Love at First Laugh: Eight Romantic Novellas Filled with Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever After

by Krista Phillips

  Ethan bowed his head into his hand and released a growl deep in his throat. “I can’t believe it. I should have known your sticky fingers were all over this.”

  “In truth, I’ve not been feeling my best, and the opportunity arose with such perfect timing—”

  “You’ve said enough. As soon as Mr. Steele returns I’m having him secure a room for me.”

  “What’s going on with Timothy?”

  “He’s in the hospital and no one seems to know anything more.”

  “What? Well, I’m going to find out about this immediately.”

  “Wait, Donovan, I don’t understand why you have me here in the first place. This isn’t like other hotels you’ve purchased. It’s smaller, less modern, the atmosphere is—”

  “It’s a new opportunity; something a bit different. More sentimental, I think.”

  “When have you ever been sentimental?”

  “Since I realized the financial benefits of thinking outside the box…and the country. Besides, whether you’ll admit it or not, you like the sentimental and romantic.” His uncle coughed again, more convincingly. “No matter the size or setup, I’m sure you can find the culture of the place and make it work. You are, after all, your father’s son.”

  Heat drained from Ethan’s face. Despite the immediate appeal, he’d never worked on a unique project like this. What did he know of the English culture and smaller inns? And why the sudden change in his uncle’s professional plans? “What are you really up to?”

  “Surprisingly, Ethan, I’m scheme-free on this one.” He chuckled. “Well, except for the little matchmaking attempt. Your father always nurtured a dream like this—a set of inns to celebrate our grandparents’ heritage and the values our ancestors held close. Didn’t you notice the name of the inn?”

  Ethan looked to the side table where a coaster sat with the inn’s initials in elegant script. E.E.

  The Elliott Elizabeth Inn?

  His throat closed around the realization. Elliott—his father—and Elizabeth, his great grandmother’s name.

  “That’s the reason I wanted you to go to England. This hotel is for you, son. I want your fingerprints on the beginnings of this investment. A legacy for you to create, and, from what my market researchers discovered, a goldmine of possibilities. I have no doubt you can make the first of many Elliott Elizabeth Inns a success.”

  Ethan couldn’t find a response. The charm and warmth of the room took on a different luster. He’d always taken pride in his family’s business, but suddenly the appreciation took deeper hold. Uncle Donovan handed him the reins to a brand-new adventure. One Ethan wasn’t quite certain he was ready to embark on—but…it was his.

  The irritation thawed into something wordless. England had fascinated him as a younger man—a curiosity his grandmother and great-grandmother’s stories nurtured—and now he had the opportunity to develop a dream for them, for his father?

  “I’m going to see what I can find out about Timothy, but in the meantime, steady your feet, Ethan. Step into the street. Discover the city of Bath and find out how to bring Keller’s brand of hospitality into that world. Good luck, son.”

  The line clicked closed and Ethan stared forward, unable to move or speak.

  His gaze settled on the front desk and the clerk he’d pummeled with frustration. A young man who was only doing his job. A man who was Ethan’s employee.

  With a new sense of wonder and purpose, Ethan pushed to an unsteady stand, ready to step, quite humbly, into a whole new adventure.

  Nora blinked awake and dragged a hand through her hair, sitting up to take in her surroundings. Her lips trembled into a smile as her dream merged into a reality in the form of the beautifully fashioned room surrounding her. Two cream-colored Anne wingback chairs stood on either side of the small fireplace, the dark wooden mantel boasting a variety of adorable bric-a-brac.

  A dresser with three rows of four shelves each stood as an elegant feature on the opposite wall with a pastoral oil painting above. To her left, one narrow doorway led into what looked like a closet, and somehow her luggage sat just inside the door. She squinted her eyes, a low ache still surging through her head, and then landed her gaze on the second doorway into the bathroom.

  The warmth from the weight of the thick duvet fled her body. Oh no! Through the fog of her memory, she remembered a disgruntled handsome stranger guiding her up the winding stairs and…did he help her into bed?

  She jerked the duvet up to her chest and scanned the room. What had happened after that? A quick check of her body showed her travel clothes still in place—wrinkled, but present. Well, with her unfortunate series of events, who could blame the guy for not seeking any sort of romantic encounter. She probably smelled like a trashcan.

  A sigh of relief caught in her throat. But if he didn’t want her, then what did he want?

  Her gaze shot wide and she stumbled from the bed to the closet, rifling through her luggage for her purse. All of her money and papers waited in the exact spots she’d left them. Her breath released in a long sigh.

  A long, putrid sigh.

  She cringed and dug out her toiletries bag. Within fifteen minutes, she’d transformed her dragon-breath to minty fresh, brightened her deathly-pale face with color, wrangled her mousy hair into a braid, and replaced her wrinkly clothes with a cute floral blouse and jeans. The blouse made her feel Austen-y for some reason. And after her humiliating morning, she needed some Lizzie Bennet gumption.

  With a deep breath, she peeled back the curtain from the closest window and took her first clear view of Bath. The inn wasn’t in the heart of the town and Nora couldn’t remember a whole lot from her train-ride-to-taxi exchange, but just the look of the buildings told her she’d stepped into another world. Rows of them, some tan stone, some white-washed and sleek, others golden and ornate. And then, in the distance, a magnificent gothic-structure towered above them all. Bath Abbey.

  The dulled excitement from her morning debacle exploded into full tremors inside her stomach. She was here. England. Jane Austen country. She pulled her itinerary from her suitcase and skimmed over the schedule for the afternoon. Country dancing practice didn’t begin for another three hours. Plenty of time to slip out for a bite to eat, return to change into her Regency attire, and then make it to the much-anticipated Assembly Rooms.

  And then…tomorrow! She squealed. The Promenade through Bath with a few hundred Janeites, as the more loyal fans were called, in full Regency regalia. She stepped into the closet and unzipped her travel bag to allow her turquoise and white walking dress and her burgundy ball gown to hang freely. As she shook the wrinkles from her bonnet, the room door clicked.

  Nora stuck her head out of the closet and waited. What was her unexpected roommate’s name? Keller something? The door opened and he stepped in, familiar suit still in perfect form over his strong frame.

  He looked a whole lot more handsome with a clear head.

  His gaze took inventory of the room and then…their eyes met. Piercing blue. Yep, she remembered that part.

  Her cheeks flooded with enough heat to ensure they matched her ballgown. “Hello.”

  He closed the door behind him, his expression much less intense than she remembered. Softer. Maybe even approachable?

  “Feeling better?”

  Nora bowed her head and stepped from the closet, pushing a few loose strands from her braid behind her ear. “Yes, much. Thank you. I’m really sorry about all that.”

  “Well, I don’t think you planned it.”

  The teensy bit of sarcasm eased her gaze back to his. “Oh goodness, no. I had a much more fairytale-like introduction in mind for my first day in Bath. You know, walking through the streets in complete wonder, staring into shop windows like a kid at Christmas, falling through a portal into a different time period? Those sorts of things.” She sighed and offered her hand. “I’m Nora Simeon, by the way.”

  “Yes, I remember.” He took her hand, perfect poise back in place alo
ng with an unmovable expression. “Ethan Keller.”

  Sure, the situation was awful, but this guy seemed to carry the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. And at least he was stuck in the situation with a nice person…who was much less sick after a good nap.

  Things could be worse.

  “Nice to officially meet you.” Nora smiled, hoping to inspire a friendly response, but his expression remained pensive. Super! Well, no need to worry about being swept off her feet by this one. Her whole body relaxed and she tucked her hands into her jeans’ pockets. “So…um…while I’ve been comatose, were you able to discover anything about our predicament?

  He studied her with those penetrating eyes. “It seems we might be stuck together for a few days, unless I can locate the manager of this hotel. Every room is booked and the soonest availability is Monday.”

  “Monday?” The room suddenly looked a lot smaller. “Three days away?” And nights. “That Monday?”

  He stepped back, bracing his hand on one of the posts of the massive four-poster bed. “Okay, Nora, you can tone down the surprise now.”

  Why did her name suddenly sound like an insult, and who gave him permission to address her so informally? “My surprise, Ethan?”

  “Listen.” His palms raised in a conciliatory way, his expression softening. “I talked with my uncle and he told me about the whole arrangement.”

  “Arrangement?”

  The slight gentleness on his face hardened into a frown and he placed his palms on his hips. “I can certainly see why a single woman like you would want to take advantage of the situation. My uncle’s done things like this more times than I’d like to mention, so you’re not the first. But you really don’t have to pretend anymore.”

  Her eyes narrowed along with a sudden tightening of her fists at her sides. She countered the tension with a nonchalant lean toward the thick bedpost farthest from his. “Like me? Meaning?”

  “Well, let’s be honest, it takes a particular type of person to agree to stay in the same room with a stranger just to attend some festival where you dress up in costume for two weeks.” He attempted a grin, but what she saw resembled more of a snarl.

  Air seethed through her clenched teeth. “And exactly what am I trying to take advantage of?”

  He stared as if she ought to know something she clearly didn’t; like she was either stupid…or lying. Her fingers gripped the nearest object. Something soft and light.

  “My uncle usually tries to find a female companion for me in one way or other when I travel, but I ought to warn you, his efforts have been fruitless so far. I don’t take too kindly to gold diggers.”

  Her jaw came completely unhinged.

  “And he told me how your parents set up this trip for you in the hopes you’d venture out and meet someone.” His palm rested on his chest, his look condescending. “Me, from the sound of it, so let’s not play this game anymore.”

  “Let me get this right.” Nora’s hand tightened its hold on the pillow. “You think my parents set up this trip for me to spend the night with a stranger?” She waved her free hand toward him. “You. Because I’m desperate or something?”

  “You’re dressing in Regency attire to celebrate an author who’s been dead for two hundred years.”

  His cerulean eyes widened just before the pillow hit him in the chest. Disappointing. “Number one. My mother, as craz—obsessed as she is with finding me a husband, would never threaten my reputation by having me spend the night with a stranger. A male stranger in particular.”

  The second pillow hit him in the forehead. She felt a little better about that one. “Secondly, just because someone enjoys history enough to dress in costume for a few days does not make them either pitiful or desperate. Not only can one immerse oneself in the culture of the time,”—Oh, gee whiz, she sounded like a commercial— “but for a teacher, it’s a fantastic way to deepen the descriptive experiences for her students.”

  “You’re a teach—” The next pillow hit directly on his wide-eyes.

  “Plus, celebrating a fabulous author in this special way shows we appreciate her work as well as know how to enjoy life more than some who criticize the world from the safety of their starched suits, Mr. Jumps-to-Conclusions.”

  “Just a minute, I—”

  Her last pillow hit him directly in the mouth. She tipped a saucy grin in response. Perfect. “And I can tell you with one hundred percent certainty that you would be the last man in the world with whom I’d choose to share a bedroom.” She offered an exaggerated bow and then reached for her purse. “Clearly, I could never measure up to someone as self-important as the amazing Ethan Keller.”

  She snatched her itinerary and pushed past him to the door, catching the faintest woodsy scent. The pleasant distraction nearly derailed her from the well-placed glare she shot him before opening the door and slamming it behind her with a satisfactory smack. She walked halfway down the hall before it hit her.

  Her keycard!

  With a groan and a sour swallow of pride, she marched back to the room and knocked on the door.

  Ethan answered, keycard in hand and smirk in its predictable place. His hair spiked in various directions from the pillow onslaught, which somehow made him a little more appealing…but only a blessed little.

  With a glare forged from the bottom of her wobbly pride, she grabbed the card from his fingers. “Thank you,” she growled and then turned without one look back.

  Chapter 3

  Out of all of Uncle Donovan’s previous matchmaking nightmares, this one stood out as unique—in almost every way. Even hours after she’d left, Ethan’s lips still twitched at the memory of Nora Simeon giving him a sound beating. Thankfully pillows and a sharp tongue had been the only weapons at her disposal.

  His chest deflated as he stared at the closed door. Maybe she was as innocent in this mess as he?

  He exhaled a sigh and dropped onto the cushioned bench at the end of the massive bed. His head pounded with a collision of thoughts—from the shared room, to Mr. Steele’s absence, to the fact he’d just inherited a brand-new venture from his somewhat eccentric uncle. But one feeling rose to the top of the knotted conglomeration.

  Hope.

  He wanted this opportunity. And as little as he enjoyed the unexpected, this prospect forged with a chance to not only prove himself, but show his skills. His leadership.

  Since he had unplanned time on his hands, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the grand outdoors. The morning rain still clung to the air and left the sidewalk damp, but the minor setback failed to stop the healthy crowd of people lining the streets. His uncle had told him to prepare for every season in a day in England, and after a check of the weather-app on his phone, he believed it. In a few hours, the temperature would rise another ten degrees. For now, his light suit jacket easily warded off the residual chill in the September day.

  The inn sat on a hillside looking over the town, a beautiful prospect, and as his uncle’s assistant, he would have jumped at the chance to upgrade the entire building to meet the usual expectations of their U.S. luxury hotels. But this? This was different. No high rises taking up the skyline or large interstates squeezing the city on either side. All the buildings, even the newer ones, kept the architecture and overall appearance of centuries’ old structures. Some, nearest the inn, even took the shape of a crescent.

  The inn was larger than he’d originally thought too—sandstone-colored buildings stretching in various directions in the distance. Although the tallest building looked to be only eight or nine stories.

  Bath was considered a city. Ethan had a hard time matching his definition with the quaint landscape before him.

  He descended the hillside, his thoughts soaking in the difference, the challenge. Colorful shop fronts greeted him on every side, and the cobblestone streets ran vibrant with people. Vendors stood at the roadside offering some special trinket for the day. Visitors waited in line to enter the city’s namesake, The Roman Baths. And
towering over it all stood the regal Bath Abbey.

  The entire scene encouraged a strange sort of belonging. He lowered his head with a grin. His great grandmother would be proud.

  The inn’s location couldn’t have been better. Less than ten minutes and he was in the heart of the town. The air— the atmosphere—slowed his usual frenetic pace, and he took his time, enjoying the sights and sounds, before cresting the hill past the Jane Austen Centre.

  A few women dressed in Regency attire passed him, laughing without reserve. He frowned, his thoughts shifting focus. If Nora didn’t know about the shared room, then his uncle had placed her in an even more uncomfortable predicament than him…and he’d accused an innocent victim of offensive behavior.

  That made two apologies he owed for the day. First to the desk clerk at the inn and now to his fiery and unwitting roommate.

  He was still pondering the evils of his impulsivity when he rounded a street corner and came upon a large group of costumed ladies in front of some official-looking Georgian building. Music and laughter floated from within, piquing his curiosity, and he edged closer, pressing around the jovial group to peek inside.

  The crowd moved him forward, through the elegant entry into a hallway too narrow for the sudden influx. Thankfully, the hall fed into three giant rooms brimming with color and craftsmanship. The music floated from a room to his right and in the center of the elegant space, beneath a massive chandelier, people were…dancing.

  Oh man, he had stepped way outside his comfort zone.

  Jane Austen was certainly alive and well in Bath, and her following not only came in droves, but in all shapes, sizes, and Regency attire.

  Women, even some men, practiced movements Ethan thought he’d seen from old movies. A touch here and release. A twirl. A bow. Linking arms in a row. Compared to the usual gyrating flounced all over the silver screen, this style held a fascinating elegance all its own.

  Through the crowd, a swell of dark teal and white fluttered around a familiar face. Nora Simeon slipped to the arm of another dancer, her eyes alight with a full smile, her laugh almost audible above the music.