Lucy approached Helen’s room, wondering if she was awake but still unwilling to intrude—or encounter James. She walked softly past it and down the stairs in search of Bette and breakfast.
James was leaving the dining room just as she rounded the corner.
“How’s Helen?” Lucy blurted.
“You haven’t seen her?”
“You’re here.” She scrunched her nose, realizing how immature she sounded. “I didn’t want to intrude.”
“Oh . . . Well, I’m heading there now.” James looked as if he was about to invite her to join him. Instead he said, “You two have had an interesting time.”
Lucy started to nod then fully realized what that meant and why his tone had dipped with such weight.
He knows.
He knew about Helen’s summer and the watch . . . He knew of Helen’s health . . . He knew of Lucy’s grandfather . . . He knew more about Lucy’s family . . . What else did he know about her?
“Are you okay?” She tried to keep her tone light as if quantity of information was the only issue in question.
“Are you?” He studied her.
Lucy pursed her lips, unable to discern if she caught condescension or simply expected it to be there. Either way, she felt the hair at the base of her skull prick her.
“I’m fine.” She turned her head toward the doorway. “You should go on up and say good morning.” She passed him then spun back. “Since you told Dillon that we’re leaving tomorrow, he and I are helping Bette today. Please find me if Helen needs anything.” She heard a soft “Fine” drift toward her as she walked away.
Lucy noticed Bette standing in the kitchen doorway, watching.
She tilted her head up, as if looking over Lucy’s shoulder, before facing her. “You don’t look at all like I expected.”
Lucy slapped her hands to her cheeks. “Please tell me I’m not red like yesterday.”
“You’re not red at all, but I kinda thought you’d look happier somehow. I don’t think all that fire yesterday was just embarrassment and annoyance.”
“Whatever it was, it’s gone now.”
“Mmm-hmm . . .” Bette smiled and put her basket of baked goods on the buffet.
“What?”
“Nothing. Come grab some breakfast. Dillon said you two are all mine.”
“So we are.” Lucy grabbed a delicate china plate and a scone. “Did he say why James chose to stay? Is Helen not doing well?”
Bette flicked a finger toward the door to the Great Room. “He was just here. Why didn’t you ask him?”
“He’d have told me if it was something serious. I suspect he wants to give Helen another day of rest.”
Bette shook her head and passed through the swinging door to the kitchen. She returned five minutes later as Lucy was eating the last of her scone and a small fruit salad. “Are you ready?”
Lucy stood and fell into step behind her. “Where to today?”
“Two rooms at the back of the house are empty. The first is the Markham Room. Do you like it? It overlooks the yard and he was a farmer.”
Lucy nodded. “I like that name a lot.”
“Then come on; it’s one we haven’t tackled yet.” Bette looped her arm through Lucy’s and pulled her along. “I felt a little guilty about yesterday. You can’t do all the rooms, okay? Help me with a couple then head to the Parsonage. What if you’d left today without seeing it?”
“I would’ve survived. Helen is more important, and somehow, seeing it without her felt like a betrayal.”
“And yet you haven’t seen her since James arrived.”
Lucy didn’t reply, knowing that all excuses sounded small and selfish—because they were. She’d avoided Helen because of James. At first, because looking at him hurt. Now, looking at him was impossible. He knew everything about her family now. Everything.
They headed to the Markham Room in silence and started pushing and pulling at the furniture. Within minutes, Dillon joined them and the work moved faster. Another hour and they moved to the third room and Lucy felt herself unwind.
At the two-hour mark, as Dillon carried an unwanted chair to an outside building, Bette threw up her hands. “Enough. Why don’t you go next door, look around, and tell me your ideas? You can’t stay here doing all the work. My dad and I can get it done while you go to lunch and the Parsonage.”
“Alone?”
“Take Dillon.” Bette stood straight. “You’ve got to get out.”
“Dillon won’t leave you, not if you’re still working.” Lucy raised her eyebrows.
“He won’t, will he?” Bette’s cheeks blossomed.
Lucy picked up the end of an early-twentieth-century desk and scooted it to the other side of the window. She pulled the brown cushion from its chair. “Let’s put a new turquoise velvet cushion on your seamstress list.” She glanced up. Bette stared into space. “Bette?”
Bette blushed deeper. “Got it. Cushion.” She pulled out her pad and wrote down the new addition.
Lucy laughed and stepped back to the desk, polishing rag in hand.
“What happened between you and James? Can I ask?” Bette softly called from across the room.
Lucy stilled and mentally calculated the distance—one floor and five rooms—between her and James. Something in Bette called out an honesty in her and she wanted to respect that. She moved closer, too embarrassed to say the words above a whisper.
She picked up the fitted sheet laying folded on the bed and motioned to Bette to grab a corner. “I did something wrong and he took it as a betrayal.” She tugged her corner. “I forged inscriptions in some books. They sell for a little more that way and I . . . He found out and that was it. It’s not quite that simple, but that’s what it boils down to.”
Lucy pulled her end of the top sheet, tucked it under, and made a hospital corner. She ran her hand across the smooth bed. “Before that, I was all smooth and perfect and then I wasn’t. I’m not.”
Bette tossed her an edge of the comforter. “No one is smooth and perfect. You made a mistake.”
“It wasn’t just that. It’s a life of mistakes—three lives of mistakes.”
“I don’t follow you.”
Lucy positioned the pillows and peered out the window. The sun was now high in the sky. “Do you want to know why Helen brought me along—?”
“Hello?” A soft tap on the open door preceded James’s head poking in. “I’ve been looking for you.”
They both froze.
Bette spoke first. “How’s your grandmother this morning?”
“She’s doing great. She kicked me out for a nap and she asked about you.” James addressed Lucy. “What are you two doing?”
“Lucy’s helping me freshen the rooms.” Bette’s expression asked if she used the word correctly. Lucy blinked as if to say I’m impressed and she continued. “We’re updating their looks.”
James’s eyes flickered to Lucy’s then away. “She’s good at that.”
“Will you help us move something?” Bette motioned toward the bed.
James stepped into the room and pushed up his sleeves.
“You don’t have to do that. Let me go find Dillon.” Lucy rushed out of the room and down the hallway.
Within minutes, she’d hurried Dillon from a storage shed and was back outside the room. James and Bette were laughing within.
“Set it down here,” Bette said. “What do you think?”
“I like it, but you’d have to ask Lucy—she’s the expert.”
“Speaking of Lucy, what do you—”
Lucy burst into the room.
Bette threw her a wink. “We were just talking about you” floated in the air alongside James’s “How do you like what we’ve done?”
“It looks great.” Lucy addressed James and ignored Bette. “Let’s scoot the bed a little farther and call this room done.”
James tossed Bette a crooked grin. “Told you.”
They pushed the bed into place and moved on to another room. Lucy directed the men where to move the furniture and Bette took notes on fabrics and ideas.
Bette then called it quits.
“Send me your notes, Bette, and I’ll put them on a spreadsheet with approximate costs. I’ll also send you pictures of fabrics that would work well and their numbers so you can order them with someone local. I would guess you’ve only got about $3,000 invested in all the changes.” Lucy positioned the last armchair in front of the window.
“Two thousand pounds? I was trying to find at least twenty thousand in the budget over the next couple years. This is unbelievable!” Bette flopped into the armchair. “I can’t thank you all enough, but now you need to go. It’s past noon and you’ve hardly been out of this inn in two days. You too, James.”
“I’ll go check on Grams.” James scanned the room. “It really does look wonderful. I like it, Bette.” He left the room without another word.
“And I’ll go grab some food.” Lucy straightened her back. “Wanna come?”
“Dad manned the front desk so I could come up here, but I need to go help. Mum made a fantastic Italian wedding soup this morning that she passes off as northern English; I’ll take some to Helen and James. You two go.”
“Dillon?”
He turned to Bette, who gave him a quick smile before he answered, “I’m game.”
“I’ll tell James where you’ve gone when I deliver their lunch.”
“Don’t.” Lucy stopped. “Only if he asks.”
Bette huffed. “Only if he asks.”