The Promise of Change - By Rebecca Heflin Page 0,34
from her reading of Regency romance novels.
“So your mother was a commoner?” As soon as the words were out, she wished she could rewind the tape. “I’m sorry. That was probably rude.”
“No, don’t be silly. It seems to run in my family,” he said with a smile. “I’m sure you didn’t get out of hearing my grandmother’s narrative of her love story.” Sarah noted it wasn’t said with any hint of disrespect.
“How did your parents meet?”
“Are you sure you want me to bore you with the details?”
“Yes, I’m very interested,” she said, echoing his previous sentiment.
“My maternal grandparents had a men’s clothing store in Leeds, where my mother grew up. The shop was quite humble, catering to the modest clothing needs of the men who worked in the various factories. When my mother started working in the shop as a young woman, she tried somewhat unsuccessfully to get my grandfather to upgrade the clothing lines to cater to the city’s up-and-coming financial sector.” He paused to take a bite of his fish.
“My mother finally took over the business when my grandfather became ill, and she took the opportunity to renovate the interior and the storefront and began carrying higher end clothing lines for business men,” he continued. “She took a financial risk in doing so, but it paid off. The shop established a clientele of bankers and other high rollers in the financial industry.”
“Men from all over England learned of the quality of goods and services, and flocked to the shop. That’s how my father met her. He frequented Leeds on business, buying his clothes almost exclusively from my grandfather’s shop.”
“Well, that explains it,” she said, tilting her head.
“Explains what?” he asked, eyebrows drawn in confusion.
“Why you have an innate sense of style and excellent taste in clothes,” she said, laughing.
He actually blushed. “Thank you.”
She wasn’t sure if she’d ever seen a grown man blush. It endeared her, and made her feel a little empowered.
“Does your mother still have the shop?” she asked.
“No. She finally sold it to a clothing conglomerate for a small fortune after my brother and I came along.”
The remainder of dinner passed pleasantly with additional shared stories of families, childhoods, and life in general. She loved watching him eat, using knife and fork in tandem, European-style.
Over dessert and tea, he asked, “Do you have a wish list of sights and activities for this week?”
“Well, this is not the first time I’ve been to Oxfordshire, but on my previous trip I only passed through the city briefly and did not see much of the countryside other than from a car window.”
“Did you come with your family?”
“Um, no, my ex-husband,” she answered, swallowing hard.
“Oh . . . I see.” He wore a slight frown.
Great. Why did I say that, she admonished. Why wasn’t I more circumspect?
“Well, there’s a great deal to see and do.” His face brightened and his smile returned. “I’m sure a smart girl like yourself has done her homework . . . what’s on your list?”
“Oh, I guess the usual sites: Blenheim Palace, Woodstock, the Costwolds, Chipping Campden, Castle Combe . . . and I think you’ve got some rather old stones south of here that are a big tourist attraction.”
Playing along with her banter, he responded, “Ah yes, I believe those rather old stones are called Stonehenge, or something like that. I’m sure we can find them. If not, we’ll ask the locals.”
He grinned playfully, making her heart do a little tap dance in her chest.
“Let me give some thought to the best route in order to take in all the things on your wish list, and perhaps some things that aren’t on the list but should be.” He tilted his head, “I could pick you up out front at say, nine?”
“That sounds perfect.” She couldn’t hide her enthusiasm.
When the bill came, she reached for it to put it on her room bill, and he politely but firmly grabbed her wrist and took the bill from her hand. His firm hand left a warm, but invisible impression on her skin.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his tone reproachful. “Your Yankee dollars are no good here. It’s my treat.”
“Alex,” she said with a sigh, “you don’t have to buy my dinner. Believe it or not, I do have meals budgeted into my vacation.”
“I’m sure that you do, but I cannot allow you to pay. It’s a guy thing, something about the Y-chromosome.”
“Well, genetic or not, I cannot allow you to pay for everything