Chapter Twelve
Eight hours later, I found myself waiting for Gideon outside of Bob Bob Ricard, one of London’s trendiest restaurants. He hopped out of a taxi and rushed to greet me with a long kiss—the kind you give to someone you haven’t seen in months, not days. He smelled like the English countryside, fresh and clean.
He took my hand and led me inside the restaurant. It had a great roaring ’20s décor and unique little touches like the ‘press for champagne’ buzzers at each booth.
“You know I’m just as happy with folding chairs and paper tablecloths,” I said.
“Oh, I know, but since I haven’t found a place to best your Chinese food yet, I figured I’d impress you with décor.”
I pointed to the sign. “And a press-for-champagne buzzer.”
He winked at me. “Well, that goes without saying.”
The hostess sat us at a small electric-blue booth close to the bar. She handed us each a menu and encouraged us to press the tableside buzzer. I reached over Gideon’s arm and pushed on it twice.
“Is this what it’s like at Badgley Hall?” I asked.
“Do we have champagne flowing in every room of the house? No, we don’t.”
“I meant that on Downton Abbey they had that bell board in the servants’ hall. The family could pull on a cord, and the staff would know which room they were needed in upstairs. A Victorian champagne buzzer if you will.”
“I’m sure Badgley Hall had something like that at one time, but it’s quite different living there nowadays.”
The waiter came by with our two champagne flutes, and we ordered some starters. Gideon clinked his glass into mine and took a small sip.
I folded my hands on the table. “What is it like to live there nowadays? No army of staff to attend to your every need?” I teased.
He set the flute down. “We don’t have any full-time staff with the exception of the groundskeeper and some other property managers.” He leaned into the table. “You know, I have an idea. My parents are having a small get together this weekend, why don’t you come?”
“Jamie comes into town tomorrow morning and we have back-to-back fittings with Victoria’s bridal party.”
He sat back again. “So, come for the weekend. Both of you.”
“That feels like an imposition. I haven’t even met your parents yet. It’d be strange to stay in your family’s home,” I said.
“The house is huge. They won’t even know you’re there. Invite Jamie to come along so you feel more comfortable. Unless, of course, you don’t think he’d want to?”
Over the last week, Jamie had binge-watched every period drama set in England that he could get his hands on. No way he’d miss the opportunity to meet a real-life earl and countess in their natural habitat.
“I have a feeling I can talk him into it,” I answered.
“Good.”
The waiter brought out our baked oysters and truffled potato and mushroom vareniki. Gideon served us each some oysters and a few of the dumplings.
“Can I make a confession?” Gideon asked.
I looked up from my plate and nodded.
“I stopped by a market on my way here and bought any gossip magazine with a story about G. Malone on the cover just to see your face.”
“You know what they say, don’t you?”
He shook his head. “No, what do they say?”
“Today’s headlines are tomorrow’s fish wrap.”
He snickered. “Who says that?”
“My father. It’s something he likes to tell his clients. The ones in the most trouble, anyway.”
“Didn’t you tell me he’s G. Malone’s general counsel? What’d he have to say when he saw the news this morning?”
“He’s our unofficial GC until we go public. If we ever go public.”
Gideon pulled the stack of magazines out of his bag and held them up. “Oh, you’ll go public, all right. You’re designing the most important dress of this century. I’d be surprised if you don’t have even more investors lining up as we speak.”
There it was again. The most important dress of the century. I reached over Gideon and pressed down hard on the champagne button.
Early Saturday morning, Jamie and I left our London hotel to set out for South Gloucestershire. The agent at the car rental place told us the drive would take about two and a half hours and recommended we go with a convertible so we could really enjoy the views of the English countryside. Jamie jumped at the suggestion, hoping we could recreate his favorite scene from Bridget Jones’s Diary, where Renee Zellweger and Hugh Grant go speeding off on their holiday with the top down.
Having been born and raised in New York City, my own driver’s license now served as nothing more than identification. I hadn’t driven a car in close to fifteen years, and my ineptitude had recently morphed into a full-blown fear. When we were dating, Perry had tried to reteach me. I was too afraid to practice in the city, so we borrowed my parents’ car a couple of times and took it to the quiet roads in Milbank. Perry’d lean over my shoulder, directing every turn and occasionally taking hold of the wheel when I felt like the car was out of control. We’d end up pulling over and picnicking somewhere on the grounds of Camp Chinooka, which was mostly deserted during the off-season.
I tossed Jamie the keys to the car.
“You sure you don’t want to drive?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes and climbed into the passenger seat. “I’m positive.”
Jamie put the address into the car’s navigation system and searched the radio for a station. He put the top down and handed me a baseball cap from his bag.
“Trust me,” he said, putting on his own. “Otherwise we’ll look like we just stepped out of a wind tunnel.”
I slipped on the hat and tightened it in the back so it fit my head. “Thank you again for agreeing to come with me.”
“Are you kidding? It’s like we’re going to Pemberley to see where Mr. Darcy lives.”
“Mr. Malone, have you been reading Pride and Prejudice?”
Jamie handed me his phone. “Just the CliffsNotes. Tell me more about Badgley Hall. We should probably know what we’re walking into.”
I did a search and opened up their website. I clicked on the “House History” link and read aloud. “Badgley Hall lies in the heart of the Gloucestershire countryside and is home to the Earl and Countess of Harronsby. The House dates from the seventeenth century, and one of its most notable features is the moat that surrounds the house and immediate grounds.” I looked up from the phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Jamie raised his eyebrow. “Keep reading.”
“The formal gardens cover twelve acres. They feature a yew hedge maze created in 1846 and a ridge and furrow greenhouse designed by Joseph Paxton, architect of The Crystal Palace.”
I handed the phone back to Jamie. “Just turn the car around. This whole thing is ridiculous.”
“What whole thing?”
“This world we’re pretending to be a part of.”
“Did you and I not just spend all of yesterday with the future Queen of England? We aren’t pretending anything. Honey, this is real life. This could be your life—if you want it to be.”
“Jamie, get a hold of yourself. Gideon and I have only been on a handful of dates.”
“I know a smitten kitten when I see one, and that boy is smitten.”
Close to three hours (and a couple of wrong turns) later, we passed the first sign for Badgley Hall. Jamie turned off the main road and onto a smaller one that took us past miles and miles of unspoiled woodlands until we reached the turnoff for the main estate. We snaked our way up a gravel drive leading to a stone bridge that crossed over the moat and led to the house. I used the term house loosely, as Badgley Hall could only be described as a castle, complete with three towers and stained-glass windows. Jamie stopped the car, pushed his sunglasses up over his head, and said, “Dorothy, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”
I took in the imposing scenery and sank down in the front seat. “He grew up here? My six-hundred-square-foot apartment must’ve felt like a coffin to him.”
“Or a breath of fresh air?” Jamie pointed to the massive front entranceway door, which looked like it was cracked open. “Someone’s spotted us. We should get out of the car.”
I removed my baseball cap and smoothed out my hair in the rearview mirror. Gideon hurried down the steps of the house to greet us with a warm, welcoming smile on his face.
“How was your trip?”
“Would’ve been nice if there was a Starbucks on the route, otherwise it was great,” Jamie answered.
“I know. It’s not like your American highways with rest stops along the way.”
“I’ll take rolling hills and pastoral views over the New Jersey Turnpike any day,” I said.
“It really is gorgeous, isn’t it? I’ve lived here my whole life and still find it awe-inspiring,” Gideon replied. “Welcome to Badgley Hall,” he said, leading us into the grand foyer.
Jamie and I set down our bags and looked straight up to the magnificent glass dome overhead.
“Gideon, this is…overwhelming. The moat and grounds were one thing, but this is too much.”
“I promise, it’ll get far less intimidating the farther into the house you go. My parents are waiting to have tea with us in the library.” Gideon took my hand and led me down the hall.
I stopped in my tracks. “Your parents? How should I address them? How do you address them?”
“Well, I call them Mum and Dad, which you are more than welcome to do.”
I shot him a look, letting him know that was less than helpful advice.
He scratched his chin. “The proper address, I suppose, would be Lord and Lady Harronsby, but quite honestly, they’d be more than comfortable with George and Amelia.”
“Isn’t there an option that falls somewhere in between those?” I looked over to Jamie for some support.
Jamie shrugged. “Just avoid using their names. It’ll be like a game.”
Gideon looked at us like we were both crazy and moved to hold open the door to the library, a gorgeous sunlit room with a roaring fireplace and shelves and shelves of antique books. The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out to the largest of the property’s gardens. On the walls were portraits of people I had to assume were the past earls of Harronsby, and the ceilings were covered in frescoes by Italian masters.
I leaned in and whispered in Gideon’s ear, “You’re right. This is muuuccchhh less impressive.”
He smirked and put his hand on the small of my back to lead me farther into the room. “Mum. Dad. This is Georgica Goldstein and Jamie Malone.”
A couple close in age to my own parents stood up to greet us. I could immediately see Gideon had inherited his coloring from his father, and his more striking features, like his piercing green-gray eyes and wide smile, from his mother.
“Nice to meet you both,” I said, shaking hands with each of them, relieved Gideon had saved me from having to address them by name.
“Please, take a seat.” Gideon’s mother pointed to the small couch across from them. Jamie and I barely fit on it together.
“Gideon tells us you’re from New York?” she asked.
“I am. I was born and raised there.”
“I’m from a small town in Georgia, but I’ve lived in New York City so long now I consider it my home,” Jamie said.
“And Georgica, your father’s a top barrister?” Gideon’s father chimed in from the far side of the room.
“He’s a partner at a well-known law firm.”
Gideon stood up to pour Jamie and me a cup of tea.
“Milk? Sugar?” he asked.
“Just milk, thank you,” I replied.
“I’ll take mine black unless you have two percent,” Jamie said.
Gideon picked up the creamer. “The milk’s from a farm on property.”
I squeezed Jamie hard on the leg.
“Just black is fine,” Jamie answered.
Gideon’s mother gave me a small smile. “I hear you’re designing Victoria Ellicott’s wedding gown. That’s quite wonderful. Have you always been into fashion?”
“No, not always,” I answered. “I was overweight as a girl, so I started designing my own clothes when I couldn’t find options in the stores I liked or that fit.”
This time, Jamie squeezed my leg.
“I guess it was sometime during university that it became more of a career path and, of course, then I was on Top Designer, which sealed it.”
“Top Designer? What’s that?” Gideon’s father asked.
“It’s a reality show. A design competition,” Gideon answered.
“It’s where Jamie and I met,” I said.
Gideon’s mother picked up her teacup. “Did you win?”
“Uh, no. I didn’t,” I said.
“We don’t watch much television anyway,” she said.
I gestured to the windows. “Why would you when you’re surrounded by such gorgeous scenery? Your home is incredible. It’s breathtaking, really.”
Gideon’s mother stood and walked over to the window. “Yes, thank you. It’s quite a lot to maintain, but we love it here.”
“I can certainly see why.” My eyes wandered over the intricate crown molding and the ornate patterns of the decorative tapestries.
Jamie set his tea down on a side table and turned to Gideon. “How does it work with the public? How do they explore a house you’re actually living in?”
“Right now, the house is open during the week from April to October by guided tour only,” Gideon answered.
“Is it strange to have people come in and out of your house like it’s a museum?” Jamie asked.
“Not anymore,” Gideon’s father said. “We retreat to the family wing and try not to get mistaken for ghosts. Besides, Gideon has big plans to market the house for films and other events, so we better get used to it.”
Gideon sat down in a large armchair beside us. “There’s been a surge of interest in these houses for period dramas like your beloved Downton Abbey. I want to see Badgley House get its due. And what could be a more beautiful setting for a wedding than our gardens? We have to make money for the property or we’ll be forced to sell.”
“It’s not as desperate as all that, yet, so let’s try to enjoy a lovely weekend with your guests without all this talk of finances, shall we?” his mother said. “Gideon, why don’t you show Georgica and Jamie to their rooms, and let’s plan to congregate back here at six for drinks and hors d’oeuvres. I invited Linney and a few other friends to join us for dinner.”
Gideon led us to the main staircase. I followed closely behind him while Jamie lingered at the foot of the stairs.
I walked back down to see what was holding him up.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I whispered.
“Waiting for Carson to ring the gong so we know to put on our formal dinner clothes?”
I hit Jamie softly on the behind. “Let’s go, Lord Malone.”
“After you, m’lady.”