Say You Will (21 page)

But she didn’t want to go out with Joe.

Sigh.

She needed to stop complaining. She was finally going out with the man she’d set her sights on months ago. She should be ecstatic.

She pouted and limped the last block to the café.

She’d never been there this late on a weeknight. It was surprising how busy it was. A few people were eating, a few played board games. There was a band setting up in the corner.

No sign of Ben.

She craned her neck, looking around. She was going to ask one of the baristas, but they didn’t look like they wanted to engage in conversation, so she went out back to the greenhouse.

Limping up and down the aisles, she finally found him, kneeling on the floor with one of the other full-time gardeners, inspecting a sack of fertilizer. His jeans were streaked with dirt, and his hair was standing on end. He hadn’t shaved, and his T-shirt had a hole in the back.

She frowned and strode up to him as confidently as she could with her feet blistering. “Ben.”

He glanced up at her, and then all the way down her body. His brow furrowed at her dress, and then realization dawned. “Em, I’ll be ready in five.”

“Really?” she asked in disbelief.

“Well, maybe not.” Wincing, he stood, brushing his hands on his pants. “I need to make a stop before we go out.”

“To shower?”

“To buy more dirt. We had a small emergency.”

She glanced at the gardener, whose name was Caleb, she thought. He wasn’t qualified to get dirt?

But she didn’t want to sound like a witch, so she nodded and tried to make her lips curve into a smile. “All right.”

Ben wilted in relief. “Thanks, Em. You really are great.”

She frowned at the way he said it, like he hadn’t been sure until this moment.

“Why don’t you wait here till I return?” he said. “You can order something.”

She wanted to ask him if he wanted her to go with him, but he didn’t seem like he did, so she smiled wanly and went to get tea. She ignored the fact that she had to pay for it and sat to wait, not so patiently.

He returned forty-two minutes later, carrying a couple sacks of dirt. He nodded at her and went out back to deposit them. She’d expected that he’d drop them off and return to her, but she didn’t see him for another eighteen minutes.

Yes, she was counting.

When he finally joined her, he still wasn’t clean. She pursed her lips, trying not to get angry.

He smiled apologetically. “I’ll just wash up and then we’ll go.”

“Okay.”

He returned ten minutes later, clean, except for his clothes, which he hadn’t changed.

Em took a deep breath. Clothes didn’t matter. What mattered was that he obviously cared about his work.

The devil on her shoulder whispered that respect did, too, and if a man didn’t value her enough to dress nicely on their first date, did she really want him?

She did want Ben. He was good with kids. So she told herself to snap out of it and put some enthusiasm in her expression. “Let’s go.”

They walked outside, and she looked around. “Which car is yours?”

“We’re just going down the street.” He pointed to the left. “Two blocks. There’s a place that has great food. I think you’ll like it.”

“Okay.” On the bright side, she wouldn’t have to walk far.

But then she stepped through the doorway and any enthusiasm she had died. It was a food court, not a restaurant. The smell of fried food hung in the air, and Chinese vendors called out to her to try their wares.

“What would you like?” Ben asked, seemingly oblivious to her dismay. “Or shall I get a few things to share?”

“That’d be wonderful,” she said with the last bit of enthusiasm she had. Without another word she went to the first bench and sat down on the end, away from the two men eating tacos at the opposite end.

She was being high maintenance. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to calm herself, but she was overcome by the cloying smell of oil and spices from all parts of the world.

“Here we are.” Smiling, Ben set down two cardboard boxes filled with stews of different colors and textures. “I got Ethiopian and Indian.”

“Lovely.” She took the plastic fork he held out to her. She took a couple tentative bites before setting it down.

Ben ate happily for a while before he noticed she’d stopped. “Is it all right?”

“Yes, it’s tasty, but I suppose I expected something different.”

“Tacos?” he asked with a frown.

“No.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I mean, I had different expectations for a first date. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have assumed that we’d do something normal.”

His brow furrowed. “Eating is normal.”

“Not in a warehouse, not on a Friday night date.” She pursed her lips. “I don’t mind this, but you asked me out so properly I thought we were going to a real restaurant.”

Ben winced. “Well, yes, I had intended on taking you someplace else, but with the soil problem and the fact that I have to go back tonight—”

“You have to go back?” she asked incredulously. “What for?”

“To replant some of the vegetables with the superior soil.”

She gaped at him. Then she shook her head. “That needs to be done tonight?”

“Yes.”

“And Caleb can’t do it?”

“I’m the owner.”

If something like a soil problem could take away his attention, what’d happen when the café really needed him? How often would he stay at work? Because she didn’t want to raise children all on her own—they had to have a full-time father.

More than that, he was putting plants ahead of her. She was less important than dirt. Joe would never treat her that way.

Joe was a playboy.

Joe was
nice
.

He could have just had her—she doubted she could have resisted him if he’d pushed harder. But he’d respected her and her space. He listened to her and considered what she liked. He treated her like she was important.

She shook her head seeing clearly for the first time. She’d labelled him a playboy, not wanting to see him as he really was: a good guy.

She stood up. “I need to go look at my collage.”

“What?” Ben asked, also frowning.

“I’m going. Sorry.” She backed away. “I’ll talk to you sometime.”

“Like when you come to garden this weekend?”

“I hate gardening, Ben.” She shook her head. Yet another way he didn’t know her. “I’m not going back to garden—ever.”

Chapter Twenty-eight

Rosalind strode into the teashop, not actually expecting Summer to show up to their previously arranged date.

But she was there, at their usual table by the window. She stared outside, her brow furrowed as though she had a lot on her mind.

No kidding. Shaking her head, Rosalind made a beeline and sat down.

“Rosalind.” Summer sat up straight. “I didn’t think you’d come today.”

“I didn’t think so either. Summer.”

The woman grimaced.

“But we already set up this date to show you your wedding dress, so here.” Rosalind drew out the portfolio from her purse and set it in the middle of the table.

Summer stared at it, blinking as though she didn’t know what to make of it.

Rosalind waved away the waitress before looking at her father’s other daughter. “You aren’t getting married, are you? It’s all part of the lie.”

“I can explain,” she said quickly.

“I know, but I’m pretty sure I understand. You want money.”

Summer shook her head. “I don’t.”

“You’re saying you weren’t interested in the will?” She raised her brow.

“I wanted the will, but not because I wanted money. I just wanted a piece of the heritage.” She leaned in, her hands braced on the table. “I’m not a Summerhill.”

She looked like one. The blond hair, the sharp cheekbones, the blue eyes. Rosalind didn’t know why she hadn’t realized before. And then there were her actions. “You keep secrets and lie just like Father did. That Summerhill trait runs true, apparently.”

“I deserved that.” Nodding, she exhaled and visibly regrouped. “You have every right to feel that way, but just listen to my side of it. All my life I’ve lived in the shadow of the Summerhills. Do you know what that’s like? Being part of you, but not.”

She didn’t want to sympathize, but she couldn’t help it. Didn’t they all feel that way? Like they were a Summerhill but not quite “in?” It’d been their father’s fault.

As if reading her mind, Summer said, “I’m not blaming Dad, because he did the best he could.”

Dad? Rosalind clutched her hands in her lap, holding in a tinge of jealousy—not because Reginald was Summer’s father but because she felt comfortable calling him
dad
so casually. He’d never been anything but “Father” to any of them. “He could have divorced my mother and married yours.”

Summer shook her head. “It went against his code. Mum always said so. He’d made a promise to your mother and he wouldn’t break it, even if he loved mine.”

“Ouch.” Rosalind cringed.

“He did love Mum, in his own way.” Summer shrugged sadly. “I know it must be awful to hear it, but it’s the truth. Even when he wasn’t as accepting of me, there was never any question he loved her.”

Despite herself, she said, “He wasn’t accepting of any of us. We had a strike against us the moment we were born female.”

“I can’t believe you’re reassuring me, after all this.” Summer touched the scarf around her neck.

The scarf she’d given in friendship. She sighed, feeling tired and sad. “Tell me about it.”

“I’d heard so much about you girls, and I saw your pictures in the society pages all the time. It seemed like you were princesses, and I just wanted to be one, too. I wanted to be acknowledged as one of you. It’s the only reason I wanted the inheritance.”

“You want to be included. I understand.” Another Summerhill trait they all shared.

“Do you?” Summer asked hopefully.

“Yes, but I don’t condone what you did.” She leaned forward. “I
liked
you. We had a nice chemistry, and now everything is awkward. I don’t trust you.”

She swallowed audibly. “You’re justified not to trust me, and I know I have a lot to make up for, but don’t you think eventually we could be friends again?”

Hugging her arms, Rosalind glanced at the portfolio. She’d poured part of herself into that design, giving it more thought and care than most because she’d wanted Summer’s day to be special. And it was all fake. “I don’t know.”

Summer nodded, lowering her head. “All right. That’s fair, I guess.”

Knowing there was nothing else to say, she pushed the portfolio across the table and stood. “Your wedding dress is perfect. You’ll look like the princess you always wanted to be. A good seamstress will be able to make it, when you’re ready.” Swallowing all her regrets, she picked up her purse and turned to leave.

“Rosalind.” Summer rose from her chair and touched her arm. “Don’t blame Nick.”

She stiffened, slowly pulling her arm away. “Nick made his own bed.”

“Nick is loyal to those he loves, and he loves me.” Summer gazed at her unrelentingly. “He loves you, too.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.” Her heart felt like it would break.

“The lies were mine, not his. From the beginning he begged me to be honest with you. He told me this would happen. I just—” She sighed. “He loves you. I hate that I’ve come between you two.”

“That doesn’t change anything, though, does it?”
Too little, too late
, she thought on her way out. She stepped out into the London winter and shivered violently, drawing her collar closed.

“Here you go, lamb.” Fran set a plate of fresh-out-of-the-oven shortbread in front of her. “Some more tea?”

Rosalind shook her head, holding the cup that’d gone lukewarm against her broken heart. “No, thank you.”

Fran nodded and went bustling around the kitchen. Rosalind waited for the warmth and hominess to lift her spirits, but she just felt cold. Maybe it was time to go back home.

Past time.

Bea was back, and between her other sisters they’d figure out how to help their mother best. It looked like the will was really, truly lost, so that was a plus. She could go back to her business and drown herself in tulle.

Bijou would tell her to get on a plane and go back to people who loved her.

She sighed.

“Rosie, you haven’t had a biscuit yet.” Fran pointed at the plate. “You don’t want me to think you don’t love me, do you?”

“I love you, Fran”—she tried to smile—”I just don’t feel like one right now.”

“You love my shortbread.” Worry lined her brow. She propped her hands on her hips and tapped her foot. “You tell me what’s happened now.”

“What’s happened?” her mother asked as she came into the kitchen.

“Rosie isn’t eating my shortbread.”

Her mother frowned at her. “You always loved Fran’s shortbread. You used to sneak downstairs and break into the tin at night when everyone was asleep.”

She lifted her head, blinking. “You knew that?”

“Of course.” She pulled a seat close and smiled at Fran. “She gnawed on your shortbread even before she had teeth.”

“Such an adorable little thing she was.” Fran smiled weepily. “She was the only one of the lot who was truly angelic. Little hellions, the rest of them. But this one was an angel.”

“It was love at first sight with all of them, even Imogen, who I swore would drive me mad even as a baby,” her mother said fondly.

“I don’t understand,” Rosalind said, unable to keep it in. She faced Jacqueline. “You were always gone. Fran was more a mother to us than you.”

“Rosie.” Her old nanny gasped.

“No, it’s valid, Fran.” She faced her. “I was a terrible mother. Beatrice was born, and I was barely an adult myself, and I had no idea what to do with her. Beatrice, even as a newborn, had the force of will she has now, and I’ve never been comfortable around children. I found Fran, who was so much better at being a proper mother than I was, and I told myself I was doing a good thing by stepping out of the way and letting her take charge.

“It didn’t occur to me that there’d come a point when I wanted to know all you girls, only you’d have no time for me. That’s what I regret most.” Her mother faced her. “I took the easy, expected path, and I didn’t realize until it was too late that it wasn’t the road I should have chosen.”