He’d debated extending her an invitation to dine. Were they getting too close? Tempting the Dalholm spell of love and romance? If rumblings of doubt shook her confidence about the man she’d agreed to marry, he had no business playing the nice-guy friend. Because no matter what, he’d shine in comparison just by being sweet. And being royal. And that wasn’t fair to anyone.
Besides, Gus had no intention of ending his commitment to bachelorhood anytime soon.
Yet, there he was on his way out—still sans Hemstead—choosing the front stairs for once instead of the secret passage, when he thought of Daffy and walked through the Grand Gallery, past the parade of wedding gowns to the guest suites, and knocked on the Princess Charlotte door. He’d missed her this week. Wanted to see her. So he promised himself he’d behave. Not flirting. Be friendly, but aloof.
Seems he didn’t need his little self-speech. They were dining together but somehow separate.
Ernst hovered and fussed, told a story or two, adding his own boisterous laugh for emphasis, glancing between Gus and Daffy. But she barely cracked a smile.
In between bites of ribs and potatoes, and gulping from her wine like a parched Viking, she scrolled through photos on her phone.
Gus leaned to see. “Wedding ideas?”
“What?” She turned her phone facedown on the table. “No, just, you know, catching up with people.”
“Funny thing about social media. It can be such a façade. People only posting what they want you to see. Writing what they want you to believe. All smiles and giggles. Until one day when you pass by the profile of an old uni mate to learn his ten-year-old marriage to the love of his life is over. Of course, neither one posts anything honest, letting us know, at some level, what happened and how they came to move on. Instead we see photos of holidays and gatherings without each other. Eventually one of them posts they’re in a new relationship and we shake our heads.”
“If you’re trying to be cynical, it’s working. If you’re trying to say loving someone can be challenging and difficult, you’re right. If you’re trying to say love is not worth it, then you are wrong.”
He winced at her soft rebuke. “I only meant—”
She leaned over her plate and whispered through clenched teeth. “I get it. You’re not going to fall in love. Beat another drum, lad, beat another drum.”
“I wasn’t trying to make a point about me.” But wasn’t he? “I’m sorry if I came across—”
“Don’t.” She held up her hands, surrendering. “I’m the one who should apologize. It’s been a weird day. How’s the chair?”
He tried to keep up with her sudden changes and answered her question. “We’ve fixed the legs and seat-rail. Emmanuel is extremely slow and methodical. And he talks. A lot.”
“Really?” Daffy sat up straighter, her eyes intent on him. “What does he talk about?”
“Stuff. He’s full of sage wisdom. And while I can’t really pinpoint any one thing he’s said, other than his intimate knowledge of my ancestors, I feel wiser when we part ways. Refreshed.”
Even more so than after all his time in Florida. More than any time he could remember, really. The sensation wasn’t so much mental, as it was emotional. Even spiritual.
The spring in his step, the hum in his heart as he went about his day. The hope… Yes, that was the word. Emmanuel imparted hope. And a chap could never have too much hope.
“Has he ever said anything about a dress? About a woman named Adelaide?”
“No. Like I said, I can’t remember anything specific. Just Emmanuel going on about this, yakking about that.” If asked, Gus would admit the old carpenter was becoming a friend. Like Ernst, only with whole sentences. “Why do you ask? Who’s Adelaide and where’s the lass who panicked over my recklessness with the chair?”
“She’s still here. Just taking a break from it to worry over something else.”
“Daffy, I can see something is troubling you. If it’s me, then say so. If not, say what it is. Perhaps I can help.”
Gus ripped open one of the packets of towelettes Ernst kept on the table and passed one to Daffy. “Here, this will help.”
She smiled softly. “Will it?”
He was about to give a quippy reply when Hemstead charged into the pub, a mad bull pawing the ground for his prey.
Oops.
Gus rose from his chair with a small wave. The man fired visual darts as he chose a table near the front, making a racket with the chair, and resituating the table. Hearty ole Ernst greeted him with enthusiasm and a pint.
“Do you know this dress?”
Gus sat back down as Daffy flipped over her phone to show him a beautiful picture of his much younger and clearly celebrating mum. She held a chap’s hand but he was off-screen. Must be with Dad because she looked so in happy and in love.
