My hangover has faded considerably. The fresh air and exercise is probably what I needed, and it makes me wonder if I didn’t fool my mother at all with my fake complaints of jet lag and bad Indian food. She has a sixth sense about these things. Just as I know without him saying a word that Jeremy is stressing about dinner tonight.
I take his hand and lead him to a bench by the pond in the Japanese garden. My mom and Laura wander away, probably not by accident. “What will we have for dinner tonight, do you think?”
He sighs. “Something pretentious.”
“Sounds delicious.”
He squeezes my hand but doesn’t smile. All his good humor from this morning has melted away. You’d think he was counting down the hours to his execution or something.
“Jeremy, what if your parents hate me?”
“I … why are you asking me that?” His back stiffens. He studies my face and then looks away toward the pond. “Are you saying you won’t marry me unless they approve?”
Oh God. “Are you saying that?”
“Don’t be absurd. Their opinion of you means nothing to me. Even less than nothing. Since they approved of Alison, their disapproval of you would be a point—ten points—in your favor.”
“Then I should hope they dislike me?”
He sighs. “Please, just be yourself tonight.”
He tips my face up to kiss me. I’m with the man I love, sitting in a beautiful garden, warmed by the sun, and soothed by the splashing of a waterfall. What could go wrong?
A peacock shrieks in my ear.
I jerk my head in the opposite direction that Jeremy turns his, causing a collision between my nose and his cheekbone, and yeah, thanks to my touchy nasal capillaries … nosebleed. It’s all over both of us before he can find the pack of tissues in my purse.
The peacock shrieks again. It’s stalking toward us. Ohmygod. I think they attack at the smell of blood.
“Run!”
By the time Jeremy catches up with me, I’m a good thirty yards away, approaching my mom and Laura who look horrified by my bloody hands and wad of tissues held to my face. He’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe.
CHAPTER 8
The last time Jeremy smiled today was when he told Laura and Mom his version of “Chelsea and the killer peacock”—greatly exaggerated. At least that lightened his mood. For a while.
Now, we’re driving to his parents’ house, and he’s glum and silent again. The knot in my stomach is so huge I doubt I’ll be able to eat a bite, which will probably offend them … well, offend them more than just my presence in their home will. I don’t see any way I can win this evening. But if I just keep my mouth shut—except for eating and drinking, of course—maybe I can make it through this dinner without further screwing up Jeremy’s relationship with his family.
My mother smiles at me at the same instant Jeremy squeezes my hand. What? Are they twin mind readers now?
“Will I be meeting the daft prick tonight?” I ask him.
“The what?” For a second, Laura’s eyes meet mine in the rearview mirror, then zip back to the traffic at the blare of a car horn.
“She means Richard,” Jeremy tells her.
Laura frowns at me in the mirror.
“I’m just repeating what Jeremy calls him.”
She glances back at Jeremy. “That’s awful of you.”
“Apt, though.”
Laura laughs. “I have to admit it is.”
“Oh, stop,” my mom says, “I’m sure he’s just as nice as his lovely siblings.”
“As one of his siblings, thank you,” Laura says, “but our brother Richard’s been a spoiled brat since birth and shows no signs of outgrowing it.”
Jeremy grumbles something to himself and then to me says, “Yes, you’ll meet him tonight. Unfortunately.”
Less than a minute later, Laura pulls up in front a row of town houses. In the dark, I can tell only that the Pearce house is light-colored stone with at least three stories. I can’t actually see the roof from inside the car, and the houses farther down the row have three or four floors so this one probably does too. Plus they all have those floors dropped below street level. But unlike the Notting Hill house, the Pearce home is fenced and gated and sits six steps up from the sidewalk, one amenity of living in this higher priced neighborhood, I guess.
Jeremy opens my door, and I get out. He’s standing even straighter than usual like his whole body’s clenched as tight as his jaw.
“We’re still in London, right?”
“Chelsea,” Laura says.
“Yes?”
Jeremy makes a breathy sound that might have been a “what?” I interpret it anyway from his arched brow. “I was responding to Laura.”
“To me?” Laura frowns, looking from me to Jeremy and back. “I don’t understand.”
I’m just as confused. “You said my name.”
Two seconds later, Laura says, “Ah.” (Her grin is exactly like Jeremy’s, only with lipstick—the perfect shade for her, by the way.) “You asked if we were still in London, and we are, but this district is Chelsea.”
I smack Jeremy’s arm. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”
He shrugs—at least I think he does. He looks so tense, it might have just been a nervous tic. Apparently, the cat’s got not only his tongue, but his brain too.
“Well then”—my mother takes Jeremy’s arm—“let’s go inside.”
“Right this way, Marie.” Laura presses the car lock button on her key fob and moves toward the steps.
Reluctant though Jeremy is, he has no choice but to be dragged to the door by the mighty Marie Cole.
Laura opens the door to her parents’ house, and we all file in. She and Jeremy take our coats and direct me and my mom to enter the room to the right off the entrance hall. Surely, they don’t expect us to introduce ourselves to their parents. I glance at my mom. She smiles at me and squares her shoulders, obviously up to the challenge, and enters the room with me a step behind.
My first glimpse of the Pearce family home brings both admiration and disappointment. The entrance hall was impressive, and this living room, though surprisingly small, is beautiful too, gorgeously decorated and furnished in a classy contemporary style. I’m sure the house is totally worthy of an interiors magazine spread, but it’s not the mansion I’d expected. I guess, in my mind, I’d exaggerated their wealth. Jeremy certainly hasn’t given me any details. It occurs to me that maybe it wasn’t his father’s money he spent to live in California for six months to give writing a chance. Maybe it was Jeremy’s whole future inheritance. I glance down at my left hand. Does this diamond ring represent the last of that? Is his fear that I’d discover his parents hadn’t “disowned him,” but that he’d already spent all they could give him the reason he didn’t want me to meet them?
I won’t discover anything about them just yet, though. This room is as empty of his parents as the hall was. It seems rude to me—and my mother, I’m sure—that Jeremy’s parents haven’t come out to greet us yet. Even if my mother is busy in the kitchen when company arrives at her house, she rushes out to welcome them. Mom and I are still standing when Laura and Jeremy enter.
“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” Laura says.
Jeremy heads straight for the bar cart in the corner. He pours himself a double—at least—and downs it in two gulps.
“A G&T for me, brother dear.” Laura turns to me and my mom. “And you’ll have?”
“I’ll have a gin and tonic too,” Mom tells Jeremy as she settles on the sofa. “I’ve developed a taste for them.”
I go to Jeremy and whisper, “Are your parents not here?”
He finishes making the drinks for Laura and my mom before he responds. “They’re waiting upstairs in the drawing room. There’s no tequila. How about a Batiste?”
“A what?”
“Rum and Grand Marnier.”
I was really asking what he meant by drawing room, not that I’ve never heard the
term; I’ve just never heard it come out of his mouth. I take the glass he’s holding out. He serves the gin drinks and returns to the bar. I’m a little concerned when he pours himself another finger of Scotch.
“Drink up,” he says to me. “You’ll need it.”
Seriously? My stomach clenches. If Jeremy and Laura both need drinks before they face their parents, how will I manage to get through this night?
After we’ve finished fortifying our courage, Laura leads us back into the hall and toward the stairs. As usual, Jeremy is the last to start the climb, but I’m determined not to enter the drawing room before him. I want him as a shield when I face the dragons.
As we near the open French doors, I hear them talking. They sound normal enough. A woman exclaims something. A man laughs. And then we’re in the room—a much larger room than what I thought was the living room downstairs. Drawing room it is, with three huge windows in a bay, two sofas, and six armchairs, gleaming dark-wood flooring beneath three gorgeous area rugs, and over the fireplace hangs the largest mirror I’ve ever seen.
I feel so out of place. My mom looks totally at ease. Unlike me, she excels at always knowing how to fit in. I’m just always me—as unfortunate as that is sometimes.
While I’ve been taking the room in, I’ve avoided actually looking at the people. But now I have to because introductions have started. I assume the stately couple greeting my mom is Mr. and Mrs. Pearce. The other man in the room is handsome and looks a lot like Mr. Pearce, but though he looks a few years younger, his hair is grayer, so I’m sure that’s not Richard. When the mystery man steps forward and gives Jeremy a smile and a hearty hug, I see how kind his eyes are.
Jeremy drops his guard and grins at him. “I didn’t know you’d be here, Uncle Bert.”
“What? And delay meeting your beautiful bride-to-be?” He smiles at me and holds out his hand. I prepare to shake it, but when he takes mine, he bows and kisses it.
I laugh. And then I want to smack myself. I look at Jeremy to see if he’s as mortified as I feel, but he’s still smiling. And so is his uncle.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to laugh. I just didn’t expect … no one’s ever kissed my hand like that before, but it was nice. I mean, you’re nice. I was rude. Oh, crap. I’m screwing this up already, and I really didn’t want—”
His uncle laughs. “You described her perfectly, son.” He’s still holding my hand, and now he squeezes it. “Chelsea, you are a pure delight.” He pulls me into a hug and whispers, “Just don’t expect hugs and kisses from the lord and lady.”
The what and what?
He’s joking, right?
Ohmygod.
Here they are, right in front of me. Jeremy’s introducing me, but his words are muffled. I think I’m going to faint. They’re smiling, but can I trust that? Crocodile smiles and all. Mine probably looks like the mouse’s just before the cat eats it. I’m shaking hands. Seconds later, I’m invited to sit. Luckily, Jeremy guides me to one of the sofas and sort of pulls me down between him and my mother. What did I say to them? Did I say anything? Obviously nothing embarrassing or rude because everyone’s still smiling. But that could just be politeness, right? I mean they’re British.
I risk a glance at Jeremy. He’s grim again, but then he’s been grim all evening in anticipation of this meeting. Maybe I didn’t humiliate him. I look at my mother. She’s all smiles. And she’s talking to Jeremy’s mother. Lady Amanda Pearce!
Now that I’m not facing them, I take a closer look at Jeremy’s parents. Lord Gordon might be about the same height as Jeremy, but he’s built stockier and has coarser features. He looks so stern I can’t imagine having to face him as judge.
It’s Lady Amanda that Jeremy favors. I can’t see the exact color of her eyes, but I think it’s the same as his. And their noses have the same shape, though his is a bit longer. She looks feminine, and he doesn’t, of course, but even more than the physical resemblance, they have the same … I don’t know … an aura or something. You know they’re intelligent and sensitive just by looking at them. But then, how could she be sensitive yet be so cold to her own son?
A woman appears in the doorway and announces dinner. They have a maid, housekeeper, whatever? Oh, of course they do. They’re a lord and lady. I don’t even know what those titles mean. Wait. Surely that was Uncle Bert’s joke. Jeremy would have told me if his parents were royalty. Wouldn’t he?
I’ll kill him.
We move across the landing to the dining room. I take the chair Jeremy pulls out for me and sigh with relief when he sits next to me. I was afraid the lord and lady might separate us. I’m watching the maid serve the soup while trying to figure out if the kitchen of this house is on the same floor as the dining room or below it like at Laura’s, so until Jeremy nudges me and looks toward his mother, I don’t realize she’s spoken to me.
“Sorry, could you repeat that?”
“I asked if you’d care to take tea with Laura, your mother, and me on Wednesday?”
“Yes, thank you.” I’m not exactly sure what she means by “take tea,” but I can’t refuse, can I?
“Lovely,” Lady Amanda says. “Claridge’s at half past three, Laura?”
“Fine.”
“Very well. I’ll have Becky see to the reservation in the morning. We ladies will have a nice chat about the wedding.”
Suddenly, the wedding Gabi and I have planned seems all wrong. I can’t picture the lord and lady enjoying themselves in my mother’s back yard. I take another spoonful of soup (what exactly is this?) confident that I’m doing it properly. I’ve picked up some dining etiquette from watching Jeremy eat, but I’ve never been able to manage the way he eats with his knife always in his right hand and his fork, tines down, in his left.
When the maid serves the next course, I thank her, and then I say, “How are you tonight?”
Her eyes practically pop out of her head. She shoots a look in Lady Amanda’s direction—a look of alarm!—and then mutters a curt, “Fine, Miss,” before moving on to serve Jeremy.
Ohmygod. I’ve clearly smashed to hell some social rule. My face is flaming. Jeremy pats my knee under the table. Did everyone hear? Light conversation seems to have continued, but I keep my eyes on my plate until I can breathe normally again. When I finally look up, Uncle Bert winks at me. It’s a totally innocent wink. He’s just trying to make me relax. I’m glad Jeremy has another ally in the family besides Laura. By the way, where’s Richard?
As if I summoned him by thought, a man I assume is Richard walks into the dining room. He’s shorter than Jeremy, actually closer to Laura’s height. His hair is a blah light brown, but his eyes are a startling pale blue. Their color is the only thing that saves his face from being forgettable. He goes directly to his mother and kisses her cheek.
“Forgive me, Mummy. The traffic was absolutely dreadful.” He sits next to her, making a show of settling his napkin on his lap. He doesn’t even glance at Jeremy or me. “Father, I heard a rumor that one of the district judges has got himself in a fix with his bit on the side. Name?”
I can’t take my eyes off him. Minus his rudeness, he’s like a walking caricature of a prim and proper Brit. I glance across at Laura, and though her mouth is not smiling, her eyes are. She looks a question at me, which I interpret as—see?
Is it too late to cancel Richard’s invitation to the wedding?
All in all, the rest of the dinner goes smoothly. The food is good, though I’m not sure what one of the side dishes is. I don’t spill anything or commit anymore taboos … as far as I know. As much as possible, I keep to my plan of silence. And though Lord Pearce speaks several times directly to Jeremy, I don’t detect any particular animosity. I’m still confused why Jeremy dreaded this night so much—except for dealing with the daft prick, of course.
Richard monopolizes the conversation, which I imagine is the way it usually goes when he’s around. I catch him looking at me a few times, but he never speaks to me. He does s
peak to Jeremy, updating him on people he’d known in the law office, which seems to interest only Richard. And as dessert is served, he asks Jeremy how the writing is going. The question sounds genuine, but Jeremy’s curt response—“fine”—tells me Richard hadn’t asked out of interest or concern but ridicule.
And then it’s after nine o’clock, dinner is over, and we’re up and moving back to the drawing room for coffee.
Coffee doesn’t necessarily mean coffee, I see. Jeremy is already pouring himself a Scotch, and Uncle Bert is taking drink orders. But Lady Amanda is pouring coffee in at least two of the cups set out on a tray, for herself and my mother, I presume, and I’ve just decided coffee would be the safest bet for me too, when Laura hands me a glass. Another Batiste. Before I can choose a place to sit, Richard is at my side, holding out his hand.
“I apologize for missing the formal introductions. I’m Richard, Jeremy’s brother.”
“Nice to meet you, Richard.” He looks me up and down, pausing too long on my chest, and doesn’t let go of my hand after we shake.
“It’s obvious why Jeremy finds you so attractive.”
He’s rubbing his thumb along the back of my hand. I jerk it out of his.
He smirks. “I expect he could have had you at half the cost, though.”
I try to push past him, but Richard has one more insult.
“Probably less.” He moves aside.
Before I reach Jeremy, I see he’s glaring at his brother.
“What did Richard say to you?” he asks.
“Nothing. He just introduced himself.” I can tell by the way Jeremy looks at me he’s not buying it, but he doesn’t say anything more.
He leads me to the chair closest to one of the sofas—the one where his uncle is sitting beside my mother and beaming at her as she speaks. Jeremy sits while I perch on the arm of the chair. While I’m sipping my drink and trying to keep up with three conversations at once, his fingers absently draw little circles on my lower back. Lord Gordon is standing by the fireplace discussing some law thing with Richard, Lady Amanda is reminding Laura about participating in some festival, and Uncle Bert is flirting with my mom. Everyone’s ignoring the two of us, and I’m pretty sure that’s as fine with Jeremy as it is with me.
Love & Liability (A High Tea & Flip-Flops Novel Book 2) Page 9