Gambling on a Gentleman: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love)

by Brenna Jacobs

  But talking to his father would be easier than asking his mother what she knew. That could only lead to a long-winded list of everything his father had done before buying the painting from who-knew-who and questions about why he wanted to know which could only lead to him admitting to having Alice over for dinner. And then the real interrogation would begin.

  Nope. It would be easier to try and get his father on the phone and hope that he remembered some details about the painting itself and not the circumstances that led to its purchase.

  When Geoffrey did finally fall asleep, it was with the image of Alice smiling, her brown eyes reflecting the copper light fixtures that glowed above her as they ate dinner. It had been a good night. One of the best ones he could remember.

  The next morning, he woke early with Alice still on his mind. They had agreed to meet around noon, and he planned on surprising her with a picnic lunch. His first call before even getting out of bed was to his assistant, Ardis.

  “I need two tickets to the Tower of London for today,” he said as soon as she picked up. “And what would make a good picnic to eat beforehand?”

  “Hello, Geoffrey. I’m fine. Thank you for asking,” Ardis answered sternly. She’d worked for Geoffrey long enough to know conversations often started in the middle of his thoughts. “Yes, I’ve checked all the social media everywhere and anywhere, and there are no pictures of you on an airplane.”

  “Thank you, Ardis.” Geoffrey smiled. “What would I do without you?” He honestly didn’t know, but he’d soon find out if he couldn’t get his finances in order.

  “You would have to Google what to take on your picnic, which you probably should have done anyway. Google, free. Ardis, not free.”

  “But worth every penny,” Geoffrey finished for her.

  “I’m glad we’re on the same page there.” Her voice sounded surprisingly clear, almost like she was in the same room.

  And before he could answer, she was.

  “I let myself in,” Ardis said while pulling the phone off of her shoulder where she’d had it cradled next to her ear. She disconnected the call with one hand as she walked toward Geoffrey’s bed, then took the newspapers tucked under her arm and tossed them to him. “Why aren’t you up?”

  “Couldn’t sleep until late or early. Whatever three in the morning is.”

  “Hmm,” Ardis puffed with all the judgment she meant for him to feel for being in bed past eight o’clock. “Shall I bring you breakfast too, or will you not be playing the spoiled child today?”

  Geoffrey snapped open the Times. “See, it’s comments like those that will get you fired.”

  He and Ardis both thrived on teasing each other about how terrible the other was.

  At least, he hoped they both thrived on it. He sometimes wondered if Ardis really did think he acted like a spoiled child. She knew how to keep a straight face when she teased him.

  “Go ahead.” She pulled open his curtains, which only brightened the room slightly. There would be rain for sure, if the gray sky wasn’t lying. And odds were, it wasn’t. Rain in London was as predictable as sunshine in LA.

  “Have you ever been to Los Angeles, Ardis?”

  “No. Remember, you left me here to do all the work while you went on a six-month vacation.” She went into his closet and came back with a pair of trousers and a jumper.

  “I left you here because you didn’t want to leave Dana.” He didn’t make a move to get out of bed. “I’ll need something more casual. Like my California hoodie and some jeans.” When Geoffrey didn’t sense any movement from her, he peeked over his paper to find her staring at him with a raised eyebrow. “Please?”

  She nodded and returned a few minutes later with the requested items, but also the well-worn coveralls he wore when sculpting and painting. “I’m assuming you’re not meeting Clarissa for a breakfast picnic, which means you’ve got time to work.”

  Geoffrey frowned as she carried the clothes to him, not knowing where to start to correct her or even if he should. “You read the reviews. Time to move on. My only job is ‘reinvigorating’ the Grey estate.” He emphasized reinvigorating, his mother’s word. “Sculpting is a hobby now.” Even if every part of him wanted to be back in the studio more than anything else—except spending the afternoon with Alice.

  “While I’m sure Clarissa”—Ardis accentuated the -issa with a hiss that emphasized just how much Ardis didn’t like her—“will be thrilled by that prospect, you won’t be happy. So get up, dry your eyes, and get back in the studio.”

  Geoffrey gave her his obligatory glare, though it was a Pavlovian response rather than one with any real feeling behind it.

  She stood next to the bed, her tall frame looming over him, holding the coveralls out to him. He knew she’d do that all day if she had to, and while he was tempted to make her, he flung back the bed covers and stepped out of bed to stand directly in front of her. He knew she wouldn’t blink, but he stared her down anyway.

  Geoffrey grabbed the coveralls and turned his back to her while he stepped into the legs. “I’m not sure why you think you’re in charge here.” He stuck his arms through the sleeves, and a rivulet of excitement ran over him. Hopefully that rivulet would turn into a river forceful enough to wash away the fear that had grown with each bad review.

  Once he’d buttoned the coveralls, he faced Ardis again.

  “That’s my boy.” She patted his head and smiled, which brought out his own smile.

  “If I’m working, I’ll need you to put together the picnic I’ll be eating on the Tower grounds like a regular old tourist.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Clarissa’s usual from Harrod’s?”

  Geoffrey tipped his head. “No. I’m meeting someone else, actually.” Ardis’s eyebrows went up and a smile tugged at her lips, so Geoffrey hurriedly added, “The American I’ve hired to curate the museum.” He didn’t want Ardis thinking there was anything going on between him and Alice, whom Ardis would undoubtedly meet once Alice started working.

  “Well, that makes perfect sense. Picnicking with an employee at the Tower of London. Why, we’ve done that at least, oh I don’t know…never. Never amount of times.” Her eyes bored into him like a drill on an exploratory mission.

  “I apologize, Ardis.” Geoffrey patted her arm. “Had I known you were so anxious to picnic with me, I would have asked you long ago.” He about-faced and stuck his hands in his pockets, walking quickly toward the door. “Could you get my father on the phone? I’ve got some matters to discuss with him, and then I promise, I will get to work.”

  “And what would she like to eat?” Ardis followed closely behind him, but he stopped at the question.

  “I’m not sure—”

  “—Ha! So it is a woman!”

  Geoffrey turned quickly. “What?” Then he realized, he hadn’t told Ardis who he’d hired, and there had been a few men on his list of potentials.

  Ardis’s face held all the satisfaction of a cat who’d caught its prey. “And what shall I tell Clarissa if she calls looking for you?”

  “Tell her . . . tell her I’m working.” Heat flooded his face, burning his ears and causing a damp sweat to make its way down his back. “It’s not what you’re implying. And you and I have picnicked. At Mother’s Easter charity brunch event . . .”

  Ardis’s smile grew, so he clamped his mouth shut.

  “Just get Father on the line, please. I’ll be in the studio.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ardis saluted, which Geoffrey didn’t find nearly as funny as she did. She even laughed as she walked past him.

  “And bring some tea!” he called after her. “And toast!”

  He should fire her for her impudence. Except that she’d stayed on part-time while he was in America when she could have found another, much better job. She was overqualified and underpaid for doing what she did, and if she hadn’t known him most of his life, she probably wouldn’t have worked for him at all. So he gave her back a good glare, with real feeling this time, the
n headed toward his studio.

  It would take Ardis some time to reach the rehab facility and for them to locate his father, which meant Geoffrey could get started in the studio. Started on what, he didn’t know. But likely something that included the same brown color of Alice’s eyes with their copper undertone. And he had the perfect material in the antique plumbing fixtures he’d found at a salvage yard then polished until their orange-gold color shone again.

  The fixtures weren’t easy to find on the disorganized shelves full of all the “garbage” he found interesting. When he carried them to the large, beat up table he kept in the middle of the room for drafting, there was a cup of tea and a plate of toast waiting for him. After that, he didn’t know how much time had passed before Ardis interrupted him. By then he’d started sketching out his ideas and was irritated he had to stop.

  “I have your father on the line,” she said, holding his land line phone to him.

  For a second, Geoffrey couldn’t think why he wanted to talk to his father, but then remembered the Monet. He took the phone and held it to his chest. “Tell me when it’s eleven o’clock, please.”

  She nodded, then left, and Geoffrey put the phone to his ear. “Hello, Father.”

  “Geoff?” His father sounded very far away. And very tired. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”

  Geoffrey hadn’t had much to say to his father for quite some time, and his being a thousand miles away in a rehab centre made ignoring him even easier. “Yes, sorry about that.” Geoffrey touched his sketch, an idea niggling the back of his mind that he’d rather focus on than the unpleasant task at hand. “How are you? How’s the . . .” He paused to find the right word. “Facility?”

  “Oh, you know . . .”

  Geoffrey didn’t. He’d learned from his father’s example to avoid excess. When he didn’t respond, his father went on.

  “There’s lots of talking. Getting in touch with feelings. That sort of thing.”

  Geoffrey could picture his father making air quotes at the phrase “getting in touch with feelings.” His father was a typical Brit in that feelings were not to be touched.

  “Very little drinking . . .”

  Geoffrey laughed. His father had always made him laugh. Or cry. There wasn’t a lot of in between when it came to Lord Chatsworth.

  “And even fewer drugs, at least not the good kind.”

  “That does sound trying.” Geoffrey added a quick detail to his sketch.

  “It’s not all bad. I’ve always enjoyed the Scottish countryside. I think. This may be the first time I’ve seen it sober.” Lord Chatsworth knew how to make a joke, but he didn’t always know when to stop.

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Geoffrey said dryly, stopping himself before adding something sarcastic about his father always enjoying himself at other people’s expense. Literally and figuratively.

  An awkward silence followed, and Geoffrey added another detail to his sketch.

  “Yes, well, thank you for calling, son. I appreciate you checking in on your old man.”

  Geoffrey took a breath and looked up at the ceiling. “Actually, Father, I had a question for you. About the Monet you bought for Mother.”

  “Oh, yes.” A pause followed. “I’ve decided not to fight her about it, even though I know she hates it.”

  Geoffrey hadn’t expected that. If there was one thing his parents were particularly good at it, it was being punitive to one another.

  “That’s not actually my question, but I’m sure she’ll be relieved to hear it.”

  “I hope so,” Lord Chatsworth said softly without even a tinge of sarcasm. If anything, his voice held something Geoffrey had never heard or seen in his father before—vulnerability. “She’s suffered more than her fair share of hurt on my behalf.” His father let out his breath. “As have you.”

  Geoffrey was too stunned to respond. The lump in his throat wouldn’t have let him anyway.

  “These twelve steps are hard, Son, but I’m trying to make amends. Going to try. I’m aware one apology or acknowledgment of what a bastard I’ve been—what a bastard I am—is not enough.”

  “It’s a start, Dad.”

  Geoffrey put down his pencil and took a seat. Then he and his dad talked for the first time in years. Really talked. They talked until Ardis came in and pointed to her watch. Geoffrey nodded. He hadn’t gotten the information he needed about the Monet, but he’d be late to meet Alice if he kept talking to his father.

  “Dad, I have to go, but can we talk again?” he asked. If he’d been meeting Clarissa, he would have canceled plans, but Alice would be leaving in two days, and he wanted to see her. He was going to be honest with himself about that.

  “I’d like that.” There was a brief pause, and then Lord Chatsworth said words Geoffrey had waited a lifetime to hear. “I love you, Son.”

  Chapter Ten

  Alice met Geoffrey in the lobby of her hotel the next afternoon when, fortunately, there were very few people around. She’d been willing to meet him at his car when he had texted her he was on his way, but he’d insisted on coming in.

  She found him sitting in a tall armchair with its back to the glass doors of the entrance, his head buried in a newspaper. An actual newspaper. She didn’t know anyone who still read those. Except for her, that is.

  She peeked her head over the paper. “Hi there.” For a split second she panicked thinking it was someone else who looked like him but was wearing Levi's, tennis shoes, and a sweatshirt with California emblazoned across it, which didn’t seem very earl-y at all.

  He lowered the paper and gave her a smile that made her tingle in a way that a smile from a boss shouldn’t have.

  “Hello, there.” Geoffrey folded the paper in half and tossed it on the chair as he stood. “I hope you haven’t eaten. I brought us lunch.” He held up a Harrod’s bag as proof.

  “Even if I had, I probably couldn’t resist whatever is in that bag.” Alice had heard about their famous food hall but had never seen it. She attempted to peek inside, but he pulled it away before she could, making her laugh with surprise.

  “You’re really not going to let me see? What if it’s something I hate? I’ll need time to put on my game face so I can pretend I don’t.”

  He shrugged and led her out the doors. “If it makes you feel any better, it will be as much of a surprise to me. I had Ardis, my assistant, pick it out. If she’s mad enough at me, we may be eating pickled pigs’ feet and haggis.”

  “Those are some of my favorites.”

  “Really? Haggis?” He eyed her skeptically as they walked toward the parking garage.

  She gave him her own nonchalant shrug. “I’ve eaten my fair share of pigs’ feet. They were my grandma’s favorite.”

  He stuck out his tongue and made a gagging noise. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Alice stopped suddenly, and Geoffrey looked over his shoulder at her before stopping himself. “I haven’t ridden the Tube yet.”

  His eyebrows creased. “So, you want to? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “Why not?” She gave him another shoulder shrug. “There’s a stop close to the Tower, right?”

  Geoffrey blinked and gave a tiny shake of his head. “I have no idea.”

  Alice tipped her head and peered at him over her glasses. “Have you ever ridden the Tube?”

  His face colored so adorably she thought about wrapping him up and taking him home with her just so she could find things to say to make his face turn that color.

  “Yes, I’ve ridden the Tube.” He stiffened but he looked like he was having trouble holding back a grin. “On occasion.”

  “Then it will be an adventure for both of us.” She linked her arm through his and turned him in the opposite direction of the garage.

  “Are you sure this is the way to the Tube stop?” he asked, and she stopped.

  “No. No, I’m not. We should probably check on that.”

  Geoffrey pulled his phone from his back poc
ket. “Google to the rescue.”

  She waited for him to pull up Maps and put in the address. “Look at you, going all knight in shining armor.”

  He lifted his eyes to her, the blue in them brightening the very gray day. “It’s in my blood. I even have the suit of armor to prove it.” He held out his arm for her to take again, which she did gladly.

  “That’s a terrible line. Almost as bad as the one you gave me on the airplane.”

  “I was hoping you’d forgotten that.” Geoffrey led her to the opposite side of the street just as rain began to fall. He pulled her under an awning, then took an umbrella from the Harrod’s bag and opened it. “Ardis to the rescue this time.”

  “She packs your lunch and your umbrella? Ardis may be the real knight in shining armor.” Alice held his arm again, but they walked even closer together under the umbrella. She had never enjoyed rain so much, and not just because it meant walking very close to Geoffrey, breathing in the scent of his soap and the rain. It also helped him remain anonymous. He not only had his Dodgers hat to hide under, but also the umbrella, although the sunglasses he wore seemed out of place. He even kept them on as they rode the Tube. It must have worked because no one bothered them.

  “Can we talk about how amazing it is you may have a Giotto that you thought was from a flea market?” she asked as the train sped through the underground tunnels, whispering loud enough to be heard over the cacophony of noise surrounding them.

  Geoffrey put up his hand. “I can’t think about it until we know for sure. I’m too emotionally attached to that painting.”

  “Understood.” She changed the subject to soccer—football—and for the next fifteen minutes he explained the intricacies of the British leagues.

  Once they got off at the Tower stop, they found an empty bench along the wharf somewhat protected from the drizzling rain by trees on either side. Geoffrey swept his arm across the seat to dry it, then tied the open umbrella to the back of the bench so they could both squeeze under it.

  “Well done, sir,” Alice said to him as drops of rain splashed at their feet but not on their heads.