tea at Rutherford Hall, if you’re so inclined.”
“I would love to. Thank you for your kind invitation.”
“Lovely. My car will pick you up at two-thirty at the Canterbury Gate.”
“Thank you.” Sarah already knew better than to argue with Lady Clara about the transportation arrangements. Once Lady Clara made up her mind, not even the Queen herself could change it. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Lady Clara watched Sarah hurry to catch up with her group, before turning to walk towards the aforementioned gate where her car would be waiting for her. Lady Clara smiled to herself. Yes, she thought, she would do very well.
The smells of hops and barley, cigarette smoke, and fish and chips filled the low-ceilinged, wood-beam and plaster room. The sixteenth century pub overflowed with both Oxford locals and international visitors.
The ladies sat on bar stools, while the men hovered, sampling pints of stout and cracking good-natured jokes. Sarah sipped from a pint of ale and listened to the boisterous conversation of her newfound friends.
Kim Haynes, a fellow American, sat next to Sarah. Her small frame, delicate coloring, and pixie features seemed out of place with what they’d come to call her Texas-sized personality.
Kim graduated from high school and was taking a year off before going to college at Yale University. Sarah smiled as Kim flirted outrageously with the handsome young man behind the bar. Those Ivy League boys were in for a surprise when they encountered this steel magnolia.
Sean wore a slight frown as he watched the exchange. It looked to Sarah like a crush had developed there, at least on his side.
Marie Gaudet sat on the other side of Kim. Her lovely French accent stood out among the various English dialects spoken by the other pub patrons. She was a lovely young woman from the South of France whose midnight black hair, ultra short fringe bangs, and patrician features reminded Sarah of a young Audrey Hepburn. Her flamboyant Bohemian dress was in direct contrast to Lady Clara’s somewhat matronly style.
Guy sipped his beer, making a face, while Sean and Mitch laughed, obviously at his expense. Sean and Mitch treated Guy like, well, one of the guys, regardless of his sexual orientation. It pleased Sarah to see the camaraderie among them.
She overheard snippets of their conversation. Despite their reminders that Colin was a married heterosexual, Guy hadn’t given up hope.
“If the handsome, rich Mr. Darcy can fall for a woman purportedly beneath his station then, Colin Firth can fall for a lovesick gay guy from the East End,” he said, taking another sip of his beer, shuddering this time as it went down.
Their little group had become tight-knit in a short period of time. They ate all their meals together, and yesterday toured the other Oxford colleges, between the compulsory stops to the city’s oldest and most renowned pubs. On Friday, weather permitting, they planned to have a picnic in the Master’s Garden, their own private goodbye.
Sean squeezed between Sarah and Kim, trying to commandeer Kim’s attention, but she continued her banter with the bartender. Hoping to distract Sean, Sarah asked, “Your love of literature notwithstanding, what made you pick up Jane Austen?”
“I’ve read all the great male writers, James Joyce, Henry James, Trollope, so I thought it was time to see what the Jane Austen craze was all about. All the women I know go all dreamy when they talk of her novels.” He wore a roguish expression as he continued. “I’m after thinking I could learn a thing or two.”
Sarah laughed. “Are you sure it wasn’t just an excuse to meet women?”
“Ah, Sarah, you’ve got me pegged,” he replied before a question from Kim captured his attention.
Just then someone bumped into Sarah causing her to spill the beer she held to her lips. A sharp rebuke on her lips, she turned and looked into the warmest coffee-brown eyes she’d ever seen. The words froze on her tongue.
“I beg your pardon.” He spoke in a refined British accent, a dimple forming at the corner of his mouth. When Sarah didn’t move to clean up the spill, he picked up a napkin and taking her hand, began the task himself.
“Please, allow me. Although I’m afraid your hand will be rather sticky until you wash up with soap and water.”
His hands were warm on hers as he gently wiped her wrist and hand.
“I suppose if I’m holding your hand, I should at least introduce myself. I’m Alex Fraser.”
She noticed his eyes crinkled around the corners when he smiled.