Chapter Forty-eight

Darlington Hall

Country home of the Earl of Camden

Near Brighton, England

Sunday evening

She grinned at him. "Buck up, Rome. My parents enjoy all the modern comforts of home, including a telly and a fridge. They might try to impress you, though—a Yank—and offer you the full aristocratic experience, replete with a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old brandy after dinner in a gold snifter, of course." She nodded toward the huge windows set behind the white columns along the fa?ade. "See those tall central Palladian windows flanked by narrow ones on each side? I used to draw on the glass. Drove them crazy."

"Do I say my lord and my lady?"

"Sir and ma'am will do, since you're a barbarian and aren't expected to know any better."

He said to the strapping young man standing off to his left, "Jeffrey, see to Lady Elizabeth's luggage. And the gentleman's."

"Benbett, this is Special Agent Roman Foxe from the FBI in the States. He's here to keep me safe."

Elizabeth's mother came running out of the drawing room, calling her name. Elizabeth met her in the hallway, hugged her close, kissed her cheek. She pulled back, studied her mother's beloved face, saw shadows under her eyes, but saw too the beautiful smile. "It's so wonderful to see you! Do you promise me you are all right? Mom, I'm so sorry this happened to you, it's all my fault, I'm so sorry."

He kissed her ear, set her down, kept her hands in his. "My beautiful girl, I heard what your mother said to you, and she's right in every way. We are proud of you, and you are in no way to blame for anything. Looking at you is like seeing Millicent again so many years ago. I'm not sure you should have come, but I'm very glad you did." He touched his forehead to hers. "We'll get through this nonsense, all of us together."

"Dad, they went after Mother because they knew they couldn't get to me, not with Rome and the FBI guarding me."

Rome felt like he'd been plunked down in Downton Abbey, dozens of paintings on the walls, so much incredible woodwork, fat cherubs staring down at him from the ceiling. He and Elizabeth sat side by side on an elegant pale blue velvet sofa that looked as old as the Pilgrims. He gazed out the eighteen-foot windows that framed distant tree-covered hills and valleys dotted with small lakes. The water looked nearly violet in the dying light. To his jet-lagged eyes, it all looked barely real, like an impressionist painting. Yard upon yard of gold brocade was looped back beside the windows to let in the last of the late afternoon light. He wondered how much they weighed, and how many hands it required to take them down when they needed cleaning. He was grateful when Lady Millicent placed a cup of black coffee, not tea, in his hands. He tasted it, found it weak, the taste strange to his American palate, and discreetly set the saucer on an end table next to a century-old Tiffany lamp.

Sebastian said, "We have some time to relax and chat before dining, say in half an hour?" He smiled at his wife, picked up her white hand, squeezed it. Elizabeth blinked. Had her leaving, and his wife being nearly taken from him, changed him? Or had it happened slowly, and she hadn't realized it before she'd left? Her father said with obvious pride, "First off, let me say your mother knew what to do. She pressed that distress button immediately. The sound of it made me rise straight out of my chair in the study, it was so loud. The police were here in a short time, scared the culprits off. If they'd been any closer the dogs would have taken them down. It's a pity they weren't caught."

Over the stuffed pork and asparagus, Sebastian said, "I spoke twice today, before you arrived, with Mr. Eiserly of JTAC about what all this might mean, who might be responsible, and why. Well, at least about what he suspects, since there's been so little time to investigate what happened last night. He believes, and your mother and I agree with him, the two attempts on your life you've told us of near Washington were no doubt planned by that man Ammar Aboud, but whatever his reasons, they originated here in England, no question, now that Millicent has been attacked as well. Mr. Eiserly told me Aboud's many holdings in Syria have suffered under the sanctions and possibly his motive is to force me to get them removed, which isn't at all realistic. Aboud isn't stupid. He must know mine was far from the only hand involved in setting the sanctions, that I can hardly simply revoke them myself. Eiserly agreed."

He paused. "The question we face is who here in England is working with Aboud, perhaps directing him, and why."

It was ten o'clock before she and Rome said good night to her parents and Elizabeth escorted Rome up the magnificent central staircase to a large bedroom with elaborate molding and wallpapered with Dutch country scenes. He eyed the antique four-poster bed and armoire that looked centuries old.

"Rome, Benbett told me Cranford hung your clothes in the armoire. Your folding clothes are in the drawers."

"No maids, no trays, sorry. Cranford is my father's valet. He will see to you while you're here, but tomorrow morning we're both going to be allowed to sleep as long as we like. I'll help you find breakfast. You can buzz for Cranford to button your shirt for you, maybe lace your sneakers or iron your boxers if you wish. But be warned, Cranford, like Benbett, is quite the snob, so he might turn up his nose at looking after an American." She paused, looked him up and down. "On the other hand, he might enjoy dressing your buff young self with your six-pack abs, as you Yanks call them. I imagine Cranford would faint if he saw Hurley's chest without a shirt on. He'd believe him a different species. I do think my parents like you, by the way. Well, you're still an oddity to them, but an accepted one since they know now you saved their precious daughter's life more than once. We'll have to see if they still approve of you in the light of day." She laughed, touched his arm. "Good dreams, Rome."