Free The Dashwood Sisters Tell All by Beth Pattillo Page B

failing.
    “When should we leave?” I asked. “We may have to sneak away from Tom.”
    “Now? During dinner?” He laughed again.
    “No, of course not. After dinner. Even a fabulous house isn't worth missing dessert.”
    The truth was, of course, that by that point, I couldn't have cared less about dessert. But I had gotten to this stage in a relationship often enough to know that I had to achieve a delicate balance between interest and eagerness. Not enough of the first, and he’d wander off looking for a more appreciative audience. Too much of the latter, and he wouldn't be wandering off; he’d be running for the door.
    He looked at me with an impish light in his eyes. “As soon as you’ve eaten the last bite of dessert, we’ll go.”
    Ellen would have my hide, of course. We were supposed to read some more in that might-be-real-but-probably-isn't diary before we went to sleep. Surely, though, she’d understand that spending the evening with the man of my dreams had to take priority. Even Jane Austen would have approved of that.

    Ethan's car was a low-slung, black BMW that raced along the two-lane road toward Deane with breathtaking speed. I forced my eyes to stay open so that I wouldn't look afraid. Riding on the wrong side of the road was nerve-racking enough. Doing it at a high rate of speed sent my pulse skittering.
    Thankfully, the thrill ride didn't last long. What had taken a good part of the afternoon to cover on foot took only minutes in Ethan's car.
    He turned into a side road by the pub where we’d had lunch and then into a driveway.
    “How long ago did you inherit the house?” I asked.
    “I just took possession last month,” he said. “It may be in a state with workmen everywhere.”
    “At this hour of the night?” It was past ten o’clock.
    He chuckled. “I doubt they’re present at the moment, but they may have left everything a bit of a mess. The house was in a terrible condition.”
    I smiled to reassure him. “I’m used to…what did you call it? Chockablock?” I was glad to have a chance to return the teasing. It kept the balance of power a little more even.
    He pulled up behind the house into a paved parking area. “Come on.” He didn't come around to open my door, so I did it myself and followed him through a wisteria-framed gate in a brick wall.
    Even in the last remnants of daylight, I could see what a wonderland the garden was. Jewel-toned flowers spilled from containers and beds. Ornamental trees, a scattering of benches, and a fountain in the middle completed the idyll.
    “It's breathtaking,” I said.
    Ethan paused. “Yes. Yes, I suppose it is.”
    He took it for granted of course, this earthly paradise. If you were accustomed to this kind of grandeur, maybe it got tedious after a while. Maybe you flopped on one of those benches and yawned with boredom. All I wanted to do was slip off my sandals and perch on the edge of the fountain with my feet in the water. The scent of honeysuckle hung thick in the air.
    “Let's go inside.” He took my elbow and led me to a wooden door that must have once been a servants’ entrance. We ducked inside, and I found myself in a kitchen straight out of my mother's favorite magazine, the English Home . Slate floor, a shiny new Aga cooker tucked into the enormous original fireplace, a battered farmhouse table, and a huge stone sink underneath the windows at the far end. It was a kitchen fit for Cinderella. Rustic and romantic at the same time.
    “Do a lot of cooking, do you?” I said to Ethan with a sidelong look. “Or is this just to impress the women you bring here?”
    “Definitely to impress the women.” He turned toward me and took my hand. Then he pulled me closer and looped his arms around my back. “Is it working?”
    I didn't dare tell him how well.
    “I assume there's more to the house than the kitchen.”
    He chuckled. “Yes. If you insist, although I prefer the view here.”
    Oh, he was good, but I wasn't going to let