Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 107639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107639 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
“You could always walk away,” she ventured. “Go back to the States and forget all about this. I selfishly want you to serve in Parliament because it would be good for England. But I love you, and I want you to be happy.”
“Why?” I gave her a sidelong look. “Eager to take on the House of Lords yourself, cousin?”
She let out a loud bark of laughter that set her brown curls bouncing again. “Not for love or money. And think of my poor mother, Landry. How would she introduce me at parties? ‘This is Cora. She loves riding, children, the color pink… and delivering blistering speeches about tax reform to the Economic Affairs Committee’? Forget matchmaking for me—she might never get herself another date.” Cora laughed again, and this time, I joined in.
“No,” I finally said once our amusement died out. “Without even pretending to consider your mother’s romantic prospects, I wouldn’t walk away permanently. I’m a Davencourt, as you said.”
I loved my family. I was proud of my ancestry. I cared about doing my duty and upholding the legacy I’d been born to.
Just… not yet.
“I’m going to tell Dad and Nan tonight that I’m happy to continue doing what I’m doing, and I’m even happy to plan more time here in London working behind the scenes, but I won’t be ready to go public as Everett Davencourt and put myself in the running for Parliament for a few years. Maybe after my face is no longer plastered on bus stops all over London and I’m not quite such a person of interest. If I came forward now, can’t you just see the headlines? ‘Viscount Armani’ and ‘The Long-Lost Lord of the Runway.’ It would be unbearable.”
Cora inhaled and let it out. “I hate to admit it, but that’s a fair point.” She reached across the table and laid her hand on mine. “Nan and Uncle Ed might not be happy, but they’ll understand, just like I do.”
“Will they?” I smiled wanly. “Dad might say he does, but I’ll probably have to keep explaining it to him over and over again every time I come back.”
Cora winced. “God, you’re right. You will do, won’t you? Have to keep explaining it.”
I nodded once. “Sometimes he’s so there, and then all of a sudden, he’s—”
The familiar creak of the swinging door leading into the kitchen alerted us that we weren’t alone.
“—in Ecuador, you said? Your friend from the Times?” I finished, jumping back to the only other thing I could think of.
Nan and my father came in through the door, pulling off their coats and hats.
“Er, not Ecuador, exactly? It’s a little island nation off the coast.” Flustered, Cora stood up to help my father remove his coat.
Meanwhile, my stomach dropped. “Island nation? What island nation?” I asked.
Nan smiled at Cora. “Hello, love. How was the auction last night?”
“Great—” Cora began.
“What nation?” I repeated.
My dad took the seat next to me with a huff. “Can’t see a damned thing.”
Nan patted his shoulder as she passed. “It’s the drops. You had your eyes dilated. Let me fix you some tea.”
“Cora,” I said, louder now. “Which island off Ecuador? Was it San Cordova?”
She spread her hands. “I honestly don’t remember.”
“Everett.” Dad turned toward me with a big smile, reaching out to squeeze my arm. “I didn’t know you were popping round. How are things in New York?”
There was a familiar beat of silence while everyone in the room changed gears and silently acknowledged he was having a moment.
“They’re good. I thought I’d come check in and see how you’re doing,” I said. There was no point in reminding him I’d already been here a week and had spent most of that time in his study with him.
He brightened at this unexpected pleasure. “Can’t complain. My memory’s not what it was, but Nan says it’s stress. I’ve taken a little break from work, but I’ll be right as rain in a bit.”
I pressed my lips together and nodded. He’d been lucid enough when he’d gotten his original diagnosis, but as the disease had progressed, it had become impossible and unfeeling to break the Alzheimer’s news to him at every turn. It was much easier to brush it off as stress and change the subject.
He thanked Nan for the cup of tea once it was in front of him. “Oh, Everett, Henry Goodwin was asking after you the other day. Wanted to know if you might like to try on the suit of armor he found in an old trunk.” He let out a laugh that brought a smile to my face, even though Henry Goodwin had been dead for at least five years and the suit of armor joke was twenty years old.
“You tell him I’m too pretty to be encased in rusty old armor, Dad.”