Teapots & Tiaras: A sweet and clean Christian romance in London and Cambridge (Love In Store Book 5)

by Autumn Macarthur

  “Matthew,” he corrected Daisy.

  “Maffoo.” She gurgled and beamed, cute enough to melt the hardest heart.

  Finally, his lips curved fully upwards, and he loosed a deep laugh. Anita’s heart gave a completely unnecessary pitter-patter as his smile crinkled the tanned skin around eyes the exact colour of her favourite dark chocolate.

  Daisy’s charm worked on the doctor where she’d failed.

  “Looks like you have a new best friend. Though it could take her a while to get your name right.”

  “She’ll need another few years to manage a ‘th’ sound. Most children can’t manage it until at least five.”

  She laughed. “Daisy’s a fast learner. She’ll do it sooner. You’ll see.”

  His face tightened, all humour gone. “I intend to return to Africa as soon as I can discharge my duties here. Being in England is a complete waste of my time. Even the fastest learner won’t develop that quickly.”

  Judging by his ramrod posture and equally stiff tone, her light-hearted words switched him back to Dr Obnoxious.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, though she had no reason to. His being in England wasn’t her fault. “But you’re here for the wedding, too.”

  “Marriage is merely a legal contract. James and his fiancée should forget the big church wedding and get married as quickly and quietly as possible. No need to spend time or money on unnecessary trimmings.”

  The brief glimpse of someone more caring had vanished. What sort of best man thought his closest friend should have some hole-in-the-corner register office ceremony instead of a proper church wedding, just so he could get back to his work?

  No matter how important his job, that attitude was just plain wrong.

  Her heart thumped right to the fashionably red soles of her shoes, but her chin rose. Their wedding duties wouldn’t throw them together much. She could easily avoid him apart from when absolutely necessary.

  Slowly, silently, praying she wouldn’t say anything she’d regret, she counted to ten. Counting to three wouldn’t be anywhere near long enough. What they said about redheads and bad temper wasn’t a myth. Far from it. She had the red hair and the temper to prove it.

  Lord, give me back my sense of humour. Help me to hold onto my temper a little longer.

  Just long enough to get him to Cambridge and say goodbye.

  Chapter 2

  Dr Matthew Coalbrooke watched the red glow of the elevator numbers. The lifts seemed permanently stuck on every other floor but International Arrivals. Still, observing the lights in hope of movement was a better option than staring at Ms Kiernan.

  For once, he stood at a loss for words.

  She gave every appearance of laughing at him. Certainly something sparkled in her large eyes, lighting them from within like finely cut sapphires. A smile curved her full lips. Everything about this woman, apart from her height, was generously scaled.

  “Surely you don’t mean it.” Her tone was teasing, not questioning. “Suggesting changing all the wedding plans all over again is something the worst man at a wedding would say, not the best man.”

  “Thank you so much for your opinion. If I want lessons in the best man’s role, I know who to come to.” He didn’t attempt to restrain an edge of sarcasm.

  In the unlikely event he did want a lesson, the bride’s outspoken best friend would be the last person he’d ask.

  Between his grandfather’s death, the Mission Trust calling him home, and being on the receiving end of increasingly frequent comments about being over thirty and still single, he’d welcome a dose of dysentery more than a wedding. When James asked him to be best man, he’d hesitated. Apart from their long-running online chess contest, they’d had little recent contact. For the sake of their old friendship, he’d weakened and agreed.

  Clearly, it was a mistake.

  Anita’s lips pursed, and she shook her head slightly, taking an audible breath as she examined the toes of her ridiculously high-heeled purple shoes. Then she lifted her chin and smiled, a determined glint in her eyes.

  “I’m sure James will give you the correct advice on whatever he needs from you. But they have no intention of changing their plans again. James’s mother wants a big wedding, and he and Beth are happy to go along with her.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll discuss things with James when I see him.”

  Impossible to say more without breaching medical confidentiality. Ms Kiernan couldn’t know he had other reasons to wish to see the wedding brought forward, besides his desire to get back to Africa.

  Anita’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and something doubtful lurking there made him wonder if she suspected he’d try to intimidate James.

  His lips twisted. “I’ll discuss it. I won’t try to bully him.”

  She laughed outright. “Good.” More warmth infused her voice this time. “You’d better not. I stick up for my friends.”

  He had no doubt she’d fight like a tigress if needed. “An admirable quality, I’m sure.” His dry voice should give her the message.

  “Thank you.” She smiled, as if he’d meant it as a compliment. “I do have a temper, and I know how to use it.”

  He stamped on his impulse to return her smile, and instead replied with an abrupt nod, designed to discourage further discussion.

  She merely turned to croon a soft lullaby to the toddler, made fractious by the delay. Unmistakably, he’d been put on ignore. An unusual experience.

  At first, he’d thought she was pursuing him, a not uncommon reaction when he met women. He prided himself on an absence of self-delusion, so he didn’t for a moment imagine their interest genuine. Any doctor with his background would have the same appeal.

  To a certain type of woman, anyway. The type his mother had been. The type his grandfather warned him against.

  Despite his initial impression, it seemed Anita Kiernan was not that type. Not when she laughed at him, ignored him, and showed a complete refusal to take him seriously.

  The woman intrigued him.

  Even so, he intended to spend as little time with her as necessary. Their wedding duties should involve minimal contact.

  The lifts showed no sign of arriving. If the trip from Mapateresi hadn’t been quite so arduous, he’d consider taking his chances with several hours on public transport, simply to get moving. As spending at least two hundred pounds on a taxi presented his only other alternative, he’d tolerate more time with Anita. He could afford the taxi, but waste of any sort offended him.

  The catch was, unless he pretended to sleep the entire trip, he’d have to play the social game. He’d never enjoyed it. In Africa, the necessary focus on keeping his patients alive left little time or energy for meaningless chitchat. That suited him.

  He dredged his mind for some small talk. “From your earlier comment, it seems the mission made it onto the evening news?”

  She looked up from playing with the child. “You did. News 24 ran a segment on your mission work. The Times had a small article too.”

  Anita Kiernan didn’t look the News 24 type. Or a likely reader of the Times.

  His surprise must have shown. As she blew out a long exasperated sigh, her perfectly arched and pencilled brows pulled into a frown.

  “I do watch more TV than Project Runway,” she said. “And I read more than the fashion and cooking pages.” She glanced toward the ceiling in a heaven-help-me eye roll. “Even if I didn’t, I would’ve known about you. You’re all over Facebook. It’s lucky your plane was delayed. Otherwise, I’m sure there would have been paparazzi and reporters waiting to capture your arrival.”

  His jaw tightened. “The delay was hardly lucky. Someone fell seriously ill on the flight. The plane diverted to Turkey to get him into hospital as soon as possible.”

  “I’m sorry.” Anita’s voice softened, and her eyes closed for a moment. He had the sense she was praying. “What happened?”

  “A massive heart attack and cardiac arrest. I managed to resuscitate him.
Barely.”

  A harsh painful breath escaped him. He’d kept the man alive long enough to transfer him to the ambulance, but the patient’s chance of survival wasn’t good. Medically, though he’d saved the man’s life, it felt like a failure. And failure was intolerable, something he’d worked since childhood to avoid.

  “I’m sure his relatives were grateful for your help,” she offered.

  He snorted. As he’d pumped on the man’s chest, the wife had sobbed and wailed, incapable of carrying out even the simplest tasks to help save her husband’s life. Reinforcement of the maxim he lived by.

  No feelings. No attachments. No close involvements.

  His grandfather had been right.

  “At least it’s given the journey some purpose.” He changed the subject. “Besides the wedding, of course.” Anita wouldn’t miss his slight sarcastic edge.

  “Of course,” she echoed. “Don’t forget the wedding.”

  “I appreciate it’s important to you, but to me…” He scrubbed his hands over tired eyes. “Back in Mapateresi people are dying, yet I’m called home to take over the mission administration and do promotional talks.”

  His grandfather’s death changed everything. He should feel something for the old man, some trace of grief, something more than frustration.

  Anita’s eyes widened, and her lipsticked mouth formed a perfect O. “They didn’t replace you?”

  “They did.” His fists clenched. “With a newly qualified, inexperienced doctor barely old enough to shave. He’ll want to run back to England within weeks. And they plan to keep me here, wasting my skills doing interviews and rubber-stamping paperwork.”

  She eyed him, head tilted on one side, and released a long audible breath. “You seem slightly less than enthusiastic about the new role.”

  “Very perceptive.” He didn’t keep the dryness from his voice. “Plenty of people can give fundraising talks, but few doctors possess my years of experience in the field. While I’m here making speeches, people will die needlessly.”

  “Hopefully, they’ll send you back soon.”

  He hoped so too, but first, he must sort the Trust out.

  “I’ll pray,” she said.

  So his earlier guess had been correct. She was a believer. The warmth in her eyes looked very like genuine commiseration.

  Straightening slumped shoulders, he lifted his head and tightened his jaw. Sympathy was the last thing he wanted. From this woman, or from anyone.

  “I’ll do whatever the Trust has arranged, whether I like it or not, for the good of the mission.” Even if he had to draw on every ounce of the two-hundred-year-long Coalbrooke tradition of stiff-upper-lipped service to God and humanity his grandfather instilled into him.

  Hurt flashed in her eyes, and she looked away, glancing up at the lift numbers. The elevators had moved nearer at last. A trace of a relieved smile curved her mouth.

  Apparently, she was equally eager to get her duty over and done with.

  Daisy nodded off to sleep against Anita’s chest as she repositioned the child on one hip. He’d seen thousands of African mothers do the same. Something about the universality of the simple gesture touched him.

  A weakness he couldn’t afford.

  Hiding any trace of expression, he picked up his bag as the elevators pinged and the doors opened.

  Anita stepped back to allow a couple of well-dressed African men pushing a huge trolley of luggage to enter first. She gave them a sweet sunny smile. “After you.”

  While the elevator rose to the floor she’d requested, he couldn’t help hearing their conversation. His lips twitched. The brothers spoke a dialect of Igbo. With no idea he understood their earthy and vocal appreciation of her lavish curves, they held nothing back. He barely managed to restrain a guffaw when one commented how blessed he was to have such a fine-looking woman and a plump healthy child.

  Why was everyone so keen to see him with a wife and family? Last time he met with Grandfather, he’d been reminded of his duty to produce an heir. And David, his godfather and head of the Mission Trust board, had suggested that including a wife in his mission work might make it easier for staff and patients to relate to him.

  The right woman, perhaps.

  A woman like Anita would be more of a hindrance than a blessing in Mapateresi. Sure, she had uncommon beauty, in the slightly overdone style of a glamorous fifties pin-up girl, but she wouldn’t last five minutes in the bush.

  Imagining her tottering from his hut to the well in those ridiculous high heels, he loosed a snort.

  She threw him a questioning look.

  Impossible even to begin to explain. He shook his head.

  She seemed to realise she wouldn’t get an answer. Instead, she searched one-handed for something in her bag, careful not to disturb the sleeping child.

  At least she appeared a good mother. Unlike the people he’d been working with, she and her daughter had been blessed with safe, easy lives and plenty to eat.

  He thanked God for that. No one should suffer what war, disease, and famine did to his patients.

  She held up a piece of blue paper. “Here’s what I’m after. The ticket for the parking machine. One good thing about you being in England now, it’s saved you making an extra flight back for the wedding.” The determinedly cheerful note of someone trying hard to make the best of a difficult situation rang in her voice.

  She wouldn’t like his answer, but he had no intention of sugar coating the truth. He could chance giving a hint without breaching confidentiality. “If it wasn’t for the Mission Trust insisting I take over leadership here, I’d gladly give the wedding a miss. Besides, they should consider bringing the ceremony forward.” He shot her a sharp glance. “You know Lady Tetherton-Hart is ill?”

  Her fingers crushed the paper. “Of course I know she’s ill.” A snap cut short her words. “Beth and James planned an Easter wedding, but delayed it when she got the diagnosis. That’s why I don’t want anything else interfering this time.”

  The lift doors opened, and she hurried through them, as fast as a generously built woman in four-inch heels carrying a heavy toddler could.

  A man would get whiplash keeping up with her moods.

  He shrugged it off. Too many people couldn’t deal with the truth. The staff in his clinics muttered behind his back and occasionally to his face that he was abrupt and difficult to work with. He didn’t much care. His job was to save lives, not to be liked. As long as he continued to do his job, people had to take him as they found him.

  No reason Anita’s opinion should matter more than theirs.

  Besides, he was right. Lady Tetherton-Hart might amuse herself arranging a big wedding for her only child, but her remission wouldn’t last. The family could try praying for a miracle. It was about the only chance she had.

  It appeared Anita had no idea.

  She stopped beside the parking payment machine and smoothed the paper slowly and carefully against it, taking deep breaths as she did. Her anger management skills were commendable.

  “If the machine rejects the ticket, it will cost me an extra twenty pounds,” she explained, with an obviously forced smile.

  He took the ticket, fed it into the machine, and paid the eye-blinking total with his credit card.

  “Enough to feed a family for a week in Mapateresi.”

  “Or pay for airport parking while someone waits hours on her day off to collect you and drive you to Cambridge.” He could almost taste the saccharine dripping off her oh-so-sweet voice. Carrying Daisy, she stalked across the car park.

  Shaking his head, he followed her. Anita may have given up her day off, but he hadn’t asked her to. If she expected him to be grateful, she’d have a long wait.

  She stopped beside a lime green Fiat 500. A tiny vintage vehicle, older than either of them, looking more like a child’s toy than something roadworthy.

  Her pretty ringless fingers turned the key in the driver’s side door, and she threw him a smile with an edge
of triumphant “So there” about it.

  “I planned to use Mum’s car today, but she needed it to take my sister, Jen, to the hospital unexpectedly.”

  His medical antennae twitched with an urge to ask what was wrong. He held back. Asking anything was as good as an invitation for her to seek his opinion, and he disliked giving random medical advice. Risky to do so without access to any medical history or the opportunity to examine the patient.

  Perhaps he’d do better taking his chances with public transport, after all. Though the lengthy Underground trip to King’s Cross then a train and a bus ride to his college, with all the waits in between, held little appeal when he’d already travelled two days.

  Neither did folding himself like a concertina to get his six-two frame into her car. Or enduring Anita’s chatter and Daisy’s two-year-old babble for seventy miles.

  Perhaps he could make use of the time. Sleeping, or subtly finding out more about Beth.

  He’d had concerns his old friend was entering an unsuitable marriage. A shop assistant marrying a Cambridge professor, sole heir to his father’s large fortune and his mother’s estates, seemed something of an unequal match.

  Unlike him, James was sweet and easily led. The type to fall for the wrong sort of girl. That the bride’s best friend was a feisty single mother didn’t exactly reassure him. Perhaps rather than bringing the wedding forward, James might be wiser calling it off.

  “Your carriage awaits, milord.” Anita swept him a mock curtsey. “Normally, I’d be apologising for how small it is.”

  Clearly, he wasn’t getting any apology. Her fighting spirit amused him.

  He’d experienced worse travel arrangements. Like his trip from Mapateresi to the nearest town with an airport, for his flight by small bush plane to Nairobi. There wouldn’t be any live chickens or goats in her car.

  He hoped.

  “It’s fine.” His smile broadened as he headed for the passenger door.

  Ms Anita Kiernan wasn’t winning this round.