by Becky Wade
Here’s hoping your day is full of Northamptonshire skies and a certain Mr. Brook’s swoon-worthy smile!
CHAPTER
Fifteen
Miss Lawrence, I presume?” Duncan said.
That voice! With the clipped, upper-crust British accent. Nora gaped at him.
He came to a stop at the bottom of the porch steps, his face tilted up to hers. He held a leather suitcase. Beneath a worn blazer and scarf, he had on a T-shirt and jeans. The strap of his cross-body messenger bag bisected his chest diagonally. “Have I shocked you into silence?” he asked.
Astonishment bubbled from her in a breathless laugh. “Yes! Sorry! You officially shocked me into silence there for a minute.” She descended the steps, arms outstretched. “Duncan!”
“Nora.”
They shared a quick hug. She stepped back, beaming. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought it was high time we meet.”
“Oh. My. Goodness.”
“You sent me a picture of the invitation to your grandmother’s birthday party. Remember?”
“Vaguely.”
“So I booked a ticket. I wanted to surprise you.”
“I’m having trouble thinking of a word that adequately captures what I’m feeling. Maybe . . . flabbergasted?”
“In a good way?”
“Yes.” She was his fan girl! The president of his fan girls. Really, she was too old to be a fan girl. A fan woman, that’s what she was. How were fan women supposed to behave when the object of their infatuation arrived? Squeal? Faint? “What . . . what are you doing in Washington? I thought you were only going to be in LA. You should have told me you had an event here! I could have arranged . . . something.”
“I’m just here to meet you.”
“You’re just here to meet me?” she repeated, finding his statement wildly hard to believe. “That’s it?”
“That’s it. You don’t live terribly far from LA, after all.”
“Wow.” Where was a defibrillator? This sort of thing did not happen in her life. Nora was so honored and, at the same time, pointedly aware that John awaited her in the backyard. John, who she was three-quarters of the way in love with. John, who was newly single. John, who meant the world to her. She didn’t want to do anything to hurt him or her chances with him.
In that regard, Duncan had chosen a somewhat horrifying time to surprise her. She now needed to think of a way to . . . insert Duncan into her evening with John. “How long will you be in Washington?”
“Four days.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I thought I’d just grab a hotel in town.”
Her memory raced back over the years and years of Facebook messages between them. She couldn’t boot him out of Bradfordwood sans car to search for a last-minute hotel room. “My sisters and I would love for you to stay here.” She indicated the edifice towering over them like a nosy guardian. “You should feel right at home. The house is British.”
“Whatever’s easiest,” he said lightly. “It wasn’t my intention to inconvenience anyone.”
“It’s not an inconvenience. There’s plenty of room. My sister Willow is the only occupant at the moment.” Come to think of it, Willow might not be all that thrilled about sharing the house with an unexpected houseguest she’d never met.
Nora had very little practice at spur-of-the-moment decisions. She preferred research and careful plans laid out months in advance.
“You don’t live here?” Duncan asked.
“No. This is where I grew up, but only my parents live here now. Come.” She started to turn, then remembered that he was weighted down with luggage. “Can I carry something for you?”
“No, I’ve got it.”
She led him into the sitting room off the foyer. He deposited his things.
It was almost dizzyingly surreal to have him here. She’d always thought that he resembled Orlando Bloom’s character in Pirates of the Caribbean. Longish brown hair full of just the right amount of curl. A pointed chin. Fine, even features.
Nora guided him down the central hallway, panic beginning to circle inside her. How could she insert Duncan into her evening? Her only choice was to introduce him in a straightforward way to John and the others. “Are you hungry?”
“I’ve already had dinner, but I wouldn’t turn down cake or champagne.”
“There’s no alcohol to be had at this party.”
He chuckled. “You Yanks. So conservative.”
“How about a flute of sparkling grape juice?”
“That, I’ll gratefully accept.”
She slipped behind the bar to pour his drink. Duncan was her friend. As of right now, John was also her friend. So maybe neither man’s presence would rock the other man’s boat? The possibility of that seemed slim, even to her.
She passed over the champagne glass.
“Many thanks.”
“Right this way for cake.” They fell into step. “I haven’t tasted the cake yet, but I’m sure it’s delicious because my sister made it. Britt’s a master chocolatier. Which”—she took in an uneven inhale—“you know already. I’ve told you about my sisters many times, haven’t I?”
“You have. Willow’s a model and Britt is a baker and you’re a candlestick maker.”
“Sorry! I’m a bit rattled.”
“Aww,” he said indulgently. “It’s to be expected.”
Her cheeks felt abnormally warm against the air gently gusting off the estuary. They approached the cake table. The elderly guests had all returned to their tables with their slices of cake. Only Britt, Willow, Zander, Valentina, and, a short distance away, John and Corbin, remained.
The instant John spotted her and Duncan together he abruptly stopped talking to Corbin. His features hardened with suspicion.
Nora’s confidence quavered. “I’d like to introduce Duncan Bartholomew,” she said. It was clear to her that her sisters already knew exactly who’d arrived. She’d mentioned Duncan to them plenty and even regaled them with pictures of Duncan over the years. No doubt Willow had recognized him and forewarned Britt. Both sisters gawked at Duncan with ill-concealed fascination.
“Do you remember me telling you about the TV show that I love?” Nora asked the group. “Northamptonshire?”
“North what?” Valentina’s round face crumpled with confusion.
“Northamptonshire,” Nora repeated. “It’s a TV show.”
“TV!” Valentina dimpled. “Yes, miss. Yes.”
“Well, Duncan is one of the actors on the show. He’s a bit of a celebrity, really.” As soon as she said that, she regretted it. He was a huge celebrity in her world, the world of a Northamptonshire mega fan. But to most Americans, Corbin, Willow, and John would all rank higher on the celebrity chart than an actor who portrayed a minor character in a BBC drama that had attained mediocre success. She was flubbing this!
John scowled.
She made herself wade in deeper, even though water was lapping higher and higher up her face, almost submerging her. “Duncan plays the role of my favorite character on the show, Lord Adolphus Brook.”
“Should we call you ‘milord’?” Britt joked.
“Meatloaf?” Valentina whispered to Willow. “We going to call him Meatloaf?”
“No need to address me as milord,” Duncan replied cheerfully. “Just Duncan will do.”
“What brings you to Washington?” Zander asked.
“I came to visit my biggest fan.”
A blip of silence.
“Who’s that?” Valentina asked.
“Why, Nora here. She’s so brilliant that I couldn’t resist the chance to meet her while I’m in America.”
“So this is the first time you’ve met?” Zander asked.
“Yes,” Nora answered. “Until now, we’ve only chatted through Facebook messages.”
“Amazing how well you can get to know a person through Facebook messages,” Duncan said.
The group gazed at Nora and
Duncan blankly, obviously struggling to process the astonishing fact that a British actor had just stepped from the screen into Bradfordwood’s backyard.
“Are any of you the Navy SEAL?” Duncan asked.
No! Would it be rude to dig her fingers into Duncan’s blazer and yank him backward?
“I’m a former Navy SEAL,” John said.
“Are you! Nora’s told me a lot about you.”
“Really?” John asked, unsmiling. “What has she said?”
“Only good things.” Duncan laughed and clapped John on the upper arm.
Duncan’s slender frame reached a height of about five foot nine. John was several inches taller, several inches broader, and far more forbidding. Duncan had never looked brawny onscreen or in photos and interviews. Never that. But somehow the camera had made him seem a bit larger than he was.
“How did you two meet?” John asked.
“Nora sent me an email a few years back,” Duncan answered. “I can’t keep up with all the correspondence I receive, but my personal assistant sometimes passes along a letter or email or message if it’s particularly good. She forwarded Nora’s email to me. I enjoyed it so much that I messaged her to thank her, and we’ve been communicating ever since.”
“Yep,” Nora managed.
“Nora’s one of the moderators of the Fans of Northamptonshire Facebook Group,” Duncan continued, “and she founded the Devotees of Adolphus Brook group. She works tirelessly promoting the show and me. She’s a godsend.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Nora said.
“She’s a godsend,” Duncan repeated.
Duncan had just publicly outed her obsession with Adolphus and the show. Until this moment, her obsession had been somewhat of a personal thing. The people closest to her knew about it in a general sense, but even they didn’t know the scope of it. She’d rhapsodized about Northamptonshire to John more than once, but she’d never said a peep to him about Adolphus or Duncan in particular.
The Devotees would be green with jealousy when she told them that Duncan considered her a godsend and had shown up at Bradfordwood in person. However, she understood that non-Devotee people—John included—would view her passion for Adolphus as kooky and maybe a tad desperate.
She’d rather he hadn’t found out at all and really wished he hadn’t found out this way. Sheepishly, she glanced at John.
He scratched the side of his face, looking approximately as amused as a man might look while being briefed on a terrorist threat.
So much for Duncan not rocking John’s boat. This was very bad.
“Excuse me, but are you one of the actors on Northamptonshire?” an elderly lady asked Duncan. Three of the lady’s friends flanked her, all of whom were at least eighty.
Duncan turned to address his admirers with a beatific smile. “I am!”
Nora faced John and Corbin. “I designed the invitation for this party,” she said, her voice pitched low. “I sent Duncan a copy of it so he could see my handiwork, but I—I never imagined he’d get it into his head to attend.”
“It sounds like you two are pretty close,” John said.
“No. I mean, yes. I guess we are close in a way. In a Facebook messaging way. Not in a real world way. Until now.”
John didn’t answer.
Corbin’s attention flicked to Willow. A frown line notched the skin between his brows.
Nora buried her trembling hands in the folds of her voluminous skirt. “You haven’t had cake yet, have you? Let’s get some cake, and then we can all go back to the table and hang out. I’m sure most of the guests will be heading home soon to strap on their CPAP machines, but I’d love for you both to stay.”
“I think it would be better if we go,” John said.
Nora attempted to sound less distressed than she felt. “The cake’s the best part.”
“No,” John said quietly, looking into her eyes. “For me the cake isn’t the best part.”
The sweetness of his words seized her heart. “We were going to talk. Remember?”
“We’ll talk another time,” he said.
“John, I . . .” She couldn’t think of what to say, how to give the sentence closure.
“Good night.” He passed by.
Corbin thanked her for dinner, then moved off. By the time she’d swiveled toward the French doors, John had disappeared.
She stood for long seconds in her fancy dress, staring at an empty doorway. How and when was she going to see John again? Should she rush after him? And say what? Do you have feelings for me? Because I have feelings for you. So for the love of all things holy, please don’t let Adolphus—I mean Duncan—throw you off track. I’m sorry about him. And please, please believe me when I say that I never ever expected Adolphus to enter my non-fictional world.
“Cake, Miss Lawrence?” Duncan arrived at her shoulder.
She accepted the plate of cake with numb fingers.
Nora had been pining for a romance between Lucy Lawrence and Adolphus for three seasons. And now Duncan had, in coming to Bradfordwood, made the sort of grand gesture toward her that she’d been waiting for Adolphus to make toward Lucy. He was even giving her the kind of affectionate attention she’d been longing for Adolphus to give Lucy.
It seemed that the princess, who’d been working hard for ages without even a glimpse of a suitor, had just been left at the ball by one prince and passed a slice of cake by prince number two.
“What are we going to do with the cute British guy?” Willow asked in a hushed tone.
An American friend of Duncan’s had just called him on his cell phone. The moment Duncan had stepped into the sitting room to talk, Willow had tugged Nora and Britt into the downstairs powder room and shut the door behind them.
The Bradford sisters, who’d kicked off their high heels long ago, had just finished setting the house back to rights after the party. Duncan had been in the mix with them the whole time, cleaning, keeping up a nonstop stream of conversation, consuming virgin sangrias.
“First of all,” Nora said, “I’m really, really sorry about springing Duncan on you as a houseguest, Willow. In the heat of the moment, inviting him to stay here seemed like the polite thing to do. Is that going to be super weird for you?”
“A stranger sleeping in my house with me. Why would that be weird?” Willow asked dryly.
“Okay.” Britt spoke with the resolve of a field general. “How about I march out there and tell the cute British guy that he’ll be bunking at Zander’s house?”
Willow placed a staying hand on Britt’s arm. “No. It’s all right for him to stay here. I guess. My bedroom door locks. He’s an actor, and actors aren’t usually axe murderers, right?”
“Right,” Nora answered. “They’re too easily recognized to get away with axe murder.”
“Comforting. What I’m wondering is what we need to do with him, exactly. I mean, he can’t just hover around here for four days. Should we take him to see the sights around Merryweather? Book him a ticket for a boat tour of the Sound? Who’s going to feed him?”
“Me,” Nora assured her. “I’ll come back first thing tomorrow. I’ll make him breakfast and then take him . . . somewhere for the day.”
Britt pushed her lips to the side. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, so I have the day off. You and Duncan and I could go hiking at Olympic National Park and have a picnic lunch up at Wagonwheel Lake.”
“Sold.”
“I cannot believe he showed up here,” Britt stated.
“Me neither,” Nora said.
Willow contemplated Nora. “I didn’t realize that you and Duncan were such good friends.”
“We’re pretty good friends,” Nora conceded.
“Do you guys chat online every day?” Britt asked.
“Some days we chat several times a day. Some days not at all.”
“Do you think he has romantic intentions toward you?” Britt asked.
Both sisters waited, their curiosity trained on her. Nora was far more us
ed to training her curiosity on one of them. Usually Willow and Britt led far more interesting lives than she did. “I don’t know what to think. We flirt online, but in a harmless type of way that I never thought would lead to anything. The dynamic between us in person feels new and a lot more . . . careful.”
“What about John?” Britt asked.
“I think John’s upset with me.”
“It looked like you two were on a date tonight,” Britt said.
“It did?”
“Yes,” Willow and Britt said in unison.
“It felt like we were on a date,” Nora said honestly. “Then Duncan arrived.”
“I like John,” Britt said.
“I like him, too,” Willow said. “Even if he does have bad taste in friends.”
“However,” Britt said, “the operative word concerning the cute British guy is—”
“British?” Nora asked with false innocence.
“Cute,” Willow supplied.
Text message from Duncan’s personal assistant to Duncan:
Personal Assistant
Well? How’s the mysterious American woman in real life?
Duncan
She’s even better than I imagined.
Personal Assistant
You like her, then.
Duncan
I like her very much.
Text message from Corbin to his friend, Gray:
Corbin
I ran into Willow Bradford tonight. Remember her?
Gray
I remember. How does she look?
Corbin
Like a supermodel.
Gray
My condolences.
Corbin
It’s not right or fair how beautiful she is. It’s not even normal.
Gray
My sincere condolences.
Corbin
It’s bad enough that I have memories of her I can’t get rid of.
Gray
Maybe she’s just as upset about seeing you?
Corbin
Why would she be? She’s the one who ended things between us.
CHAPTER
