Page 149 of Too Good to Be True

What I was also experiencing was something curious. Something that, even as long as I’d been living in England, was something I’d never quite understand as an American.

The class structure ingrained in those who were born to this sceptered isle.

The lord of the local manor was in attendance. And as I sat there I realized, all afternoon and evening, from passersby on the streets, to staff at Luigi’s, to the assiduously unobtrusive observing of us here in the pub, Ian commanded a deference that had nothing to do with his looks or manner or money, and everything to do with the blood he’d been born with.

I wanted to say I was immune to the appeal of it, that one should always live their lives earning that kind of respect, rather than happening into it by chance of birth.

But I couldn’t say that.

Although there was every possible plotline available to readers of romance novels, when something like this was on offer, the vast majority of them had the, yes, plucky heroine stealing the heart of the duke, or earl, or baron, not the man who pulls a good pint of Guinness at the local pub.

Rationally, it made no sense. All wealthy or privileged folk were not thoughtless or entitled and out of touch with the common person, all working-class folk were not slovenly and ignorant and undeserving, earning their low station by not working to get out of it.

People were people.

But the truth of it was, the amount of privilege Ian had, and the long, storied history of the family that went before him that carried the same, made him mysterious, fascinating…other.

That was it.

He was a rarity.

It was not that they were in the presence of their better.

Simply of their other.

A man who lived a life and came from a line that they couldn’t fathom, that would never be theirs, no matter if they made a lot of money or garnered tons of fame.

The beauty of it, the thing I found extraordinary and astonishing with the extent of his wealth, the vastness of the history of his family, was that Ian was clearly not out of touch. He realized this, and in the subtlest of ways, moved to alleviate it. Eye contact. Please and thank you. Compliments to the chef. Smiles to people who passed him on the street. Stopping to scratch the head of a dog or tell a woman the baby in her pram was beautiful. Taking his time for those who wanted it to assure them that Lord and Lady Alcott were doing very well, thank you for asking.

It was no surprise I found him enormously attractive.

It was just, in that village, was where I was both terrified and exhilarated to understand I might just be falling in love with him.

At the same time, the turn of my thoughts was about the other members of his family, particularly Daniel, who had dipped his toe in this pool.

I, too, had a life of wealth and privilege. I couldn’t imagine what it would feel like to turn the son of the earl’s eye and take him to my bed, and what hopes I might pin on that. Only, after he was done with me, to find myself serving his house, his family and new girlfriend, and him not giving any indication he’d shared that integral connection with me.

That didn’t excuse what Brittany did to me, but a part of me understood it.

And even if Daniel gave off the air of the bungling, handsome, likeable lad who would never quite grow up, I hoped Portia moved on from him.

She couldn’t be a taskmaster. She couldn’t keep him in line, something, Lady Jane was correct, he seemed in need of having. Portia was a woman who needed to be taken care of, not the other way around.

And she deserved strength and devotion, but she also deserved someone who wasn’t a bumbling idiot who careened from mishap to mishap, leaving damage in his wake.

“It happens, and you should know it,” Ian said low, taking my attention.

I turned my head to him. “What happens?”

“This, while being out with me.”

Okay, now I was feeling strange, in good and bad ways (mostly good) at how in my brain he was already, because I knew exactly to what he was referring.

“Truthfully, it’s at its best here, in the village,” he shared “Also in some senses, the town. People know us. We’re not a curiosity. In London, other places…”

He didn’t finish.

I did it for him. “You’re Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, Aristocracy and Secret Royalty edition.”

---