is it ridiculous? I think it sounds marvelous. He’s gorgeous. And remember his accent? Oh, my God.”
Elizabeth had remembered his accent. All too well.
“Have you forgotten the woman he was with? The one who looked half my age?” Zara of the smooth forehead and designer shoes. “Besides, I’ll never run into him over there. He doesn’t even live in London. He lives in the country somewhere on a giant estate. At least that’s what Sue told me. It even has a name. Can you imagine?”
“A house with a name? Donovan Darcy is sounding better by the minute,” Jenna had teased.
Elizabeth had laughed along, but not once had she mentioned her chance meeting with Mr. Darcy on the street in Manhattan. She’d told herself it was because Jenna didn’t need any more ammunition, but she wasn’t altogether sure that was the whole truth.
In the backseat of the fancy Jaguar, guilt pricked her conscience. She rarely kept secrets from Jenna.
Quit overthinking things. It’s not a secret. It was nothing. Just a coincidence. It didn’t mean anything.
It meant nothing.
Nothing at all.
She fixed her gaze on the scenery out the window and wondered how soon she’d arrive at the Barrows’ townhome in South Kensington. She couldn’t help but notice the neighborhoods had grown exponentially more exclusive the farther the car carried her away from Heathrow.
Sue and Alan had seemed so down-to-earth and genuine at the show in New Jersey. Nothing at all like the proper, stuffy Mr. Darcy. Bowing to her and all. He might be attractive enough to make her weak in the knees, but he was more than a little intimidating.
“Here we are,” the driver called out as he maneuvered the elegant car onto a charming street called Sumner Place.
Elizabeth experienced a moment of relief at the sight of the graceful white row houses, with their low black wrought-iron fencing and meticulously shaped topiaries. Somehow the neighborhood managed to look both affluent and welcoming at the same time. At one end of the street was a quaint stone church with a steeple rising high up to the sky, and at the other, a cupcake bakery with lace curtains fluttering in the windows.
Elizabeth gave Bliss a squeeze. “We’re going to love it here. I can tell already.”
The driver pulled alongside the curb—the one on the left-hand side of the street, Elizabeth noted—and opened the door for her.
“Elizabeth, you made it, dear.” Sue appeared on the porch and held her arms open wide, putting to rest any stereotypes about the British being reserved.
Elizabeth grinned and led Bliss up the three small steps to the porch. She stepped into Sue’s embrace and was somewhat surprised when a lump lodged in her throat. She supposed it wasn’t until she was standing on British soil, wrapped in a pair of maternal arms, that the full impact of what the Barrows had done for her really hit her full force. In their eyes it might have been a job, but to Elizabeth it felt more like a lifeline.
“Let’s get you inside. Alan’s at work, of course. I’ll show you and Bliss to your room, and then I’ll get you reacquainted with the girls.” Sue’s eyes sparkled as she spoke about her “girls,” the pack of Border terriers that would be Elizabeth’s charges.
“That sounds wonderful.” She turned, prepared to go back to the car for her luggage, but the driver had already carried both her big bags in. They sat at the foot of the very narrow staircase, just inside the door.
Sue pressed a few colorful bills into his hand, and he was off. The Jaguar barely made a sound as it pulled away from the curb.
“Thank you for sending the car, by the way. You’re spoiling me. I could have taken a cab.” Elizabeth gathered Bliss into her arms and followed Sue across the threshold. The foyer of the row house was painted with bold black and white stripes. An umbrella stand filled with cherry-red umbrellas stood next to a shiny full-length mirror. Bliss caught a glimpse of her reflection and growled.
Elizabeth could tell at once that the house suited the Barrows. It was casually elegant and welcoming, just like Sue and Alan. She was ashamed of herself for worrying that she would feel uncomfortable here.
“Just leave the bags there. We’ll get to those later. I’m anxious for you to see your room. We’ve just had it redone. I’m afraid it’s on the second floor. That’s the downside.” Sue began climbing the slender staircase.
Elizabeth followed. Bliss planted her head on Elizabeth’s shoulder and kept her eyes trained on her reflection until it was out of view. “We’re accustomed to stairs. My apartment in New York is on the fourth floor.”
Was on the fourth floor. She had to keep reminding herself that she was no longer a New Yorker. All of her things were currently stashed away in a storage unit in Queens. Even with a temporary job, she couldn’t afford to pay rent on a Manhattan apartment when she wasn’t even there.
Perhaps she could call herself a Londoner for the time being. That had an awfully nice ring to it.
The climb was longer than she expected, but still not as strenuous as the trek up to her New York apartment. Sue explained that in Europe, what Americans referred to as the first floor was called the ground floor. What Elizabeth knew as the second floor was subsequently the first floor in England, and so on. So her bedroom was situated on the top floor of the home, up three flights of stairs.
Sue led her through a set of white double doors at the top of the staircase.
“What do you think?” Sue waved her hand with a little flourish. “I do hope you like blue.”
Elizabeth was at a loss for words. It was the most beautiful bedroom she’d ever laid eyes on. The walls were covered in pale blue toile wallpaper that featured scenes of French women in ball gowns and large powdered wigs. Tiny dogs danced around their feet. The duvet cover on the four-poster bed was fashioned from matching fabric, as were a pile of overstuffed throw pillows.
Elizabeth ran her fingertips along the smooth white wood of one of the posts at the foot of the bed. “Oh, Sue. This can’t possibly be your guest room. It’s gorgeous.”
“It is most definitely the guest room. I could never convince Alan to sleep anywhere so girlie. Or froufrou, as he calls it.” She shrugged.
Elizabeth shook her head, struggling to take it all in. “This room is fit for a princess. Not a dog nanny.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. What’s the use of having such a pretty room if no one’s enjoying it?” Sue grinned. “So, you like it, then?”
“Are you kidding? I love it.” Elizabeth gave Bliss a squeeze and released her to explore their new home. Much to Sue’s delight, she shuffled straight to a sweet little dog bed with a toile cushion that matched the duvet cover. “Correction—we love it.”
Elizabeth gave Bliss a little pat and noticed the large window on the far wall, framed with a generously proportioned window seat. More throw pillows, toile and pale blue crushed velvet, made the bench a cozy-looking refuge. She felt drawn to the area at once, captivated by the view of Sue’s charming neighborhood.
“This is fantastic. Look, I can see everything from up here.”
“Yes,
