by Beth Merlin
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t feeling well and left after the first act,” I said, my eyes on Perry the whole time.
“I’m glad I got a chance to meet your partner, Jamie. We got on so well I feel like I’ve known him for years. Shame you didn’t get to see the second act of the show, though. Perry, maybe we can arrange another ticket for Georgica before she leaves town?”
“Whatever you want, darling,” he said.
I moistened my lips and leaned back in my chair. There was always something sensual about the way Perry pronounced the word “darling.” His posh accent almost eliminated the letter r from the world altogether so it came out more like dahling. A familiar ache filled my chest and suddenly, the club felt ten times more crowded than it had mere seconds before.
“Have you been here before? It’s not really our scene, but Victoria’s been raving about this place so much, we finally said we’d come check it out,” Annabelle said, snapping me back into reality.
“No. A friend invited me here for a drink. I had no idea I’d agreed to meet him in the social epicenter of London.” I placed my hands in my lap and adjusted my posture to match hers.
“These places always feel that way until the next one opens up,” she said, smiling warmly. “I’m sure it’s the same way in New York.”
I rose from my seat. “I should actually go look for my friend.”
“Annabelle! I never would have expected to see you here in a million years,” Gideon said, approaching our table.
Annabelle stood up and leaned over to give Gideon a kiss hello. “You either.”
“Perry, this is my old friend Gideon Cooper,” she said, introducing them. “And this is Georgica—”
Gideon put his hand on the back of my chair. “Goldstein. I know, I’ve been looking everywhere for her.”
Perry’s posture stiffened as he shot a glance at Gideon. “You two know each other?”
“We met the other day at Highclere. Georgica was taking the Downton Abbey tour.”
Annabelle turned to Perry. “What a small world. I went to boarding school with Gideon’s sister, Linney.”
“Linney’s here. She’s over in the VIP area,” Gideon said.
“I’ll have to say hello before we leave, then,” she said.
“We should get going,” Gideon told me, handing me my coat. “I promised Georgica a nightcap somewhere a little less outrageous.”
I stood up from my chair and locked eyes with Perry.
“It was so lovely to meet you,” Annabelle said. “Darling, we should get back to Victoria and Alex.” She slipped her hand into Perry’s back pocket.
Gideon extended his hand toward Perry. “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to chat more. Perry, was it?”
“Didn’t you know, this is the Perry Gillman, writer, creator, and star of Elizabeth.” The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them. All three of them looked a bit taken aback by my eruption.
“Just Perry is fine,” he said, taking Gideon’s offered hand. “Nice to meet you, mate. Have a good night.” He looked over in my direction. “You too, Gigi.”
Gideon took my hand and led me out the club. When we got outside, Gideon called over a taxi for us. We slid inside, and he gave the driver directions to a nearby restaurant. I leaned against the window and gazed out onto the busy streets.
“You okay?” Gideon asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t seem fine.”
“That guy you just met, Perry Gillman…we used to be a little bit engaged.”
“A little bit? Oh, that’s a relief. A lot engaged is a harder thing to overcome on a first date.”
I turned to face him. “We were a lot engaged, but it’s been quite a while since we’ve seen each other.”
“I see,” Gideon said. “Would you like me to have the driver take you back to your hotel?”
“Actually. I’d love that nightcap if you’re still offering?” I said.
“Offer still stands. Although, if you’re game for an adventure, I have another thought.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I could be game.”
Gideon tapped the driver and gave him a different address. Fifteen minutes later the car pulled up to St. Paul’s Cathedral. Gideon paid and we got out.
“St Paul’s on your list, right?” he asked.
I looked down at my watch. “It’s almost midnight. Isn’t it closed?”
“Churches never really close. Wanna go check it out?” He held the car door open for me.
I nodded, and he took my hand and led me inside. He was right. The doors were unlocked, but a security guard stopped us as soon as we walked in. Gideon pulled him to the side. I couldn’t hear their conversation, but the guard smiled and motioned to me that I could come farther into the chapel. Gideon walked back over to where I was standing.
I took two tenuous steps forward. “What did you say to him?”
“I told him I impromptu decided to propose to you tonight, and it had to be in the Whispering Gallery since that was where we had our first date. I also slipped him £100. So sightsee away. He won’t bother us,” he said, handing me a map of the cathedral.
We slowly walked down the large aisle separating the church, taking in the magnificence. He took hold if my hand again, and I felt a small flutter of excitement in my stomach.
Gideon pointed up at the ceiling. “What’s this architecture style called? I’ve spent my life in estates and old churches and don’t have a clue.”
“Baroque, I think?” I looked down at the guide and read aloud, “The present church, dating from the late seventeenth century, was designed in the English Baroque style by Sir Christopher Wren. The cathedral is one of the most famous and most recognizable sights of London. Its dome, framed by the spires of Wren’s City churches, dominated the skyline for three hundred years.”
I peeked up at Gideon to see if he was still interested. He nodded for me to keep reading.
“St. Paul’s Cathedral occupies a significant place in the national identity. Services held at St. Paul’s have included royal weddings, the funerals of Sir Winston Churchill and Margaret Thatcher, and jubilee celebrations for Queen Victoria.”
“Think Victoria and Prince Alexander are getting married here?” Gideon asked.
“No, Westminster Abbey,” I answered, before realizing I’d just blown my cover.
He narrowed his eyes. “How would you know that?”
He rubbed the soft stubble on his face and sat down in a pew. I sat down beside him.
“I signed a confidentiality agreement. I can’t talk about this.”
“You realize my interest only piqued just now when you told me you signed a confidentiality agreement?” he said.
“You can’t say anything,” I said.
“Cross my heart,” he promised, making the motion over his chest.
“You might as well pinky swear for all that’s worth,” I teased.
“No,” he said, “the crossed heart is much more binding than the pinky swear, especially when you do it in a church.”
Maybe it was the sacred setting or the sweet look on his face, but for some reason, I trusted Gideon.
“I’m designing Victoria’s wedding gown. Jamie and I are. It’s really important to her that the press doesn’t get wind of it.”
He crossed his heart again. “I won’t say anything. “Does that mean you’ll be in London more?”
I nodded, and a smile tiptoed across his face. We continued to explore the cathedral floor, slowly making our way to the entrance of the Whispering Gallery. When we got to the doorway, Gideon took the guide from my hand, shook it open, and started reading.
“Climb two hundred fifty-nine steps up the dome and you will find The Whispering Gallery, which runs around the interior of the Dome. It gets its name from a charming quirk in its construction, which makes a whisper against its walls audible on the opposite side.” He finished, glanced down at my stilettos, and looked at his watch. “It’s almost
one a.m. You sure?”
I kicked off my shoes and stood barefoot on the cold stone floor. I extended my arm up the staircase. “Lead the way.”
Gideon chuckled and started climbing. I followed closely behind him. We made it to the halfway point and sat down on the stairs for a break. He took off his blazer and tied it around his waist. He was wearing a fitted tee underneath, and I could see the faint outline of his well-defined chest. I pulled my hair off my neck and into a tight bun.
He used his pocket square to wipe some sweat off his forehead. “Since I’m about to propose to you,” he said, eyebrow raised, “can I ask you some questions about your last fiancé?”
I’d just begun to cool down from the climb, but his question caused all the heat to rush back to my face.
“Um…sure,” I answered.
“If it’s too personal, that’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“No, it’s fine, ask away,” I said.
“Back at the club, things still seemed pretty unsettled between the two of you. What’s the story there?”
Considering my outburst, it was a fair question. It was only our first date, but I could understand Gideon was worried that getting involved with me might mean walking straight onto an emotional minefield.
“Perry and I met as camp counselors a little over four years ago. After the summer ended, we did the long-distance thing for a while, and then he decided to move to New York to be with me. Jamie and I were trying to get our line going, and Perry had just started writing Elizabeth. It was wonderful.” I closed my eyes and continued.
“We shared this tiny apartment that barely had room for a bed, let alone my drafting table and his piano, but we made it work and soon after got engaged.”
I thought back to the beautiful warm summer night when he asked me to marry him. We’d been in the apartment, working for hours, neither of us stopping long enough to eat a proper meal or have a conversation of more than a few words. Around eleven, Perry convinced me we needed to leave for dinner and some air. We went to our favorite hole-in-the-wall Vietnamese restaurant a few blocks away and shared spring rolls, glass noodles, and a cheap bottle of Merlot. Afterward, we wandered over to Lincoln Center, taking seats at our spot across from the fountain, where we loved to people-watch. Even at that hour of the night, there was a flurry of activity. Couples strolling home from dates, people walking their dogs, twenty-somethings trying to hail taxis, just starting their Saturday night. In the middle of it all, Perry dropped down on one knee and asked me to be his wife. The small crowd of onlookers cheered when I said yes, and he’d pulled me into his arms for a long, deep kiss.
I opened my eyes to face Gideon. “A few months later, his father died. We came back to London for the funeral and to help his mom with the arrangements and estate. When it was time for us to go back to New York, he told me he wanted to stay a bit longer to finish researching Elizabeth. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. I thought once he finished writing Elizabeth he’d come back.”
Gideon’s voice softened and lowered. “I’m guessing he never did?”
I shook my head no. “He was invited to the Olivier Awards last year. There was already some buzz on Elizabeth and they asked him to present. I offered to fly in for it but he thought it’d be better for him to go on his own. Afterward, the press dubbed him one of the most eligible bachelors in London. I mailed him back the engagement ring a few weeks later. We haven’t spoken since…well, until tonight.”
I looked up, expecting to see Gideon turning on his heels to head back down the steps. Instead, he offered his hand to help me off the ground.
“Ready to see what’s at the finish line?” he asked.
“You sure you want to?”
“I’m positive,” he answered.
I nodded, and we raced up the last few flights. I followed closely behind him. We reached the top and leaned over the railing to catch our breaths. We were almost a hundred feet above the cathedral floor, with the most incredible view of the entire chapel—the black-and-white checkered floors, the enormous archways, and glowing candlelit chandeliers.
“Now this must be the best view in the house,” Gideon said.
I pointed to some pews toward the front of the large altar. “I’m guessing the viscounts sit somewhere over there and not up here in the cheap seats, though.” I turned from the railing to face him. “While we’re spilling out secrets, anything you want to share with me on that front?”
He spun around and leaned back on his elbows. “I wasn’t trying to dupe you. I just don’t like to lead with my title,” he said.
“Well, Viscount Satterley, heir apparent to the Earl of Harronsby, is kinda a mouthful.”
He smiled. “Families like mine are about conditions and expectations. I spent my twenties trying to dodge most of them.”
“So why are you working at Highclere Castle? Why not get out of the family estate business altogether?”
“Old houses like Badgley Hall are incredibly expensive to maintain. A lot of current-day owners can’t keep up with the costs, so the estates end up getting sold to foreign buyers looking to recreate their own version of Downton Abbey. And when the sale doesn’t quite cover the debts, the contents of the house get auctioned off. My parents are older, and it’s my responsibility to try to preserve my family’s legacy the best I can. In this case, that legacy comes in the form of a grand house and lands. But that doesn’t make me better than anyone else. I sometimes worry that’s what people assume when they hear my title. Isn’t that what you assumed?”
“Me? No. I assumed it meant you had dragons and a moat,” I teased.
He raised one eyebrow. “You do watch Game of Thrones? I knew it. Look,” he said, stepping closer to me and taking hold of both my hands, “I’m sorry if you felt like I deceived you in any way. I promise I’m a straight shooter. What you see is what you get.”
I motioned over to the Whispering Wall. “Should we try this thing?”
“Remind me how this works?”
I pulled out my map and read, “Whisper along the curving wall and someone positioned anywhere along that same wall should be able to hear you.”
“Let’s do it. I’ll go this way, and you go that way,” he said, pointing to two opposite sides of the room.
We took our posts, and from my corner, I could see him utter something into the wall. A few seconds later he came running over to see if I’d heard what he’d said.
I scrunched up my nose. “Experiment fail. I didn’t hear a thing.”
He looked around the vast space. “There must need to be more people in the room for the sound to reverberate off of,” he guessed.
“The suspense is killing me, what’d you say?”
“I asked if I could see you again. I’d really like to see you again, Georgica.”
“I’d like that too.”
Chapter Seven
A few days and several more dates with Gideon later I was back in New York City working on Victoria’s wedding portfolio at G. Malone’s design studio. A combination of jet lag and anxiety over the wedding gown had me up at four a.m., tossing and turning until I eventually gave up trying to fall back asleep, showered, and started my day. When Jamie walked into the studio at nine thirty carrying two cappuccinos, he was surprised to find me there. Lately, I’d been coming in sometime between eleven and noon and staying until all hours of the night.
It was still hard to be in my apartment alone. The space was less than six hundred square feet, but since Perry had moved out, it felt huge and lonely, like it’d swallow me up whole if I stayed in it too long. So, I threw myself into building G. Malone, spending as much time in the studio as possible, terrified the hurt of it all would paralyze me creatively, just as it had when things ended with Joshua, and I got myself fired from Diane von Furstenberg. Up until now, I’d been able to channel my emotions into my work, and the brand hadn’t suffered. But after this trip to London and seeing Perry with Annabelle Ellicott, I could sen
se that familiar ache rising from deep within my soul, threatening to take hold of me. It was taking all I had to keep it at bay.
“Welcome home,” Jamie said, kissing both my cheeks and passing me one of the steaming cups. He flung his coat and scarf over a dress form and pulled his stool up next to me. “Tell me everything. I’ve been dying to hear all about the date with Mr. Downton.”
“Dates. Plural,” I said, correcting him.
Jamie raised his eyebrows.
“We had a great time. We got to most of the spots on my sightseeing list and even hit up the Red Coat Club—ever hear of it? Pretty swanky place, right up your alley, actually.”
He practically spit up his coffee. “Who’d you blow to get in there?”
“Jamie! Jesus! Gideon got us in.”
“Who’d he blow?”
“Uh, nobody, at least not that I’m aware of. Turns out he’s a viscount.”
Jamie’s eyes got huge. “Shut up! He’s in line to be an earl?”
“How do you know that?”
“I watched all six seasons of Downton this weekend. Amazing, by the way. But a viscount? Wow, Gigi. Are you seeing him again?”
“Maybe. He told me he’d like to.”
He pushed a piece of hair out of my eyes. “Then why do you look so miserable?”
“I ran into Perry and Annabelle at the club. She’s…she’s…perfect. Perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect accent, pedigree, family. All of it perfect.”
“She’s not perfect, Gigi.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
Jamie put his arm around me and squeezed. “Well, maybe design her a dress for the wedding that’ll make her look a little less perfect.”
“I’m not going to sabotage the wedding of the century.”
“Who said anything about sabotage? Just design something with a few unflattering pleats,” he said with a wink.
I spun the stool around to face my drafting table and flipped through the mostly empty pages of my sketchbook. Jamie and I’d been tasked with designing about fifteen looks for Victoria and another dozen or so for the other members of the bridal party. Essentially, we had to create an entire collection plus the finale look, the bridal gown. It was a daunting undertaking, and, at the moment, I didn’t have a single clue where to begin. I pushed my sketchbook aside and picked up the stack of newspapers and magazines one of our interns had collected while we were out of town. Jamie and I liked to go through them once a week to get a sense of which designers certain celebrities were favoring and any emerging trends.