“I’d love it, but…” She lowered her voice and spoke through her teeth. “It’s kind of pricey…”
“Don’t worry about that. If it’s something you want, you’re certainly worth it.” He smiled, and his eyes lit a flame in her heart.
“Well, it does sound good—”
“Then it’s settled.” He slapped his menu shut.
“The filet for both of us,” he said to the waitress, keeping his eyes on Emma.
“Are you sure about this?” Emma asked, when the waitress had gone. She was warmed by the idea that he was trying so hard to make it a memorable evening for her, but worried that he was overextending himself to do it.
“Absolutely,” he said, without a trace of doubt. “Now. Where were we?”
“Brice Palliser.”
He looked startled for a moment, then his expression relaxed some and he said, “The garden.”
She nodded, noting for the second time that he wanted to keep the subject off the man. Clearly there was discomfort there, and she wondered if John thought she’d rather meet the earl than spend time with him. “Right, the garden,” she said, trying to reassure him. “Frankly, I’m not sure I have much use for the man. You know, I tried writing to him for permission, but he didn’t even bother to respond. You’d think he could at least have had his secretary or someone write back.”
He looked pained. “We-ell. Maybe he didn’t get your letter. He may be out of the country. He travels quite a lot, you know.”
“But doesn’t he have a private secretary?”
“Not at home,” he said, then added quickly, “Or, uh, did you write to him at his office?”
“Home, I guess. Sheldale House on Guernsey.”
John clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I don’t think he goes there very often.”
Hope deflated. “There’s no way to get in touch with him at all? For permission, I mean.”
John laced his hands before him on the table and considered for a moment, before he said, “This is really important to you, I know.” He let out a pentup breath and raked a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I feel bad that I let it go this long. I should have arranged for you to go to Guernsey as soon as I got your letter.”
Emma reached across the table and touched his arm. “John, this isn’t your responsibility. There was no reason you should have made the arrangements for me, that’s my job.” She tried to lighten it with a laugh. “I don’t even think I mentioned Sheldale in my letter to you. I’m only asking your help now because it doesn’t look like the man is going to bother to answer a nobody like me, at least in his eyes.”
“Emma, it’s not like that—”
“Here we go,” the waitress called, reappearing with their wine. She set the glasses down, then opened the bottle, poured them each a glass, and left with a promise to bring their dinners along in a few minutes.
Emma watched her go, then said, “To be fair, I didn’t tell the earl of Palliser just how important this might be. I didn’t want to overstate it because if I’m wrong, I’m just a crackpot, you know? I didn’t want to make any grand claims that could later be called lies or exaggerations. Especially not to this fancy-schmancy earl, who would probably think I was just trying to rub elbows with the upper crust.”
He stiffened. “Why would he think that?”
“Well, I’m not, of course,” she hastened to amend. “You know that.” She took a sip of her wine, then gestured with the glass. “What I meant was, he’s rich and powerful. I suspect people are approaching him for money and favors all the time.”
“Not like this.” When she looked at him, he added, “Probably.” He smiled then, snatching her breath away.
She shrugged. “Maybe not, but he doesn’t know me from any of the rest of the masses.”
His smile faded slightly. “It’s definitely a tough situation.” There was weight in his words. Emma found herself trying to figure out why. After a pause, he went on, “But I think perhaps you’re underestimating him.”
“Really?” She was interested. “How well do you know him?”
He frowned, started to speak then stopped. After another moment, he said, “That’s hard to say.” He poured more wine into her glass. “Well enough to know that he really means well, but doesn’t always know how to juggle all of his responsibilities.”
“Does he really have that much to keep track of?”
“You’d be surprised.” He finished his wine in a gulp. “A multi-national company, several estates—there’s quite a lot, actually.”
“I see.” She wanted to believe it, but something told her there was more to it than that. “Then maybe he didn’t get my letter. Maybe, as you said, he’s out of the country.” A moment passed. “Then again, he may have got it and ignored it. There’s just no way of knowing.”
He appeared to consider that carefully. “If that’s the case, then I’m sure he had his reasons.”
Emma felt a twinge of guilt. She was starting to get the feeling that John’s friendship with the earl was closer than he’d indicated. She tried to lighten things up with a laugh. “Do you always play devil’s advocate?”
He smiled again, and she was relieved that the tension seemed to be broken. “Only when the poor devil isn’t able to defend himself. Listen, Emma, let me see what I can do about arranging some time at Sheldale House,” he said, then added, more to himself, “Though I don’t see how you could stay there.”
“Stay there?” Such a thought had never even occurred to her. “No, no, I don’t want to stay there, I just want to hunt around the grounds.”
“It’s holiday season,” he said, taking a sip of his wine. “It won’t be easy to find accommodations on Guernsey itself.”
“I’ll pitch a tent outside the estate, I don’t mind.”
He studied her for a minute, then said, “You’re very determined.”
Self-conscious, she tilted her head toward the window. “I am where this is concerned.” Outside, the sun was dipping behind the buildings into dusk, providing little light to compete with the candles in the small bistro. It was intoxicating.
“Determination is an admirable trait.”
“Unless you call it pushy.”
He kept his eyes on her. “You’re not pushy.”
The waitress reappeared, and set their plates down. Emma cut off a small morsel of the filet, dipped it in the bearnaise, and popped it into her mouth. “Wow, this is incredible. It’s been ages since I’ve had French food.”
“Get
