Читать книгу A Lady in Waiting - Janice De Jesus - Страница 9

Amid a sea of bright round orange in the local pumpkin patch, Arlen stooped down and, with knees bent, attempted to pick up a large pumpkin from the ground.

“Be careful,” Sara said, her fingers clasped together, hoping he wouldn’t do anything that would hurt his back.

But the viscount succeeded in lifting the rotund Musquée de Provence, also known as a “fairytale pumpkin,” a gorgeous deeply-ribbed French heirloom that averaged about fifteen to twenty pounds, a replica of a pumpkin straight from a Cinderella tale. With Sara right on his heels, he carried it straight to her father’s car where she opened up the car door for him. He swished his hands clean after setting it down on the backseat.

“Easy as pie,” he said, grinning at her. “Pumpkin pie.”

“Is that a hint?” Sara couldn’t believe that the seemingly formal viscount she met over a year or so ago when he courted the princess was the same man only now armed with a more relaxed demeanor and a sense of humor.

Upon entering the kitchen, Sara observed her Tía Silvia regard the pumpkin with eagerness, as the scent of nutmeg and cinnamon wafted in the room.

“You don’t think us strange to go to a pumpkin patch when, in a few weeks, we should already be thinking of getting a Christmas tree?” Arlen smirked as he carefully set the pumpkin on the kitchen table.

“Not at all,” Silvia said, wiping her hands on her apron. “I know exactly what to do with this. I plan to purée the pulp, mix it with cream, eggs, spices, pecans and some rum, then drape the mixture in pastry and then, voilà, it’s time to bake.”

“Mmmm,” Arlen said. “I can smell it already.”

Sara and the viscount sat down as Silvia served up hot apple cider in mugs. She eyed the raggedy dish towel draped over a wooden chair; the magnets on the refrigerator door from various places she visited with the princess; the chip on the rim of one of the mugs, imagining how these “flaws” would look through Arlen’s eyes.

“I appreciate the visit to the pumpkin farm,” Arlen eyed Sara. “Truth is, that was my first time.”

Sara and her aunt exchanged glances. “You’re kidding,” Sara said.

He shook his head. “We, that is, my siblings and I, did not engage in many fun childhood pursuits when we were young. My father preferred to prepare us for our eventual responsibilities as adults.”

“Which is what exactly?” Silvia blurted out as her niece shot her a warning glare.

“To be responsible stewards of the vast land we’re inheriting,” he said, briefly looking out the window at the stretch of farmland. “Frankly, I wished I had done something purposeful then like become a Peace Corps volunteer when I had a chance after college.”

As Arlen gazed at her, Sara couldn’t help but blush. She was impressed that he remembered that part of their conversation during her visit to England sometime ago.

“But you travel all over the world,” Silvia began, taking eggs from a basket.

“For work, yes,” he said. “It’s different. All business—no pleasure.”

Blinking rapidly, Sara’s heart began to race. This man, this business magnate, investor and philanthropist who also happened to be British nobility, thought that a trip to the pumpkin patch was a highlight of his adult life. And she was a part of that.

Stop it right this second! He obviously thinks of you as only a friend—nothing more. Grow up, Sara! You might be living and working at a palace but this is not a fairytale.

That night, over an omelette supper, Silvia entertained them with stories about her youth spent with her older brother, Sara’s father, at the family’s farm. Sara sensed her aunt longed to know more about Arlen’s life but didn’t want to pry. Nor did he offer any more background information about himself as he continued to ask Silvia questions about life on their farm.

As Arlen stood up to leave, Silvia daringly invited to accommodate him for the night, ignoring her niece’s waving of hands, head shaking and mouthing the word “No” behind Arlen’s back.

“That’s very kind of you, Madame,” he said. “But my room at the village inn suits me just fine.”

After he left, Sara made a beeline for the dishes which she took time stacking into the sink as she proceeded to wash them.

“Leave them be, I’ll wash them in the morning,” Silvia said, sitting down at the dining table and patting the seat next to her. “Let’s have a chat.”

She continued to wash dishes her back turned to her aunt. “What’s to chat about? We just had a nice long talk.”

“Yes, but we need to chat about you.”

Sara sighed. “What about me?”

“You like him, don’t you?”

She turned to face Silvia. “He’s a nice guy. And you like him too.”

“Not the way you do,” her laughing aunt said, crossing her legs, clasping her coffee mug. “You’re attracted to him. I can tell.”

Burying her head in her wet hands, Sara feigned distress. “Oh my God, it is that obvious?”

“I’m serious, mia,” Silvia said.

“And what do you propose I do about it?”

“So, it’s true!”

Taking a deep breath, Sara’s eyes scaled up at the ceiling. She hadn’t much of a chance to think about her own feelings. It somehow felt premature to share them even with her beloved aunt who was like a mother to her.

“I—I don’t know about all this,” she said, grabbing a dish towel and wiping her hands as she sat down. “It’s too soon. No doubt he thinks of me as just a friend, Tía. In fact, I prefer friendship. Nothing more.”

Silvia leaned forward to pat her niece’s knee. “I know, mía, I know. You don’t want your heart broken again. But falling in love is a risk you must take. Or one day, you might regret it.”

Sara couldn’t hold back her laughter. “I can’t even be thinking about that—falling in love. I’m just getting to know him.”

“You know when I knew your Tío was the one for me? As soon as I set eyes on him at a dance in the village. We hadn’t even spoken to each other yet. Later, he told me he felt the same.”

Even though she had heard that story before, Sara never tired of it. It was romantic. But life and times were simpler then. Even though she now lived in a palace, Sara knew she lived in the real world. Life and falling in love wasn’t a fairy tale. She stood up for her second attempt at attacking the dishes.

“And mía, you’ve always been mature and wise beyond your years. An old soul, as they say. But you are too serious-minded at times.”

There was a slight pause as Sara heard her aunt sigh.

“You’re young. You need to relax and enjoy life,” her aunt continued, obviously not done with the conversation. “You may think that Arlen regards you as a friend but have you noticed the way he looks at you?”

Her back to her aunt, Sara continued to soap each dish, each glass, images of the past few days flashing before her. Of course she noticed. But she simply chose not to put meaning to them. If her experience with men gave any indication of their intentions, it was that men were men. And they liked to look.

The following morning as a rooster crowed to signal the dawn of a new day, Sara lay awake contemplating the day ahead. It was the last day of her personal leave before she would return to Santangelo and to her life of service to the princess. The very same princess who was once engaged to the object of Sara’s attention. Her carefully edited thoughts were mindful not to label her feelings as “affection.”

Sipping coffee out on the veranda later, a tinge of disappointment wielded in her heart as she hadn’t yet heard from Arlen. She chastised herself for expecting he would call and make plans with her today. He obviously had left and didn’t bother to tell her.

He’s not my boyfriend; he’s not obligated to call. See, this is why I can’t be in a relationship. I can’t deal with all this anxiety.

Her heavy heart encountered some relief as she cast her eyes on a mother duck with her yellow ducklings following her in a line toward a pond. That’s what she needed to do: have all her ducks in a row, focus on her career and everything else was a distraction. There was absolutely no time for romance. She had a job to do.