But then Lord Gordon sits down, and all conversation dies. He looks in our direction. “Jeremy, I encourage you to show Chelsea and Marie the best of our city this week. And then you’ll join us in the country on Thursday.”
Jeremy’s hand falls away from my back. “For the whole weekend?”
“You’ll be back here Monday afternoon. Is that too much to ask? I’ve arranged to take time off.”
“We’ve already made plans in town with Laura.”
His father holds out his empty glass to Richard, who jumps to refill it. “Surely, you haven’t made plans that can’t be postponed. And if, for a few hours, you need to come back to the city, you’re welcome to use one of the cars. In any case, Laura will be staying with us too.”
Laura’s face shouts her surprise at that news.
For a moment, no one speaks.
“A family reunion,” Uncle Bert cries. “I wouldn’t miss it.” He takes my mom’s hand and then mine. “You ladies are in for a treat. The countryside should be bursting with the first of spring bloom.”
“Likely, it will rain every day we’re there,” Richard says.
Lady Amanda sighs. “Don’t grumble, dear.”
I down the rest of my Batiste in one gulp.
Twenty minutes later, we’re walking out to the car. Jeremy grabs the keys from Laura. She frowns at him but doesn’t protest. He starts the car before I can get in beside him, and the second we’ve all shut our doors, he tears off down the street.
“Slow down,” Laura tells him. “You’re off your face.”
“I assure you there’s not enough alcohol in this fucking country—”
“Jeremy.” He shoots a murderous look in my direction. I mouth, “My mom.”
He winces and glances in the rearview mirror. “Sorry about that, Marie.”
I’m just thankful there’s not much traffic because he doesn’t slow the car. He’s still fuming.
“How could you neglect telling me what he had planned, Laura?”
“You think I knew?”
“Of course you knew.”
“No, she didn’t,” I say. “I was watching her when your father told us his plans, and she was as surprised as you were.”
“Thank you,” Laura says.
“A weekend in the country sounds wonderful to me,” Mom says.
No one responds.
She tries again. “Your uncle is very charming, Jeremy. He certainly seems fond of you.”
Jeremy takes the corner a little slower. “Yes. He’s a good man. And I love him too.”
“He seemed to take quite an interest in you, Marie,” Laura says.
“And you looked very happy with his interest, Mom.”
“Oh,” she says, flapping a hand dismissively, “he was just being hospitable.”
When I look back, she’s smiling to herself. Laura notices too and says, “Uncle Bert is definitely preferable to Richard, wouldn’t you say, Marie?”
“God, yes.” My mother claps a hand over her mouth, and Laura and I laugh. Even Jeremy has to smile a little.
No one speaks during the last few blocks of the drive. I have so many questions to ask Jeremy, but I don’t think he’s in any mood to talk about his parents. Maybe Laura is. That plan is dashed a minute later when my mom yawns loudly, and Laura says she’s exhausted too.
So the night ends with us all trooping straight up to bed.
And thanks to Lord Pearce, Jeremy doesn’t even kiss me good night. He just gets in bed, turns away from me, and goes to sleep. Or pretends to.
I’m afraid I’ll be awake all night, trying to figure out why this evening wasn’t anything like I expected—well, except for Richard. I must be missing something. I kind of understand why Jeremy’s angry that his father planned several days of our visit without consulting him, but since his parents paid for us to come here, I also kind of understand why they expected us to spend more time with them. His mom and dad weren’t overly friendly to me, but they weren’t rude either. And maybe they treated Jeremy a teeny bit coolish, but it didn’t appear to me that they’re “not the least bit interested” in him like he says. They certainly don’t seem to hate him like he’d made me believe.
If this famous British reserve is strong enough that you can totally hide your true feelings, how does anyone here ever know what you really think of them?
CHAPTER 9
For the second time this week, I wake to find Jeremy’s already up, and since he’s not in the bedroom and the bathroom is dark, he’s obviously already downstairs. After I brush my teeth and comb my hair, I get dressed and go down to the kitchen. Laura is sitting alone at the table, but Jeremy’s visible through the patio door, pacing with his phone to his ear.
“Good morning,” Laura says.
“Morning.” I nod toward Jeremy. “What’s up?”
“Ethan’s commiserating with him about the change of plans.”
I select my coffee and drop the K-Cup into the brewer. “My mom’s not awake yet?”
“Oh yes, she’s awake and already gone out.”
I whip my head in Laura’s direction. She’s wearing an odd smile. “Gone out?”
“To breakfast with Uncle Bert.”
“Wow. He didn’t waste any time, did he?” I carry my cup to the table. “I like him.”
“You should have seen the way Marie lit up when he called.”
“Yeah?”
“Could it be love at first sight?”
“Believe me, my mom’s way too practical for love at first sight.” Suddenly I’m overcome with homesickness. “Would you remind me to call Gabi sometime this afternoon? The time difference keeps tripping me up. I sent her a photo of my dress, but we haven’t had a chance to talk about it.”
“Certainly.”
“I wanted to ask Jeremy a question about your parents last night, but he wasn’t in a talkative mood.”
“Not surprising,” she says. “Jeremy’s a brooder.”
“Well, he should have told me that your parents are a lord and lady.”
“What? Where did you hear that?”
“Uncle Bert.”
Laura’s eyes are laughing, but she only smiles. “That’s Uncle’s way of criticizing them for their aspirations. My father is driven to become a high court judge. My mother’s not driven, actually, just envious of a higher social status. So, no, they’re not Lord and Lady Pearce.”
“That’s a relief.”
“A relief?” She shakes her head. “Chelsea, you need to relax, or you’ll crack spending a weekend around them.” She bites her lip. “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but the funny thing is that Uncle Bert, being the firstborn, is a lord, though it doesn’t mean much today, and he wouldn’t care if it did. The title originated long ago, when the family was wealthy and powerful.”
I don’t even want to imagine what Laura means by was wealthy. Is that the way all rich people think? I guess there’s always someone with more money than you have. And I wish everyone would quit telling me to relax.
“I wonder if Uncle Bert told my mom he’s a lord.”
“I sincerely doubt that. Please don’t mention it to her … or anyone.”
I nod and finish my coffee. “What are we doing about breakfast?”
“Jeremy’s call.”
We both look toward the patio. He’s pacing as he talks.
“Will it be so horrible for him to spend next weekend in the country? I mean, except for Richard, I thought it went pretty well last night.”
Laura continues watching him. “The thing is … there’s always a hostile undercurrent between Jeremy and our father. You can never predict when it will erupt. To Jeremy, Dad forcing him to spend several days in the same house with him is a subtle—or not so subtle—provocation.”
“But why the hostility? I mean, I know your father disapproves of him giving up law.”
“There is that.”
“He says that neither of your parents care about him.”
&nbs
p; Laura gives me a wry smile. “I can’t explain why he’d say that about Mum, but Dad?” She sighs. “Dad’s not a flexible man. He truly loves the law and can’t understand why Jeremy doesn’t, especially since law has been the family business for generations.”
“But what if you don’t have the head for—”
“Ha! Jeremy’s proficiency in the LPC is one reason Richard’s so jealous of him.”
“The LPC?”
“Legal practice course. It’s a specialized training you take to qualify for a license to practice.”
“Okay, I get that your father approves of Richard because he’s chosen a law career, but you’re an environmental conservationist, yet your relationship with him is not like Jeremy’s, right?”
“But I’m a woman.”
“Wow, so he’s—”
“Sexist. Which explains a lot about Mum.”
Jeremy’s laughter rings out. Ethan’s commiseration appears to have done the trick. He looks at me through the glass and smiles.
I smile back and stand. “I guess I’d better go get ready for the day.”
Laura flips a hand toward the stairs. “Go.”
*
Uncle Bert has kept my mom occupied for most of the last two days. Yesterday, I saw her for about ten minutes in the morning and then had to wait up for her to get home so I could talk with her for twenty last night. Jeremy thinks it’s nice that his uncle’s been acting as my mother’s tour guide. I guess I agree, partly because that’s saved us from hours of suffering through the boring touristy stuff we’re not interested in—and also the chore of remembering to censor ourselves in front of her. (Jeremy and Ethan get pretty foul when they’re drinking together.)
Now, it’s Wednesday afternoon, and Mom’s way too excited about this tea thing with Amanda Pearce. I’ve asked Laura a million questions, so I know what to expect, and I’m not really looking forward to this experience. It doesn’t sound like a good way to get to know my future mother-in-law. But I guess I’ll have that chance this weekend.
Anyway.
I’m dressed appropriately in a cream cashmere sweater, camel wool slacks and jacket, and black pumps—nothing sexy at all. Jeremy comes upstairs as I’m putting on my shoes. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed and staring at me.
“Those are not your clothes,” he says.
“I told you I bought a few things.”
“Did Gabi choose them for you?”
“Okay, yes. This is one of Gabi’s work outfits. I borrowed some things from her.” That confession earns me a disapproving scowl. “They’re more appropriate.”
He scoffs. “All you’re missing is a pearl choker.”
“I’m trying to fit in.”
“Why would you want to look like … like … someone who’s the opposite of you.”
“Laura’s not exactly the opposite of me.”
“I wasn’t referring to Laura.”
“Then who?” I start transferring items from my usual bag to the designer clutch that goes with these shoes. When Jeremy doesn’t answer, I look toward the door, but he’s disappeared.
By the time I join Laura and my mom downstairs, Jeremy’s left with Ethan. They’re off to a pub, of course. The three of us leave for the hotel tearoom in a taxi to avoid parking problems. On the way, Mom points out places she’s seen with Uncle Bert—Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, Grosvenor Square Garden. It seems Uncle Bert has Mom figured out. They have another dinner date tonight.
From my Google search, I recognize the redbrick exterior of Claridge’s, which only gives a hint of what’s inside. The interior takes my breath away. Though I know it makes me look unsophisticated, I can’t help turning in amazement to see all the views from the lobby. I have the oddest feeling I’ve been here before, and I was sad. Isn’t that ridiculous?
“What do you think?” Laura asks.
“Gorgeous.” My mom nudges my elbow. “Don’t you think so, Chelsea?”
I close my gaping mouth and swallow back the lump in my throat. I still can’t speak, so I nod.
Laura gestures toward a gorgeous staircase. “It’s famous for its art deco style.”
“Art deco,” I whisper.
“Like your wedding dress,” Mom says.
Laura glances toward the arches leading into the area where they serve tea. “Mum’s rarely punctual, but she’ll expect us to be seated and waiting.”
“Oh, of course, let’s go, Chelsea.”
Mom tugs on my arm because I’m still gawking. Taking in every detail as we cross the black-and-white-tiled floor, I follow her and Laura. I’m a little keyed up, so I welcome the soft music playing. Gabi would love this place, and she would fit in just like my mom does. It’s not like I’m deliberately clumsy, but, at the sight of all these white tablecloths, I feel doomed to spill tea, which I’m sure won’t endear me to Jeremy’s mother.
When we’re seated, Laura informs the server that we’re waiting for someone, and then she orders glasses of champagne for us. I hope she’ll order the tea for me too because after one look at the selection menu online I was lost. The champagne arrives quickly. I’m thankful for that, and though I try not to sip too fast, I finish just as Amanda enters. It’s not like me to be so nervous, but I need her to like me—or approve of me, at least—because that’s the only hope I have of fixing things between Jeremy and his parents.
I’ve already learned Amanda’s not big on hugging, so I’m not surprised when she simply greets us and takes her seat.
“We’ll start with my usual,” she says to the server. As he walks away, she looks to Mom. “Excuse me, Marie, I should have consulted you. Is oolong acceptable?”
“Perfectly, Amanda. Chelsea and I will be happy to follow your lead here.”
Amanda smiles—at me too—and I relax a little. Laura winks at me. Is it so obvious I’m out of my element? A glance around the room reassures me that I look like I fit in. But the desire to be with Jeremy at the pub is overwhelming. Breathe, Chelsea, breathe.
“You’ve had such lovely weather for your visit,” Amanda says, “but I’m afraid the forecast for this evening isn’t as nice. What are your dinner plans, Laura?”
“I’m not sure for us yet. Marie will be with Uncle.”
Amanda’s eyes widen. “I hadn’t heard, Marie. Albert’s an excellent dinner companion.”
“Yes, he is.”
Amanda cocks her head and observes Mom with a slight smile, but she doesn’t say anything more. I don’t know Amanda well enough to read her smile. I give her the benefit of the doubt and assume it’s not condescending or malicious. God, why would it be malicious? That’s Jeremy’s influence on my perception.
We’re served delicious little sandwiches with the oolong, and then scones with a different tea. I’m trying to act like I’ve done this my whole life, so I lag behind Laura and Amanda a few seconds in all my movements. I glance up often to find Amanda watching me. Which means I’m looking at her more than I should be. Crap. I wish I could substitute more champagne for the tea.
So far, the conversation has been about our visit in London and the weather forecast for our country weekend, but now it turns to the wedding.
“Jeremy tells me you’ve decided on a garden wedding, Chelsea,” Amanda says.
I lick a smudge of clotted cream from the corner of my mouth. “Yes. Our rose garden … I mean Mom’s garden. I don’t grow roses. Or grow anything. Actually.”
“A garden wedding sounds charming. And the date?”
“Um … sometime in May. You’re invited. I mean of course you are … being Jeremy’s parents … obviously …”
Laura bites back a smile.
Mom pats my hand.
Amanda arches her brows and looks to my mom. “Sometime?”
“They want an intimate wedding, Amanda, so elaborate planning hasn’t been necessary, and since you and your family will be traveling the farthest, Chelsea wanted to consult you before setting the exact date.”
I’m i
n awe of my mom. How does she come up with these things so quickly?
“Very well. I’ll consult our schedules and let you know what’s best for us when you come out to the country.” Amanda gives me another smile I can’t interpret. “What other wedding preparations have you made, Chelsea?”
“Well … I have a dress.”
“She bought it here, Mum,” Laura says. “It’s vintage. A lavender silk art deco-style.”
“Lovely.”
“Made for Princess Grace of Monaco,” my mom adds.
“Oh my.”
“Jeremy likes it,” I say, a little more defensively than I meant to. Well, no. I meant to defend the choice. I just didn’t want it to sound like I was.
That smile again. “I can almost picture how beautiful you’ll look, Chelsea.”
Benefit of the doubt, Chelsea, benefit of the doubt. “Thanks.”
We pause while the desserts are served. With another tea. No champagne.
When the servers leave, Amanda picks up the wedding talk again. “So, what sort of weather will you have in May?”
I stuff a bite of cake in my mouth. It’s safer to let my mom and Laura do the talking.
“Perfect weather,” Mom says. “It should be warm and sunny almost every day.”
“Delightful. Gordon and I are—”
“Amanda?”
We all turn our heads toward the voice. Ohmygod. It’s her. Alison. Jeremy’s ex-sort-of-fiancée. As she leans down to air-kiss Amanda, Laura glares at her.
“Alison, why … my goodness.” Amanda glances at me. “I … are you here with your mother?”
I search Amanda’s face for evidence that she planned this meeting so she could show me the kind of woman she expected Jeremy to marry.
Alison laughs—musically, of course—and shows Amanda her left hand. Diamonds and emeralds glitter as she wiggles her fingers. “I’m here with my bridesmaids.” She smirks at Laura.
“Oh, yes, we received the invitation last week,” Amanda says.
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