by Wendy Wax
“Well, you were pretty quick to dismiss my confessions when I was either drunk or naked. I thought it might be smarter and more binding if you said it while you were dressed and of sound mind.” He smiled almost apologetically. “But I guess that’s the lawyer in me.”
Samantha tried to process this, but she could barely think let alone sort through the emotions surging through her.
“Before we go any further,” he said. “I think I should make one thing clear. I would have never married you if I didn’t want to.”
“But . . .”
“No.” It was his turn to shush her with a finger to the lips. “I could have loaned you the money to pay off your father’s debts—half of them were owed to the firm anyway. It wouldn’t have been difficult to work out. I could have even helped with Meredith and Hunter as a friend. Or a sort of big brother.” He looked at her and his eyes were clear and forthright. Something deep and promising shone out of them. “Except my feelings for you were never remotely brotherly.”
“But I was the one with the crush on you,” she said softly. “You barely looked at me.”
“I’m not sure your perception was any better then than it has been for the last twenty-five years,” Jonathan said. “But I wasn’t any braver than you were. I knew why you married me, and given all the gratitude and determination to please me—I was afraid that might be all you felt for me. Especially after the way you reacted at Bellewood when I told you our assets weren’t liquid.”
“But it wasn’t that. It was . . . Oh, God,” she breathed as he leaned forward to kiss her. “You love me. You really love me.” It occurred to her that she sounded like Sally Field giving her overly emotional Oscar speech for Places in the Heart, but she didn’t care. She could hardly grasp the wonder of it.
“Always have,” he said as his lips settled on hers. “Even when I was afraid I’d never be more to you than financial security, I couldn’t stop. Looks like I always will.”
He stood and leaned down to scoop her up into his arms. Holding her easily against his chest, he kissed her again, then started toward the bedroom. Samantha looped her arms around her husband’s neck and held on.
“You could have told me this before I spent three days cooking that lumpy beef Bourguignon,” she said.
“Samantha, I don’t care if you ever cook another thing,” he said. “I’ll hire Doris away from Bellewood if you like. Or we can put Giancarlo on retainer.” He traced her lips with his, then kissed her so deeply she thought she might pass out. “Right now I’m planning to take you to bed and let you have your way with me,” he murmured. “I’m kind of curious to see if my brains survive.” His laughter was soft and husky, his breath warm against her ear.
“Your wish is my command,” she teased as his lips found the sensitive spot behind her ear then brushed down to her collarbone. He laid her on their bed and began to undress her.
“What’s so funny?” he asked when her lips twisted up in a smile.
“Nothing,” she said on a gasp when he’d shed his clothes and joined her. “I was just thinking that the next time we have something to straighten out between us, I’m definitely going to listen to my instincts and cut right to the Saran wrap.”
EPILOGUE
SNOW IN ATLANTA WAS ALWAYS RECEIVED WITH an odd blend of excitement and panic. With little snow-clearing equipment and even less experience, the city and its ring of surrounding suburbs shut down. Its sprawling car-clogged highways emptied as quickly and completely as the grocery store shelves on the day that snow was forecast.
It was just ten days before Christmas and the white powder that covered Peachtree Street looked uncomfortable beneath the streetlights as if it knew it didn’t really belong there. Hunter Jackson looked equally uncomfortable though he was doing his best to hide it. Edward turned from the clubroom window to contemplate the younger man. “You’ve surprised me again,” he said clapping a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “But in a favorable way.”
“Is that right?” Jackson maintained a gruff demeanor, but he didn’t shrug off the hand or the compliment. Edward thought he detected a relief similar to his own.
“You could have saved everybody a lot of trouble if you’d agreed to let me raise money for your company in the first place,” Jackson said. “It’s kind of weird that somebody as old as your uncle and half a world away would be the one to figure out how to settle things.”
“No doubt,” Edward said, though he was certain Jonathan Davis’s suggestions hadn’t hurt. “But I think this feels right, don’t you?”
“It’s okay.” Jackson’s admission was grudging. “I didn’t really want to have to be involved in a start-up anyway.” This had been the younger man’s rationale for starting the conversation with Edward that had led to their agreement; those who had given money to Jackson would, in fact, receive shares in Private Butler while Jackson turned over the two hundred fifty thousand dollars he had left and worked for the firm until Edward had been paid the rest. After that, well, then they’d see.
* * *
EDWARD PATTED HIS JACKET POCKET IN WHICH HE’D placed envelopes containing the newly minted Private Butler shares for Isabella, James, Brooke, Claire, and Mimi Davenport. Investors had already been notified of the arrangement, but these certificates would make it official; a little extra marzipan on tonight’s Christmas cake.
With a final smile and nod Jackson turned to leave. Edward watched his progress, then heard a small gasp when Hunter and his sister came face-to-face in the doorway. Jackson pulled back stiffly, but Samantha managed to hug him anyway. “I heard what you did,” she said. “And I’m proud of you.”
Hunter glanced around as he stepped back but Samantha seemed unconcerned with their audience. “We’re having Christmas at our place this year,” she said. “Now that things are settled, I hope you’ll come.”
The young man left as Samantha, Brooke, Claire, and Claire’s daughter, Hailey, swept into the clubroom. Isabella and James, who had just finished setting up the drinks and food tables, greeted them. A small Christmas tree twinkled in the corner.
“Please tell me those are not shandies,” Claire said as Edward joined them.
“They’re not shandies,” Edward said, though of course they were. “We had quite a few requests I’m afraid. But we’ll be having mulled wine and Christmas cake and pudding for ‘afters.’” He smiled. “In the meantime I’m certain your wingmen and your daughter will protect you from temptation.”
“Mother!” Hailey laughed. “I should have known you’d be in trouble as soon as I turned my back,” she teased.
“Ha! It’s all grist for the creative mill,” Claire said, matching her daughter’s tone. “Now that I have the go-ahead to write the contemporary novel I have in mind, even drinking with friends qualifies as research.”
“No more seventeenth-century Scotland?” Edward asked.
“Only if one of my characters goes there on vacation,” Claire replied. “Or I figure out a way to incorporate some of LeaAnn Larsen’s time-traveling Navy SEALs.” She grinned. “I just turned in my first three chapters and a full synopsis. I’ll be published by a different imprint at Scarsdale, but my editor seems to love what I’ve sent so far.”
“Congratulations,” he said as the room began to fill. He handed the envelopes to Claire and Brooke. “I’ll do my best to see that your shares in Private Butler increase in value.”
“Me, too,” Brooke said. “Now that I’ve been named head of the Family Division.” She, too, laughed. It was hard not to with so many positive developments. “Who knew being a full-time mother would make me so valuable in the workplace?”
“Congratulations,” Claire said. “I might have to drink a shandy or two to celebrate your new position along with having Hailey home, and a book that seems to be practically writing itself.”
The noise level grew as the growing crowd helped themselves to food and drink. “You haven’t said much,” Claire said to Samantha.
“It
’s probably hard to talk when you’re smiling like that,” Brooke said. “My God, it’s practically obscene.”
Samantha blushed but kept on smiling. “I refuse to apologize for being happy,” she said. “And I saw a few smiles on your face, Miz Mackenzie, after that date with Bruce Dalton. Does your boss know you’ve already started going out with the customers?”
Brooke laughed. “It was one date. And I don’t think either of us is in a hurry. Honestly, I’m just enjoying doing things any way that I choose and in my own time. And watching Pregnant Barbie blow up like a balloon.”
Edward clapped his hands for attention and they all headed for their seats.
“Boy, you all have the best seat in the house,” Hailey said as she dropped down into the sofa between her mother and Samantha. Claire slipped an arm across her daughter’s shoulders as Edward moved in front of the television. Samantha reached out to the others so that all of them were linked. “The first one who starts singing ‘Kumbaya’ is out of here,” one of them stage-whispered. There were giggles from the sofa.
“Well, ladies,” Edward said, taking in all of their smiling faces. “It’s been a grand adventure getting to know you all better and sharing my addiction to Downton Abbey with you. I hope you’ll come back in January for season three. I hear Shirley MacLaine is a hoot as Lady Cora’s mother and, honestly, Downton Abbey wouldn’t be the same without you.”
There were murmurs of agreement and he felt the smile stretch across his lips. “Ladies,” he said. “I’m pleased to present Christmas at Downton Abbey, which will be followed by mulled wine and a choice of Christmas pudding and Christmas cake shipped over here by my dear old mum.”
There was applause. At Edward’s signal James lowered the lights. Edward pressed play. They leaned forward as one, eager to suspend disbelief, more than ready to lose themselves in the English countryside, within the walls of a grand estate, in the midst of a family that had come to feel almost as familiar as their own.
As they watched the show unfold, Edward watched them and knew as he hadn’t before, that even an ordinary life could rival the comedy and tragedy of a really great period drama. That fairy tales could come true if only they were allowed to. And that friendship was the most potent magic of all; able to form without warning or explanation and in the most unexpected of ways and places. Just as it had while they were watching Downton Abbey.
READERS GUIDE
WHILE WE WERE WATCHING
DOWNTON ABBEY
WENDY WAX
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
How does watching Downton Abbey draw these characters together? Do you think this is part of the value of a hit television show? How has watching Downton Abbey or any other favorite show added to your life? Could you imagine yourself making a new friend through a shared interest in Downton Abbey?
Downtown Abbey chronicles the lives of the very wealthy and the people who serve them. How is this paralleled in the interactions we view between the characters in the book? How do these relationships evolve?
Samantha, Claire, and Brooke come from very diverse backgrounds and are each at a different stage in life. How do these differences help bond them together and foster their friendship? How would their ultimate outcomes be altered if they had never become friends?
The relationship between mothers and daughters is a prevalent theme in this book. Readers witness Samantha’s interactions with her mother-in-law, Cynthia Davis, as well as Samantha’s motherly bond with Meredith; Claire’s connection with Hailey; and Brooke’s relationship with Ava and Natalie. Discuss the effects of each of these mother-daughter relationships on Samantha, Claire, and Brooke.
In a way, Downton Abbey is also a main character in this book. How would you define its role in the lives of those living in the Alexander? How is the show a catalyst for change?
Edward Parker’s great-uncle Mason says discretion, persistence, and valor “always win the day” (page 100). Do you think this belief is upheld in the book? Give examples from the story to support your answer.
Food is often described in the book. What role do you think it plays in different settings, such as during the Downtown Abbey gatherings, the family dinners with Samantha and Jonathan, and the meetings between Samantha and her mother-in-law? Can you think of other scenes where food is highlighted?
If you were to write a sequel to this book, how would it go? What do you think the future holds for these characters?
Turn the page for a special preview of Wendy Wax’s novel
TEN BEACH ROAD
Available now from Berkley
CHAPTER ONE
THOUGH SHE WAS CAREFUL NOT TO SHOW IT, Madeline Singer did not fall apart when her youngest child left for college. In the Atlanta suburb where she lived, women wilted all around her. Tears fell. Antidepressants were prescribed.
Her friends, lost and adrift, no longer recognized themselves without children to care for. A collective amnesia descended, wiping out all the memories of teenaged angst and acts of hostility that had preceded their children’s departures, much as the remembered pain of childbirth had been washed away once the newborn was placed in their arms.
Madeline kept waiting for the emptiness of her nest to smite her. She loved her children and had loved being a stay-at-home mother, but while she waited for the crushing blow, she took care of all the things that she’d never found time for while Kyra and Andrew were still at home. Throughout that fall while her friends went for therapy, shared long liquid lunches, and did furtive drive-bys and drop-ins to the high school where they’d logged so many volunteer hours, Madeline happily responded to her children’s phone calls and texts, but she also put twenty years’ worth of pictures into photo albums. Then she cleaned out the basement storage unit and each successive floor of their house, purging and sorting until the clutter that had always threatened to consume them was finally and completely vanquished.
After that she threw herself into the holidays and the mad rush of shopping and cooking and entertaining, trying her best not to let the free-falling economy dampen the family festivities. Andrew came home from Vanderbilt and Kyra, fresh out of Berkeley’s film school and two months into her first feature film shoot, arrived in the first flush of adulthood and once again became the center of the known universe.
Pushing aside daydreams of the projects she’d undertake once they were gone again, Madeline fed her children and their friends, made herself available when their friends weren’t, and didn’t even react to the fact that she was barely an appendage to their lives. Steve, who loved the trappings of a family Christmas with the ferocity of an only child, seemed worried and distracted, but when she raised the subject he found a way to change or avoid it.
While basting the turkey on Christmas Day, Madeline realized that she was more than ready for her husband to go back to the office and for her children to go back to their new lives so that she could finally begin her own.
On this first day of March, the house was once again blissfully quiet. There was no television. No music. No video game gunfire or crack of a bat. No texts coming in or going out with a ding. No refrigerator opening or closing. No one—not one person—asking what was for dinner, when their laundry would be done, or whether she had a spare twenty.
Standing in the center of Kyra’s vacant bedroom, Madeline inhaled the quiet, held it in her lungs, and let it soak into her skin. Her nest was not only empty, it was totally and completely organized. It was time for her “new” life to begin.
Not for the first time, she admitted something might be wrong with her. Because the silence that so alarmed her friends sent a tingle of anticipation up her spine. It made her want to dance with joy. Go hang gliding. Cure cancer. Learn how to knit. Write the Great American Novel. Or do absolutely nothing for a really long time.
Her life could be whatever she decided to make of it.
Throwing open the windows to allow the scents of an early spring to fill the room, Madeline mentally converted the space into t
he study/craft room she’d always dreamed of. She’d put a wall of shelves for her books and knickknacks here. A combination desk and worktable there. Maybe a club chair and ottoman for reading in the corner near the window.
Madeline entertained herself for a time measuring the windows for a cornice that she might just make herself. This afternoon she could go to the fabric store and see what looked interesting. Maybe she’d hit some of her favorite antique stores and see about a worktable and a club chair that she could re-cover.
For lunch she made a quick sandwich and then sat down at the kitchen table to read through the Atlanta Journal-Constitution, Steve’s Wall Street Journal, and the local weekly.
She was in the middle of a story about yet another financial advisor who’d absconded with his unsuspecting clients’ money when the phone rang—an especially shrill sound in the cocoon of silence in which she was wrapped.
“Mrs. Singer?” The voice was female, clipped, but not unfriendly. “This is St. Joseph’s calling.”
Madeline’s grip on the phone tightened; she braced for a full-body blow. “A Mrs. Clyde Singer was brought in about thirty minutes ago. She was suffering from smoke inhalation and a gash on her forehead. We found this number listed as emergency contact on the file from her last visit.”
“Smoke inhalation?” Madeline hovered near her chair, trying to get her thoughts in order. “Is she all right?”
“She’s resting now, but she’s been through quite a lot, poor thing. There was a kitchen fire.”
“Oh, my God.” Madeline turned and raced upstairs, carrying the phone with her. Last month her mother-in-law had fallen in the bathroom and been lucky not to break anything. At eighty-seven, living alone had become increasingly difficult and dangerous, but Edna Singer had refused to consider giving up her home and Steve had been unwilling to push his mother on it. Madeline got the room number and a last assurance that the patient looked a bit beat-up but would be fine. “It’ll probably take me about twenty-five minutes to get there.”