Chapter Thirty-two

Emma Lee Maxwell’s Facebook Update:

If he is stupid enough to walk away, be smart enough to let him go. You should never have to chase a true love, darlin’. Just sayin’!

 

Knightley said I should focus my attentions on helping Miss Isabella launch Weddings at Welldon, but I truly believe it is my calling to be a matchmaker. A divinely inspired calling. Patti Stanger said you get credits in heaven for being a matchmaker, and I believe her. I believe her with all my heart. What duty is more divinely inspired than paving the way for two people to be able to travel to the altar together?

Unless a host of heavenly angels suddenly appear in the garden at Wood House and tell me to quit my meddling, I am going to keep on doing God’s work.

I must be doing a few things right, because Vicar Parsons took my suggestion to start hosting single’s mixers, Deidre is superamped to meet Johnny Amor, Hayley has not said another thing about going to the hogs and heifers show with boring old John Barrington, and Brandon has agreed to join the evening of Amor! Now, if only I could find a Russian millionaire for Miss Isabella and a fun guy for my bestie.

Then again . . .

. . . I’m not so sure Lexi is looking for a fun guy. She arrived on my doorstep Tuesday morning. She returned to the cottage Wednesday and Thursday morning after walking with Mrs. Waites, put her pajamas back on, and climbed back into bed.

Friday, I convinced her to ride with me to the Tesco Superstore in Stowe-on-the-Wold. I told her I was terrified to drive by myself and needed dog food for Nether Westcote. We had a blast cruising down the aisles and seeing who could find the most unusual items—brown sauce, salad cream, English roast beef and Yorkshire pudding–flavored potato chips (sorry, crisps), pork scratchings. We both agreed Lexi was the clear winner with Aunty’s Spotted Dick steamed puds. She seemed superhappy when she found a Tesco-brand Zesty & Zingy body wash in Mexican lemon and lime she said smelled like Tara’s Key lime pie and when she found Stem Ginger ice cream made with double Devon cream, but then we got home, and she put her pajamas back on and ate Stem Ginger ice cream out of the bright yellow carton.

Saturday Knightley invited me to go to the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford, to see an exhibit titled Romance Through the Ages. I asked Lex if she wanted to join us, but she would rather stay in her pajamas, read her influenza book, and eat the rest of her Stem Ginger ice cream.

The Romance exhibit was breathtaking. How could it not be? Dreamy watercolors and bold oil paintings depicting people in various stages of love and lust. We ate lunch at a posh hotel, Belmond Le Manoir aux Quat’Saisons. I ordered braised beef—in French—which surprised Knightley. He said my accent was parfait (the chef agreed). I am not gonna lie, y’all, I was superpleased with myself. Thank you, Jesus (and Clemson) for requiring communication majors to study a foreign language.

We took a long, circuitous route back to Northam-on-the-Water because we were enjoying each other’s company, so it was dark when he pulled up in front of Wood House. The lights were out, which made me imagine all sorts of things. Lexi sprawled out on the sofa clutching an empty bottle of sleeping pills or hogtied with a knitting-needle-wielding psychopath standing over her.

You will never guess where I found her. Sitting on the bench beside the stream—with William bloody Curtis! She wasn’t clutching a bottle of sleeping pills and she sure wasn’t hogtied!

After that, the days passed with a steady rhythm. Lexi walking with Mrs. Waites or meeting William at the bench by the stream to talk about pandemics and flesh-eating bacteria, while I worked on training Nether Westcote to walk on a leash and met with Miss Isabella to continue our work on our scheme to turn Welldon Abbey into a luxurious wedding venue. Bingley turned in several sigh-provoking pieces about Welldon’s most romantic residents and Brandon helped us find a brilliant brand developer who created eye-catching brochures and a slick, user-friendly website.

I even finished reading Emma—a feat that left me with mixed emotions. I was wrong about Mr. Elton. What a horrid man. And his wife! Ugh!

However, I was pleased to discover Emma’s feelings for Mr. Knightley, her dear Mr. Knightley, altered by the end of the novel, from brotherly affection to all-consuming passion. They even got married! Sigh.

I can only hope—in this—my life truly will imitate Jane Austen’s art.