“It doesn’t matter,” I said. I forced a smile. “I’m over it.”
“Are you?” he asked. His expression was doubtful. “Because I’m not.”
“Sure you are,” I cajoled. “You’re back home. You’re the lord of the manor again. Life is good, right?”
I might have been too over the top in my enthusiasm. He looked at me as if I was trying to sell him something that would patch his leaky boat while it was sinking.
“I’m also sorry that I didn’t have time to tell you before I left. I hadn’t planned on leaving that abruptly.”
“No need to apologize,” I said. What I really meant was the expiration date for his apology had long passed but I didn’t want to speak to him any more than necessary.
“There is definitely a need,” he said. “The night I left—”
“My lord, my lady.” The serving woman stopped beside our table with a three-tiered tray of tiny sandwiches and petit fours. As she explained to us what each one was, Jamie shifted in his seat, clearly impatient to continue our discussion. I wasn’t interested.
When our server left, I said, “Jamie.”
He looked pained at my use of his proper name. That made two of us.
“Jamie, I don’t care why you didn’t show up. I am not interested in your explanation for that night. A month has passed. You could have reached out to me any time during those weeks and yet you never did, so I simply do not care to hear your explanation for your behavior. I am not pretending when I say I am over it. I am over us. I am over you. Now, if you have something else to talk about, great, otherwise we can eat in companionable silence.”
He considered me for a long moment and then he nodded. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“I suppose that’s sorted then,” he said. He sounded regretful. Well, I knew exactly how that felt but I still didn’t want to hear it. We ate in silence.
“How was your tea?” Bri asked when we arrived at Tristan’s car.
“Fine,” I said.
“That bad?” she asked. Because being a woman, Bri knew that fine never meant fine.
“Are you up for an entire week of activities at Whitmore Estate?” Bri opened a document on her phone that listed all of the events we were to attend during our stay. A picnic, a tour of ruins, a visit to neighboring gentry, an in-depth examination of the Whitmore’s library, and on our final night was an Austen ball, hosted by the earl, exactly as a ball would have been held in Austen’s time.
“Absolutely,” I said. “I’m not going to miss out on the trip of a lifetime over a man.”
“Bravo,” Tristan said. He held open the car door for us.
I glanced at him in surprise. “Isn’t Jamie your friend?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be defending him to me?”
“He is my friend,” he said. “And I could defend him, but I suspect you don’t want to hear me wax on about his good qualities or explain his behavior to you, although—”
“No, don’t,” I said. “You were doing very well staying out of it.”
He sighed. “Can I ask one favor as a friend to both of you?”
I considered him before I answered, “You can ask.”
“Will you give him one chance to explain?” he asked. I started to shake my head, but he kept talking. “Just hear him out and then if you’re still certain you can’t forgive him, I will support you completely.”
Tristan seemed so hopeful that I didn’t have the heart to refuse him.
“All right,” I said. “I’ll listen to Jamie’s explanation.”
Tristan looked relieved, but as I climbed into the car, I knew there was nothing Jamie could say or do that would allow me to forgive him.
Chapter Nine
The picnic was a surprise—like something out of an Austen novel, specifically the Box Hill picnic in Emma. We were taken to the top of a rolling hill and served lunch while sitting on blankets in the shade of a large English oak.
Tristan and Bri took a walk across the field, leaving me to chat with two Canadian librarians, Elise and Susan, who were also visiting the Whitmore Estate. They asked a lot of questions about the Museum of Literature, and I invited them to come and visit me any time they liked.
Elise, the younger of the two, had long, dark-brown hair and close-set eyes. She only half listened to our conversation as she watched Jamie. It was much easier to think of him as Jamie instead of Al in this bucolic setting, as he pushed the earl, who was using a wheelchair today, to navigate the uneven terrain.
Elise leaned close and said, “The viscount is single. Can you imagine? If I have my way, he won’t be for long.”
Susan frowned at her colleague, but Elise didn’t notice as she was too busy sizing up Jamie. Hmm. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Actually, I did, which was why I dropped the cheese knife.
“Do you suppose it’s because he’s taking care of the earl?” Susan asked. “I heard the earl took a nasty fall and Jamie rushed all the way from New York to take care of him.”
I choked on my apple tart. They both looked at me as I cleared my throat and tried to sound casual when I asked, “When was that?”
“Sometime in March,” Susan said. “I heard they were afraid the earl wouldn’t recover, but he’s looking well, I think.”
I put the tart down on my plate. I closed my eyes. Poor Jamie. How awful it must have been to race back to England not knowing if his grandfather would survive or not. I thought about our walk in Midtown when he’d told me that his parents had died in a car crash and his grandfather was his lone remaining relative and his best friend.
Was I still furious at him for not reaching out during the past month? Of course, but I absolutely forgave him for standing me up that night.
“Are you well, Miss Graham?”
I opened my eyes to find the earl parked in front of me. Jamie was standing behind him, looking worried. I forced a smile.
“Of course, never better,” I said. Sheesh. I sounded like an Austen heroine all demure and vague.
“Would you kindly give my grandson a breather from pushing me about?” the earl asked.
“Absolutely.” I popped up from my seat and moved to step behind the earl. “Where would you like to go?”
The earl leaned back and turned his head to face me. There was a twinkle in his eye when he said, “Oh, no, I’m fine right here. I was hoping you’d take a walk with Jamie and give him more interesting conversation.”
I glanced at Jamie, who was squinting at his grandfather as if to determine what he was playing at.
“Of course.” I realized there was no polite way to refuse so I turned to Jamie and said, “Lead on.”
“There’s a stream just past those trees if you’d like.”
“Sounds lovely,” I said. If I was any stiffer, I’d be a cardboard cutout.
We walked in silence down the hill, through a gap in the hedgerow, across a small field and around a copse of trees to a small babbling brook that trickled happily down the hillside. I peered back at the picnic and realized we couldn’t be seen.