Margaret was the matriarch of the Whitcombe family now that my father was dead. She was my father’s only wife. Understandably, my sudden appearance along with the evidence I produced to verify my place in the Whitcombe lineage was distressing to her, which is why I had done everything I could to keep my identity quiet.
This was a small village. The Whitcombes and MacGregors were close friends. As much as I wanted the awkwardness to magically go away between all of us, I knew it would probably be like this for a long time.
Even so, I liked to imagine all would be well. Ian and I would marry. We would move to Carlton Heath. Margaret would accept me, and I would at long last be “home.” I would finally belong somewhere. And I would be part of a family.
Katharine was halfway down the bumpy, narrow back road that I called the “romantic route” because it went past the ivy-covered church with the old cemetery, the magnificent trees with their gnarled trunks, and a collection of stone cottages with trimmed hedges. One of the cottages held a special memory for me, and I was eager to see it again.
Katharine came upon what I had dubbed “Forgotten Rose Cottage” because of the surplus of neglected rosebushes that grew up both sides of the stone dwelling. She slowed the car and veered around a pothole.
“I love that little place,” I said.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” Katharine offered me a soft smile.
The long-neglected stone cottage looked different than it had last summer. Someone had done a significant amount of cleanup.
“Did someone buy the cottage?”
“It’s possible.”
My heart sank. I had dreams about that little, fairy-tale house. I dreamed of one day acquiring the place with Ian. I could see us working side by side in our jeans and sweatshirts, painting and decorating and making the long-neglected cottage into a home. Our home.
But that would never be if someone else had snatched up the Forgotten Rose Cottage and decided to make it their dream.
A chest-tightening sadness came over me, and I felt an urge to fight for the house. “Is there a way to find out if someone has bought it?”
“I’m sure there is. You should ask Ian. He has ways of finding out such things quickly.”
I crossed my arms in front of me and thought of the many things Ian and I needed to discuss this week. Maybe I should have stayed at the hospital with him instead of stepping right into seeing Margaret my first few hours in Carlton Heath.
Glancing at Katharine, I realized I’d been so wrapped up in my own world that I hadn’t asked how she was doing with the fright of Andrew and his trip to the hospital. For the rest of the short drive to the Tea Cosy, I put my attention on Katharine.
And in her Katharine way, she put twice as much love and attention right back on me.
As she turned her car onto Bexley Lane, the long awaited sight didn’t disappoint. Every lamppost on this beautiful stretch of road was adorned with a large evergreen wreath. Long garlands of evergreen and ivy dotted with red berries hung from one lamppost to the next. The wreaths as well as the swaying garlands were trimmed in twinkling lights and pert, red ribbons.
Even though it was only dusk, all the lights were lit, turning this street into a twinkling fairyland that looked like a Victorian Christmas card. Of all the places of business on Bexley Lane, the Tea Cosy exuded the most charm. The building was one of the oldest in Carlton Heath; made of rock and limestone, it hinted at being a well-aged, diminutive castle. The sign that hung on the lamppost adjacent to the shop was in the shape of a teapot.
As Katharine and I approached the front door, I stepped ahead of her just for the personal delight of being the one to reach for the oddly-shaped metal latch and to open the heavy, wooden door. The string of merry silver bells jumped and jingled, and once again I stepped over the timber threshold and entered one of my favorite places in the world, the Tea Cosy.
A warm, amber fire burned in the ancient hearth of the permanently soot-covered fireplace. Along the mantel and at each table small red votive candles flickered contentedly.
I took a quick look around and spotted Margaret. She was seated in the far corner in a tall chair with her back to the door.
“Shall we?” Katharine asked.
I knew she was asking if we should go and greet Margaret. With a nod, I followed Katharine across the uneven wooden floor. She spoke in her buttery smooth way. “Hallo, Margaret. We’ve good news on Andrew. Did you hear?”
“No. Only that he had gone to hospital. How is he?” With a sideways glance at me, Margaret added, “Welcome back, Miranda.”
She was a round and rosy woman with fair skin, white hair, and wire-rimmed glasses. Not the sort of looks one imagines for the wife of such a distinguished film star, but Margaret carried herself with a regal air.
“It’s good to be back.” I reached for Margaret in preparation to greet her with a hug or at least a handshake. When she didn’t respond in kind, I ended up giving her arm an awkward pat.
Ellie, my half brother’s petite, sparkling wife, must have heard Katharine and me because she flitted out of the kitchen in her white apron with a tray of warm scones in her hands. On her head perched a headband with felt reindeer antlers.
Ellie loved life. She loved people. As soon as she saw me, she put the scones on the table for Margaret and threw her arms around me in a welcoming hug.
“You’re here! This is perfect. Julia has been counting the days until her Auntie Miranda arrives. She’s at the house, hoping you’ll go there first. I suppose you’ve been to hospital, though, isn’t that right? How is Andrew? We’ve all been so concerned, haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Margaret said. “What is the news of Andrew?”
Katharine gave the good report and added, “We don’t anticipate any complications or further problems. It’s the best report we could have received, really.”
Ellie clapped her hands together. “Wonderful news!”
“I’m so pleased to hear such a report,” Margaret said. “What a relief that must be for all of you.”
“Yes, it’s a blessed relief. Miranda and I have come back to do some baking that went by the wayside this morning. Before I get everything ready in the kitchen, would you care for more tea?”
“Yes, that would be lovely. Miranda, would you care to join me?”
I looked at Katharine and back at Margaret. Had I been set up for this meeting? I didn’t think so. Arranging this meeting would have been a challenge, given all the details that hadn’t gone according to schedule so far that day.
“If you don’t mind, Katharine,” Ellie said, untying the strings on her apron, “I must go on a quick errand. Your timing is perfect, really. I need to make a dash.”
“Of course. I appreciate all you did today.”
“It was a pleasure.” Reaching for my arm as I lowered myself into the chair across from Margaret, Ellie said, “I’ll see you back here in less than an hour.”
“I’ll be here.”
As Katharine and Ellie left me alone at the table with Margaret, I noted that I had the same feeling I’d experienced on my first job interview. As much as I wanted Margaret to accept me, I still didn’t like sitting there, not knowing what the outcome of our meeting was going to be.
“How fortunate that you and I have this opportunity to speak with each other privately before the holiday festivities begin,” Margaret said.
I nodded, waiting.
“I have wanted to tell you how much I have appreciated your discretion this past year. Edward and I were speaking not long ago of the unique situation between you and our family. Edward reminded me of how you are to be commended for your maturity and prudence.” Margaret paused as if waiting for my response.
The only words that came to mind were, “Thank you.”
Margaret seemed like the sort of woman who did a lot of thinking on a subject before letting her opinions be known. I couldn’t tell if she had expressed all that was on her mind. A weighted “however” statement see
med as if it might follow, and I waited for it in bone-dry silence.
But apparently Margaret had said all she intended to. At least at this point.
She reached for her china teacup and took a small sip. I leaned back and felt as if the adrenaline-delayed jet lag had come over me all at once.
“I should probably see if I can help Katharine with the tea,” I said.
“Yes, of course.”
Feeling officially dismissed, I got up and was almost to the curtain that separated the small kitchen from the dining area when the sound of the cheery jingle bells on the front door announced that someone else had entered.
I turned to see who it was, and for the second time that day I saw the last person I expected.
Chapter Six
How about that?” Josh sported a victorious grin as soon as he saw me. “The guy at the train station said this might be the place.”
All eyes were on Josh as he dropped his heavy bag off his shoulder and bumped the chair of one of the guests closest to the door.
“Oh, sorry. Pardon me.” He nodded at the ruffled woman. She raised her gaze to his ski cap, and he immediately removed it. Unfortunately, his uncombed and most likely unwashed hair looked worse than the ski beanie.
I tried to direct him back, preferably out the door, but at least away from the guests. So far, on all my visits to Carlton Heath, none of the busybodies seemed to find my connection to their town or to the Whitcombes or MacGregors out of the ordinary. That was because Ian and I were such an item of interest. I was sure our names had been discussed more than once over the chubby china teapots positioned between the ladies who loved to gather at the Tea Cosy for a good chat.
This scene with Josh was guaranteed to be a teatime tale for many weeks if I didn’t find a way to redirect this inconvenient American out the door and on his way.
I tried to make it appear as if I were simply addressing a wayward tourist and not someone I knew when I said in a low voice, “I’m not sure this is where you want to be right now.”
“Why? Is a private party going on here?” Josh wasn’t catching any of my subtle hints, conveyed through a variety of facial expressions.
“No, but . . .”
“Then would it be okay if I ordered something to eat?”
I knew how determined Josh could be once he put his mind to something. If he wasn’t going to leave, the path of least disruption would be to tuck him into a corner and try to keep him quiet. At least until most of the curious women went on their way.
Putting on my hostess demeanor, I said, “Go ahead and take a seat. I’ll bring you some tea.”
I started to head for the kitchen when out of the corner of my eye I saw that Josh was making a beeline for an empty table in the far back corner — the table next to Margaret’s.
“Actually,” I said quickly intervening, “I think you would be better off at the table over here by the kitchen. There is more room for your baggage.”
Boy, was that an understatement. If there were any way I could tuck him inside the kitchen, then our mutual baggage would be less obvious to everyone. This is not good. I wish I’d insisted he leave instead of making a place for him.
Ducking into the tiny kitchen and pulling the curtain shut behind me, I closed my eyes and tried to think. I could feel myself panting.
“What is it?” Katharine asked.
I put my finger to my lips, hopeful that nothing we said could be heard beyond the curtain. Yet I knew all too well how easily sound carried in this place.
In a low whisper, I pointed to the other side of the wall. “My old boyfriend! I ran into him at the train station in London. I told him about Carlton Heath. I never thought he would come here!”
Katharine, in her serene way, handed me a pot of fresh tea. “Please tell our guest the scones will be ready shortly.”
If I hadn’t counted Katharine as a close friend as well as my (hopefully) soon-to-be mother-in-law, I would have protested.
Exiting the kitchen with the pot of tea in one hand and a china cup and saucer in the other, I was aware that every eye in the room was on Josh. Some of the women stared from adjusted positions and postures that weren’t exactly covert. Flora, who owned the Bexley Lane Gifts and Curios Shoppe, had been preparing to leave her table at the Tea Cosy when I first arrived.
She now had joined another table, and all three women had positioned their chairs so they faced the kitchen. As soon as I entered the dining area, I felt the curious gazes shift from Josh to their tea and scones, as if I were a teacher who had stepped out in the middle of an exam and returned before the naughty students had finished copying each other’s answers.
Katharine followed me out of the kitchen and took another fresh pot of tea to Margaret. I appreciated her going to Margaret. Katharine would know what to say.
As I placed the tea and cup in front of Josh, he said in a low voice, “Hey, I just realized this might be awkward for you.”
I was sure he caught onto that brilliant insight as soon as he noticed the attention he was receiving from the curious audience.
“It could be awkward for you, as well,” I whispered.
“Is there someplace else we can go? Just for a few minutes?”
I shook my head. “This is a very small village.”
“So it seems. It’s great, though, isn’t it? Bexley Lane, just like the address printed on the back of the photo. I had no problem finding my way here. I can see why you like it so much.”
“Josh, is there a reason you came here?” I knew if we kept our voices low, we might not be heard. This table by the kitchen was the most isolated, which is why few guests ever chose to sit there. It also helped if I stood because the way the table was angled, my back would block Josh from his audience.
“I came because I was curious to see this place. My flight was overbooked, so when free tickets were offered in exchange for seats, I was the first one at the counter. My rescheduled flight goes out at midnight, and I thought, ‘Who knows when I’ll be in England again? Why not go to Carlton Heath?’ And here I am.”
“But how did you know you would find me here at the Tea Cosy?”
“That was easy. When I described you to the guy at the train station, he said you had gone off with someone named Ian in his Austin-Healy. He said Ian is related to the owner of this place.”
I felt myself relaxing slightly. His explanations made sense. This was his idea of a diversion. A little adventure. He would drink a cup of tea, leave, and tell all his associates about his train ride to the English countryside between his flights.
I poured the first cup of tea for him in an effort to appear to have a reason for lingering at his table.
Josh smiled up at me. And that’s when I knew I was in trouble. It was his flirty, how-you-doin’ smile, not his good-to-see-you-but-I-gotta-go smile.
“So, I have a question for you,” he said, trying to come across casually. I could tell he was nervous though.
“What’s your question?”
He cleared his throat. “I realize I’m putting myself way out there, but after seeing you at Paddington station, I had to ask. Are you with anyone now?”
“Yes, I am with someone.”
Josh seemed to slump in his chair. “I thought that’s what you might say. By any chance, is it the guy with the Austin-Healy?”
I nodded.
“Well, at least I can say he has good taste in cars and women.”
I tried to offer a friendly, consolation prize sort of smile, but one thing puzzled me.
In my lowest of low voices, I asked, “Did I give you any signal, any indication at all, at the train station that I was available?”
“No.” Josh shook his head. “You just look amazing and I was . . . well, a guy can hope, can’t he?”
I knew all about hoping. For the past year I’d begun to hope about many things, including the fanciful wish that I might one day live in the Forgotten Rose Cottage, even though no indication had ever been given to
me that it might be available. That small flit of a thought gave me enough compassion to excuse Josh’s impulsive decision to seek me out. He was, after all, one of the few people in my life with whom I’d had a close relationship at one time.
“Listen.” Josh aligned himself so that my standing position more thoroughly blocked him from the ladies. I was sure by now the ones with hearing aids had their devices turned up all the way.
“There is one more thing I wanted to say to you. Do you remember my brother?”
I nodded.
“He’s a lawyer now, and I thought you should know, in case you need representation for . . .”
I gave Josh a determined look that fortunately silenced him. I knew where he was going. If I was the daughter of Sir James, certainly someone needed to assist me in fighting for my rightful portion of his inheritance. I’d been over this road already, and my choice had been to let it go. I never went in search of my birth father with the anticipation of financial gain. All I wanted was information and hopefully a relationship. I had received what I went after. I never wanted to jeopardize my fledgling family relationships by going up against Edward or Margaret with a claim to anything. End of discussion.
“I take it you have all that covered,” he said, reading my not-so-subliminal message.
“Yes. It’s covered. And I want to tell you again how glad I am that you regard information with complete confidentiality. As a professional, I mean.”
“Got it.” He obviously understood my masked message that I was counting on him to keep silent about my identity.
Leaning back and looking at the cup of tea in front of him, he said, “So, I guess I should try some of this English tea before I leave.”
“Yes, you should.” I was referring to the “should leave” part more than the “try the tea” part. But at the same time, I knew I would never forget my first visit to the Tea Cosy and my first pot of proper British tea and plate of Katharine’s scones. I did want him to enjoy the fruit of his adventurous trek from Heathrow.
Engaging Father Christmas Page 3