Kiss Me at Willoughby Close by Kate Hewitt

Author:Kate Hewitt
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tule Publishing
Published: 2017-05-24T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

“This was a mistake.”

Lady Stokeley peered in the rearview mirror of Ava’s Mini as she dabbed at her very tastefully done lips. A Touch of Lilac, the color had been called, and Ava thought it suited Lady Stokeley perfectly.

“Don’t you dare.” She admonished as she got in the driver’s seat. She’d spent well over an hour getting Lady Stokeley ready, and Ava had no desire to see her ruin all of Ava’s hard work before they’d even set off. “Do you think I’d actually do you up like a tart?”

Lady Stokeley gave her a narrowed look and Ava laughed. “I may be many things,” she said, “but one of them is classy.” Although her type of classy wasn’t necessarily Lady Stokeley’s. Ava’s brand of classy had always come with a healthy dose of sex appeal, because she couldn’t escape her looks or bra size for that matter, and that was what men wanted. And since she was fourteen that was all she’d cared about, which was a rather depressing thought.

“The lipstick looks nice,” she persisted, because Lady Stokeley was still looking doubtful. “And the curls.”

With a small smile, Lady Stokeley patted the loose curls Ava had spent a tense hour on. “I do like my hair.” She tucked her handkerchief back in her sleeve with a little sigh. “But I wonder if this entire venture is a mistake.”

“Don’t you want to see old Violet?” Ava asked as she started down the drive. “See what she’s been up to? Whether she looks as good as you?”

“She won’t, unless she’s had her teeth fixed.”

Ava laughed again. “Then what do you have to worry about?” She paused. “Unless that’s not what you want?” After all these years, what did Lady Stokeley want from a woman she hadn’t seen in sixty years? Somehow Ava doubted it was something as petty as making sure she still looked better, although admittedly that never hurt.

“I want to ask her to forgive me,” Lady Stokeley said quietly, and then broke the serious moment by letting out a dry laugh. “That’s what happens when you get old and think about death. You want to make things right, as best as you can. It’s all very melodramatic, especially considering how small and petty things can be.”

“What do you mean?”

Lady Stokeley gazed out at the rolling green of Wychwood-on-Lea, her expression faraway. “I stole Violet’s beau, as they said in my day,” she said. “Her fellow, her fiancé, what have you.” She frowned, her gaze distant. “My husband.”

“You mean Gerald?” Ava jerked round in surprise before turning back to face the road. She’d seen Lady Stokeley’s wedding photograph in her bedroom, a black and white of two stiff, unsmiling figures, Gerald in some kind of military uniform, not quite looking at the camera.

“Yes, Gerald. Lord Stokeley to you.”

“Sorry,” Ava murmured.

Lady Stokeley sighed. “He’d asked Violet to marry him at a house party one summer. It was an impetuous decision, but then that’s the sort of man he was. Always being

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