“Why don’t you come out with us, Molly?” Bri asked. We were sitting in my office enjoying afternoon tea, which meant tea for Bri and cookies for me. “It’ll be fun.”
She and Tristan were going strong after six weeks together. I tried not to be jealous but given how my guy had apparently fallen into the Bermuda Triangle never to be heard from again, it was a struggle.
“Thanks, but I have to start packing up the Austen exhibit as it’s getting shipped back to the Whitmore Estate in England,” I said. “It has to arrive by the middle of April, so I have a lot of work to do.”
“It can wait,” Bri insisted.
“Actually, it can’t,” Sarah Novak said. She popped her head into my office. “We need it ready to go in two weeks. Also, you’re going with it.”
“Me?” Bri asked.
“No, her,” Sarah said, gesturing to me.
“Me?” I asked. “Why?”
“The estate has requested that the registrar accompany the collection in case there are any inconsistencies,” Sarah said.
“Inconsistencies?” I asked. I think I was offended.
“Relax. It’s just a formality. I’d go with you but I’ve been tapped to make a major acquisition for the collection, and I have to prep,” Sarah said.
“Can I go with her?” Bri asked. “I mean, don’t you think she’ll need a hand?”
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Approve it with your department head and you can take my place.”
Sarah left and Bri did a fist pump. “Yes! This is perfect. Tristan has wrapped up his business here and is headed back to Bath soon. I’ll see if he can arrange it so we can go together.”
I sat in place and stared at her. Bath? That’s right. The Whitmore Estate was in Bath. I was going to Bath. That’s where Albert was from. Would I see him there? My heart gave a panicked flutter of...hope? No, it was dread, so more of a death rattle then. Wait, that was ridiculous. His name wasn’t even Albert. Most likely, he’d lied about where he came from, too.
“Molls, hello?” Bri waved her hand in front of my face. I got the feeling it wasn’t the first pass.
“Yeah, sorry, what?” I asked.
“I haven’t wanted to say anything, but you haven’t been yourself for a couple of weeks, and now you’re not even excited about a trip to Bath?” Bri shifted on her chair. “What is going on? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. I had never told Bri about Albert or my broken heart because it seemed pointless. Besides, she was happy and I didn’t want to ruin it for her. “Never better.”
Bri narrowed her eyes at me but didn’t pursue it. “Maybe a trip across the pond is just what you need to perk you up.”
“Maybe.” I hoped the doubt didn’t show on my face.
Chapter Seven
Having Tristan with us on the journey proved to be a stroke of genius. As a neighbor of the Whitmores, he knew exactly how to get the crated-up collection and us from London to Bath with the least possible fuss.
Tristan hired a van and a driver while he took Bri and me in his rented Bentley all the way to the estate. What should have been a beautiful scenic drive was spent with me keeping an eye on the van just in case the driver decided to make off with hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of rare Austen materials. I mean, there was a reason they’d asked for the registrar to escort the collection home, wasn’t there? I was not about to let anything happen on the last leg of the trip.
“Molly, I promise the items will be perfectly safe,” Tristan said. He was in the front seat with Bri while I was twisted around in the back, staring out the rear window with my gaze trained on the van.
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said. I didn’t turn around and yet I somehow knew they were exchanging an exasperated look about me, as if I were a kid in a car seat refusing to nap. Whatever.
I noticed that the terrain became small hills delineated by hedgerows and large copses of trees. Broad sweeps of yellow crested the hills and caught the corner of my eye. I glanced out the window and sighed. The fields practically glowed in the late morning sun. It was lovely.
“That’s rapeseed,” Tristan explained. “It’s a break crop.”
“What does that mean?” Bri asked.
“It’s planted as a break between crops to help enrich the soil with nitrogen,” he said. “The Whitmore Estate is also a working farm. My friend, Lord Insley, and I worked the land when we were young. Our parents felt it was important for us to appreciate the natural world.”
Bri practically purred at the revelation that her successful businessman also had a streak of earthy manly-man to him. I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to the landscape.
I’d only ever visited London before, and realized it’d be a shame to miss this quick tour of the English countryside.
“The Whitmore Estate is six kilometers outside of Bath,” Tristan said. He turned onto a narrow route that led away from the town I could see in the distance. “We should arrive in time to freshen up before the luncheon.”
Another reason that I was grateful Tristan was with us. As a family friend, he would smooth out any awkwardness during the meal. The awkwardness being me and my tendency to be an introvert.
As ambassadors of the Museum of Literature, Bri and I were staying at the estate for several days to unpack the books and make certain everything was accounted for and in proper condition. We’d also been invited to several events hosted by the Whitmore family. Again, being a wallflower by nature, I dreaded it, especially since the director of the museum Claire Macintosh wanted us to establish a rapport with the Whitmores so that they’d be willing to send more materials to the museum for exhibition.
“Luncheon,” Bri said. “Bring it on. I am starving to death.”
“We can’t have that. I’d miss you too much,” Tristan said. He reached across the console and grabbed Bri’s hand, kissing her fingers. I glanced away so as not to intrude on their moment but also because I felt like a third wheel—a flat third wheel with a spike in it.
Even though I was jet-lagged and out of sorts, I did not share Bri’s starvation. In fact, I was feeling very queasy about meeting the Whitmore family. What if they found some fault with the materials that had been in my care? I peered out the window at the van. I was certain everything was being returned exactly as it had been leant, but still. Usually, I just mailed the objects back. This scrutiny was all new levels of high maintenance.
“There it is,” Tristan said. “The Whitmore Estate.”
Bri and I turned to look out the window and gasped simultaneously.
A long narrow drive between enormous leafy trees led up to a massive stone building that was three stories high, complete with arch-shaped windows, balconies, a turret, and what appeared to have once been a moat but was now a beautifully landscaped sunken garden.
“That isn’t an estate home, it’s a castle,” I said.
Tristan laughed. “A smallish castle but, yes, it does have that look about it. My friend Jamie is the viscount and he and his grandfather, the earl, are our hosts for the week. You’ll meet them at the luncheon.”