In Love with a Gentleman (10 page)

I want to confirm this, but I bite my tongue. It’s not true in regard to Ethan, so that would be a bald-faced lie. I’m also a bit irritated by the comment that I don’t care what men think. Is he criticizing what I’m wearing? In fact, I was superconscientious about the outfit I selected for this trip. I’m wearing my best-fitting jeans, which make me look skinnier than I am, and a pale-pink blouse that complements my complexion. I’ve left the top two buttons undone, so he can see some cleavage. I’m also wearing a tweed blazer I bought especially for this trip.

Ethan seems to be able to read my mind. To my relief, he adds, “I’m referring to your behavior, of course, not your looks.”

I remain silent and look out the window as happiness surges through me. Ethan likes me. He wants to get to know me better. How great is that?

We drive through one picturesque village after another. Many of them have a pond in the middle of town where ducks swim around peacefully. Almost every town also has an old church that presides solemnly over its residents. The houses are made of wood or covered in stucco. Some are pink, like the Seafields’ house. Others have blue-gray or bright-yellow façades.

Just when I think I’ve had enough excitement before breakfast, Ethan says, “Would you like to take a break in Saffron Walden? We could grab a bite to eat at a pub.”

Of course I would! I’ve been squinting at the clock on the dashboard the whole trip, aching inside because the time is going by so quickly. I would love nothing better than to travel with Ethan around England for all eternity.

He stops in front of a beautiful Tudor building with a white plaster façade framed with black timber. There are bay windows of crown glass on either side of the entrance. A sign over the door says “The Coach and Horses.” It’s an old-fashioned inn, probably one where people rested their horses on a long journey. I feel like I’m in a movie. Here I am in England, in one of the sweetest little towns in the region. I’m about to enter a fantastically picturesque restaurant, and a stunningly handsome man is opening my car door. Ethan reaches out his hand to help me out.

I stand up, breathlessly happy. “It’s so beautiful here!”

Ethan looks at me in amusement. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?” I ask.

“Enjoying life. When you say, ‘It’s so beautiful here,’ you really mean it, don’t you?”

“Of course,” I say.

“That’s kind of unusual,” Ethan says, “but also quite pleasant.”

“I’m relieved to hear that,” I say. “I had the impression that you thought my being ‘unusual’ was a negative trait.”

Ethan shakes his head and walks into the pub.
Hurray, Ethan won’t hate me if I’m unusual!

The host takes us to a table near the bay window. There are a few other guests, but the restaurant isn’t very full yet. I order a baked potato with cheese, and Ethan steak and kidney pie.

“It’s good that I get to eat before entering the wilds of Cambridge,” I joke.

Ethan looks at me questioningly. “Wilds?”

I tell him how worried Abby is that I’ll starve to death within the week.

Ethan frowns. “That doesn’t sound good. How did you end up with this family?”

“Through Mr. Henley. He arranged everything in advance.”

“Yes, but surely he thought of it as a temporary measure,” Ethan says, “until you find something else.”

“Maybe, but I feel comfortable there now. They’ve practically adopted me, and it’s touching how they take care of me.”

Ethan looks very serious. “I disagree. These people interfere in your life way too much. You’re their tenant. Nothing more. It shouldn’t matter who you travel with or what you do in your spare time. Personally, I wouldn’t tolerate it.”

I consider this. There might be something to it. They really do treat me too much like a child.

Ethan leans forward and looks at me sternly. “If I can give you some advice, Lea, you should find other accommodations as soon as possible. You’re not doing yourself any favors by living with this old couple. They’re forcing you into the role of a little girl, which isn’t good for you.”

On the one hand, I am flattered that Ethan seems to be concerned about me. On the other hand, the Lanes have grown on me, despite all their quirks. They’re even trying to quit smoking. I suggested that instead of buying cigarettes, they should put that money into a piggy bank and, after two months, buy something they couldn’t otherwise afford. This proposal seemed to be a big hit with them—not surprising, considering that they always seem to be strapped for cash. When Glen complained that he lacked a satisfactory substitute, I bought him licorice toffees. Every evening I put them in a little bowl on his side table. Could I really give these two notice? I’d rather not. I know that I would miss them, and they’d miss me.

It’s too complicated to explain, so I just say, “Yes, maybe you’re right. Let’s see how it goes.”

When our food arrives, we grab our cutlery and dig in. Ethan looks up from his plate and studies me thoughtfully.
I hope he likes what he sees
, I suddenly think.

“You listened to me,” he says with satisfaction.

I don’t understand. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, your hair.”

“Oh yeah.” I laugh in relief. “Now I get it. You noticed I went to the hairdresser.”

“You can laugh about it if you want,” Ethan says, “but I have an eye for such things. I think it’s horrible when women don’t properly care for their long hair. It looks a thousand times better and healthier.”

I appreciate the compliment and say, “Well, then, the visit to the hairdresser was definitely worthwhile.” It occurs to me that it was worthwhile for another reason, too. “Thanks to your advice, I was able to get accommodations in Cambridge,” I add.

“Oh, really?”

I tell him about Mandy and her sister, who I’ll be staying with.

Ethan furrows his brow. “Well, I hope you won’t be disappointed. It sounds kind of strange to me.”

“Oh,” I say, “it’s only for a week. If I don’t like it, I’ll just go back right away.”

But Ethan isn’t satisfied. “You’ve simply got to plan things out better, Lea. Life is too short, and lack of planning could spoil everything. Unsuitable accommodations could end up ruining the whole week for you.”

I shrug. “Perhaps. But things like that aren’t very important to me. In the worst-case scenario, by the end of the week I’ll know what not to do and I will have learned something.”

“Yes, you’ll know that you shouldn’t plan things last minute,” Ethan says. “I’ve never heard of someone arranging accommodations through their hairdresser. No way is that going to work.”

I tilt my head to the side and say, “It’s sweet that you worry so much about me. You’re almost as bad as Abby and Glen.”

“I’m not as worried about the actual accommodations, Lea, but I am worried about you. The way you waltz through life is worrisome. One of these days, you’re going to fall flat on your face.”

I shrug again. “And if that happens, it won’t matter. I’ll just pick myself back up and keep on dancing.”

Ethan looks at me very thoughtfully for a moment, as if he is trying to solve a very tough puzzle. Then he shakes his head and focuses on his meal again.

We talk about this and that, even about things that have nothing to do with school or our colleagues. I laugh as I relate several funny anecdotes. The guests at the other tables seem to be looking at us in amusement. Ethan acts rather restrained, only occasionally smiling a little. I try my best to make his wonderful dimples appear but fail. Oh well. That’s to be expected from my dream guy. I like his somber mood, and I particularly adore a hint of brooding mystery about him. In my favorite novel,
Pride and Prejudice
, the hero, Mr. Darcy, is just like that, and so is Mr. Rochester in
Jane Eyre
. His deep, dark secrets make him seem unapproachable and mysterious. This could work out wonderfully. I could be the funny, bright, and cheery one, and gradually I would soften his scowl. He would compensate for my frivolousness and liveliness with his seriousness. We would be the perfect couple. I hope he thinks so, too.

I have to pull myself together! I’m dreaming about something that will probably never happen. I don’t have the slightest idea if Ethan is thinking along those same lines at all. So many women are crazy about him—and probably have a better chance with him than I do. It doesn’t make sense that he would choose me.
Remember, Lea
,
my inner voice says,
the fact that you two are riding together is completely accidental. He didn’t invite you. After this car trip, it’s all over
. At the same time, a small glimmer of hope begins to grow inside me. Didn’t Ethan tell me that he finds me extremely attractive and that I’m different from the women he’s met? Maybe this is the beginning of something new and wonderful.

Back inside the car again, we continue our ride to Cambridge. Ethan is taciturn, and I feel nervous. Maybe I make him nervous, too. How great would that be?

At some point, he clears his throat and says, “You shouldn’t do that.”

I’m startled. What does he mean? Can he read my thoughts? Has he guessed what hopeful, dreamy ideas are whirling through my head? Carefully, I ask, “What?”

He nods in the direction of my hands. “Bite your fingernails. You’re tearing your cuticles. It’s ugly and self-destructive.”

This warms my heart. He’s so lovingly concerned about me! A man would only say something like that to a woman who is important to him. The remark was so stern and intimate, as if we’ve known each other for a long time. I like the quiet authority that he radiates. I stop biting my nails and sit on my hands.

We soon reach the outskirts of Cambridge. In the distance, the battlements and towers of the old town rise above the university buildings.

Ethan asks me for the address, and I read aloud, “Somerset Close.”

“Oh my goodness,” he says, “that’s way too far out of town. It’s at least a twenty-minute bus ride downtown.”

Oh dear. I didn’t think Emmy’s shared apartment would be so inconveniently located. If this were a cheesy romance novel, Ethan would say, “You know what? You don’t have to stay there. Come and stay in my room with me.” Wow! Would I really want to, though? Maybe . . . It would be a bit bold of him. I don’t want to be a one-night stand. I want to be his wife, but he must first court me for a considerable length of time. Okay, maybe not
so
long, but at least a little while.

When I don’t say anything, he types the address into his GPS device and says, “Okay, I’ll just drop you off at your door.”

We drive north from the city, but it’s not quite as far away as Ethan had so gloomily predicted. After about ten minutes, we are driving along residential streets and passing small two-story brick homes, all of which look exactly the same down to the smallest details. We find the correct house number, and Ethan pulls up in front of it. Now my heart really sinks. I have to say thank you and good-bye to him now, but I really want to spend more time with him.

Ethan turns to me and says, “So, what are your plans this week?”

My heart skips a beat. “Well, I’ll check out the city. I don’t really have any specific plans yet.”

He smirks. “It figures. You just waltz through life without a plan.”

I smile back. “Yes, that’s me. It works pretty well. You should try it sometime.”

He scrutinizes me with his mysterious brown eyes. Then he says, “Just in case you have time for a real plan in the middle of your haphazard drifting, I’d like to suggest something.”

I’m all ears. Maybe he wants me to meet up with him.

Instead he says, “There’s a wonderful little museum in the city. You’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a glorious hodgepodge of the craziest things under the sun. It’s located on Castle Street and is called the Cambridge and County Folk Museum. Worth a visit.”

Oh, so that’s all it is
, I think, heart sinking. He just wanted to give me some sightseeing tips. I swallow my disappointment and say, “Oh, that sounds terrific. I’ll go there first thing tomorrow morning. Thanks for the tip.”

I find the door handle and get out. Ethan also gets out, opens the trunk, and lifts my bag out. My bag and his suitcase were lying next to each other.
So nice and cozy
, I think wistfully. But it’s all over now. Ethan accompanies me to the door. He looks at the scruffy garden and the house’s simple façade and wrinkles his nose.
When Ethan wrinkles his nose, he makes it look very classy,
I think.

“Well, you’ve landed in less than genteel quarters,” he says, “but you can’t expect too much when it’s arranged by your hairdresser.”

I laugh. “That sounds a bit snooty. I thought it was rather generous of Mandy. Anyway, I’m just a poor student. A luxury hotel would be rather unaffordable.”

A worried expression darkens his face. If these shabby accommodations evoke such tender concern from him, it would be worth having even shabbier quarters. “Well, hopefully you won’t have to leave tomorrow,” he says.

“We’ll see,” I say. “Let’s just see how everything pans out.”

“In Lea fashion,” he says.

“Exactly.”

He turns to go, then something occurs to him. “I just had an idea . . .” he says.

I hold my breath. An idea? Oh, yes, please!

“As a PhD student, my brother is allowed to invite guests to dinner at the Master’s Lodge at Trinity College. Does that sound interesting to you?”

I’m too stunned to speak, so I just nod. A dinner at Trinity’s venerable dining hall! That would be the most amazing thing that could happen to me here.

“Well, then, you can come with me,” Ethan says quite casually, as if we were only going to see a movie. Not that going to the movies with Ethan wouldn’t have also been fabulous, but this . . . !

I beam at him. “I think that’s unbelievably nice of you. When should I be ready?”

“I’ll pick you up here tomorrow night around six. I believe one of his tutors will be serving sherry at his apartment. We’re invited, too, of course.”

Oh man! I can’t believe my luck. As his car rolls away toward the city center, I practically float to Emmy’s door. There is no doorbell, only a rustic door knocker. I knock a couple of times before a short guy with tangled hair opens the door. He looks as though he just got out of bed, although it’s already afternoon.