Page 55 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
“That’s it!” Charles slapped the table triumphantly, making the cutlery shiver. “Heron House. My parents took us there on a day trip. The wife was, oh what was her name, she was an artist, quite famous, my mother has a print of hers in the dining room...”
“Serena De-Veer,” said Isaac in a flat voice.
“That’s the one!”
“I’ve got a couple of her early editions; beautiful still lifes. Botanical drawings were one of the few forms of art women were encouraged to partake of at that time,” said Nory. “Plants were considered a genteel enough subject for ladies.” She rolled her eyes, looking at Isaac, but he seemed momentarily somewhere else; she wondered where.
“Like interior design,” said Jenna slyly, and Camille laughed.
“So, gardening well and truly runs in your blood,” said Ameerah.
Her question seemed to draw Isaac back to the present.
“It must be a very mindful job,” said Camille.
“It is,” Isaac agreed, his good humor returning as quickly as it had faded.
“Any job you don’t have to think about is mindful,” added Guy.
“As someone whose family business is growing plants, I can assure you that gardening takes a good deal of thought, especially with gardens the size of Robinwood,” Nory retorted, rather more snappishly than she’d meant to.
“Really, Guy, you’re too much sometimes,” Jenna chided.
“I’m only joking, don’t get your Bridget Jones pants in a twist!” Guy laughed and took another sip of his wine.
Camille looked suddenly tired again, the affection of moments ago having clearly worn off.
“Well, you can come and be mindful in our garden if you like,” said Charles. “I’ve got more important things to do than titting about in the rhododendrons, and Jenna’s on set from dawn till dusk most days. We just haven’t got the time.”
Isaac smiled graciously. “Thank you, butIdon’t have the time to tit about with your rhododendrons either; maintaining ten and a half acres of formal gardens is a full-time occupation.”
Charles flushed instantly, and Jenna shot him a furious look. But at that moment the dessert course arrived, and the subject quickly changed to the trios of French patisseries laid before each guest.
Nory was mortified both for Isaac and Charles. Charles didn’t mean to be a snob, it was just his way; he was thoughtless andbuffoonish but ultimately well-meaning. And poor Isaac. Nory was used to being inadvertently made to feel like the lucky peasant at the party. She knew her friends didn’t really mean anything by it. It wasn’t anyone’s fault; they were all the products of their upbringings, no matter which tax bracket they came from.
After dinner Isaac made a graceful exit, thanking his hosts while accepting humble apologies from them, especially Charles, who seemed genuinely mortified by what he termed his “giant boob.”
“You’re not leaving because of Guy and Charles, are you?” Nory asked as they stood in the courtyard. She had borrowed a heavy coat and a pair of Wellingtons from the boot room, which looked incongruous with her velvet evening dress.
“Not exactly. I do have to get back; I don’t like to leave Lettuce too long. But I think there is something to be said for quitting while you’re ahead.”
“They’re good people,” said Nory, noting the sound of pleading in her voice.
“I’m sure they are.”
Nory couldn’t think of a response. She shifted from foot to foot, the pebbles crunching beneath her feet.
“You should go in,” he said. Then leaning down and kissing her cheek, he whispered, “You are beautiful,” before walking away from her.
Nory had hoped that her sexy dress might be enough to override her brother’s romance embargo, but alas, Isaac had remained the perfect gentleman. Not even a closed-mouth kiss on the lips! Did that mean he wasn’t into her as much as she was into him? Had she read this whole thing wrong? Maybe Charles’s comments had sealed Isaac’s decision not to get involved withher. It was so frustrating. You wait your whole life for an honorable man to show up and when he does, he’s too virtuous by half! Why were the gods conspiring against her? Her final thought on the matter was the most mortifying of all: Maybe—and this would be a bitter pill indeed—he just wanted to be friends!
Sixteen
At first, Nory tried to ignore the person shoving her. She was wrapped in the thickest duvet she had ever slept in, and until a few seconds ago she had been in a blissful sleep.
“Nory!” the annoying shover hissed.
She kept her eyes closed and hoped they’d bugger off. It had to be the middle of the night; she could tell through her closed eyelids that it wasn’t light yet.
