Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
“Is she always this entertaining?” Ruby asks him.
“Oh yes. Certainly.” Winking at me, he reaches over to squeeze my hand.
I flash him a smile before moving on to another letter. This one also fails to mention the name of Josephine’s lover, but one line stands out to me. This time, I don’t read it out loud.
Oh, Mother, I feel dreadfully guilty for my part in this. Yet my heart led me here, and don’t you remember? You once told me that the heart never leads us astray.
The guilt is a reference to her predicament, I assume. The part about your heart never leading you astray is what sticks with me, though.
Is that true? Does your heart always lead you where you’re supposed to be in the end? If so, I wish mine would point me in the right direction already. Jack or Nate. Take your pick, heart.
Spending the next hour poring over Ruby’s documents, a comprehensive picture of Josephine Farnham begins to form in my mind. The young maid was an intelligent, mischievous, and adventurous woman full of passion and curiosity. Her letters to her mother reveal that she went into service for the Tulleys hoping it would expose her to new people and experiences. And I suppose it did. Eventually. But mostly, it left her stifled. In one letter, she confesses she is desperate for a change but reliant on the income. In a later letter, it’s obvious her reason for staying now has more to do with the man she loves than her salary.
Ruby allows me to take photographs of her archives, which I’ll include in my final project. Despite not having an answer about which Tulley brother Josephine picked, I feel an odd sense of resolution. A strange confidence that whoever Josephine ended up with, it was the right choice.
The heart never leads us astray.
After taking up more than enough of Ruby’s time, she sends us off with a loaf of homemade bread, and we return to Notting Hill at dusk. Outside the house, we linger on the sidewalk for a while, neither of us in a hurry to say goodbye for the night.
“I close tonight,” Nate says, hands tucked into my back pockets as he leans against his bike. “But if you wanted to come over after.”
I shake my head regretfully. “I’m planning to be fast asleep by then. It’s a school night, you know.”
“Right. Fair enough. As long as you’re not avoiding me.”
“If I am,” I say, fidgeting with his belt loops, “I’m doing a terrible job.”
Before he releases me, Nate captures my lips with his. His tongue slips past them, sensual and full of reminders. I get caught up in their lure until he pulls away with a parting kiss to my forehead.
“I’ll text you,” he says.
I back up as he puts on his helmet and starts his motorcycle, smiling faintly before he peels off the curb toward the waning purple horizon.
The moment he’s gone and I walk toward the house, the guilt sets in. I know Jack’s home, and he’ll have heard us drive up.
I’m really not cut out for juggling two guys. Yes, neither of them asked to be exclusive, but I know I can’t keep it up much longer.
Either way, something’s gotta give.
JANUARY
37
I’M BACK IN LONDON BY THE FIRST WEEK OF JANUARY AND ALREADY missing my dad back home in Nashville. I hadn’t realized how much dumb things like my favorite cereal bowl and the scent of the fabric softener were emotional triggers. Or hanging out in the living room with Dad watching The Grinch and Home Alone on TV with popcorn and hot chocolate. It was harder to say goodbye this time. Turns out I’m more of a daddy’s girl than I wanted to admit. For his part, Dad was a trooper. He kept the teary heartstring tugging to a minimum. Hardly mentioned the number of pedestrian fatalities in the UK at all.
Going home was the recharge I needed to get my head on straight and chase away the dreary gray clouds. Still, coming back to Notting Hill was a relief after the long flight. There’s something about walking in on Lee yelling at the boys about burning dinner that my soul needed while I was away.
Now, on the last Sunday before classes start, Jack and I are cozy on the couch while he watches a rugby game on TV and I get a head start on next semester’s reading assignments.
“See that one there?” he asks, tapping my leg. He’s got his arm draped over my lap as I sit with my back leaning against him.
I half glance up from my book. “Hmm?”
“His dad scored four tries in a single game for the All Backs in the World Cup.”
“Mmm.”
“Literally ran over an English player like the bloke was a bunch of daisies in a field. Mowed him right over.”