The Importance of Being Alice (24 page)

“Oh, he'll be fine. It's just a broken collarbone. Did he tell you how many times that Edmond, my beloved husband, broke his collarbone? It seemed as if he was
forever doing it. No doubt Elliott gets his weak collarbones from his father's side of the family—”

His mother's voice drifted back as the ladies left, Alice with one last startled glance. He smiled to himself, pleased that his mother saw what he saw in Alice, and content that all would be well in that regard.

The following day, Alice, Gunner, and his mother were on hand to take him home. Elliott gritted his teeth against the pain of the ride to the castle, regretting the loss of his IV drip filled with painkillers. Bertie was waiting for them on the front steps, dancing around excitedly while inquiring if there was anything he could do.

It seemed to take forever, but at last Elliott was settled in bed, Alice at his side, and his mother dashing in and out of his bedroom scattering random facts she felt were pertinent to the situation. Elliott couldn't help but be amused by how quickly his mother had taken to Alice—it must be something in their genes, he mused to himself as Alice arranged pillows and adjusted the drapes so that the sun didn't shine in his eyes. His mother never said the word “Alice” without appending “dear” to it.

“Walston has some new sheep in the south meadow. Walston is one of our tenants, Alice dear. You will like him. Bertie, don't fuss with Elliott's laptop. You know how he dislikes that. Alice dear, close the drape just a bit more. The sun will soon move and it will make Elliott uncomfortable. Did Richardson—he's the builder, Alice dear—did he tell you that the insurance man called at the castle this morning? He said he would be back later today, so that he might speak to you, but that you were not to worry about the payouts to those men who were injured, so all is well there.”

“Other than the increases in insurance premiums,
yes,” Elliott said, and immediately felt like a heel in being concerned by monetary issues when three men had been injured working on his home.

“Should he see the insurance man, do you think, Alice dear?” His mother frowned, and tweaked the duvet covering him. “He looks pale.”

Alice's lips twitched as her eyes met his. He let a little of the exasperation show, which she answered with another twitch of her lips. She got control of herself, though, and turned a placid face to his mother. “I think he'll be fine so long as he doesn't try to cartwheel his way out to meet the guy.”

“Yes, but he looks so horrible.”

“Thank you,” Elliott said, shooting his young brother a look when the latter cackled, and slumped into an easy chair that sat next to the fireplace.

“Elliott's a big boy,” Alice said, taking a page from his mother's book, and gently escorting her to the door. “If he didn't feel well enough to meet with someone, I'm sure he'd tell us.”

“Men can be so stupid about things like that,” Mum answered, but allowed herself to be persuaded. “Is that the time? I must be off. There is a meeting of the dramatics society that I said I would attend, even though that sort of thing isn't really me. I'm the least dramatic person I know, aren't I, Bertie dear?”

“Yes, Mum,” Bertie answered without bothering to look up from Elliott's laptop.

“Leave it, Bertie,” Elliott growled. He disliked others touching his computer. They had a way of messing up things that made him tetchy just thinking about it. “Don't you have something to do?”

“Summer hols,” Bertie said, poking at the keyboard.

Alice came back into the room, and took in Elliott's growing frustration with one swift look.

“Beat it, kiddo,” she told Bertie, holding the door open.

He looked up in surprise.

Alice jerked her head toward the door. “Now.”

Bertie grinned, slammed closed the laptop in a way that had Elliott saying something quite rude, and got to his feet, slouching his way to the door in his usual manner. “So it's going to be like that, is it?” he asked Alice, pausing in front of her.

“You got a problem with me?” she asked in a voice that was surprisingly tough.

His grin grew, and he shook his head. “No, but I bet old El doesn't have a clue as to what he's let himself in for.”

She gave him a little push out of the door, closing it and leaning against it with a tired sigh. “OK, let me preface this by saying that I love your family—”

“But a little of them goes a long way? I am in complete agreement with you.”

“So what now?” She moved around his room, clearly at a loss as to what she should be doing.

“The doctor said I should stay in bed for another day or two in order to minimize jarring the bones, and then I will be released from this room. If you hand me my laptop, I can do a little one-handed work.”

“I meant now what do I do? I'm happy to take care of you, but other than shooing people out of your hair, I'm not sure what you need done.” She set the laptop on the bed, plopping down next to him.

His shoulder screamed with the movement of the bed.
He waited until the sharp burn of pain dulled into a bearable level, and answered, “You're free to do whatever you like. Gunner said he'd be here for a few more days, and he'd be happy to show you around, or you can wait for me to do the same.”

“Do you have any work I could be doing?”

“Work? Such as?”

She shrugged. “I don't know, something secretarial? You're a writer—you must have tons of paperwork and the like. Do you need something typed?”

“I have a voice program that will take my dictation.”

“There's got to be something I can do. I hate feeling like I'm being a burden.”

He gave her hand a squeeze. He wished he could do more, but even that movement had him braced against the resulting pain that not even his medication would alleviate. “Now you're being silly. You aren't a burden. I'm quite serious when I say you can do what you like. My home is now your home. I want you to feel comfortable here.”

“Oh, Elliott!” She snuggled up to his side, careful to avoid the injured area, but still making him wince. “You really are the most amazing man. I'm sorry to be such a pill when you're feeling crappy, and I don't mean to whine. I'm just feeling a bit . . . lost. I love your family, and of course, the castle is fantastic, but it's all so . . . strange. I can't shake the feeling that Cecily is going to pounce on me from a dark corner and make me leave the house.”

“You've been introduced to the staff as my wife, so that won't happen.”

She bit her lip.

He had to look away so as to keep from kissing her.
He tried to think of something for her to do that would give her a feeling of involvement without working her too hard. “Why don't you plan our wedding party?”

“You're kidding, right?” She pulled back to look up at him. “Your mother would kill me, Elliott, kill me if I dared to disrupt the plans she's already making for that. It's going to be on a Sunday, so she can thumb her nose at some local preacher dude by having your lesbian sister and her partner present, not that I understand all of that, but with your mom, it's really just easier to let her roll ahead with her plans. Besides, she's planning a kick-ass party, much better than I could have done. I don't suppose I could help you with your book?”

“No, I've never been one who could work with a collaborator.”

She hesitated, then said, without looking at him, “What about your
other
work?”

He thought about that. Dixon acted as steward, but there were still some tasks that he as baron had to do. “I don't know what there really is that you could do. It's mostly things I have to attend to myself.”

“I kind of figured that must be so.”

“There is something,” he said slowly, desperately searching his mind for an occupying task and finally coming up with two ideas. “Two somethings, in fact.”

“What?”

“First, the castle, as you know, is open to the public twice a week. Dixon has been pressing me to open up all week in order to make the estate pay for itself, rather than having me pump money from book sales into it, and I have to admit it is an enticing thought. The estate being profitable, not having the house opened to tourists all week long.”

“And?” she asked, clearly eager to help.

“If you could put that clever brain to work on ways for the estate to turn a profit without filling the house with tours all day long, I'd be eternally grateful.”

“Hmm.” She looked thoughtful. “Brainstorm fund-raising, you mean? I did that in my last job, and if I say so myself, I was pretty good at it. What's the second something?”

“This one is a bit trickier, at least so far as my mother is concerned. All of the family—other than Jane and Gunner—are what is euphemistically referred to as employed by the estate.”

“Euphemistically?” Her nose scrunched up in an adorable manner. “How so?”

“Other than Dixon and Gabrielle—she's a sister you haven't yet met—there is little to no work done for the salaries they draw. Those were set in place by my father, of course, encouraged by my mother, who firmly believes that as head of the family, I should have no problem supporting all my siblings.”

“That's hardly fair!” she said, indignation clearly visible in her face. “You work hard writing all those books just to pay for things!”

“And Dixon works hard to keep the estate as profitable as he can, yes. Unfortunately, we can't continue this way. I told my siblings who aren't working for their wages that they would have to find new jobs, but my mother tells me that they didn't take me seriously. That's where you come in.”

“You want me to find them jobs? I'm not sure I know how to do that.”

“Jobs, internships, a sabbatical somewhere far away—hell, you can even find them spouses, so far as I'm
concerned. Just get them off the estate accounts and onto their respective own two feet.”

She giggled. “I may not be any great shakes as an employment agency, but I'm a wonderful matchmaker. At least, I always figured I would be, and it will be great fun finding significant others for your brothers and sisters.”

“Or jobs,” he cautioned. “Employment is going to be much easier than finding them all their soul mates.”

“Aye, aye, Lord Erogenous,” she said, saluting. “Consider it done!”

“Let's . . . erm . . . let's keep that second job quiet, shall we? My mother is giving me enough grief about it; if she finds out that I've asked you to help shoo her chicks out from under her wings, we'll both feel her wrath.”

“No problem. I like your mom, and wouldn't want her to think we were plotting against her, even if it is for everyone's good. Oh, about the fund-raising . . . did you have any suggestions?”

“No. If I did, I'd have Dix looking at them, but my attention has been focused of late on getting this book done, and the first of the renovations finished.”

She patted him on the hand and rose, sending another sharp jolt of pain through his shoulder. “Don't worry, Elliott, I'll take care of everything so all you have to do is heal up, and finish writing that book.”

He was about to tell her that he didn't expect her to have much success at either task, but she looked so damned happy and pleased with herself that he didn't have the heart to do so. “I would be greatly relieved if you'd do so.”

“I'll go take a quick look around the castle and grounds, and start working on things. You should be resting now anyway. I'll be back with your lunch, OK?”

“Tell Gunner to show you around,” he told her as she left.

He settled back with his computer, relaxing at last. Alice had an occupation, his mother was happily planning a party, and he would be able to finish writing the book. All in all, life was looking pretty damned
rosy.

Diary of Alice Wood

Day Fourteen. Holy Moses, has life been crazy busy.

I
can't believe it's been a week since I last wrote in my diary! My only excuse is that I've been so busy, all my creativity has been sucked dry. Since today is the first day of Phase One, I've decided that I need to document it, so that we can look back later and tweak anything that went weird. Assuming, that is, that we're still together.

Great. Now I'm foreshadowing. I hate it when I read a mystery that does that! I guess since this is just a diary, it's OK, but maybe I'd better start over.

Let's see, it was a week ago, the day after we got Elliott home from the hospital, that I sat down and thought about the jobs he'd given me. The matchmaking (since I discounted finding jobs for people when I could get them married off so they were as happy as Elliott and I were) sounded like the most fun, but realistically, I
figured I'd have a better shot of bringing some money into the coffers if I focused on ways to make the castle profitable, and that's where I put all my brainpower.

“I have a list of things,” I had told Elliott that morning. He was sitting up in bed, his laptop on his legs, and had been speaking into a headset so that his words would be transcribed into text. “Oh, sorry, didn't know you were writing. Er . . . talking. Writing via talking.”

He looked just as adorably irritated as he had back on the ship, making a little curl of nostalgia pinch my stomach. “It's called dictating. What does your list concern?”

I held out the tablet of paper. “It's my moneymaking ideas.”

“Ah.” He looked back at the computer. “Have you shown them to Dixon?”

“I started to, but he was just hauling his suitcase out to his car, so he told me to discuss them with you.”

“He's leaving?” Elliott's frown cleared a little as he answered himself. “Oh, the agricultural course he's taking in Scotland. I forgot that was starting this week.”

“He's going to be gone for eight weeks, and I'd like to get some of these things started.” I held out the tablet again. “I can explain them, if you like.”

He started to say something, but checked himself. He gave me a long look. “Do any of the plans include vast herds of tourists stomping through the castle at all hours of the day?”

“No, of course not. I know you don't want that.”

“Are any items being created with my face, or yours, on an undergarment?”

I laughed. “No Lord Ainslie undies, I swear. Just simple stuff meant to appeal to people with sizable money at their disposal. For instance,” I said, tapping on the
tablet. “The dower house isn't being used as anything but a site for tourists to see. I thought we could use it as a wedding venue. Castle wedding spots, as you mentioned, make oodles of money, and although I know you don't want anyone up near the castle itself until it's repaired, the dower house is gorgeous by itself, and there's that cute little pond, and if we fixed up the rooms, we could rent it out as a reception area and B&B for wedding guests.”

“That is an excellent idea,” he said, looking back at his laptop. “I wholly approve of it, and assuming your other ideas are along those lines, then you have my full approval to enact them.”

“Well, admittedly, there's only a couple of other ideas that I had, one of which involves corporations using the gardens, but there's one big one that I think is really fabulous—”

“I'm sure it will be a splendid success,” he said, tapping one-handed on the laptop.

“Yeah, but you should probably hear about exactly what I want to do,” I said, feeling a bit shoved to the side.

“That's not necessary. I trust you.”

It's hard to bitch when someone says that, but I felt that this was a big deal, and Elliott needed to give it his full attention. “It's your house that's at stake, Elliott. I don't want to plow ahead doing something that you wouldn't like.”

“If you are concerned, speak with my mother,” he said, his eyes fixed firmly on the laptop. “I really must get this book done if I am to have time for the wedding and party next week.”

“All right, I'll do that. Elliott . . . you're sure you're going to be well enough for the wedding?” I asked,
sidetracked by the thought of our upcoming nuptials. We'd decided to have our wedding itself at the local registry office, with just a few of Elliott's family in attendance, and then on the following weekend, we'd have the big party for his extended network of family and friends.

“I'm sure I'll be feeling fine by then.”

I will admit to feeling a bit bereft at that point. Elliott hadn't even kissed me since he had come home from the hospital, let alone initiated anything else. Not that I expected sexual activity with a broken bone, but I'd noticed a sort of reluctance to have me near him that worried me.

“You're just being weird because you're the stranger here,” I told myself when I went in search of his mom. “He's not going to suddenly unlove you just because you're in his home and now everyone knows that we hooked up so fast. Stop being a drama queen, and count your blessings.”

“I count my blessings every night when I retire for the evening,” Elliott's mom said, strolling past me from the entrance hall to the wing that contained the family's private (as in, not on the public tour) sitting room. “It's better than sheep for putting you to sleep.”

“Is it? Oh! Hi. Um, Elliott told me to talk to you . . . Lady Ainslie.” That last bit came out all shades of uncomfortable. I hadn't yet settled on what to call her, and Elliott was absolutely no help, saying that her name was Rosalyn, and that she wouldn't at all mind being called that.

“About what?” she asked, stopping before the door to the sitting room. She held a sheaf of papers in her hand, and looked with mild interest at me.

“Elliott asked me to come up with some
moneymaking plans for the castle. I did a lot of fund-raising in my old job, and for a local animal shelter, so I know my way around that sort of thing,” I said by way of an explanation. “And he really likes one of my ideas—turning the dower house into a wedding venue—but he's too busy to hear the rest of my ideas. He just said to make them happen, but I thought it might be good to bounce the ideas off of someone first.”

“A wedding venue,” she said thoughtfully, her eyes on me but obviously her thoughts elsewhere. “Yes, I believe I can see that. The house is in excellent shape, although it desperately needs painting.”

“I'm sure we could freshen it up a bit,” I said hastily, feeling very much like a puppy seeking praise. “That cost would pay for itself in no time.” I spent a few minutes explaining my vision for the dower house, which she appeared to like.

“That seems like a most excellent plan,” she said, giving me a little pat on the cheek, something she was prone to doing. “By rights, I should move out there, especially with Elliott marrying, but I've never admired the house, and there is ample space here at the castle, so there's no need for such an extreme action. Besides, this is a much better use of the space, and I'm sure we can leave all of the planning in your capable hands.”

“You sure can,” I said, beaming with pleasure.

“Now, if you will excuse me—”

“There's another idea I had. Elliott really doesn't seem to like tourists visiting the house much.”

“No, he never has.” She sighed. “He was resistant to the idea to begin with, claiming that it disturbs his muse, which is just ridiculous, but we must humor him.”

“Dixon wants to open the house up every day, and I
thought if there was a way that we could make about the same amount of money as would be brought in by daily admittance, but with fewer people, then it would be win-win all around. So I thought of Medieval Times.”

Lady Ainslie's forehead furrowed. “The Dark Ages?”

“No, it's a place in the U.S. that has jousting and knights and things, and people dress up and eat food like they did in ye olde days, and it's a hoot and a half. We're talking really popular, and it isn't at all cheap. Since this place is a castle, a real castle, then we could do something similar. You know, playing up to all the history that the house has seen.”

“You wish to open a restaurant?”

“No, that would be a lot of people tromping through, which is what Elliott wants to avoid. I thought, why not have just a couple of people who have to pay through the nose to stay in an actual historic castle with the actual historic castle's owners!”

She just looked at me.

“For example, let's say we picked an Elizabethan theme. Elliott says the castle was originally built then, right? So we put out an ad saying that for beaucoup bucks, people can stay here for . . . oh, I don't know. A week? Four days? We'll have to work out rates and such, but let's say four days. So if people have to pay two thousand pounds to stay here for four days, they'd get to have dinner with the baron and his family, hang out in parts of the castle that aren't open to the public, and would participate in an authentic Elizabethan banquet. We could all dress up in costumes from that period, and maybe hire a minstrel or something, and it would be a blast, don't you think? And the best part is that we'd make money hand
over fist, and yet we'd limit it to just a couple of people at a time, so Elliott wouldn't feel like the place was overrun.”

I stopped talking, waiting to hear what she thought. I hadn't missed the way her eyes lit up when I mentioned dressing up in Elizabethan clothing.

“It seems very promising,” she agreed. “Where would these people stay?”

“Well, that's one of the things that I wanted to talk to you about. Are there a couple of spare rooms that we could have done up for the VIP visitors? I was thinking maybe two rooms, and we could limit it to two people maximum per room. That way there wouldn't be tons of people hanging around with the family.”

She waved that thought away. “There are always extraneous people here. Is that the word I want? Perhaps not, but regardless, the children always have friends visiting, and it's a rare day when we sit down to just family. A few extra people would likely not even be noticed.”

“Especially if those people were paying a lot for that honor,” I said, cannily playing up to a facet that I knew would please her.

“Two thousand pounds for four days?”

“Per person.”

Her eyes brightened even more. “Yes, that would be most acceptable.”

“I'm so glad you like the idea. And I had a thought while taking a bath this morning—two of the ladies we met on the cruise work for some upscale travel place. I know that one of them would definitely spread the word among her clients.” A thought struck me as I spoke. “And I bet I could get Patrick to talk it up to his rich buddies, too. Now that he's done being weird about Elliott and me,
there's no reason for him not to. Especially if he's dating Elliott's sister.”

“Hmm?” Lady Ainslie asked, clearly thinking of something else.

“Nothing, just talking to myself.”

“I do that, as well. It's very satisfying. Now, Alice dear, I'll leave it all up to you. I really must go write this article about the sale of ivory. So tragic, and really, people should know better, but still they do it. . . .” She toddled off to her sitting room, leaving me with all sorts of plans tumbling around in my head.

I dug through the entries on my phone until I found the number I wanted, and put in a call to Laura. After catching her up with the latest news about Elliott and me, I explained my idea to her, and waited to hear what she thought. “I was thinking we'd call it the Ainslie Elizabethan Experience. Do you think your clients might be interested in something like that?”

“Absolutely! That entire program sounds incredible,” she said when I was finished. “Truly magical. Alice—oh, this is going to sound insane, I know, because I just got back from the trip—but would you mind if I booked the first Ainslie Experience for myself? It's a bank holiday in two weeks, and if I tack on an extra day off of work, that would give me four days to stay at Ainslie Castle.”

“Done!” I said, then suddenly worried about the cost. “Um. It's pricey, though, Laura. I'm sure we can give you a little discount, but—”

“Pfft,” she interrupted. “Don't worry about that. The agency pays for a certain number of research trips per year. I'll just make sure that this is one of them.”

“Awesome! I'm so pleased. I've been wishing that I
could see you again, since I couldn't even say good-bye when I had to dash last week.”

“I'm dying to see you and Elliott again, too,” she said, her voice dropping to add, “You never did tell me the nature of Elliott's injury. Was it something related to his . . . job?”

“Um . . . in a way, yes.” I hated hedging like that, but I didn't think it was the best advertising plan to announce that part of the castle was prone to falling on innocent bystanders. I made a mental note to discuss a more permanent structure to keep people away from the danger spots, and focused on the happier idea of raising enough money to have that wing repaired. “But he doesn't like to talk about it, Laura.”

“I totally understand. Can you e-mail me a brochure, so I can run it by my boss? I don't anticipate any trouble, but I will need it and an invoice for the accounting people.”

“I'll have both to you by this afternoon.”

I waited until it was time for lunch (and Elliott's pain medications) before taking both to him along with the news that not only had his mother approved of my plans, but money was already rolling in.

“Should you be out of bed?” I asked, setting down the tray of food and medication, and glancing around the small, dark room that served as Elliott's workplace. “The doctor said you need to rest.”