London Tides

by Carla Laureano

  “What do you think they’ll say when you show up with me?”

  “Jamie will probably pat me on the back and tell me it’s about time. Serena will ask me if I’m happy. And if she’s smart, Mum will keep quiet.”

  “I told you before, I don’t want to cause any problems.”

  He lifted her hand to his lips without taking his eyes off the road. “They’ll have to get used to it. But let’s not borrow trouble. If there’s one thing of which I’m absolutely certain, it’s that Andrea will adore you.”

  “The American?”

  “Yes, the American. And if Mum reconciled herself to the fact Jamie is marrying an American . . .”

  Grace accepted the statement, even though she knew it wasn’t the same thing. Marjorie might dislike the idea that James was marrying an American on principle, but she hated Grace in particular. Besides, from what Ian had said, Andrea was a successful, educated businesswoman who had moved to Inverness and started her own company. Grace was a drifter, making her living by her camera, owning only what was small enough to pack in a duffel bag and a few hard cases. In fact, the exact phrase Marjorie had used was Irish gypsy trash. Grace almost didn’t blame her for thinking she wasn’t good enough for her son. But the son thought she was good enough for him, and that was the only thing that mattered. Wasn’t it?

  As they continued west and then north, Ian sensed Grace settling in beside him, even though she shot him searching looks. Did she think he’d gone completely mad, binning their train tickets in favor of the slower and more tedious drive to Scotland? It was something he might have done in younger, rasher days, which was probably where the urge came from in the first place. Being back with Grace felt like it had erased those years they’d spent apart, loosened the rules and the practicality that had governed his life for a decade.

  It seemed that Grace was thinking along the same lines, because she said, “Did you ever think we’d be here together, doing something like this?”

  “Going to Jamie’s wedding in Scotland? No, I was pretty sure he’d be a permanent bachelor.” He chuckled when he remembered the lecture he’d given his brother, about how Andrea was too good for him if he was just trying to get her into bed. He’d underestimated both the change in Jamie’s values and the effect that their consultant had had on him. The fact that Jamie had found her at her sister’s home in Ohio and flown halfway across the world to get her back had proven that he was serious about her. And for the first time, Ian thought he and Jamie might have something in common.

  “You know very well that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean me, giving up my life on the road. You giving up rowing to be a big-time lawyer.”

  “I’m hardly a big-time lawyer. More like a small-time solicitor who keeps up his practising certificate out of habit rather than any real need. Frankly, I do little other than babysit my brother’s money and shuffle paperwork. And now that I have Ms. Grey, I do far less paperwork shuffling.”

  She cocked her head, picking up what he’d left unsaid. “You told me all this is just something to do. What would you do? If you didn’t have any responsibilities to family or the business?”

  “If I could walk out of Jamie’s company and never come back?” He thought for a minute. “I don’t know. Once, I might have said I’d go back to rowing competitively, assuming I still had the ability, but I recently realized it doesn’t hold the same appeal for me.”

  “Technically, you don’t have to do anything.” Grace raised an eyebrow significantly at him. “You could . . . I don’t know . . . travel. That’s the advantage of a wealthy family and a trust fund.”

  “Unfortunately, I’d have a guilty conscience. Not sure I could look at myself in the mirror if I weren’t doing something. I never wanted to be one of the idle rich. None of us have.”

  “Most men don’t choose contract law for fun.”

  “I didn’t actually study contract law. My degree is in public international law. That’s part of the reason I came on with CAF when the board position opened. I already had some expertise in the area.” He glanced at her, frowning. “I never told you that?”

  “You never told me that. I assumed you were drawing up wills and trusts and the like before James stole you away. Why that speciality?”

  Ian remained silent, trying not to take the simple question as an indictment. He’d ignored that part of his life for so long he’d almost forgotten it existed. “Maybe I had the notion that I could change the world too. You were the one who actually did.”

  Grace flinched, and he realized his blunder too late. “Grace, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, I know you didn’t. I knew it would be hard to leave that behind. Some days are harder than others.”

  Not for the first time, a little kernel of doubt sprouted in Ian’s heart. “Are you sure this is what you want to do? I don’t want you to have any regrets. I don’t want you to resent me.”

  Honest surprise surfaced on her face. “I could never resent you. You have to understand, this is who I’ve been for so many years, I’m not sure who I am without the camera in my hand.” She hesitated, then added softly, “I’m not sure who I am without their pain.”

  Ian stayed quiet for a moment, letting the statement rest, afraid to breathe lest it would pull apart like tissue paper. “I wish you would let me help you with . . . all of this you’re carrying.”

  “You already have.” She laced her fingers with his and squeezed hard. “After I left you, I felt like I was looking for something. Someplace to call home, maybe. And nothing has ever felt right. Until now. I have to believe you’re the reason for that. Is that . . . a lot of pressure?”

  “No. Not pressure.” He took off the sunglasses and looked away from the road long enough to let her see he meant it. “It’s a gift.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  SCOTLAND WAS BEAUTIFUL. There had been a time in Ian’s life when the wide-open spaces of green and the craggy face of the Highlands had represented a life Mum hated, and one by extension he was supposed to hate too. It had been easy enough to avoid his home country when he went away to Eton, spending term breaks at Leaf Hill or at his wealthy schoolmates’ country estates. It wasn’t so much contempt for the less-refined aspects of Scotland, but that it was simply easier to do as Mum wished. He’d chosen her over his father, Jamie, and Serena. To admit he missed Skye would have been tantamount to admitting he’d made a mistake, and no one could afford for him to do that. It was only when Duncan MacDonald’s death three years ago transferred the hotel to his children’s hands that Ian realized the connection he still had with his birthplace.

  Now, as he and Grace bumped down the gravel road to the hotel, he could own up to what he’d not told Jamie. Sometimes even one who loved the city as he did felt his soul stretch in the presence of Skye’s natural beauty, as if awakened from a long slumber. Even in the dark, it was good to be back.

  “You may not recognize the place,” he said as he made the turn down to the hotel. In the last rays of twilight, the bay and the lighthouse were cast in shades of silvery blue, an ethereal landscape of light and shadow. On its edge, illuminated by pools of light from new fixtures, stood the renovated MacDonald Guest House.

  “It’s lovely,” Grace said. “Changes to the facade?”

  “Several.” Ian pulled in beside a handful of cars—all wedding guests, since they’d not yet officially begun booking travelers—and put the roadster into park. He jumped out and circled to open Grace’s door. A delighted smile played on her lips as the breeze off the sound ruffled her hair. “Come through and I’ll show you about.”

  If he’d ever been skeptical of Andrea’s expertise, he was no longer. The addition of new rooms and a kitchen off the back had been integrated seamlessly, the new masonry indistinguishable from the old 1800s stone facade. The bar addition had an attractive solid-oak door and antique windows, while the sunroom on the far side was positioned to bring light into the breakfast room and restaurant. Ian could barel
y remember what it had looked like before.

  “Seems they’re already setting up for tomorrow,” Grace observed, crunching past him to peek at the meadow beyond, where crates of folding chairs and tables awaited deployment for the ceremony. “What a lovely site for the wedding.”

  “Andrea insisted,” came a deep voice behind them. “And if you’ve met Andrea, you know she almost always gets what she wants.”

  They turned to find Jamie grinning at them, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans. Ian crushed his brother into a hug, picking him up off the ground for a moment. “Last night as a bachelor. How do you feel?”

  “Fine. And anxious to get this whole event on its way.” Jamie looked past him, and his expression shifted to one of shock. “Grace?”

  “None other.”

  To Grace’s credit, she didn’t look the least bit uncomfortable as she smiled and extended her hand. “Hi, James.”

  “None of this.” Jamie hugged her almost as enthusiastically as Ian had done to him. Then he slung an arm over Grace’s shoulder like he would have done with his own sister. “So this was Ian’s big secret? I can understand being back in London, but you’re back with him? Why?”

  Considering Jamie’s words were accompanied by his usual mischievous grin, he could hardly be angry. Ian let him have his fun, then asked, “May I have my girlfriend back now?”

  Jamie lifted his arm and stepped away, hands up. “By all means. Let me show you to your rooms, and then we can go up to the house. Andrea and Serena are seeing to some last-minute details.”

  “You’ve been busy finishing the interiors before the wedding,” Ian said as Jamie led the way to the front entrance.

  “Andrea has. The contractors are frightened to cross her. That woman is fierce.” The way he said it made Ian think he’d enjoyed the show immensely. “Here we are. The new foyer. Your rooms are on the first floor.”

  Ian admired the newly renovated interior while Jamie paused to retrieve two room keys from the cabinet beside the desk. They followed him up the stairs to the left, where he unlocked the door to room twelve. “Grace, I think you’ll enjoy this one. Best view in the house.”

  It was indeed a stunning view of the sound, or it would be when the sun rose in the morning over the water. The restrained decor was luxurious without detracting from the natural beauty outside. Andrea and Jamie had truly outdone themselves. Grace disappeared into her room as Jamie continued down the hall.

  “Andrea insisted your guest get the best room,” Jamie murmured. “We put you in eleven, across the hall.”

  Ian’s room was slightly smaller but equally lavish, this one overlooking the meadow where the wedding would take place the next afternoon.

  “So.” Jamie gave Ian a questioning look. “Grace. This is really happening again?”

  Something in his brother’s tone made Ian vaguely uncomfortable. “You don’t approve?”

  “Not for me to approve or disapprove. I like Grace—I always have. Suits you better than some London coed.”

  “You talked to Mum.”

  “Of course I did. You didn’t think she’d keep that to herself, did you? I heard all about your stubborn refusal to let her matchmake.”

  “Mum’s the last one I want involved in my love life.”

  “Plan on hiding Grace in a broom cupboard tomorrow, do you?”

  “No, boot of the car.” Grace’s voice came from the hallway behind them. “You lads really need to work on your whispering.”

  Jamie swaggered forward and slung his arm around her shoulders once more. “See, this is why I have always liked you, Grace. Let’s go find Andrea. You two will get on famously, I can tell.”

  Grace shot Ian an amused look over her shoulder, but she looked comfortable beneath Jamie’s arm, so Ian didn’t interfere. For once, he blessed his brother’s annoyingly effusive charm for defusing what could have been an uncomfortable situation.

  “So tell me about this woman who overcame your permanent vow of bachelorhood,” Grace was saying as they walked down the stairs. “An American no less! That explains the dour expressions on the faces of all the Englishwomen in London. They thought one of their own would snag you.”

  Ian grinned. He needn’t have worried. Grace could always hold her own.

  Once they reached the foyer, Jamie asked, “Luggage now or later? You missed supper at the house, but I can make something for you if you’re hungry.”

  “I forgot how much I missed that about you.” Grace looked to Ian. “I’m not hungry, but the luggage can wait if you want to go straight up.”

  Jamie was already guiding Grace toward the passenger seat of his silver Audi. Ian called after them, “If you weren’t getting married, I’d be concerned by all this.”

  “If I weren’t getting married, you would have to be.” Jamie winked at Grace, who laughed. His brother was an incorrigible flirt, but toward Grace, his manner was downright brotherly.

  Ian climbed into the spacious backseat, folding his long legs into an area that still managed to be too small for them. Grace and Jamie were already onto discussions about the wedding tomorrow and Andrea’s insistence that they have a proper Scottish ceremony, complete with kilts and a piper.

  “Did you pack your kilt?” Grace asked over her shoulder.

  “Of course I did. I’m the best man.”

  “Now that, I can’t wait to see.”

  “I’d venture that I wear a kilt more often than you wear a dress.”

  “And you’d be right.”

  Up at the house, little had changed. The garden plot was in full leaf under Aunt Muriel’s care, with bright flowers in the window boxes off the white clapboard house. Ian opened Grace’s door and led her up the macadam steps to their aunt’s house before Jamie could claim her again.

  The front door opened to warmth and laughter and the smell of baking—a sure sign Serena was busy in the kitchen. He guided Grace inside and closed the door behind them.

  “Uncle Ian!” Emmy jumped up from her spot at the table where she was making paper roses and threw her arms around his waist.

  “My gorgeous girl!” Ian picked up his seven-year-old niece and gave her a squeeze before plopping her back down. A toddler flew at his legs and nearly knocked himself over with the force of the collision.

  “Ah, Maxie.” He settled the two-year-old comfortably on his arm. “Say hi to my friend Grace.”

  Max held his arms out to her. “Bup.”

  Her eyebrows lifted, but she took the toddler, who immediately started poking her tattoos, presumably to see if they’d rub off. Grace laughed. “Built-in entertainment.”

  “He’s gotten over his shy phase,” Serena said as she entered the reception room, a tea towel in hand. Then she stopped. “Grace!”

  “And here I thought you might not remember me.”

  “Nonsense.” Serena strode forward and squeezed Grace into a hug around the child. “You’re hard to forget. Maxie, leave her alone.”

  “It’s fine,” Grace said, but she surrendered the little boy to his mother. He immediately twisted his fingers through the end of her bob.

  “Little monkey, this one,” she said. “Em, go get Aunt Andrea.”

  “No, I’m here.” A beautiful dark-haired woman passed through the doorway and went straight to Ian. He kissed her cheek, and she squeezed his arm before she held out a hand to Grace. “I’m Andrea. So pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise. I’m Grace.” She shook Andrea’s hand. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

  “Thank you.” She looked back to Ian. “Are you two hungry? Serena and I are baking for breakfast tomorrow, but Jamie’s getting restless, knowing there’s cooking for the reception going on without him.”

  “I am not,” Jamie protested, but the doting look he gave Andrea before he kissed her a little too long said it hardly mattered what she said. He was undoubtedly smitten with his fiancée.

  Grace smiled up at Ian in a way that made him guess she was thinking the sam
e, and he drew her back against himself automatically. “Hold up. Where’s Aunt Muriel?”

  Serena’s expression turned serious. “She wasn’t feeling well. Overworking herself with wedding preparations, I think.” But something in her voice, the worry in her expression, made him think the excuse was for the children’s benefit. She looked to Grace. “What do you say? Up to some batter-mixing?”

  “Go on if you want,” Ian murmured in Grace’s ear before dropping a kiss on her temple. “I need to get the third degree from Jamie now.”

  “While I get the female version.” She gave him a mysterious smile he couldn’t quite interpret before she followed his sister and soon-to-be sister-in-law through the doorway.

  Jamie clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s have a talk, you and I. Fancy helping me bring some wine back down to the hotel?”

  “You purposely left that for last, didn’t you?”

  “Of course I did. Plus I want to check on Jeremy.”

  “Ah, you brought him up from London to do the food?”

  “Seemed like an appropriate trade, since I’m going to invest in his restaurant.”

  Ian stopped. Jeremy Davis was the head chef at Jamie’s Notting Hill restaurant, and the most reliable and responsible of all the kitchen staff. “When were you going to tell me about this?”

  “I’m telling you now.” Jamie raised his voice. “Andrea, love, we’ll be back.”

  “All right, Jamie, love,” she called back in perfect mimicry of his Scottish accent. “Try to be gentle.”

  “I love that woman,” he said with a grin before propelling Ian out the front door. “Took me long enough to convince her to marry me. Not as long as some, however.”

  “I deserved that.”

  “So let’s get straight to it. Is there a reason you didn’t mention it was Grace you were bringing? For that matter, is there a reason you didn’t tell us she was back?”

  Ian winced, though he had no reason to feel guilty. “I wasn’t sure how you would react. It’s Grace.”