LITMIR.BIZ

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in the morning and people come for coffee and to watch the world go by. It’s a good place for that.”

      “I can imagine.”

      They walked toward the ivy-clad front door. Emma thought of the help she needed from John in getting to Brice Palliser and wondered if he would find it dishonest of her to ask for that kind of help. “It is all in the intention,” she agreed, deciding it would be best for her to mention the favor before they ate, rather than running the risk of appearing to butter him up first.

      The restaurant was as charming inside as out. The walls were made of weathered brick, and a huge fireplace sat dormant at one end of the room. The red-checked tablecloths were worn but clean, and the unlit candles on each table were secured in various old, mostly inexpensive, wine bottles. It was quietly intimate, and she was suddenly glad he hadn’t chosen a more famous and probably austere place instead. This was comfortable and comfort was definitely helpful right now.

      “John,” she said, after they were seated and had studied their menus for a few minutes.

      He didn’t answer.

      “John,” she said again, louder.

      There was another moment’s hesitation before he made a small exclamation and said, “Sorry. Did you say something to me?”

      “Yes.” She gathered her nerve. She really hated to ask this of him, but she had to, and she had to do it now and get it over with. “I’m afraid I have a favor to ask of you. A big favor, that is.” She sucked air in through her teeth. “A really big favor.”

      “Of course. What is it?”

      Three solid heartbeats passed. “I need to meet Brice Palliser.”

      Was it her imagination or did his face pale? “Why do you need to meet him?”

      He sounded stung. “Actually, I don’t really need to meet him,” she said quickly. “I just need to talk with him. Specifically, I need permission to go to his estate and dig around in the gardens a little.”

      “Sheldale House.” His voice was monotone.

      “That’s right.”

      The restaurant lights dimmed and the waitress came to the table to light the candle. “Would you like some wine with dinner?” she asked.

      “Please. Could you bring a bottle of Dom—” He stopped, cleared his throat. “How about a sparkling wine of some sort?” He looked to Emma for approval.

      “Great.” She nodded.

      He looked at the menu, and pointed one out. “This is from a good region.”

      The waitress made a note on her pad, then asked Emma, “Are you ready to order?”

      Emma hesitated, unsure of the budget. Though he’d never specifically said, she guessed from his job description that John wasn’t much better off than she, so she looked down the right-hand side of the menu for the least expensive dishes. She was about to order the grilled chicken breast when John spoke.

      “How about the filet mignon with bearnaise?” he suggested. “The beef is local and quite good.”

      “Filet mignon? Really?” Emma couldn’t even remember the last time she’d had real steak instead of hamburger.

      He raised an eyebrow. “Does it not appeal to you?”

      “I’d love it, but…” She lowered her voice and spoke through her teeth. “It’s kind of pricey…”

      “Don’t worry about that. If it’s something you want, you’re certainly worth it.” He smiled, and his eyes lit a flame in her heart.

      “Well, it does sound good—”

      “Then it’s settled.” He slapped his menu shut.

      “The filet for both of us,” he said to the waitress, keeping his eyes on Emma.

      “Are you sure about this?” Emma asked, when the waitress had gone. She was warmed by the idea that he was trying so hard to make it a memorable evening for her, but worried that he was overextending himself to do it.

      “Absolutely,” he said, without a trace of doubt. “Now. Where were we?”

      “Brice Palliser.”

      He looked startled for a moment, then his expression relaxed some and he said, “The garden.”

      She nodded, noting for the second time that he wanted to keep the subject off the man. Clearly there was discomfort there, and she wondered if John thought she’d rather meet the earl than spend time with him. “Right, the garden,” she said, trying to reassure him. “Frankly, I’m not sure I have much use for the man. You know, I tried writing to him for permission, but he didn’t even bother to respond. You’d think he could at least have had his secretary or someone write back.”

      He looked pained. “We-ell. Maybe he didn’t get your letter. He may be out of the country. He travels quite a lot, you know.”

      “But doesn’t he have a private secretary?”

      “Not at home,” he said, then added quickly, “Or, uh, did you write to him at his office?”

      “Home, I guess. Sheldale House on Guernsey.”

      John clicked his tongue against his teeth. “I don’t think he goes there very often.”

      Hope deflated. “There’s no way to get in touch with him at all? For permission, I mean.”

      John laced his hands before him on the table and considered for a moment, before he said, “This is really important to you, I know.” He let out a pentup breath and raked a hand through his hair. “Sorry. I feel bad that I let it go this long. I should have arranged for you to go to Guernsey as soon as I got your letter.”

      Emma reached across the table and touched his arm. “John, this isn’t your responsibility. There was no reason you should have made the arrangements for me, that’s my job.” She tried to lighten it with a laugh. “I don’t even think I mentioned Sheldale in my letter to you. I’m only asking your help now because it doesn’t look like the man is going to bother to answer a nobody like me, at least in his eyes.”

      “Emma, it’s not like that—”

      “Here we go,” the waitress called, reappearing with their wine. She set the glasses down, then opened the bottle, poured them each a glass, and left with a promise to bring their dinners along in a few minutes.

      Emma watched her go, then said, “To be fair, I didn’t tell the earl of Palliser just how important this might be. I didn’t want to overstate it because if I’m wrong, I’m just a crackpot, you know? I didn’t want to make any grand claims that could later be called lies or exaggerations. Especially not to this fancy-schmancy earl, who would probably think I was just trying to rub elbows with the upper crust.”

      He stiffened. “Why would he think that?”

      “Well, I’m not, of course,” she hastened to amend. “You know that.” She took a sip of her wine, then gestured with the glass. “What I meant was, he’s rich and powerful. I suspect people are approaching him for money and favors all the time.”

      “Not like this.” When she looked at him, he added, “Probably.” He smiled then, snatching her breath away.

      She shrugged. “Maybe not, but he doesn’t know me from any of the rest of the masses.”

      His smile faded slightly. “It’s definitely a tough situation.” There was weight in his words. Emma found herself trying to figure out why. After a pause, he went on, “But I think perhaps you’re underestimating him.”

      “Really?” She was interested. “How well do you know him?”

      He frowned, started to speak then stopped. After another moment, he said, “That’s hard to say.”

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