Smitten by the Brit--A Sometimes in Love Novel

by Melonie Johnson

  Besides, she could pay it off with savings from the suddenly superfluous wedding fund. She bought herself three whole new outfits from top to bottom, inside and out. Bra, panties, tights—the works. Shoes and jewelry too. All of it designer brands and none of it on sale. Bonnie couldn’t remember the last time she’d purchased something for herself that wasn’t off a clearance rack.

  It felt good to splurge. She felt good. Bonnie smoothed the buttery folds of her new suede skirt over her hips and strode through the revolving glass doors of the Drake hotel, steps buoyed by the confidence only a great pair of shoes can give. Making her way through the hotel’s elegant foyer to Palm Court, the Drake’s tea room, she entered the dazzling space, glowing with plush ivory chairs and flowing white drapes, and was immediately greeted with a jovial shout.

  It took her a moment to recognize the woman walking toward her, arm raised in a wave, but as soon as she did, Bonnie smiled and returned the wave. Gone was the stylized wig and exotic eye makeup. In a collared silk blouse, graying hair piled in a bun high on her head, the woman she’d met last night had transformed from Cleopatra into Oscar Wilde’s Lady Bracknell.

  Back in college, Bonnie had played the role of Cecily in The Importance of Being Earnest. With a flash of bitter irony she was sure Oscar Wilde would appreciate, Bonnie recalled the infamous tea scene, in which Cecily believed the object of her affections had been unfaithful. Turns out, that had only been a misunderstanding of comic proportions. Unfortunately for Bonnie, there was no mistaking her fiancé’s infidelity, and there was nothing funny about it.

  “So nice to see you again, dear.” She clasped Bonnie’s hand. “Follow me, please. Philip is waiting for us. We’d best hurry, or the blasted man will eat all the scones.”

  They wove through the dining room, around snow-white tablecloths adorned with shining silver tea sets and elegant place settings. Waiters in waistcoats passed, carrying the Palm Court’s trademark triple-tiered trays loaded with sweet and savory treats.

  Memories of treasured afternoons spent here filled Bonnie with a warm glow. She loved this place. As an added bonus, she’d never once been here with Gabe. Mentally shoving thoughts of her cheating dick-for-brains ex into a box and kicking it under a chair, she followed Barbara to a table near the antique water fountain. Festooned with beaming cherubs and bedecked with a grand floral arrangement, the Palm Court fountain was more than just aesthetically pleasing. The softly trickling water muted the clack and clatter of china cups and conversation filling the room, blending with the sound of the harpist strumming in the corner and making everything a touch more civilized.

  “Ah! There you are.” A gentleman in a tweed jacket stood as they approached, furtively brushing a linen napkin over his lapels.

  “Caught in the act, you scoundrel.” Barbara swooped down and poked him in his crumb-covered chest. “The evidence is all over you.”

  Biting her lip, Bonnie smothered a giggle. If the woman started making demands for cucumber sandwiches, she was going to lose it for sure.

  The professor flushed and offered her an apologetic grin. “I’m afraid it’s true. I have no control where scones are concerned. Especially if there’s clotted cream on hand.”

  “Quite understandable,” Bonnie agreed, taking a seat in the plush white chair offered her.

  “Thank you,” Barbara said to the waiter as he helped her settle into the chair between Bonnie and the professor. She placed a hand on his spotless jacket. “Young man, be a dear and bring another tray of scones.” She gave the professor a haughty side-eye while she added, “And I believe we shall need another pot of clotted cream as well. I’d be much obliged.”

  He nodded and retreated with a bow.

  “Now then,” Barbara said, commandeering the teapot in front of her, “I’ve been dying to hear more about your work.”

  “Yes,” Philip echoed, his eyes sharp and bright beneath his pair of bushy brows.

  “What has Cassie told you so far?” Bonnie asked, trying not to stare at the man’s eyebrows, which hovered on his forehead, quivering like little caterpillars.

  “Enough to make me curious. What was your inspiration for A Midsummer Night’s Dream?” He narrowed his eyes at her, caterpillars wiggling. “I’ve seen my fair share of versions of this play. It’s not often I hear of a production as unique as yours.”

  “Oh, well. Thank you?” Bonnie swallowed. That was a compliment … right? She reached for her teapot. High tea at the Drake included a private tea service for each guest. Pouring a measure of amber liquid into the china cup in front of her, she said, “I guess growing up in Chicago, on stories of mobsters and speakeasies, the idea of setting the play during the prohibition era just sort of came to me.” She set the teapot down. “And once the idea got into my head, the pieces fell into place.”

  “Ah.” The professor nodded, taking a thoughtful sip from his own cup. “Who did you model Duke Theseus after?”

  “Al Capone. I mixed a bit of Dillinger’s gang and The Godfather in there too.” She added a dollop of honey to her tea. “Characters and tropes the audience would recognize.”

  The professor’s face transformed, his voice taking on a raspy edge as he waved his hand and mumbled, “You come to me, on the day of my daughter’s wedding…”

  “Exactly.” Bonnie chuckled, delighted by his rendition of Marlon Brando’s famous character. Recognizing she was in the presence of a kindred spirit, her nervousness abated. She helped herself to a few pastries from the tiered tray. “I turned Bottom and his troupe into a gang of small-time bootleggers who needed to get into the mob boss’s good graces.”

  “Brilliant!” Barbara interrupted, joining the conversation as she swatted the professor’s hand away from the freshly replenished tray. “A stroke of genius.” She broke open a scone. “Now, just as there’s a proper order to dressing a scone,” she said, spreading cream, then jam, on the golden halves, “there are some steps we must take if we are to proceed. That is”—she glanced up at Bonnie—“if we are to proceed?”

  “Well…” Bonnie hesitated, nabbing a scone for herself and smearing it with a thick layer of clotted cream. She hadn’t had scones like this since her final breakfast in England last summer. At the time, Bonnie had wondered if that trip would be her only chance to see the places she’d fantasized about for much of her life. But now, she was being offered another chance. A chance to go back, not only to visit, but to live in England. For a few months, at least. And to teach at Cambridge!

  It would be a dream come true. And since so many of her other dreams had come crashing down last night, she had no reason to say no. And every reason to say yes. She cleared her throat. “Well,” she said again, turning her attention from the scone on her plate to the two people politely waiting for a response. “Yes. I’d be honored to accept the position.”

  “Excellent!” Barbara raised her teacup in a toast, Philip and Bonnie following suit.

  An hour later, both Bonnie’s teacup and plate were empty, her belly full. So was her brain, bursting with details. Immediately following the celebratory toast, Barbara and Philip had gotten down to business, reviewing the specifics of the job with trademark British efficiency. As he rose from the table, the professor swiped the last lonely scone from the tray. He winked at her, one caterpillar wriggling with good-natured mischief while he popped the partially crumbled pastry in his mouth. She gave him an indulgent smile. His penchant for scones reminded Bonnie of her friend Delaney.

  “Honestly, Philip,” Barbara said, tsking. She turned to Bonnie. “It’s been a pleasure, my dear.”

  “For me as well,” Bonnie agreed, grabbing her purse. She began to follow them out of the tea room, when a flash of dark hair and broad shoulders snagged her attention. No. Not possible. A few steps later, her feet froze. Oh, it was possible. There, sitting at a table on the opposite side of the fountain, was Theo.

  What are the odds? Bonnie wondered. Pretty good, obviously, since he was here. And maybe not so impossib
le. If, say, someone from England wanted to indulge in the comforts of home while in Chicago, the Drake’s afternoon tea was a safe bet. Theo’s perfectly coifed head tilted in her direction. She waved, thinking she’d caught his eye, but his gaze roamed right over her. Was he purposely ignoring her?

  Annoyance flickered through Bonnie, but she brushed it aside and hurried to catch up with Philip and Barbara, who stood waiting for her at the Palm Court’s entrance. She didn’t have time to waste on the Brit anyway. There was much to do.

  As they made their way through the Drake’s foyer, Bonnie started a mental checklist. Pausing at the revolving doors, she said, “I’ll be sure to have HR send over my records right away.”

  “No rush. Purely a formality, you understand.” Barbara squeezed her hand, smiling warmly, and Bonnie returned the smile. For a moment, her smile faltered as she recalled how Theo’s eyes had passed right over her, as if she didn’t exist. As if she wasn’t there at all.

  “Something amiss?” the professor asked, caterpillars creeping up his forehead with concern.

  “Ah, no.” Bonnie shook her head, struck by an impulsive urge to march back into the tea room. “I think I left something at our table.”

  “Shall I fetch it for you?” he offered gallantly.

  “Thanks, but I don’t wish to keep you.” She nodded toward the street and the line of cabs waiting. “You two go on your way.” After another round of farewells and promises to talk soon, Bonnie waved one final time as they passed through the revolving doors. Turning on her heel, she retraced her steps to the tea room, arguing with herself all the way.

  Inching around the fountain and telling herself she was not spying, Bonnie craned her neck to peer over the chubby shoulder of a marble cherub. A woman sat across from Theo. Young, pretty. Above the gurgle of bubbling water, she caught a masculine chuckle. He was laughing. Probably at something his companion—his young, pretty, female companion—had said.

  Clotted cream curdled in her stomach, and Bonnie swallowed. Why should she care if Theo was having tea with some girl? Why did it matter if he found said girl amusing? And why did the thought he was turning that knee-tickling smile on anyone else bother her so much?

  Not wanting to look too closely for answers to those questions, nor wishing to examine her motives for what she was about to do, Bonnie approached Theo’s table, putting her Shakespeare voice to use again as she called his name, loud and clear. Let him try and ignore that.

  * * *

  At first, when Theo had entered the Drake’s tea room and escorted his companion to their table, he’d been pleased to catch a glimpse of Bonnie on the other side of the fountain. But as he helped Camille into her seat, he’d caught sight of Bonnie’s tablemates and blanched. Blast. He’d bloody forgotten about that part of the equation. Of course, those two would be here as well. It was the bloody reason Bonnie was there in the first place. What was it about the redhead that made his brain go foggier than a London morning?

  He had a few ideas … Theo shifted on his overstuffed white chair and resisted the urge to steal another glance at Bonnie’s table. He turned, determined to concentrate on his tablemate. His plan had been to do nothing more than engage in the standard polite teatime chatter that came as naturally to them both as breathing, but soon, Theo was pleasantly surprised to discover Camille wasn’t such a bad egg after all.

  As Theo sipped his tea, he became aware of a pair of familiar pale blue eyes watching him and knew without a doubt, Bonnie had spotted him. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he forced his gaze to wander aimlessly, passing right over the cap of red curls of the woman standing a few feet away, acting like he didn’t see her wave. Pretending he didn’t notice her face pucker in disappointment before she turned, hurrying toward the exit.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Bonnie go, remembering to breathe only when her tangle of red curls disappeared from view.

  “Am I boring you?” Camille asked, the picture of politeness.

  “Hmm?” Theo set his cup down, attention snapping back to his companion. “Sorry?”

  “You seem distracted.” She sipped her tea, watching him over the rim. “Well? Am I boring you?” she repeated, her tone more bemused than annoyed.

  Shame heated Theo’s cheeks. He was being less than a perfect gentleman. “Not at all.”

  Camille placed her cup back in its saucer. “I know our mums put you up to this little outing.”

  “No,” he began, then paused before admitting, “well, yes, that’s true, but I’m not bored. On the contrary, I’ve found your company surprisingly agreeable.”

  Her eyes widened. Theo smothered a groan. Where were his manners today? Attempting to salvage the situation, he hurried to add, “What I meant to say is, you’re different than I remember. Perhaps I never gave you a fair shake. You know, because your brother was such a rotter.” Well done, mate. You’ve dug a hole now, haven’t you? Christ. His mother was going to kill him.

  Theo shoved a tart into his mouth to prevent his foot from going in farther. Swallowing, he choked out an apology. “I beg your pardon.”

  Camille laughed. “No, you have the right of it. Ethan was a rotter. Still is.”

  He chuckled at her unexpected honesty. Relieved she didn’t seem offended, he helped himself to another tart from the tray.

  “And I was an awful child.” Her eyes were warm, flashing with humor. “As bad as Ethan, no doubt. But it’s nice to hear that may not be the case anymore.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile.

  Theo found himself smiling back.

  “THEO!”

  At the sound of his name, shouted loud enough to travel clearly over the din of the harp, fountain, and other diners, Theo dropped his fork. The lemon tart he’d been about to bite into slid sideways, landing back on his plate with a splat. He glanced up. Bonnie was stalking toward him, auburn curls bouncing. His gaze darted around the room, but he didn’t see any sign of her two companions.

  “Theo, it is you! How funny, running into you like this again.”

  Mechanically, Theo stood, but before he could unknot his tongue and form a coherent reply, she’d turned to Camille.

  “Hi, I’m Bonnie,” she said, wiggling her fingers in greeting. “Goodness, who knew what a small town Chicago could be, huh?”

  Camille held her hand up, returning the wave. With a pleasant, albeit confused smile she glanced at Theo. “You two know each other, then?”

  Beating him to the punch once more, Bonnie settled herself in the empty seat next to Camille and answered, “Oh my, yes. His best friend is going to marry my best friend this summer.”

  “How delightful!” Camille cooed. “I do so love summer weddings.”

  At the rate these two were nattering, he could keep his bloody mouth shut and let them carry on the conversation without him. Theo settled back into his chair and poked at the remnants of squashed lemon tart on his plate. He’d wanted to see Bonnie again, hadn’t he? Well, here she was. And what are you doing about it, mate? Playing with your food.

  “I say, Theo?” Camille asked.

  He started guiltily and glanced up. “Sorry?”

  “Aren’t you going to offer your friend some tea?”

  “That’s very kind, but I couldn’t possibly have another cup.” Bonnie shook her head. “I’ve just finished having tea myself and was preparing to leave when I noticed Theo here and had to come say hello.” She leveled her gaze at him for a moment. “It wouldn’t do to ignore a friend, would it?”

  Theo kept his smile frozen in place. She’d caught that, had she? Blast. He was making a right mess of things.

  Camille laughed. “Funny you should say that.” She slipped her phone out from under the table and tapped it. “I’ve been ignoring texts from a friend because I didn’t want to be rude to dear Theo here.” Camille nodded at Bonnie and stood. “But now I won’t feel guilty, since I’ll be leaving him in such excellent company.”

  Unable to resist years of habit, Theo stood as w
ell. “You’re leaving?”

  “I’m afraid I must,” Camille said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not.” Theo paused, duty warring with desire. “Let me walk you out.”

  Camille brushed him off. “Nonsense. I can take care of myself.” To Bonnie, she said, “So nice to meet you. Good luck with the wedding.”

  “The what?” The redhead’s face blanched.

  “Your friend’s wedding this summer?”

  “Oh.” Bonnie exhaled, smiling weakly. “Right. That. Thanks.”

  “This was actually nice,” Camille told Theo. With a polite peck on his cheek, she whispered in his ear, “And don’t worry, I’ll be sure to give both our mums a positive report. I’ll see you this evening.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink and was gone.

  Theo’s bum had barely landed back on his chair when Bonnie announced she needed to leave as well. “So soon?” A lump formed in Theo’s throat. He’d been looking forward to having a few moments alone with her. “Is it the company?”

  “No.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

  Looking more closely, he noticed dark smudges beneath her eyes, as if she hadn’t slept well. Theo continued to study her. There was a tightness around her mouth, a hard set to her shoulders. Something was bothering her, and he’d give anything to know what it was. He stood and offered her his hand. “Shall I walk you out?”

  “Didn’t we cover this last night?” Bonnie stirred, shaking off the momentary ennui that had seemed to engulf her. She got to her feet, notching her chin up. “I’m a big girl. Like Camille said, I can take care of myself.”

  “What is it with you women?” Theo shook his head, signing off on the bill and handing it to a waiter.

  “Excuse me?” She bristled.

  “Beg pardon.” Theo squirmed under her sharp gaze. “That, ah, didn’t come out as I’d intended.”