He wrangled his thoughts back in order. “I’m new to the name and transition as well, Miss Steele, but I do hope the shift will be a good one. Pleased to meet you.” He gestured for her to follow. “I’ve secured a meeting space for us, if that suits your needs.”
She looked ahead in the direction he led. “Ah, the Lavender Room. Yes, that will do.”
Lavender Room? Ethan scanned the only ‘modern’ looking space in the Inn, and apart from a painting on the wall of a field of lavender, he couldn’t find the connection. Three rows of tables stood in rows, grey chairs turned toward a projection board at the front. Certainly a useful meeting venue to offer in the future.
“How is Mr. Steele this morning?”
She kept her eyes on her laptop as she flipped it open. “His speech is somewhat impacted by the effects of the stroke, but the doctors are optimistic about his overall recovery.”
“That’s good to hear.” She reminded Ethan of one of his old girlfriends, Angela. Serious, focused, with the ability to project waves of intimidation when she set her mind to it. He’d convinced himself he was in love with her. Even asked her to marry him.
And she’d turned him down for a wealthier option.
But in hindsight, their relationship had formed more out of habit and predictability, than real attraction or romance. They thought the same way, had the same drive…but… He almost grinned. There certainly wasn’t a lot of color.
Miss Steele spoke in generalities about the inn, providing little more information than he’d already learned through his uncle’s documents and a concentrated Google search. He shared a few of his ideas, in which she appeared somewhat interested, and requested a copy of the blueprints of the inn to get a better scope of the property. Their conversation remained focused on the task at hand: Orienting him to the inn; explaining the past management styles—which she took as a strange segue into the need to modernize the inn to increase clientele.
“I think we should take our time making such a decision.”
Her chin shot out. “But Keller’s other inns are all quite modern, which is what we need to bring some vitality to this aging building.”
“I understand the idea that change is the answer, but after reviewing the past records of the inn, I think the elegance and history isn’t the problem. Growth can come from recreation, but it can also come from renovation. I say we look at what’s working historically and build off of that. From what I can tell, we have practically no online presence and haven’t been featured in significant marketing magazines in years.”
Her expression remained impassive but she bowed her head to take notes.
“Renovating the café is a must.” He continued. “We need a full restaurant, especially with our slight distance from town. The unused rooms connected to the back of the house will work wonderfully for that—allowing for an outer courtyard for outside dining.”
“And then we can turn the café into a media center.” The slightest smile tilted her lips, a sense of pride in her suggestion.
“We could…” He hesitated to quench her excitement. “But I think it might negatively impact the overall beauty of the entryway.” His midnight tour of the inn, alone, had opened his vision to the natural attractiveness of the original look of the inn. “The room just beyond the lounge, past the entry stairs, would work well as a media center. It’s out of sight of the entrance, but provides immediate access for guests.”
“Well, that might work well also.”
Whew, she liked having her way. “I’d like to plan for something a little quainter and inviting up front, and once I bring my consultants over, we’ll talk about creating some spa offerings.”
She drew in a sharp breath and met his gaze. “I’ve worked for Mr. Steele for four years. I know all the specifics of the estate—better than anyone.”
“Miss Steele, my uncle and I value employees and former owners of any hotel we purchase, and this one is no different. In fact, my uncle has made it clear he wants to involve your uncle in this transition as much as possible by keeping him on the managing board. I’m certain your knowledge of the inner workings of Elliott Elizabeth Inn, as well as his, will prove invaluable as we move forward.”
She froze, studied him for a moment, and then something flashed in those pale eyes. In an instant, her entire personality thawed before him. “Yes…” She drew out the word, tagging on the hint of smile. “Yes, I think we could make a very good team.”
They spent the next hour discussing previous marketing plans and visitor trends, Lydia’s smile becoming more relaxed as she slid closer to him to share her computer screen. The swing in her personality piqued the familiar caution. He knew her type—almost married her type—and he was looking for someone much different.
Despite her request to continue their conversation, Ethan excused himself after an hour. He’d planned a certain appointment particularly related to the Jane Austen Festival, in an attempt to abate his curiosity. In truth, he could count it as research too.
He walked down the hill and gathered with a crowd of onlookers on Stall Street just as a massive procession came into view. A wave of Regency-garbed people—women, men, and even a few children—descended on the town, bonnets, top hats, and a few parasols in full sway. Led by a group of men in scarlet regimental uniforms, bayonets at their sides, the lengthy procession poured down the cobblestone streets in a wave of color as visitors stopped to stare or take photos.
It was amazing. The entire ensemble smiled and waved to the crowd, encouraging an uproar of celebration from each group of onlookers they passed. The bustling city stopped in good-hearted admiration for the zealous Janeites and the realization sank deeper. Maybe there was something to this hype—this Austen culture—woven into the foundations of his inn.
His inn.
He couldn’t help smiling.
But how? He needed someone who understood the culture and history much better than he did.
At that precise moment, from among the masses, a fluttering of turquoise and white broke into view. His answer. And though Ethan’s past held a handful of relationships, nothing in his wildest imaginations prepared him for the grip of sweet connection he felt to a homicidal-bonnet-wearing beauty with a smile wide enough to reach through the crowd and snatch his unsuspecting heart.
What a day! Nora’s feet ached from walking…first in the Promenade, then while visiting the fayre, next in a Jane Austen comedy walk, and finally as she shuffled back toward the inn. At least she’d been able to sit during the ‘reticule’ lecture, but it wasn’t long enough for her sore toes.
The crowds thinned out as she moved away from Stall Street, but shops still decorated the way in bold colors and gentle pastels on either side. She loosened the ties of her bonnet and unfastened the top two buttons of her blouse, creating a little airflow down her sweaty neck. How on earth did those poor Regency women survive in summer?
Praise God for deodorant! But first, a nice long bath to soak her feet and scrub off the heat of the day.
She’d created so many memories in one day—and even cultivated some sweet acquaintances in the process—especially a couple from Bath who had attended the festival and promenade for four years running. The joy of talking Austen, classics, and everything else, while hearing it conveyed in English accents, pirouetted across her giddy heart like the country line dance she hoped to master.
“Nora.”
She turned toward the restaurant she’d just passed to see Ethan Keller in the doorway. That man wore a suit with the same ease most people wore sweats. Although, he looked much better in a suit than anyone she’d ever seen in sweats. Which prompted her to mentally redress him in sweats…resulting in the same swoony response. Yep, he’d probably rock sweats too.
Geez Louise. She’d been in the sun too long.
“I recognized the bonnet as you passed the window,” he said, with a little hitch in his voice as if he was…nervous? Embarrassed? Oh, good grief, that was adorable.
; No. Ethan Keller had made it quite clear he wasn’t interested in an Austen nut.
And why was she even entertaining such thoughts? Too much Austen-tinted talk. Plain and simple. She gripped her Eleanor Dashwood sensibilities close…despite the fact her Marianne heart wanted to color outside the lines.
“Oh well, it did nearly decapitate you this morning, I believe, so I’d say it made quite the impression.”
His smile swung free and he walked to meet her on the sidewalk, gaze taking in her face and billowy figure. Regency gowns created a certain marshmallow-like shape, or so it felt after living inside this tent of material all day. “Definitely memorable.”
No doubt. She stifled an eyeroll. “So how was your meeting? Your day? Did you get a nap in after your night?”
“It’s been a good day. Thoughtful.”
“Thoughtful?” She studied him. “There’s a story behind that response.”
“With embellishments, even.” His grin crooked right around her heartbeat and sent it skittering into a gallop.
“Baited.”
“If you don’t have another Jane Austen seminar to go to and you’re hungry…?” He gestured back toward the restaurant, the name written in gold above the door: Kettles & Bindings. “Care to join me for dinner and I’ll fill you in? Besides, I could use your input.”
“You really are desperate, aren’t you?” She waved toward her ensemble. “I’m…. like this.”
“Which will be perfect for the conversation.”
Well, that piqued her curiosity to the tipping point. How could she refuse?
They sat at a table by one of the large windows facing the street in a charming shop, filled with…well, what else but its namesakes? Tea pots and books. Her cheeks hurt from the pure pleasure. Yep, she’d pretty much lived all of her life-long dreams in only one day.
Her gaze drifted across the little café-style table. Okay, maybe not all of her dreams.
The mental acknowledgement shot heat into her cheeks and shook her attention away from the handsome stranger. Maybe she was ready for romance again.
Ethan waited until they ordered to slake her curiosity and then, he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with an infectious interest. “I want to know more about Jane Austen.”
Her shock burst out in a laugh. “Words straight to an Austen-nut’s heart. Why the change of mind?”
“I think you’re right. The only way I’m really going to make this inn what it’s meant to be, is to draw from the community. And this community loves Jane Austen.”
Nora knew her Austen. As she spoke, her expression animated with a passion he’d somehow lost among the many meetings and well-laid-out expectations. Her excitement greased the rusty wheels of his creativity, inspiring the innovation his father praised so often. Perhaps he’d allowed some of the passion to die along with his father, and maybe, coming to a place so alive with the people and past of his family shook the old dream awake.
Nora certainly helped. Imagination and energy bubbled from her ready smile: A sight growing more captivating with each passing moment.
“I need to figure out how to increase profit in the middle of all this Austen-love. Our hotels have a pristine reputation for efficiency and all the modern conveniences, but Austen…”
“Goodness, I don’t want us to return to well pumps and chamber pots, Ethan.” She offered a mock glare. “But quality can also come in different sizes and shapes. High class for some people may mean the experience is meaningful and memorable rather than pristine and pretty. The best idea is to offer all the current amenities…and then some. But you wrap it in a culture the tourists want.”
“Bonnets and ballgowns?’
Her tipped brow challenged him. “Don’t badmouth my bonnet. I know how to use it.”
He laughed.
“I mean you capitalize on what you already have at your fingertips. A massive following of ‘Jane Austen nuts’.” She pointed toward herself. “History buffs. Anglophiles. Romantics. Don’t hem yourself in with just Austen, but you could stay within that general theme. Think about it. You could make an entire franchise of inns themed around classics. This is the stuff my dreams are made of.”
“Classic literature themed inns?” His brain never jumped that far out of the box, but her enthusiasm tempted him to dream up the possibility.
“Oh! Just think about it. If your goal is to create more Elliott Elizabeth inns, then with this first one, you’re trying to cultivate a culture of what you want the rest of them to be, right? Isn’t that what you do with your hotels? You establish a certain expectation for your patrons, so when people walk into a Keller hotel they know what they’re getting.”
A sudden caution punctured his growing interest in the intelligent woman across from him. How did she know so much about hotels? If she was an innocent victim to his uncle’s schemes, why would she have this familiar knowledge?
Had he been duped again?
“What’s your marketing research like? The manor house has all sorts of unused space with amazing potential, like what we saw last night.” She paused, her expression falling. “Sorry, I’ve been talking too much and I’ve dazed you with my terrifying enthusiasm. You tapped into my happy place—the merging of two of my favorite things.”
He took a drink of his coffee, watching her over the rim for red-flags. Hints. Anything. “You seem pretty knowledgeable about the hotel business.”
Her eyes widened with a look of sincere shock and he wanted to believe her. Badly. “Oh right, we don’t really know each other.” She chuckled and stirred her tea. “Although, it feels like I’ve known you for longer than two days. Which is weird.” She muttered the last part more to herself, and then blinked up at him. “My family runs this century-old bed-and-breakfast in the mountains of North Carolina. It’s nothing like the massive franchise of Keller Luxury Suites, but it’s been beautiful to watch how our entire family—and I mean this big Appalachian family—has bought into the inn for generations to create a lasting legacy.”
Could it be possible that they were hotel junkies by accident? Without his uncle’s tampering? The possibility seemed pretty thin, but if Nora was a gold-digger, or part of his uncle’s scheme, why would she spend most of her time at the festival instead of trying to woo him? Oh, how he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“And your family only has the one bed-and-breakfast?”
Her face brightened. “Actually, we just opened our third, and each one celebrates a different aspect of the culture of the town where it’s located.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the one we opened last year in Mt. Airy, North Carolina, highlights the history and culture of Andy Griffith. Bluegrass music is part of the theme too, as well as Mayberry paraphernalia. But the hotel we opened in Asheville, a few months ago, is different.”
The tenderness toward her emerged around the doubt. “Because Asheville is different.”
“Definitely. Incredibly unique. Asheville is an arts and crafts hub, so, at Land of Sky B&B, the walls are decorated with local artists’ works and since organic cooking is such a big deal in Asheville, we partnered with a few farmers in the area and hired a local organic chef, to run our restaurant. Mt. Airy has your deep-fried, grease-soaked Southern cooking, and Land of Sky carries a healthier, holistic-type fare; but we feature live music from local musicians on Friday nights, in both places. That’s really fun.”
What a unique look into the industry! Of course, B&Bs were different to hotels, but this inn? His inn exuded an intimacy the hotels couldn’t—an intimacy his gut told him to capture and cultivate.
“And what about the third?”
“The Inn at Simeon Ridge.” She sighed, clearly partial. “Well, it was built by my ancestors over a hundred and fifty years ago and used as an inn for travelers and frontiersmen through the mountains, so, its hallmark theme is Appalachia. Through the years, the inn grew to this large structure with a staggering view, dangling on the side of a mou
ntain.”
“And that’s home?” Her description stirred an envy; a need to see this place and breathe in the view.
“Oh yes. I was born and raised on that mountain. My husband and youngest brother are buried there. My grandma used to say that ‘the mountain cradles its own’ and so does this inn, I think. It has a spirit of memory and strength seeping through the walls.” She chuckled and looked down at her plate. “Sorry again. I’m waxing poetic. Maybe one can have too much Jane Austen.”
He searched her downturned face. He’d noticed the flicker of grief softening her animated reply, bringing a touch of reality into the story. He’d lost his parents, and the ache still burrowed through every aspect of his life, but losing a sibling or spouse? No, he couldn’t fathom.
“Your family’s inn sounds amazing.”
Her gaze found his again. “That’s the sense I get about your inn. I think you feel it too. A natural culture, almost like an atmosphere filled with stories. How can you draw from the people, history, and culture around you and pair it with the knowledge and skills you have to make the inn what it’s meant to be?”
He stared in renewed fascination until a hint of pink brought a beautiful flush to her cheeks and she dropped her gaze to her plate.
Relaxing back in his chair, distancing himself from further embarrassment, he took a drink. “I suppose I need to get to know Jane Austen better.”
She nodded, and then her eyes popped wide. “I have a great idea.”
Anything to see that smile some more. He cleared his throat. “Okay?”
“I can’t do it tomorrow, but in two days, we’re going to visit the Jane Austen Museum.” She waved a hand between them. “And you, Mr. Ethan Keller, are going to have tea with Mr. Darcy.”
Later that evening, Ethan fought another battle with his doubts and lost. He and Nora had danced around the sleeping arrangements conversation, by discussing her family and their inn, while Nora showed off dozens of photos. Then, back in the room, she attempted to derail the awkwardness again by showing him her Austen book collection.
Love at First Laugh: Eight Romantic Novellas Filled with Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever After Page 5