The Room with the Second-Best View (25 page)

“Never met such an Eeyore,” Violet agreed.

“He's fine.” Lorna waved a hand in Ross's direction. “All he needs is one success, and he'll hit his stride.” She examined the treats on the tiered rack with sparkling eyes. “Now, what do we have here?”

Shortly after noon on Friday, another package arrived addressed to Millie Richardson.

“This one was overnighted,” the FedEx man said as Millie signed his electronic gadget. “Must be something important.”

She handed the device back to him. “How's your wife's wasp sting?”

“Much better this morning.” The man smiled. “She said to tell you thanks for the tip about the tea bag.”

Holding the box, Millie watched him return to his truck. Honestly, she'd miss him when Lorna left. Any man who spoke so often of his wife and children was high on her list.

Inside, she carried the box into the parlor. With a decorative letter opener she sliced the tape and folded back the flaps to reveal several bubble-wrapped items inside. She'd just lifted the first one out when Lorna entered the room.

“I thought I heard the bell. Oh, good.” She nodded toward the box. “The package arrived. I can't wait to see it. So often the online photos misrepresent the actual item, you know.”

Millie unwrapped several layers of plastic and then gasped as she uncovered a shining silver teapot. “Oh my!”

Lorna smiled widely. “Ah, yes. Exactly how it looked online. It's lovely, don't you think?”

“It's beautiful.” Millie examined the intricate design. She'd never seen anything quite so exquisite.

“The scrolling is repousse, late-nineteenth century. There should be a matching sugar bowl and cream pitcher in the box as well.”

Millie folded the bubble wrap back over the piece and returned it to the box. She turned to face her guest. “I can't accept this. It's far too expensive a gift.”

“Truly, it wasn't,” Lorna assured her. “I'm an expert at finding quality items at drastically reduced prices.”

Millie narrowed her eyes to study the woman. “How much is
drastically reduced
?”

Shaking her head, Lorna
tsk
ed. “I thought you had better manners than to ask the price of a gift. Trust me. You'd be shocked at the bargain I struck. Besides, I think it would be nice to have tea at the reception, don't you?”

“That would be good, as long as Sus—”

“Susan won't care.” She waved a hand in the air. “She's left the menu up to us, so if we want to serve tea, we shall. But really, Millie dear, yesterday's high tea was so delightful I want to encourage you to continue the practice. Your future guests deserve to be treated with elegance, don't you think?”

“Of course, but—”

“Then I won't hear another word on the subject.”

She swept from the room, leaving Millie holding the most beautiful teapot she'd ever seen.

 

Kentucky-Style Devonshire Cream

4 oz. cream cheese, softened

1 tsp. sugar

1 cup cold whipping cream

Combine cream cheese and sugar until the sugar is completely incorporated. Pour in the whipping cream and stir to blend. Using an electric mixer, beat until fluffy and stiff. Cover and refrigerate until thoroughly chilled.

In England, Devonshire cream is typically served with scones at teatime. To host a traditional Cream Tea, spread a thick layer of Devonshire cream on a sliced scone and top with a spoonful of jam, such as strawberry or blackberry. Devonshire cream can also be spread on bagels or butter cookies and makes a rich and tasty dip for fresh strawberries.

Chapter Seventeen

S
tanding on the veranda holding his fourth cup of coffee—decaf, at Millie's insistence—Al listened to his wife recite the list of chores he was to accomplish before she returned from shopping.

“And the railing is loose on the far side.” Millie pointed toward the gazebo. “I noticed it yesterday. Would you tighten it up?”

“Tighten the railing,” he repeated. “Got it.”

She turned her attention to the path leading away from the veranda. “One of those pavers wobbled yesterday when I stepped on it. I think it's uneven or something. I'd hate for Susan to trip on her way to the gazebo.”

“I thought they were getting married in the parlor.”

“Only if it rains.” Millie's glance circled the yard. “If the weather's nice, Lorna thinks it will be beautiful out here.”

Since this part of the yard was where Al had spent most of his efforts, he felt a bit flattered. “Consider the path leveled.”

Her gaze rose to the woodwork above his head. “The paint on those beams is beginning to flake.”

He drew himself up. “That's where I draw the line. I'm already wasting a vacation day on household chores. I refuse to spend my Friday off painting ceiling beams that no one will notice.”

Dimples appeared in Millie's cheeks. “I just wanted to see how far I could push before you balked.”

Al caught her around the waist with his free arm. “You're a wicked woman, Mildred Richardson.”

Giggling, she brushed a quick kiss on his lips. He was about to return the gesture when the door opened behind him.

“Oh!” Miss Hinkle leveled a stern look on them. “There are certain things a guest doesn't expect to encounter.”

Speaking of wicked women.

Millie stepped back, and Al let her go reluctantly and tried not to scowl. Private moments with Millie had become too infrequent since the Hinkle woman's arrival.

Violet's car pulled into the driveway.

“There's our ride.” Millie retrieved her purse from the patio table. Though she was able to use her injured wrist more and more each day, driving her car with the stick shift still put too much strain on it. Thank goodness she'd made up with Violet, or Al might have found himself playing chauffeur to Miss Hinkle and Millie.

“Is Ross coming shopping with us?” Millie asked Miss Hinkle.

“He's busy working on his blog. Have you got our list?”

Millie pulled a sheet of paper from her purse, covered front and back with handwriting, and held it aloft.

Al eyed the note skeptically. “That's a pretty long list. Didn't Susan and Justin say they only wanted sandwiches and a cake?”

“We're keeping it simple,” Millie assured him.

“Don't go overboard,” he called after them as they headed for Violet's car. “The wedding's still a week away, and our freezer's already full.”

Miss Hinkle turned, eyes bright. “Oh, do you need a new freezer?”

Millie practically shouted, “No!”

Then she blew a kiss in his direction, and they climbed into Violet's car.

Not long after they left, a car engine coming up the driveway interrupted Al's work on the gazebo railing. Surprised, he looked up and watched for the vehicle to come into view around the house. They certainly hadn't been gone long. He wasn't expecting them to return for another couple of hours.

The car that rolled to a stop at the end of the driveway was not Violet's Ford. A fifty-something man emerged and, shielding his eyes with a hand, studied the house intently. A frown gathered on his broad forehead. What was he scowling at? Al looked at the roof. Was there a squirrel up there, preparing to wreak destruction on the wood trim again? If so, he couldn't see it.

“Hello,” he called.

Alerted to his presence, the man ceased his inspection of the roof and approached. He wore a suit and tie—an uncommon sight in Goose Creek, where even the mayor dressed casually. He crossed the lawn, his gaze scanning the veranda.

Al set down his hammer and extended a hand. “I'm Al Richardson.”

“Mark Logan. I'm here to see Mrs. Richardson.”

“She's not here. Was she expecting you?”

Tight lips moved in what might have been taken for a smile. “Yes, but probably not this soon.”

Mark. Wait a minute. Wasn't that was the name of Susan's uncle, her father's buddy? For crying out loud, couldn't any of Millie's guests show up on time? The wedding was still eight days away.

Al was about to deliver a biting comment about reservations and the importance of keeping to a planned schedule, but Millie would be furious with him if he turned away one of her practice guests. He'd already endured a scolding for grilling Mayfield about the money. She'd extracted a promise that he was more than happy to make—leave the business of running the B&B to her.

Resigned to his role of maintenance man, Al told Uncle Mark, “I don't expect her for an hour or so, but I can show you upstairs.”

He blinked, and his gaze again rose to the roof. “That'll be fine.”

Al led him inside through the kitchen door, which would probably give Millie fits. She'd want her guest to see the grand entry hall first, but Al saw no sense in tromping all the way around the house to go in the front door with a more direct route a few yards away. Mark followed quietly behind. Not much of a talker, this fellow. Al approved. A backward glance as they entered the dining room revealed that Mark's sharp eye was taking in every detail, from the molding to the chandelier. He even paused once to test an ancient floorboard with his foot.

“My wife insists on leaving the old wood,” Al commented. “It'll have to be resurfaced sometime. I think those vinyl strips that look like wood would wear better and be cheaper in the long run.”

Mark jerked his gaze to Al's face, eyes widened with what looked like shock. “This floor is over a hundred years old.”

“My point exactly. Out with the old, in with the new, that's my motto. But the wife disagrees, and since it's still solid, there's no reason to spend the money.”

Judging by the frown gathered on the man's forehead, he was a purist like Millie. Fine. Let Millie give him the grand tour when she returned. She was better at talking to people anyway. He'd stick with his honey-do list.

Upstairs, he led the man to one of the middle rooms, the only renovated one left unoccupied.

“What's in there?” Mark asked, pointing to the door of one of the turret rooms.