The British Affair Read online

  The British Affair

  Suzanne Halliday

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Suzanne Halliday

  Copyright © 2018 by Suzanne Halliday

  THE BRITISH AFFAIR

  Ebook

  ISBN 9781945399206

  Paperback

  ISBN-13:

  978-1723396168

  ISBN-10:

  1723396168

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  This book is meant for mature readers who are 18+.

  It contains explicit language, and graphic sexual content.Edited by www.editing4indies.com

  Book Cover Design bySara Eirew

  To Love

  Prologue

  1981

  Lynda Massey couldn’t believe her luck! She was twenty-six, single, and eagerly admitted to a serious heartfelt belief in fairy tales with happy endings.

  Things were going great and went supersonic when she and her best friend, Jenny Kent, scored the epic adventure of a lifetime by winning a trip to the wedding of the century.

  That’s right! She was in London, England, for the marriage of Charles, the Prince of Wales, and the Lady Diana Spencer, kindergarten teacher. Making the occasion more meaningful was the fact that she and Jenny were both kindergarten teachers, searching for their Prince Charming.

  The local ladies club in their hometown held a drawing for the round trip grand prize. Skeptical at first about entering, they hatched a plan and made a pact during a memorable booze-infused weekend when the third spike of their college friend wheel got hitched.

  Come hell or high water, she and Jenny would find guys and settle down this year. 1981.

  So they sold a pile of CDs at a music store with used CDs and vintage records, pooled their resources, and bought tickets for the drawing. A lot of tickets. An even number because Jenny thought twenty-six was better than twenty-five, and after all, that was how old they both were.

  For the next week and a half, they fantasized about how damn cool it would be if they won. Jenny loaded up on travel brochures, and for fun, they researched English tea customs.

  On the day of the drawing, they waited by the phone in Jenny’s closet-sized studio apartment. Without knowing what to expect or when to call the loss, they chowed down on homemade ravioli from the Italian market and pored over magazine articles about Lady Di.

  When the phone rang, they froze.

  Jenny answered. After a long pause, she said, “Are you kidding?”

  Everything that happened afterward led them to this surreal moment.

  They arrived at Heathrow late on a Thursday evening. Their first nighttime glimpse of the place where they were lodging, Goodlove Hall, was less than memorable. All that changed the next morning when she and Jenny found themselves in a sunny parlor, sipping Earl Grey tea with a woman who had to have been sent by central casting for her role as lady of the manor.

  Doris Goodlove was everything they hoped she’d be. One year shy of fifty, she and her tweedy husband, Benjamin, were the current proprietors of a bed and breakfast run out of an inherited country manor home.

  “You’re the first to arrive! It’s so exciting. Were you girls comfortable?”

  Jenny was perched on the edge of a stiff cushioned sofa with her ankles demurely crossed. Lyn had to stifle the urge to smack her friend’s extended pinky finger when Jenny lifted the cup off the saucer she was balancing on her lap.

  “Mrs. Goodlove,” Lyn gushed. “Our room is fantastic. The view from the window is gorgeous.”

  “Oh my, yes,” Doris exclaimed. “The gardens. They’re wonderful, don’t you think? My Benjamin devoted years to redesigning the landscaping. Our daughter Chelsea loves the surrounding parkland. She’s coming in for the wedding too.”

  “Do we need hats?” Jenny asked with no context for the unusual question.

  Doris reacted with a chuckle. “One always needs a hat, my dear,” she said through a grin, “but I suspect you’re referring to the garden party?”

  Ah yes, Lyn thought. The garden party thrown by the local ladies club to celebrate the wedding of the century. An invitation was in the welcome basket they found in their room.

  “There are several wonderful hatmakers in London offering ready-mades for the tourists. I can give you some names. So tell me, girls, what are you most excited about for your English adventure? Besides a lovely hat?”

  “A cute English guy with a sexy accent would be nice.” Jenny chuckled.

  “Oh, how marvelous,” Doris crooned. “You’re love explorers. Looking for romance in a faraway land.”

  Before Lyn could respond, Jenny guffawed. “Romance? No thanks. I have three years invested in a boyfriend back home, but are we any closer to marriage? No! So to hell with that. I just want to have some fun.”

  She groaned inwardly. Jen made it seem as if they were sluts looking to score.

  “I’m here to soak up the atmosphere,” she assured their hostess. “Not make a fool of myself.” Jen waved off her pointed glare. “We’re kindergarten teachers. Like Lady Di and I couldn’t resist being a part of the worldwide love fest.”

  A commotion brewing in the driveway caused them each to turn toward the sound.

  “Benjamin,” Doris called out, “I believe this will be our journalist guest and his friend.”

  “Journalist? Really?” Lyn was up and on her feet in a heartbeat. Anyone who worked with the written word got her immediate attention.

  The front door swung open, and loud laughter filled the front hall. She detected the heavy accent of the old caretaker who helped Mr. Goodlove with the gardens. Doris smiled.

  “That would be Captain Jack. He manages Benjamin’s plants and plays chauffeur although he drives like a hellion.”

  As the loud voices came closer, their words were easier to make out.

  “And Charlie, oo-ee. That boy sowed some oats, he did. Took a fine gal like Lady Diana to bring him to the altar.”

  The man came around the corner and whipped his hat off when he saw Doris standing in the center of the room.

  “Afternoon, ma’am. Got yer two guests right here. I’ll be bringing in their bags now.”

  Two more men entered the room. For a second, she was blinded by a shaft of bright light streaming in through the tall windows, but when her vision cleared, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen came into focus.

  “Welcome,” Doris exclaimed. “Welcome to Goodlove Hall. I’m Doris Goodlove.” She smiled at the other man, but Lyn barely looked at him. He extended his hand, and said, “Andy Martin. Junior high gym teacher and romance skeptic at your service.”

  She heard Jenny’s laugh and more of Doris’s words, but nothing made sense. Not when vibrant blue eyes bored into hers and trapped her gaze. Reflex triggered her manners. “Um, hi. I’m Lynda. Well, Lyn. That’s what everyone calls me.”

  Doris was suddenly right there to finish the introduction. Lyn was mesmerized by the stranger with the electrifying gaze.

  “Lynda,” she drawled in her perfect English. “Say hello to Mr. Perfect. Mr. Jon Perfect from Youngstown, Ohio.”

  “Did you say Youngstown?” she mumbled as the blond god took her hand.

  “Yes,” he replied. His voice made her knees knock together. She felt the warmth of his touch, and a zing of electricity coursed through her body when he smiled at her. “I’m Jon. Jon Perfect. Andy and I hail from Ohio.”

  “I’m from Pennsylvania,” she exclaimed. “Beaver Falls. Youngstown is only about forty-five minutes away.”

  They held each other’s hand for a very long time.

  “Small world,” Jon Perfect with the dreamy blue eyes said.

  Small world? She’d traveled all the way to England to find a guy from her neck of the woods back home.

  2018

  “I know, Mom. That’s how you and Dad met. Charles and Di, fairy-tale wedding, swoony romance, blah-yada-blah.”

  Emma set her coffee cup on its saucer more firmly than necessary and sat back with an exasperated huff. She gave her head-shaking mother what amounted to a very weak scowl. The story of how her parents met and fell in love was a tale she and her brother could recite verbatim because they’d heard it so many times.

  American girl with a head full of romantic nonsense traveled to merry old England for the wedding of the century. Along the way, she met and fell in love with Mr. Perfect.

  Literally, Mr. Perfect. As in Jon David Perfect – a freelance journalist from Youngstown, Ohio, of all places, who was also in London to cover the royal wedding.

  It took all the strength Emma had
not to punctuate her opinion by sticking a finger in her mouth and gagging.

  “Don’t be so cross. It’s kismet, Emma! Daddy and I are certain. Why else would a major magazine offer you the assignment of a lifetime? I mean, seriously,” her mom scoffed. “Think about it. It’s not as if My Perfect Life or any of the articles you’ve penned are soft on love and romance.”

  Sitting straighter, Em pursed her lips and pushed her hair behind both ears. Her mother was right. The lifestyle blog that paid the bills and the article assignments she enjoyed from a bunch of big-time publications had a skeptic’s undertone where happily ever after was concerned.

  Hell. The truth was, being jilted by text just forty-five days before her wedding had left Em a forever cynic about relationships. She conveniently ignored the part about her dentist fiancé being the furthest thing from a handsome knight on a white horse and focused instead on the indignity of Steven Fisher ’s appalling behavior. It didn’t matter that she hadn’t loved him. All Em cared about in the post mortem was that he’d humiliated her by simply walking away.

  As far as she was concerned, love was a word that fit her about as comfortably as size six shoes on her size seven feet.

  “It is a great opportunity. Apparently, the editor enjoys my blog, so she checked out some of the other things I’ve done. They’re all about developing talent. This is a big-time gig, Mom. Not a matchmaker-dot-com date. That’s why I’m going to do it. Not because of some crazy, old-fashioned fantasies you’re clinging to. There’s no universal power luring me to England because of some romantic nonsense. There’s no kismet, Mom.”

  “Think what you like, dear, but I know what I feel. You waste all your social time with Lenny. You complain about everything and work like a dog. My Perfect Life hides a sad truth. You’re giving up on love, Em, and Daddy and I just can’t accept that.”

  “At least I know where my brother gets his material. I think I’ve heard Dave use that same line.”

  “He was born a year to the day after Charles and Di’s wedding. Romance is in his blood because that’s what was in the air when Daddy and I fell in love.”

  This time, she didn’t hesitate to mimic a nasty sounding gag. “Mom, you should be writing Hallmark cards, not making gift baskets.”

  “I know, right?” Mom laughed. “It’s all these years of being married to a man who plays with words twenty-four seven.”

  She wasn’t making a trip across the pond to satisfy her parents’ notions of romantic hogwash. This trip was business. The sort of business that could light a fire under her writing career and give her one hell of a boost.

  But arguing with Lynda Perfect was a study in frustration. She had an answer for everything and wrapped it all up in a firm belief that love and family were all that mattered. Taking the low road was just easier.

  “Okay, look. I’ll stay at Goodlove Hall. Satisfied? It’s in the middle, I guess – between London and Windsor.”

  “Not really, my dear, but you go ahead and think that. Doris will be delighted. You’re family as far as she’s concerned. Oh, this is lovely,” she exclaimed.

  Emma wasn’t certain if lovely was quite how she’d describe being parent prodded into action – but staying at Goodlove would get her mom off her back and prove an entertaining diversion.

  Chapter One

  Transatlantic first class was a hundred times more wonderful than anything Emma imagined. Not even the YouTube videos she watched prepared her for the experience. Comfortably tucked away in a private little cubicle, the service was fantastic, the accommodation amazing, and the food to die for.

  Taking notes with astonishing speed, she found a zillion things to comment on, wonder about, and marvel over.

  The welcome aboard champagne and wines served with the gourmet dinner helped put her into a chill frame of mind. If the next few weeks went smoothly, maybe the fairy-tale romance nonsense she was forced to write about wouldn’t make her want to scream.

  “How are we doing?” The smiling flight attendant’s voice held the slightest English accent. Emma was already realizing that much was revealed in how an Englishman spoke. Stuff like status and education. Not that she understood these things – it was just an observation.

  The airline was scoring mad points so far and was entering mind-boggling territory by providing first class passengers with amazingly comfy loungewear. She could practically write an entire book just about her experiences at JFK Airport. First Class Lounge was a euphemism for indulgent excess.

  Because she hated rushing, she made it a habit to arrive early and take her time. Especially when flying. But instead of an international travel headache, her journey started with ease. Check-in at the airport was a breeze, and the meal of nibbles she enjoyed in the airport VIP lounge was worth taking food selfies! To her giddy delight, she indulged in a spa treatment for VIP travelers that would earn serious raves in her article.

  She smiled at the attendant. “May I have some ice water, please?”

  “Of course,” the attendant replied. “With lemon?” Gesturing at the fancy complimentary tote filled with all kinds of cool stuff, she asked, “Have you tried the face spritz in your travel bag? It’s delicious. Your skin will love you!”

  Emma grinned. “Are you kidding?” She reached for the spritzer and waved it. “This stuff is golden.”

  The efficient airhostess got her set with water and a second face mister that Emma quickly stashed in her bag. When she had a chance, she would definitely research the company. Her readers loved product reviews and recommendations.

  Once she was pampered and fed, Emma settled in. A big part of running a lifestyle blog meant her mind was always gathering info. Nothing was insignificant or too small for a mention.

  Glancing around at her fellow first-class passengers, she spotted a gentleman who looked like an extra for Downton Abbey, and an amused snicker made her tummy jiggle. Rather formally dressed, he stood by while a steward converted his seat into a sleeping space.

  She studied his manner and how he moved. People fascinated her. Reaching into her bag, she withdrew a small notepad and began sketching the scene. Doodling was one of her not-so-secret habits. Just like her guiltiest pleasure of animal crackers, whipped cream, and chocolate sauce, Emma’s penchant for illustrating snippets of daily life said a lot about her.

  Her teachers and pretty much every college professor she drove crazy would be the first to line up and declare, one by one, that perfect wasn’t only her last name.

  She was what Psychology magazine called a Type A person. Organized, methodical, goal oriented, and somewhat driven, Emma loved a challenge. Enjoyed being tested. When it came to facts, figures, and concrete analysis, she scored high marks.

  While that sounded boring and dull, it didn’t override even one iota of the quirks, like doodling, that made up her life.

  Not only could she doodle and use chopsticks like a pro, but she also had a fairly decent bowling average and loved the smell of old books. In fact, one of the things on her personal list of things to do on this trip was to ferret out independent bookstores. There really wasn’t anything better than words. Beautiful words. Angry words. Words stitched together in descriptive tapestries. Words were her crack and explained why she made a living as a writer.

  When the subject of her mindless sketching settled into his overnight cubbyhole and disappeared from view, she finished her doodle with a few details and dated the drawing.

  With nothing to occupy her mind or burn off energy, she fidgeted and fussed, playing with knobs and controls before abandoning the technology and entertainment options in favor of the stack of magazines in her bag that she’d picked up in an airport shop.

  When all else failed, she’d research.

  Fishing in her bag, she pulled out a glossy magazine with a cover photo of Prince Harry and his American bride flashing big smiles for the camera. They sure were a photogenic couple. Despite her less-than-favorable opinion on marriage in general, she truly wished them well. It was hard enough these days to navigate a normal relationship. God only knows what it took to handle not only a celebrity relationship but also a royal one at that.