Loving Lizbeth

by Ruth Langan

  “What great chimes.”

  She paused and nodded. “It chimes on the half hour, and counts out the time on the hour. My Grandpa Sully gave it to me as a housewarming gift. It belonged to his father. He said he hoped it would remind me that time can be used wisely or foolishly. The wise person spends time pursuing those things that bring joy, and never wastes time dwelling on unhappiness.”

  “Sounds like good advice.” As he turned away Colin ran his hand along the mahogany handrail, worn smooth through the ages.

  “Here you are.” She stood back while he stepped inside.

  His slow gaze took in the huge four-poster bed, covered in a warm burgundy plaid coverlet, and the wide window seats covered in the same fabric. Firewood was stacked neatly alongside the fireplace, with logs and kindling already in place on the grate.

  “Are you sure you weren’t expecting guests?”

  She dimpled. “In my business I have to be prepared. Will this suit your needs?”

  He nodded, and she could see the pleasure in his eyes as he studied the mahogany Hepplewhite desk, the eighteenth-century armoire, the comfortable wing chair and ottoman, and beside it a table and reading lamp.

  “The bath is equipped with both a shower and whirlpool tub.”

  “I’m sure that didn’t come with the house.”

  She laughed. “I had to add a few modern amenities if I wanted to keep my guests happy.”

  “The whirlpool will come in handy after a day of heavy construction work.”

  “Will you be doing the work yourself?”

  “I’ll have a crew. But I know I’ll be working right alongside them. It’s costing the Yardleys a lot of money to restore their house, and I intend to see that they get their money’s worth.”

  “That’s nice to hear. I know their family home means a lot to Bill and Sue. It’s been in the Yardley family for almost two hundred years.” She turned away. “I’ll leave you to settle in. Dinner will be ready around six. But if you’d like to relax in the library, I’ll have some nibbles and cocktails available. At the bottom of the stairs turn right. It will be the first door on your left.”

  When she was gone, Colin opened his first suitcase and began hanging clothes in the armoire. As he did, he couldn’t help chuckling to himself. When Bill and Sue Yardley had recommended this place, he’d expected the proprietor to be a fussy old woman. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might be spending the next month or more in the company of someone as fascinating as Lizbeth Sullivan.

  He suddenly realized that not only was his work promising to be satisfying, but his off-hours might be equally challenging. He was definitely looking forward to his time spent in Stafford, New Hampshire.

  Lizbeth put away her garden tools and disposed of the weeds, before making her way to her room where she showered and dressed. The arrival of a guest had just changed all her plans. Instead of a simple supper, she would now have to give consideration to something a bit more substantial.

  She couldn’t help smiling. In truth, she liked nothing better than preparing a meal for a man who enjoyed eating. And Colin St. James looked like just such a man.

  In the kitchen she checked her supplies and decided on veal. While she prepared the marinade, she mentally assembled the rest of the menu. Garlic mashed potatoes, a lovely salad of spring greens. And rolls, freshly baked. She was humming as she sifted flour, measured baking powder, cut in shortening.

  When she set the rolls to bake in the oven she made her way to the library, to check the bar. Satisfied that it was perfectly stocked, she filled a crystal bowl with ice and added tongs, then set a tray of crystal goblets beside it. As she returned to the kitchen she was already calculating how much time she had to fix a tray of appetizers.

  She arranged finger-sized pastries filled with spinach and cheese, and paused to pop one in her mouth. The tourist season had arrived early this year in Stafford. And no one could be happier than she.

  Thanks to Colin St. James, she would be a little bit closer to her dream of a master suite by this time next year.

  Colin had no trouble finding the library. He paused in the doorway and looked around appreciatively. It was a cozy room, with floor-to-ceiling shelves, some displaying books, others framed with lovely old leaded-glass doors displaying treasures and photographs.

  A fireplace added to the warm atmosphere. With its rose marble surround and a mantel of hand-carved teak, it offered an inviting spot to enjoy the eclectic collection of contemporary books and dog-eared classics.

  Spotting the tray of appetizers, he walked closer and helped himself to one before pouring a tumbler of fine, aged Scotch. Glass in hand he inhaled the fragrance of fresh flowers as he began to circle the room, pausing to admire the video collection. Hearing Gershwin playing softly in the background, he located the CD player behind a cabinet door and discovered an amazing array of discs, from country to classical.

  He sipped his Scotch and bent to a photograph showing three little girls standing on the balcony of what appeared to be a castle. His eye was drawn to the plump little blonde in the middle. It was undoubtedly Lizbeth Sullivan. The same unruly hair, curling around a face that looked both wise and serene. Though the other two looked very different, one with long straight honey-colored hair, the other with a short red bob, there was no question they were sisters. Behind them stood a man and woman, who looked very much as if they might own such an opulent home.

  “My sisters, Alexandra and Celeste.”

  He turned. Lizbeth paused in the doorway, then crossed the room to stand beside him. She’d changed into a long flowered skirt that skimmed her ankles and a pink sweater trimmed at the collar and cuffs with the same flowered fabric. She’d scooped her hair up at her nape, leaving little tendrils loose to kiss her cheeks. The effect was both simple and elegant.

  “And your parents?”

  She nodded.

  “Were you staying in a castle?”

  “Yes. Castle Dunniefrey, just outside Dublin. My family owns it.”

  “They own it?” He gave her an incredulous look.

  “It’s been in the family for generations. When my Grandpa Sully…” She smiled. “Patrick Joseph Sullivan, went into the hotel business, he started by opening his family estate to the public.”

  He shook his head and laughed softly. “I should have known. But of course, I just hadn’t connected you with those Sullivans. Why are you here when you could be running one of those five-star hotels in Europe?”

  “I’ve done that. But in my travels I found Stafford Cottage, and fell in love. This is where I choose to be.”

  She smelled like crushed roses, and he had the strangest urge to draw her close and breathe her in. Instead he held up his glass. “Can I fix you a drink?”

  “Yes, thank you. There’s a bottle of chardonnay and a corkscrew beside it.”

  He seemed reluctant to step away, but when he did, Lizbeth found herself taking two very calming breaths. She hadn’t expected the man in faded denims and work boots to look so elegant. He’d shaved. And the face without the stubble was even more handsome. His charcoal slacks appeared to be custom-tailored. The gray crewneck was silk. And the loafers, worn without socks, were definitely Italian. The overall effect was devastating.

  Within minutes he was back, holding out a stem glass of pale white wine. As she accepted it, their fingers brushed and he absorbed the most pleasant of sensations before she abruptly withdrew her hand.

  He sipped his drink and took a step closer, aware that when he did, she took a step back. So she didn’t like being crowded. By anyone? He wondered. Or just by him?

  Interesting.

  In fact, he thought, everything about this day had suddenly become extremely fascinating. This small town. This bed-and-breakfast. Its beautiful proprietor. If he’d thought the new job was a challenge, it was nothing compared with this.

  Stafford, New Hampshire, it seemed, was about to get better and better.

  Chapter 2

  “I
s this your grandmother?” Colin nodded toward another photograph of an elegant, white-haired woman embracing three younger women.

  “Yes.” Just looking at that photo made Lizbeth smile.

  “That looks like the Square of St. Marks in Venice.”

  “You have a good eye. We were vacationing there the summer I finished my internship with Grandpa Sully at his hotel in Lake Como. Have you been to Venice?”

  He nodded. “Several times. Part of my architectural training was spent studying the castles and great manor houses of Europe.”

  “You’re an architect? I thought you were a building contractor.”

  “Both. With a specialty in restoration. There’s probably much more money to be made in contemporary design, but my heart lies in restoring old buildings. I love the challenge of making them compatible with today’s lifestyle, while finding a way to retain their charm.” He pointed to the buildings in the background of the photo. “I admire the Europeans. They’re experts at it. I’ve incorporated a lot of their ideas into my work.”

  At the sound of a buzzer Lizbeth looked up. “That’s my kitchen timer. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll bring our dinner to the dining room.” She paused in the doorway. “Just down the hall. Second door on your right.”

  Colin watched the way the skirt hugged her shapely backside, the hem dancing around her ankles as she turned away. She made such a pretty picture. Especially whenever a flush stole over her cheeks. Which happened whenever he looked at her a little too directly. It was sweet and endearing.

  He finished his drink before making his way to the dining room.

  It was a large room, which could easily accommodate twenty or more people. A highly polished Regency-style mahogany dining table, on which rested elegant crystal candlesticks, dominated the center of the room. To one side, in a bay window overlooking a garden abloom with peonies, a small round glass table had been set for two. It was so surprising and so perfect, Colin found himself smiling as he began to explore the room.

  The hardwood floor was polished to a high sheen. Over that, directly under the table, was a beautiful rug in a colorful stained-glass design. Along two walls were shelves holding a collection of pitchers in jeweled tones that rivaled the brilliant colors in the rug.

  Over an eighteenth-century Chippendale sideboard was a framed quilt that was equally bright and charming. It had been cleverly designed to resemble a Monet watercolor. Colin was still studying it when Lizbeth entered, pushing a serving cart filled with various covered dishes.

  He nodded toward the open bottle of red wine on the side table. “Would you like me to pour?”

  “Yes, thanks. That would be nice.”

  He was just setting down their wine glasses when she lifted the cover of a silver tray, releasing the wonderful steamy fragrance. “I hope you like veal.”

  Colin breathed in and felt his mouth water. “If it tastes half as good as it smells, I’m going to love it.” He carried two glasses to the table, and took the seat Lizbeth indicated.

  When their plates were served, she took her seat across from him and sipped her wine while Colin tasted the veal. She felt a flush of pleasure at his reaction. For a moment he closed his eyes, savoring the delicate taste.

  “You marinated this in Marsala wine, right?”

  She nodded.

  “And a hint of something…” He tasted again. “Hmm. Lemon. Capers. This is sheer heaven.”

  “You know your way around a kitchen.”

  “A little.”

  She couldn’t help smiling as she watched him devour his meal. Oh, she was going to enjoy feeding this man for however long he chose to stay.

  “Do you grow your own vegetables?”

  “As many as I can. It’s early yet. But I’ve already been able to pick leaf lettuce and chard and little green onions.” She sprinkled dressing on her salad and tasted. “I grow an herb garden year round in my kitchen. But I really like the bigger challenge of digging in the dirt and watching things grow from seed.”

  He glanced admiringly at the peonies outside the window. “I can see that you do. Your flowers seem to be flourishing. Is this where you eat when you’re alone?”

  She nodded. “I never grow tired of it. The scene changes with each new season.”

  He wondered if she knew how she looked when her eyes grew all soft and dreamy, and her dimples deepened. “You’ve created quite a home for yourself here.” He glanced up at the colorful valance above the bay window. “Did you make that?”

  “Yes. And the rug under the table. And the quilt over the sideboard.” She saw his look of surprise and felt a flush of pleasure. “I love to sew. And quilt and knit and crochet. My grandmother taught me one summer, when my parents were off investigating another hotel. She knew I was missing them terribly, and so she contrived to fill my days. I’m sure she had no idea how much I would take to it. My two sisters had so many interests. Could do so many things. While my sister, Alex, was off exploring fields and streams, and Celeste was studying Shakespeare or taking in another art exhibit, I fell in love with homemaking.” She colored. “And here I am, all these years later, still amusing myself with simple things, while they’re off pursuing all manner of fascinating things.”

  “Don’t put yourself down. It’s a wonderful gift. And you’ve certainly created a home you can be proud of.” He nodded toward the collection of pitchers. “Yours?”

  “Some of them belonged to my grandmother. She knew how much I loved them, and so she left them to me. Since then, I’ve added some of my own. Each one has a special meaning.” She crossed the room and returned with a shimmering cobalt pitcher with a crystal stopper that seemed to catch the fading rays of sunlight and shoot sparks along the ceiling. “When I was a little girl this was my favorite. I remember weaving fanciful stories about a genie who lived inside, and would one day grant me whatever I wished for.”

  He reached for it and their hands touched. “So, have you dared to remove the stopper and let the genie loose?”

  It occurred to her that his eyes were the same brilliant shade of blue as the pitcher.

  She pulled herself back from the thought and managed a smile. “I guess I’ll just have to wait until there’s something I want badly enough to test the power of the genie.”

  He couldn’t resist closing his hand over hers. He felt the way she started to draw away before he tightened his grasp and shot her a challenging smile. “I wouldn’t wait too long if I were you.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Genies live to make us happy. The poor guy’s stuck in there snoozing when he’d rather be out here granting wishes.”

  “He’ll get his chance.” As she returned the pitcher to the shelf, it annoyed her to note that her hand was shaking slightly.

  The first time Colin had touched her, in the library, she’d convinced herself she’d only imagined the heat. But it had just happened again. And this time there was no doubt in her mind. His simple touch had started a tingling in her fingers that had sizzled all the way up her arm.

  She paused beside the serving cart. “More wine?”

  He shook his head. “But if you’re offering, I’ll have a slice of that bread.”

  She handed him the plate and watched the way he tasted, sighed.

  “My aunt used to make a date nut bread every Thanksgiving that we all loved so much, she would send a loaf to each family.” He took another bite. “I think yours may be even better than aunt Betty’s.” He winked. “But if you quote me, I’ll have to deny I ever said that.”

  Lizbeth couldn’t help laughing. “Too bad I didn’t have a tape recorder handy. I could have blackmailed you into paying a very nice bonus at the end of your stay here.”

  “I can see this could spell trouble. That’s the last compliment you get from me.” He polished off the bread, then sat back, sipping strong, hot coffee.

  They sat together, watching as the first of the evening shadows began to flit across the garden. It occurred to Lizbeth that Colin
might be hoping to end this meal so that he could join some of his working buddies for a drink at the local pub.

  “Have you made plans for the evening?”

  He shook his head. “I figured after the long drive here, I’d probably want to turn in early.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  “Boston. That’s where I finished my last renovation.”

  “And where is your home?”

  He shrugged. “I have a loft in my office in Boston. I guess you could call that my home. But I really just live wherever I happen to be working.”

  “A true vagabond?”

  “Yeah.” He laughed. “It stems from my childhood. I was an Army brat. My sister, Serena, and I have lived all over the world.”

  “Where does she live now?”

  “In Hawaii. But only temporarily. She and her husband, Gary Conyers, will be sailing to Fiji soon. He sells exotic boats. I think he knows everything there is to know about them. One of his clients has asked him to captain a yacht for the next year, with my sister going along as a member of the crew. Since they were both ready for their next great adventure, they agreed.”

  Lizbeth shook her head in wonder. “And after a lifetime of traveling, your sister has no desire to put down roots?”

  Colin chuckled. “Serena would tell you that spending a year aboard a yacht is sinking roots. If she survives it, that’ll be the longest she’s ever lived in one place.” He looked over at her. “How about you? Ever get an itch to pull up stakes and try your hand in some other place?”

  “Not since I found this.” She poured coffee for herself from an ornate silver pot and stirred in cream. “I think I knew the moment I moved here that this was where I wanted to stay.”

  “You’re lucky.” He studied her across the table, enjoying the way her hair had already slipped free of its combs to curl around her cheeks. She might keep a tidy house, but her hair, it seemed, had a will of its own. “Some people spend a lifetime never finding a place where they belong.”