She blanked, so he reiterated, “Before Derek arrived, you were about to tell Emma that you couldn’t imagine leaving England without … something. What was it you wanted to say?”
“Oh, yeah, that.”
“Yes, that.” He quirked a brow slightly. “Well?”
“I was going to say, without taking every chance to get to know you better.”
His stare lingered, searching her eyes, then suddenly he burst into a big, boyish grin. “Right. Splendid, then.” With a jerk of his head, he indicated the church. “Er, would you like a coffee?”
“I’d love one.”
Who needs tea, she thought.
*
Marcella gave a small gasp of appreciation as she drifted into William’s office behind William and Babette. The decor bore a strong Victorian influence. Dark paneling, ornate moldings, an entire wall of dusty old books, and its central focus — a massive mahogany desk.
She skimmed her fingers over its leather desktop. “This is a beautiful piece. Is it antique?”
“It is, yes. Purchased at auction sale by a former clergy.”
Marcella nodded, soaking up the ambience. “So this is the vicar’s office?” She dropped into the leather upholstered seat of a wood-carved chair opposite the desk and kicked off her sandals. “And this, I assume, is where people sit when they confront their eternal destinies? Maybe confess a dirty little secret or two?”
Stretching her tired feet on the carpet, she wiggled her toes and watched as William perched on the edge of his desk. He’d changed from his vestments into a pair of khaki trousers and a short-sleeved, periwinkle shirt tailored to accommodate his dog collar. The color intensified the blue in his eyes.
He folded his hands serenely before him. “Have you come to confront your eternal destiny?”
“No. My devout Italian mother set me straight at a very young age, and what she didn’t cover, the nuns in the Catholic School I was sent to did.”
William winced. “Right, I’ve heard stories about those Catholic nuns.”
Marcella laughed lightheartedly. “Ah, but those are stories for another time.”
“Very well, but while you’re in that chair, feel free, of course,” William said, leaning closer, “to discuss any dirty little secret you wish.”
He grinned, she giggled back, and they held the gaze. Marcella could only imagine what he was thinking.
Or could she?
Was it possible over two hours had passed since that first cup of coffee in the church hall? Frankly, she was feeling a little beat. There’d been an hour of mix and mingle, smiling, shaking hands, making a fuss over all sorts of furry creatures, and pouring coffee for the more elderly parishioners.
There was also the occasional canine accident. Marcella had been moved to see that William was not above dropping to the floor with a handful of paper towels.
When the gathering broke, she lent a hand by sweeping the hall, not something she ever wanted to do in a white halter dress again. When at last they returned to the sanctuary, she helped William gather hymnals, then waited as he locked up his vestments. Never had she spent such a long morning at church.
Nor enjoyed herself more in a man’s company.
Thinking about it, she gave William another smile before directing her attention elsewhere. “Why is there a bicycle in your office?”
“It’s my transport to work, actually.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. Around the village, I find a bike is much more personable. It really is the best way of getting round. I’m visible; people see me. It’s great. I’m always riding by and saying hello.”
Marcella’s smile was full of admiration. But wait. Suddenly, she had a thought. “You mean the only way we have of getting to your house is a bicycle? What exactly did you have in mind? Riding me on the handlebars?”
As Marcella soon discovered, a bike was not their only means of travel. Turned out, William had something a little more accommodating in mind, and twenty minutes later, they loaded up the seniors’ minibus. William in the driver’s seat, Babette directly behind him, Marcella across the aisle with her hat and the morning’s charitable foodstuffs, and the bike propped in front of the seat in back of hers.
She felt hot and sweaty. No air conditioning, but it was a quiet ride through the village, past the square, a pharmacy, a tiny post office, The Crown pub.
“They make a decent ploughman’s lunch,” William commented as they drove past, “if you’ve second thoughts about cooking.”
When Marcella told him no, she had her heart set on preparing a home-cooked meal, William admitted he wasn’t crazy enough to talk her out of it, but suggested they could always pop round later for a pint and some of his favorite Smoky Bacon crisps.
Marcella smiled from her seat and turned to admire more of the view. She liked the rustic style of the houses. “Now, there’s something you don’t see in New York,” she said as they passed a field of grazing sheep.
“Right, there it is. Just ahead,” William said a few minutes later. “Home sweet home.”
As he slowed the bus to a stop, Marcella was welcomed by the sight of a stone cottage cradled in soothing woodland greens beneath a serene English sky. The picture of coziness, and it all sat on a compact, lovingly manicured lawn.
William opened the door and Marcella stepped outside for a closer look. A yellowish-green vine crawled up the right side of the cottage. Darker greens grew with abandon, low and hedge-like, along the foundation.
She saw small diamond-paned windows and a steep-pitched roof. On either side of the cottage door hung a lantern. Lacy wooden trim formed a border around the eaves, gingerbread style. Windows, door, lanterns and trim were all painted Dutch blue in striking detail against the pale gray stone.
Marcella felt like she’d stepped into a storybook. She turned, stepped aside as Babette came bounding past into the yard, then watched as William carried his bike off the bus.
As their eyes met, she dropped her jaw in a show of awe, then burst into a grin. “It’s charming. I don’t know wha
t I was expecting. Maybe something a little more formal. But this. This is timeless. This is totally relaxed and absolutely quintessential. I mean, what can I say? Wow.”
“Thank you.” He grinned, and Marcella wasn’t sure if he was just pleased with her reaction or if he had something else on his mind.
“So, how was the ride? Not too bumpy, I hope?”
“The ride was fine,” she said. “I enjoyed the ride.”
“Yes, well, I s’pose if the seniors manage, so can you.”
“Yeah, I survived, but I don’t know about my dress, though.” She peered down at herself, where a tiny doggie paw print had been stamped on her bodice and a smudge of strawberry jam stained her lap. Looking behind to access any booty damage, she was horrified at what she found. “Is that dirt? Ah, am I filthy?” She dusted her seat.
Something in the atmosphere changed. She sensed it immediately. Suddenly all the gaiety had been sucked out of the air and everything had gone quiet.
Marcella glanced up to find William’s gaze intent on her backside. When he noticed her watching him, watching her, his eyes widened. Embarrassment flashed across his handsome features.
“Uh, no. It’s, er, quite lovely, actually.”
As Marcella straightened, her smile grew and grew. “It’s refreshing to see you’re not totally immune to me.”
William’s expression turned reproving. “’Course I’m not immune to you.” He hooked a finger inside his clerical collar and tugged. “This isn’t some sort of compulsory halo, you know. I’d thought by now it was quite obvious. My feelings for you, that is.”
She took a step closer. “What are your feelings for me?”
Gazing into her eyes, William walked the bike forward, where it remained between them as his gaze skimmed down the length of her body. When he again looked her in the face, he seemed a little shaken. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
He regarded her with a worried crease between his brows. “Perhaps it wasn’t such a ripping idea, after all, asking Emma to invite Sallie along shopping.”
Marcella jumped in her skin. She let his words sink in a moment, then replayed them in her head, and still she couldn’t move her brain past the shock. “You? You mean you put the whole thing in motion for Sallie and Emma to spend the day together? Using my reservation at the Savoy? That was your idea? I can’t believe this.” Her amusement grew the more she thought about it, until she couldn’t help but laugh. “You set up poor Sallie.”
“No offense, but Sallie didn’t seem very keen on your pasta primavera.” With a tilt of his head, William shot her a give-me-a-break frown. “Poor Sallie, indeed. Oh, I really like Sallie, I truly do, don’t mistake me. That’s why I’m hoping it won’t prove too much of a hardship for her, visiting London with a television fashion personality. Retailers generally can’t do enough for Emma when she drops round their shops. They’ll do anything to be featured on her show. Perhaps even slip all sorts of complimentary items into Emma’s and Sallie’s carrier bags. Makeup, fashions, accessories. And not the cheap stuff, mind. Do you think Sallie will be able to bear it?”
Marcella had a hard time containing her grin. “All right, already. Easy on the sarcasm. I know Sallie will have a blast. She’s a lucky girl. And as for me, I’m a pretty lucky girl, myself. I’m flattered you arranged for us to have this time alone, and I’m grateful to Emma for making it happen, but William… .” She eyed him carefully as she asked in a conspiratorially low voice, “Whatever made you do it?”
He started to walk along with the bike, and Marcella fell in step beside him, following him up a gravel path to his door. “I was quite pleasantly surprised when I noticed you at service this morning and quickly realized I’d been given a chance.” He turned to look at her. “I couldn’t imagine letting you leave England without taking every opportunity to get to know you better.”
Marcella grinned. “My words exactly.”
“Exactly.”
“Then we’re on the same page?”
He beamed back. “I’d like to think so, yes.”
Nothing, Marcella thought, could cinch this moment more perfectly than a kiss.
William lifted his bike and hurriedly pushed it against the side of the house. Marcella waited behind him with a flutter in her belly, watching the muscles flex in his arms. She moistened her dry lips and tried to sneak a peak through the cottage door window, but sunlight reflected off the diamond panes into her eyes.
She blinked, and when she turned, William was standing directly in front of her. There they stood at the entrance to his cottage, staring into one another’s eyes.
Marcella didn’t dare move. Neither did he, which after a moment led her to believe he was waiting for her to … to what? Make the first move? She hadn’t a clue and froze in mid-grin as William cupped her jaw in his hand, leaned slowly forward, and opened his mouth over hers.
Her hat slipped from her fingers as Marcella closed her eyes and allowed her senses to be carried away. She could feel the fire burning inside him. A girl had to wonder if a man who kissed this slowly, this passionately, had serious hopes of making love later.
Well, with any other guy she might wonder, but William had made his position pretty clear last night. He could be weakening, however. In which case, should she be strong for him and fend him off?
Yeah, right.
Finally, Marcella got honest with herself and ended the madness. She told herself not to be such an idiot. Quit thinking and enjoy this moment, because it might be all you’re going to get. She let her eyes roll back in her head in mindless desire. She luxuriated in each demand William made on her, the melding of their mouths, every soft peck, and the taste of his lips. Adrenalin pumped excitement through her veins. And just as they were really, really getting into it, William softly pulled his lips from hers, coming up for air.
Gosh, he was strong. He must’ve had divine assistance.
He breathed, then smiled into her eyes with his watercolor-blue gaze. “We may have gone a bit off the page there.”
“Oh, I don’t think so. In fact, I think that page may deserve a bookmark. You know, in case we want to go back to it later.”
They laughed like two silly school kids, then William picked her hat up off the ground and reached across to open the door.
He stepped aside, and with a jerk of his head, gestured for her to enter. “Welcome.”
Marcella smiled as she ducked inside, elated with the way the day was progressing. Her gaze darted around the small entrance hall, from its polished stone floor, to the pale yellow striped wallpaper, to a row of etchings hanging to her right. On the opposite wall a shelf doubled as a coat rack. On the floor below sat a large rectangular wicker basket. Inside were gardening tools, shears, empty planters, gloves. A pair of muddy Wellingtons had been tucked behind the door.
Right away she liked the simplicity of what she saw. Her design sense told her functional, tasteful, welcoming, but deep inside Marcella was struck with a feeling of good, old-fashioned hominess.
William entered behind her with Babette, who disappeared into the house. “Originally, this was built as a home for an estate gamekeeper, in eighteen forty-six.”
“Well it certainly looks good, for more than a hundred and fifty years old.”
“Right, well, that is actually rather modern by British standards,” William quipped with a grin. “Fortunate for me, the previous owners did a serious amount of work restoring it. Replacing floors and the windows, raising ceilings, installing a proper heating system.”
With a hand to her back, he escorted her farther inside for a tour. “I’d been living in the vicarage originally, but I’d some money of my own and jumped at this property when it came up for sale. I may have driven them out, actually, thinking back. You won’t believe the number of times I rode past to have a look, imagining what I’d do with the gardens if I ever got my hands on them.”
Lucky gardens, Marcella thought before directing her attention to an intimate dining area
decorated in spring greens and barely large enough to accommodate its corner baker’s rack, a round table, and four high-backed chairs. From there they moved to a cozy parlor with a bay window overlooking the back gardens. A shelf built high around the ceiling wrapped around three walls and held antiques, books, teapots, and other pieces of china. The furniture was a collection of older pieces, reupholstered in muted fabrics.
There was a beautiful claw-foot tub in the bath and painted furniture in William’s bedroom.
The rooms had a mellow ambiance. Very shabby chic, she thought. She was impressed and told William so, over and over. “You did this all yourself?”
He shook his head and confessed in a low voice, “Mum’s decorators.”
“Lady Wiltshire.” Marcella smiled in memory of their impromptu meeting after the wedding ceremony. “I guess it’s not surprising the wife of a viscount would have such talented decorators.”
“They did a splendid job of designing around the means of a vicar, don’t you think?”
“I think it’s a house anyone would feel comfortable in.”
She was growing unusually fond of the space, and as they stood in the study, Marcella envisioned herself seated in the paisley club chair on a chilly evening, scribbling in her organizer beneath the reading lamp. There’d be a tartan throw over her legs as she reached for a cuppa off the antique tea cart.
Something very cosmic was happening to her inside this little house. The cottage had a personality all its own that kept drawing her in with its charm, and Marcella realized she was falling in love with it. The feeling seemed to parallel something else she was experiencing. The more time she spent with William, not only did he grow more powerfully attractive, but the deeper Marcella found herself caring for him.
Suddenly she needed a moment alone and excused herself to freshen up. William told her he’d be outside, rescuing the cherry tomatoes and Mrs. Wilbourne’s mash from the minibus. When Marcella was ready, she should meet him in the kitchen.
A splash of cool water, a fluff of her dark waves, a little lip gloss, and Marcella couldn’t understand how she’d let her feelings for William scare her.