for dinner. As in change out of whatever you were wearing during the day. It doesn’t matter if you were wearing a fancy ballgown all day—not that I ever am, of course, because that would be plain weird—but you still need to change into “suitable attire” for dinner. Which seems to mean cocktail dresses for the women and a jacket and tie for the men.
Believe me, it’s a whole other world from the hastily microwaved dinner-for-one on my lap in front of Netflix with Frank my cat for company.
On my first visit to Martinston, I didn’t realize that it was expected of me every night, so I turned up with a suitcase full of jeans and Timothy activewear and one, solitary dress—which I ended up wearing every single night, until I eventually made it into the local village to buy a couple more.
This time I came prepared with a suitcase full of evening clothes, even if they’re not Geraldine’s preferred label, Chanel. My budget isn’t exactly in that ballpark these days.
Or ever.
Frank slinks into the room and announces his presence with a meow.
“Hey, Frank,” I say as he hops up onto the couch and rubs up against me to tell me now would be the perfect time to pet him. Not one to argue, I scratch him under his chin and am rewarded with a loud purr. “How do you like your new place, huh? A little roomier than the old one, by like a hundred rooms, right?”
He purrs in response, shifting his head so I can tickle him under his chin.
Even though I’m only here on a working vacation, I couldn’t bear to leave my beautiful boy at home again. So, I got him all the requisite shots, a cat passport (who knew such a thing existed?), and voila, he’s now the Cat of the Manor, a position I personally think he was born to.
“Let’s go out for dinner tomorrow night, just you and me,” Sebastian says as he looks in the mirror and fixes his tie. “It’s great that you’re getting to know my family so much better now, but I’m selfish and want you all to myself at least some of the time.”
I grin at him. “Sounds great. You look hot, by the way. A little Mr. Darcy, only less haughty.”
He arches an eyebrow and shoots me a disapproving look. “Better?”
I snap my laptop shut, get to my feet, and pad over to him. I stand on my tippy-toes and pull him down for a kiss. “Mmm, much better. I feel judged and left wanting, just like Lizzie Bennet.”
In one fluid movement, he wraps his arms around me, lifts me off my feet, and I let out a squeal of delight before he kisses me long and hard, making my head spin.
“What was that for?” I ask, breathless.
“Because I love my future wife.”
“Wow. Future wife.”
“Sound strange to you?”
I run my fingers through his hair and reply, “It sounds wonderful.” I kiss him once more, and then he puts me back on my feet.
“I suppose we’d better get down to dinner.”
“Yup. I’m starving. Now, where did I plunk my shoes?” I search for them. Nowhere to be seen, I drop to the floor and peer under the bed.
“I called Heather McCabe this afternoon while you were working.”
“From the TV company?”
“The producer of Dating Mr. Darcy herself. She wants to meet to talk about Saving Pemberley.”
“I’m glad you decided to go for it.” I pat my hand around under the bed until my hand lands on one shoe and then another. “Aha!” I pull them out and slip them on, leaning down to buckle the straps. “How do you think your family will feel about it, by which I mean your granny?”
“As long as it’s not invasive, I think I can talk them ‘round. Granny will be a hard sell, that’s for sure.”
“Won’t she like it if she knows it’ll make money?”
“Perhaps. I think we need to have a serious family talk tonight about the future of the house, and I want you included in that conversation.”
“You do?” Although we’ve have talked about it before, I’ve never been to any of the family discussions or meetings with Jilly in her capacity as the family lawyer. To be included now feels…nice.
Like I belong.
“Brady, you’re the future Lady Martinston. You need to be involved.”
“Lady Martinston.” I make a face. “Gawd. That’s so grand and old sounding. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that.”
He places his hands on my shoulders