S'more to Lose Read online

  I waved her out, and a minute or so later Jamie came back to our box holding two champagnes.

  He passed a champagne flute over to me. “I thought you might change your mind.”

  I downed the champagne before he even took his seat.

  “Did I miss something?” He looked around our box.

  “Gemma Landry came by to invite us backstage after the show,” I said.

  “I see,” he said as he passed me his own full glass.

  I clutched the stem my hands visibly shaking. “It gets worse. Perry’s been dating Annabelle Ellicott. Gemma isn’t sure how the press hasn’t gotten wind of it, but they’ve been an item for a while now.”

  Jamie’s mouth fell open. “He’s dating Annabelle Ellicott?”

  I nodded as my eyes welled with tears.

  “Bottoms up,” he said.

  I threw back the second glass and set it down on the ground. “I can’t go backstage. I can’t see him.”

  He leaned toward me and put his hand on my knee. “Of course, you can’t. I’ll go. I’ll make your excuses. It’ll be fine.”

  “I really do feel sick. I think I have to go back to the hotel.”

  Jamie jumped up and grabbed my coat from the back of my seat. “I’ll go back with you?”

  “No, no, finish the show,” I said, motioning for him to sit back down. “Make our excuses. I’ll meet you in the lobby at eight for the tour tomorrow.”

  Jamie shook his head. “Annabelle Ellicott? She really doesn’t seem like his type at all.”

  “Of course, she does. Sophisticated, beautiful, cultured, and well-mannered. I’m the one who wasn’t his type.” I slipped my coat on. “The show’s wonderful. Make sure you let Perry know.”

  “You sure you don’t want to see how it ends?”

  “No. I know how it ends,” I said, softly.

  Chapter Four

  Jamie was already waiting for me in the lobby when I came down to meet our Downton Abbey tour group the next morning.

  He passed me a familiar green and white cup. “Here. A triple Venti, caramel, soy, no-foam latte.”

  I opened the lid to inspect the contents. “Caramel? Soy? Are we even friends?”

  “It was simpler to ask for two of the same thing.”

  I popped the lid back on and swirled the cup around in my hand. “Simpler than just asking for a black coffee?”

  “Jeez, someone’s crabby. How ’bout a thank you?”

  I kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, and I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Up late Googling Annabelle Ellicott?”

  Jamie knew me too well. As soon as I left the theater, I’d pulled up every UK tabloid website I could think of to get the dirt on Ms. Ellicott. Unfortunately, what I quickly surmised was there wasn’t all that much dirt. She’d supposedly dated Harry Styles (but really, who hadn’t?) for a few months last year. There was also some chatter about her and a Jonas brother, but I couldn’t find it corroborated on more than one site. The majority of press on her was pretty flattering. I learned she worked in Investor Relations at one of the largest investment banks in London, loved horseback riding, and was involved in several important charities. She kept a lower profile than her sister, and unlike Victoria, there were very few pictures of her at any nightclubs or parties. Most of the images were from exclusive society events. Her style was also different than Victoria’s—still impeccable, but simpler, with a little bit of a bohemian edge. I couldn’t identify most of the designers so assumed she did a lot of high-end vintage shopping. Gemma was right, though. In all my research, I didn’t find one mention of her name with Perry’s. They’d done a brilliant job of keeping their relationship under the radar. So brilliant, in fact, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Gemma was wrong about them?

  “Just some mild cyberstalking,” I answered.

  Jamie cocked his head to the side. “I’m sure. So, what do you want to know about last night? Fire away.”

  “What did Perry say when he saw you?”

  “He didn’t. He was dealing with press and never came to the receiving area.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. What about Annabelle?”

  “I thanked Victoria and Alexander for the tickets, they introduced us, and we chatted about the show a bit.”

  “That’s it?”

  He unwrapped the scarf around his neck, knelt down, and tucked it into his bag. “What do you want me to say, Gigi?”

  “What’s she like?”

  “She’s lovely. Just like you guessed—sophisticated, beautiful, well-mannered. But she isn’t you, and anyone who ever saw you and Perry together could see you brought out the best in each other.”

  “The best and worst. Are you sure they’re really dating? I couldn’t find one story linking them.”

  “She didn’t come out and tell me they were, but it was apparent in the way she talked about him. They’re obviously keeping it under wraps though. Mostly, we just talked about her bridesmaid dress for the wedding.”

  “Her what?” I said, practically spewing out my coffee.

  “The bridesmaid dress we are apparently designing for her. You must not have gotten to that page of the dossier. She wants something vintage inspired. Ethereal, but not too whimsical. Bohemian, but not too avant-garde.” He stood up and swung his bag over his shoulder. “Here’s the strange thing though. I couldn’t get a read on whether she knows about you and Perry.”

  “How could she not know? We were together for over three years. You don’t just erase that kind of history.”

  “I’m just telling you the vibe I got. Look at how curious you are about her. Don’t you think if she knew you were Perry’s former fiancé she would’ve been grilling me for intel?”

  I suppose it was possible she didn’t know. It wasn’t like Perry ever expected we’d cross paths. Up until two days ago, the closest I’d come to being in the vicinity of the British aristocracy was binge-watching Downton Abbey. Still, if Annabelle really didn’t know about our history, then neither did Victoria. How would she feel knowing the woman designing her wedding gown was once engaged to her sister’s boyfriend?

  “Hey, kiddo, let’s go enjoy our day at this monastery you’re so excited about,” Jamie said, handing me my bag and snapping me out of my thoughts.

  “It’s a castle, not a monastery.”

  “Isn’t the show called downtown abbey?”

  “Again, it’s Downton, not downtown abbey. It’s filmed at Highclere Castle.”

  “I still feel like we’re saying the same thing,” he said with a playful smile as we went outside to meet the tour van.

  Almost two hours later we pulled onto the grounds of Highclere Castle. I nudged Jamie, who’d been snoring on my shoulder the better part of the last hour.

  “Hey, sleepyhead, we’re here,” I said.

  He slowly sat up and looked around. “Where’s here?” he said through a yawn.

  I pulled out our printed itinerary. “First, we’ll check out the castle, then we’ll head over to the coach house for high tea, do a walking tour of the grounds and gardens, and end our day at the Blue Hen.”

  “What’s that?”

  I read straight from the itinerary. “The Blue Hen is a proper village pub serving local and regional ales and authentic British fare and steeped in history from bygone eras. You can almost hear the Downton servants conversing over a pint.”

  Jamie closed his eyes and pretended to fall asleep. “Sounds thrilling.”

  “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. Can you at least try to feign a modicum of enthusiasm?”

  He handed me my backpack from under the seat and smiled. “Okay. Feigning. Feigning.”

  We got off the van and were ushered over to a ticket booth, where our tour packets were waiting. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a guy wearing a Highclere Castle T-shirt struggling to sort them. I bent down to stuff my umbrella into my bag, and a few seconds later felt a tap on the sho
ulder.

  “Excuse me, what tour company are you all with?” the guy with Highclere shirt asked.

  “Oh, umm, I can’t remember. We booked through The Dorchester Hotel. Let me look for my confirmation.” I dug through my backpack, found the itinerary, and handed it to him.

  He looked it over and thrust it back at me.

  “Problem?” I asked.

  “The wrong tickets were sent over from the main office. These,” he said, holding up the packets, “are for tomorrow’s groups. Yours are still in London.”

  “So, what does that mean?”

  He handed me back the folder. “That for today, you and your boyfriend over there are Mr. and Mrs. Codswild from Vancouver, Canada. Maps for the castle, gardens, and woodlands are enclosed. So are your tickets for tea at the carriage house and your drink vouchers for the Blue Hen. Enjoy.”

  I thrust it back at him. “We paid for the special Downton Abbey tour, so I’m not sure if this is going to work.”

  “I have news for you, everyone’s here for the Downton Abbey tour. Don’t worry, you’ll get to take a swing at Mr. Carson’s gong. So, which one are you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who do you fancy yourself? A Mary, an Edith, or a Sybil?”

  “You know, I’m not sure.”

  He stood back to study me. “You’re a Mary who’s convinced herself she’s an Edith.”

  His comment hung in the air for a moment. Jamie came over to see what was taking so long.

  “Are we gonna go see some old stuff or what?” he asked.

  I handed him his entry tickets. “We sure are, Mr. Codswild.”

  Jamie put his name tag on. “Do I even want to know?”

  “Just say thank you to our new friend over here. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

  “Gideon,” he answered.

  “Say thank you to our new friend Gideon,” I repeated.

  “Thank you, Gideon. Now which way to the house?” Jamie asked.

  “Follow that path there,” Gideon said, pointing to a brick paved trail. “It’ll lead you to the entrance, and there’ll be signs there for different tours.”

  Jamie and I set off for the castle and decided to start with a tour of the staterooms. Our guide was amazing, taking us through the smoking room, library, state dining room, and drawing room. She provided colorful commentary on the art, the family who occupied the castle, the architecture, and the ways the different rooms had been utilized on Downton Abbey. Jamie pulled a pad out of his pocket and began sketching away.

  I nudged his side. “I thought this wasn’t your thing?”

  “Opulence, grandeur, and luxury—totally my thing.”

  I rolled my eyes and followed the group into the music room.

  We finished touring the upstairs and joined the group going down to view the kitchen and the servants’ hall and quarters. Jamie was far less impressed, but I thought it was fascinating that two entirely different worlds could exist under one roof, side by side. In the last few days I’d gotten a crash course on the inner workings of the British aristocracy, and from the little I’d already observed, there was still a huge class divide.

  After finishing our tour of the downstairs, we had afternoon tea at the coach house and walked the huge gardens, public parks, and footpaths on the property. Even Jamie had to admit the rustic beauty of the grounds was inspiring. Eventually, both of us headed in different directions to do some sketching. He was so engrossed, he jumped about two feet in the air when I finally tapped him on the shoulder to remind him we should be setting off for the Blue Hen.

  Tucked away down a dingy, cobbled alley, the Blue Hen was everything the description promised. The inside was dark with oak beams and wood paneling, creating the kind of gloomy charm I loved about England. I grabbed a space on the couch by the roaring fire, and Jamie took our drink tickets up to the bar. I leaned back into the limp cushions, pulled out Jamie’s sketch pad, and flipped through the pages to examine the drawings.

  “Those are quite good. Are you a student?”

  I looked up and saw Gideon standing over me. Was he this handsome earlier, or had I just not been paying close attention in the ticket kerfuffle? He had neatly cut auburn hair with slightly longer sideburns, giving him an edgier look than he may have intended. The light copper stubble across his face became visible in the glow of the crackling fireplace. His gray-green eyes were on the smaller side but, as a result, more piercing. He was wearing a light blue button-down, dark-washed jeans, and a gray tweed newsboy cap that made him look sophisticated and boyish all at the same time. He caught me staring at him as he walked around the couch to sit beside me, and I quickly shifted my eyes to the ground.

  “Umm, no, I work as a designer. That guy up there,” I said, pointing to Jamie at the bar, “the one you thought was my boyfriend, is actually my design partner. These are his sketches.”

  “So, he’s not your boyfriend?”

  “He’s married and gay, so no.” I chuckled.

  “I see. What’d you think of the estate?”

  I tucked Jamie’s sketchbook back into his tote. “It’s hard to believe people used to live like that.”

  “Some people still live like that,” he said. “Maybe not quite at that scale, but the aristocracy is alive and well in England.”

  I shifted in my seat. “Oh, I’m aware.”

  Gideon narrowed his eyes. “Where are you from, Mrs. Codswild?”

  I took off my name tag. “It’s Georgica actually, and New York City.”

  “Georgica? That’s pretty. What brings you to this side of the pond, Georgica?”

  “Work.”

  “Wanna give me a hand?” Jamie said, coming over to join us. He was balancing two pints and a basket of fish ’n’ chips and trying to navigate through the groups of people congregating by the fire. “Sorry, mate, I didn’t see you, or I would’ve bought you a beer.”

  “No worries. I’m kind of a regular here.” Gideon motioned to the bartender to bring over one more pint.

  “You work at Highclere Castle year-round?” Jamie asked, settling down next to us in a tattered dark green velvet armchair.

  “I’m in charge of their tourism and I handle most of their special events.”

  “Must be an interesting job,” Jamie said.

  “Pays the bills.” Gideon shrugged nonchalantly. “Georgica’s been telling me you two are design partners?”

  Jamie took a sip from his mug and nodded.

  “Dress anyone famous?” Gideon asked.

  With the nondisclosure agreement fresh in my mind, I quickly chimed in, “Just some B-list celebrities in the States.”

  “Was this the last stop on the hit parade, or are you both staying in town for a few more days?”

  “Gigi’s staying a couple more days, but I’m heading back home tomorrow.”

  I added, “I’ve been to London a few times, but it’s been a while since I played tourist. I had a little time, so figured I’d get in a few more sights.”

  The bartender sent over the beer and a few starters for us. Gideon reached over for a deviled egg and asked me what was on my to-do list.

  “The Victoria and Albert Museum, the Tate Modern, Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London, and St. Paul’s Cathedral,” I answered.

  “If you’re going to St. Paul’s Cathedral, you definitely need to check out the Whispering Gallery. Did you know anything you whisper against one side of the dome can be—”

  “Heard anywhere in the room,” I said, finishing his sentence with enthusiasm. “Yeah, it’s supposed to be pretty incredible.” My mind drifted back to the time we’d played the Dating Game at Camp Chinooka and Perry described his perfect first date at the Whispering Gallery. That summer felt like a million years ago now.

  The three of us chatted a bit more before the tour driver came into the pub to announce the van going back to The Dorchester would be leaving in ten minutes. Jamie stood up to collect our coats and shopping bags of Downton souve
nirs.

  “I hope you got the Crawley commemorative tea mug,” Gideon teased.

  I held up my Highclere Castle gift shop bag. “I got two, actually, one for me and one for my friend Alicia—also a huge fan.”

  We stepped outside and walked to the main road, where half a dozen vans were waiting to pick up other tour groups.

  “This one’s your ride,” Gideon said, pointing to the first van in line. “Before you head out, I need to know. Did we make a Downton fan out of you?” he asked, turning to Jamie.

  Jamie held up a DVD set of all six seasons. “What do you think?”

  Gideon laughed and Jamie hopped on the van.

  “Thank you for all your help,” I said, extending my hand.

  “It was my pleasure, Mrs. Codswild.” He took off his cap and leaned down into a half bow. “Enjoy the rest of your time in London,” he said and turned to walk away.

  I climbed on and grabbed a seat across from Jamie. Using my backpack as an improvised pillow, I was just closing my eyes when I heard a tap at the window. I pushed it open.

  “I just wanted to tell you, now that I know you a bit better, you’re definitely a Mary. Definitely,” Gideon said.

  I pulled the window closed, and as the van slowly pulled away, I found myself feeling actual butterflies for the first time in a very long time.

  Chapter Five

  Jamie left for home the next morning, and I spent the day at the Victoria and Albert Museum, wandering the vast exhibits and getting lost in the Fashion collection. Housing one of the largest collections of European fashion, fabrics, and accessories from 1750 to the present day, the fashion gallery had every source of inspiration a designer could wish for. In fact, the last time I was in this gallery was for the elimination challenge before the finale of Top Designer.

  The other two final contestants and I were flown to London and given £350 to create a modern-day look inspired by a seventeenth-century gown on display in the exhibition. Ironically, I’d been immediately drawn to a portrait of Elizabeth I in a black-and-gold brocade gown and the adjacent replica of the dress on display in the same gallery. Without any second-guessing or hesitation, I had sat down and sketched a sleek woman’s tuxedo with ornate brocade shoulders and pressed velvet lapels. It was the type of outfit I could imagine the powerful and commanding Elizabeth wearing had she been born in the twentieth century instead of the sixteenth.