“I’ll go in and check on Maisie.”
“She’s in the kitchen. Be right there.” Turning back to Leon, she said, “I’d like to explore my options, whether to do a few repairs or sell as is. You’ll send me the list of recommended fixes?”
Time was a factor as well, since the cost of upkeep would have to be extended through the course of repairs. She could certainly afford to take a lower price if it meant selling right away. It would be nice to have at least a small nest egg after paying inheritance taxes. That could buy her time in London to scour the job market should she choose to stay. Or it could buy her time in Boston if she needed to make new connections.
Her overnight suitcase—the same one Cecil had carted upstairs on Sunday—sat by the door, packed and ready to go when Lark finished her examination of Maisie’s wound. She’d toyed with the idea of having Lark stay over at Penderworth instead, in hopes of giving Cecil the chance to talk with her under less acrimonious circumstances. Surely he appreciated how she’d taken care of Maisie.
In the kitchen, Lark was drying the wound with cotton wool. “This is healing nicely, Mrs. Browning. Another day or two and it should close up. Just keep it clean and covered.”
“I’m so grateful, a busy person like you coming all the way out here every day to check on a silly cut.”
“You can thank Channing for that. She was pretty insistent.”
The atmosphere at Penderworth had mellowed dramatically from two days ago, when Channing was frantic over both the injury and her confrontation with Cecil. The two of them had managed to stay out of each other’s way, yet they remained at a stubborn impasse.
“What do you think, Maisie?” Channing asked. “Any sign of a crack in Cecil’s armor?”
“Mmm…he didn’t like the way that man talked to you just now, like you were a silly schoolgirl. I practically had to tie him to the table to keep him from going out there and telling him off.”
Perhaps it was a good sign that Cecil was sticking up for her. “I didn’t like it much either. But he’s a friend of Kenny’s, you know. And he offered good advice about repairs. Have you gotten an update from your brother concerning the guesthouse?”
“They’re painting the interior this week so it should be ready soon. But we don’t have to move right away, luv. It wouldn’t be right to leave you here on your own.”
Lark cleared her throat and tipped her head toward the back door, a not-so-subtle signal for Channing to go try to talk to Cecil again. It was gut wrenching to watch both of them suffer, she’d said, when a few caring words might be enough to soothe their row.
Stepping outside, Channing spotted Cecil in the gazebo, where he was scraping the rusty chairs with an iron brush in preparation for painting. Her slow walk toward him gave both of them time to decide what sort of mood they wanted to project.
“The property inspector, Kenny’s friend…he was quite complimentary of the garden. Said it showed a master’s touch.”
Cecil grunted. “Stupid prat walked right through my tulip bed.”
“If it’s any consolation, I think he ruined his shoes.” It flooded her with relief to see his wry smile, and she pressed her advantage. “Cecil, I can’t stand this angry wall between us. This is hurting me so very much. I’m sorry for losing my temper. Of course I respect you. You’re my family and I love you. And I have no doubts whatsoever that you love me too.”
“I do, dear one.” The fire in his eyes was gone but his face had fallen with sadness.
She took the brush and set it aside so she could hold his hands. “Then you have to accept me for who I am. I mean it, you have to. There’s no other way for us to get past this anger. I can’t simply will myself to change, even if I wanted to…which I don’t actually. I swear to you that I’m still the same person you’ve always loved.”
The pain in his face softened, a sign of how badly he wanted all of this not to matter. “I don’t want to feel this way.”
“Then don’t. Wish for me to be happy as me, not as someone I can’t be.”
He slumped into the iron chair, his shoulders sagging. “It feels like I’m letting him down, Lord Hughes. I don’t think he’d like this.”
“It breaks my heart to hear you say that, Cecil. I’d have done anything in my power not to be a disappointment to Poppa, but this…it was never in my power. I truly believe he’d have understood, even if it was hard at first. But I know he’d have loved me just the same.”
The moment stretched into an almost unbearable silence until he finally nodded. “All right then, Miss Channing. I’ll do my best.”
“Thank you. It means more than I could ever say.” She stooped beside him and patted his forearm. “About Lark…Dr. Latimer. I care for her, obviously. It could be quite serious between us. She’ll be returning to Boston soon and I’ll have a decision to make. In the meantime, I would like it very much if she could see the very sweet, pleasant, warm person I know you to be.”
“I’m not always pleasant.”
His sardonic grin proved contagious and drew them together in a long hug. She had no illusions about how hard this would continue to be, but at least the searing pain had finally stopped.
* * *
Lark walked across the bed on her knees and collapsed next to Channing, who was tapping away on her tablet computer. Their collective mood was sullen given the issues that troubled them. Lark’s trial review had taken her down an uncomfortable path, while Channing was coming to grips with selling Penderworth.
Channing paused and looked at her glumly. “Kenny had one of the partners look over my contract with Albright. He’s relatively certain the noncompete is enforceable even here in the UK, which means there’s probably zero chance of me going back to work at Lloyd’s.”
“Have you considered calling Mitch to say you haven’t gotten anything yet from HR…maybe he could give them a nudge?”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you. I got a note from him this afternoon. He apologized for taking so long. Apparently there’s a lot of paperwork when they promote someone without advertising the position. He asked me to be patient—obviously he thinks that’s in my skill set.”
It was a tremendous relief to Lark to know the job at Albright was still moving forward. “At least you finally heard from him. Now you can stop worrying what Payton’s doing behind the scenes.”
“Something that occurred to me…Albright has an office in London as well. More of an outpost really, four or five people. Their primary focus is business development…financial networking to identify potential accounts. Perhaps they’d have need of someone with valuation cred.”
Lark couldn’t muster much enthusiasm for any job that would leave Channing in the UK, despite her promise to put all possible sacrifices on the table. Reality was knocking at the door in the form of her imminent return to Boston. Their relationship was at a fragile point. It didn’t yet feel solid enough to weather the distance, especially if Channing were to shift her focus to a new job.
“You know, it’s starting to look like I’m going to wrap up my project at PharmaStat early next week. I’m hoping Gipson will want me to stay a bit longer, maybe to get the trial back into the field, but it’s possible they’ll call me back to Boston. I’m talking like…five or six days from now.”
Channing tossed the tablet aside and climbed atop her like a hungry predator. “What could you do to get arrested and then released on bail? Something where you’d have to surrender your passport.”
“How about indecent exposure? I’ll strip off all my clothes and run through the streets.”
“That doesn’t work here like it does in America. Seen one bum, you’ve seen them all.” Her hands wandered inside Lark’s paisley shorts. “Though your bum is quite exceptional.”
Lark squirmed beneath her until she was sitting up. “I’m serious, Channing. Five days. How are we going to do this?”
Channing groaned and fell dramatically onto her back. “I don’t know. But things will work out the way t
hey’re supposed to.”
“Hunh…what does that even mean? It’s not like we’re on some giant game board where the Hand of God rolls the dice and marches us around. Anyone who thinks there’s some master plan is full of shit.” Her voice flagged with frustration she couldn’t seem to help.
“So no magical fairy dust? I was so hoping there’d be magical fairy dust.”
It was just like Channing not to take her seriously. “Not everything is a joke, you know. This is for real. If we want something to happen, we have to make it happen.”
“Lark, we’ve already had this discussion, remember? We both agreed we’d make the necessary sacrifices if we want to be together.”
“So do we?” She realized too late what a scary question that was, as it all but invited Channing to hedge. “Maybe the better question is what does ‘be together’ even mean? Can we be together if I go back to Boston and you stay here?”
Channing flipped onto her side and propped herself on her elbow. “Well, obviously not forever. Eventually people have to end up in the same place. Where that place will be though…that’s a decision for another day. Right now my priority has to be to sort Penderworth.”
It was true that she had a lot on her plate at the moment, but it stung not to be her priority. To say so would be selfish and immature. “I want to be your priority too.”
“Very well then. I’ll squeeze you in amongst sorting Poppa’s papers, getting Cecil and Maisie moved, and selling the house.” To her credit, she managed a tone that didn’t sound the least bit sarcastic. “And there’s sorting the contents as well, all the while searching for a job. But absolutely, you can be my priority as well.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard.”
Channing laughed softly and reached to cuddle her again. “If you’re feeling anxious, stop it. We agreed to make this work if we both want it to. I definitely want it to. Do you?”
That was the piece Lark needed to hear.
Chapter Eighteen
To Channing’s recollection, Sunday brunch at Breckham Hall had always been a formal affair. Bone china, cloth napkins embossed with the Alanford crest, servants in white gloves carrying covered dishes. She’d been a frequent guest throughout her teen years, her standing invitation from Lord and Lady Alanford meant to thwart Kenny having male friends visit for the weekend.
She was glad for Lark to have the extraordinary experience of such an opulent display, but it was obvious she was as stiff as everyone else. Even Kenny and Oliver appeared antsy to get back to London. They’d only suggested brunch because the earl and his wife were away for the weekend in Berkshire for the Ascot Racecourse, arguably the social event of the season.
The four of them sat clustered at one end of an elaborately dressed dining table that seated eight on each side. Their plates had been cleared, leaving only the task of replenishing coffee and tea.
“I can’t imagine growing up in a house like this,” Lark said.
“It was a bit like an institution, to be honest. This…” Kenny held up his hands gesturing to the elegant room. “It’s not all that different from the dining hall at Aldenham, where Channing and I went to boarding school. All the buildings there were cavernous as well…and bloody freezing in the winter. Remember that?”
Channing shivered just to think of it. “It was worse than Penderworth if you can believe it. For some reason they diverted all the heat to the maths building. As if maths alone weren’t enough to put everyone to sleep.”
Kenny sneered. “I don’t know why you complain so much about Penderworth. You have radiators, fireplaces. And unlike here, the rooms are small enough to hold the heat. I’ve always thought it cozy. At least my room was.”
“Your room?” Lark asked.
“On the back corner by Lord Hughes’s suite. I stayed over quite a lot, didn’t I? Even kept some clothes in the wardrobe.”
“Kenny used to row with his dad,” Channing explained. His overnight stays had started the night he showed up on his bicycle with an eye swollen shut from a strike across the face.
“Dad didn’t care for my choice of companions. Except Channing, of course. My staying at Penderworth now and then allowed him to gossip that his randy son was possibly shagging a beautiful girl, like any red-blooded English lad would do. Lord Hughes gave me my own key, said I was welcome anytime.”
Oliver laid his hand in Kenny’s lap, a sweet gesture of comfort. “Which is why I think Kenny has always been hopelessly sentimental about Penderworth. He’s been out of sorts since Leon called and said you were considering selling the property right away as is.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Channing pushed her chair back and stood. “Here we go again, let’s all make Channing feel guilty about selling the manor, abandoning her heritage. Is nothing beneath you?”
Kenny came to his feet as well. “I wasn’t actually trying to do that, but now that you mention it… I did offer to move into the place and take over the upkeep, you know. It’s not as if I’m going to inherit Breckham Hall anytime soon. You know how the men in my family are—Dad could live to a hundred at least.”
Oliver nodded pensively. “It would get us out of having to go deer stalking.”
Noting Lark’s perplexed look, she explained, “Any deer that has the misfortune of wandering onto the grounds of Breckham Hall usually ends up in a stew.”
“Very well, Channing. If you’re selling Penderworth, I’m buying.”
“Kenny, you’re not serious. It’s bloody incestuous. Besides, your father’s not going to let you buy someone else’s manor.”
“You may not have noticed, but I don’t ask Dad’s permission anymore. Granddad left me a trust.”
“Oh right, and in return for your magnanimity, I’m to bear you a noble heir.”
Oliver shook out a cigarette and flipped it to his lips, impressively catching it on the first try. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the garden.”
“Wait for me,” Lark said. “I’ve decided to take up smoking.”
Channing followed Kenny into the adjacent drawing room, where he sat on a piano bench and played the opening bars of “Für Elise,” ending abruptly with four harsh chords that were distinctly off-key. “Oliver was right. I do have a soft spot for Penderworth. It saved my life, you know…and probably Dad’s too.”
“Bollocks. You never hit your father.”
“Channing, he threatened to off himself if I didn’t stop seeing men. He was terrified of the public humiliation. Mum would start packing to leave us both and he’d pull out his shotgun. Half the time this was a war zone, the other half it was a mental hospital.”
She took the seat beside him on the stool and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “You never told me that part.”
“It was psychological terrorism. Getting out of here was the only way to dial it down.” He laid his head on her shoulder. “I always felt safe at Penderworth. It sickens me to think of someone else living there…erasing us.”
Erasure was a good way to put it, she thought, as though the Hughes family had never existed. “Funny you say that. I was thinking the other night about all those massive portraits, the Hughes and Penderworth bloodlines. I can’t imagine them hanging somewhere else.”
“Which is why I should buy it.”
“That’s insane. Why would you do that when you have all this?”
“Because you’re Channing Hughes, my dearest friend in the entire world. Penderworth is your home, and I won’t have you lose it just to pay the bloody death tax.” He peered over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “And I especially don’t want you making a premature decision about Lark because you’re under pressure to find a job and a place to live.”
A premature decision. In other words, he didn’t want her to follow Lark back to Boston simply because it was the easiest solution. “So you obviously think I might be rushing into something. Can’t you just trust my judgment?”
“After Payton?”
“Not the same. Not the same a
t all.” Lark and Payton didn’t occupy the same universe as far as she was concerned. “What could you possibly have against Lark? She’s kind, she’s funny. And she adores you and Oliver.”
“I’ve nothing against her at all. Quite the opposite, in fact. I see it in both of you. Your faces, the way you touch when you talk to each other. It’s genuine affection.”
She’d seen those things in him when he first introduced her to Oliver. “It’s more than affection…much more. But obviously you think it’s too soon.”
“I don’t know if it is or not, Channing. But I want you to know. You have to be sure before you rush into such a critical decision as selling your birthright.”
“It drives me crazy when you act mature.” His words jogged a memory of her conversation with Lark, how she’d copped to coming to Payton’s defense whenever someone else disparaged her. Apparently it was instinctual since she felt the same way about Lark. “Look, I appreciate what you’re doing, really I do. If I thought you were about to make a huge mistake, I’d try to stop you. Or at least to warn you. And you’re right, I’ve got massive complications in my life right now, but here’s the thing—Lark isn’t one of them. She’s the least messy thing I’ve got going. What you call the ‘easiest solution,’ I consider a cornerstone. It’s what I have to work out first before all the other pieces can fall into place.”
“So you love her.”
“Yes…I actually do.” What else could she call it if she was willing to arrange her whole life around being with her? “And I feel quite shitty for telling you that, considering I haven’t yet told her.”
* * *
“Sorry, sorry.” Oliver waved the smoke away and moved upwind as they strolled along a worn path leading to a shade tree.
Lark wasn’t bothered by it. Oliver’s presence always set her at ease, partly because his ever-present jeans and hoodie made her feel adequately dressed no matter what she wore. She especially liked his moderating influence on Kenny when he went off on one of his outrageous schemes. “It’s all right. The smoke reminds me of being with my ma, except I don’t have to negotiate the oxygen bottle to keep from blowing us all sky high.”
A Proper Cuppa Tea Page 19
