A Very Irish Christmas: An utterly perfect Christmas romantic comedy by Debbie Johnson

Author:Debbie Johnson [Johnson, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Storm Publishing
Published: 2024-10-30T00:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

Georgie and Roberts disappear soon after – Roberts to arrange the meeting, and Georgie to ‘raid the Dressing Room’.

This, I’m told by Charles, is a chamber at the top of the house where clothes going back decades are stored.

‘I’ve no idea what’s even up there,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘There could be everything from a Jacobean ruff to the awful sailor suit they dressed me up in as a baby. I suspect Georgie is planning to put together splendid outfits for our fake party guests to wear.’

‘That’s not a bad idea, Charles – I’m sure there are some classy garments to choose from.’

He shrugs, and I can tell he is worried.

‘Are you okay with all of this?’ I say, placing my hand on his arm. ‘I feel like I’ve ambushed you with my crazy American energy.’

He looks at my hand and smiles reassuringly, his green eyes on mine.

‘No, please don’t think that. I suspect some crazy American energy could be exactly what we needed – a kick up the proverbial backside. To some extent Georgina was right – I am indeed tripping over my own importance, as she so charmingly put it. There’s no room for pride anymore, and I need to be clear-headed about it all. It’s just that right now, I’m still adjusting, and my head feels far from clear.’

He places his hand over mine, and the touch of his skin on my fingers suddenly feels overwhelming. June had talked a good game on the phone, but I’m still not sure I’m ready for any more ‘moments’.

He seems to sense my uncertainty, squeezes my hand, and puts a respectable distance between us. Or maybe I just imagined the whole thing…

‘I know there’s a lot to discuss,’ he says, ‘but I think I need a break from it before my head explodes. Would you join me for lunch, or a walk around the grounds? I promise not to foxtrot you through the flower beds, or anything at all inappropriate.’

There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes me doubt that, which I can’t deny is good for the ego. I agree to a walk, because it’s a beautiful day out there, and walking always helps me think.

Within a few moments he has me kitted out in Georgie’s rubber wellington boots, and has a small package of blankets and a flask of hot cocoa.

‘We’ll go to the tower,’ he tells me mysteriously, as we head out across the immaculate parkland. The snow here is untouched by anything other than birds, their tiny feet imprinted on the ground. I glance back at the house and see how splendid it looks. We need to get winter pictures, I decide, because this is a sensational view. The perfect spot for wedding pictures.

Huh, I think, as we make our way along virgin pathways, I just managed to think about a winter wedding in nothing but a professional manner. This is progress.

Eventually we reach our destination, and it is, quite simply, a tower. It’s a strange building, with a little square room at the bottom, and nothing else but stone steps.

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