The Last Time We Met - By Lily Lang Page 0,38
at Thornwood a week later.
He had just returned to Thornwood that morning after settling some of his affairs in London, and, more importantly, procuring a special license from the sodding Archbishop of Canterbury. This latter task he had only managed by agreeing to forgive several of the Duke of Norfolk’s more pressing debts, if His Grace would persuade the archbishop to produce the necessary documents. His Grace was willing, and the license Jason now carried in his pocket was ready for the small country wedding planned for the following morning.
The week he had spent in London without Miranda was, he felt, quite the longest week in the history of the world, but Miranda had wished to begin the task of restoring Thornwood immediately, and he had managed to suffer through it. But now he was back, and he had no intention of going anywhere again without her.
“Nonsense,” said Jason calmly. “It is the only sensible thing to do.”
He accepted a basket of rolls from William, who grinned at him.
Miranda looked rather as though she was considering throwing something at him.
“But you cannot—you cannot sell Blakewell’s,” she exclaimed. “It is monstrous to even think of it.”
“On the contrary, my dear,” he said. “I am, in point of fact, quite delighted whenever I think of the sum Crockford has agreed to give me for the damned place.”
“But Blakewell’s is your home,” said Miranda, now looking genuinely distressed.
“No, Miranda,” said Jason quietly. “My home is with you.”
Across the table, William shook his head at them, but Jason, wishing the little brat to perdition, kept his gaze fixed on Miranda.
She looked as though she would like to burst into tears.
“Well, I have no objections to your running a club,” she said, blinking rather hard.
“I know,” said Jason. “I, however, find I have other interests, such as tending to the many estates I seem to have acquired in the past few years. Running a club is a devilish business, Miranda. It takes considerable time and energy. I no longer wish to devote myself to the task.”
Miranda bit her lip and looked down at her plate. “But what of your staff? All the people who work at Blakewell’s? What will become of them if you sell?”
Jason shrugged. “I have estates everywhere,” he said, waving a careless hand. “Besides Wycombe, there’s a townhouse in London, a castle in Scotland, and a rather appalling hunting lodge in Somerset. They can take their pick of where to work, if they want to stay with me. Monsieur Leblanc has already declared himself your most abject slave and has agreed to cook in an igloo if it would please you. And if anyone wishes to remain at Blakewell’s, Crockford will take them on. He’ll need experienced staff members anyway.”
“I see,” said Miranda. “And which of your estates would you choose for a permanent home?”
“I was thinking Buckinghamshire,” said Jason. “William could come stay with us when he is on holiday. It is also close enough for you to continue seeing to the management of Thornwood until William comes of age.”
“Wycombe Manor is very nice, Miri,” said William helpfully. “You will like it very much.”
“Naturally,” Jason added, “I can also see my townhouse in London is opened if you wish to be in town for part or all of the season.”
Miranda scrutinized his face for a long moment.
“You are sure of this, Jason?” she asked quietly. “You truly wish to sell the club?”
Jason thought of the long years he had spent searching for what he had now found: peace, and a home, and the woman he loved sitting across from him at his table.
“Yes,” he said, and held out his hand to her. She placed her palm in his own, and he closed his fingers tightly over hers. “I’m sure.”
About the Author
Lily Lang lives in New York City, where she studies history, eats a lot of cookies, and may or may not dance on bars when the moon is full. To her dismay, she possesses no English country estates. Visit her at www.lilylangbooks.com
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© 2012 Lily Lang
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