The climb was longer than she expected, but still not as strenuous as the trek up to her New York apartment. Sue explained that in Europe, what Americans referred to as the first floor was called the ground floor. What Elizabeth knew as the second floor was subsequently the first floor in England, and so on. So her bedroom was situated on the top floor of the home, up three flights of stairs.
Sue led her through a set of white double doors at the top of the staircase.
“What do you think?” Sue waved her hand with a little flourish. “I do hope you like blue.”
Elizabeth was at a loss for words. It was the most beautiful bedroom she’d ever laid eyes on. The walls were covered in pale blue toile wallpaper that featured scenes of French women in ball gowns and large powdered wigs. Tiny dogs danced around their feet. The duvet cover on the four-poster bed was fashioned from matching fabric, as were a pile of overstuffed throw pillows.
Elizabeth ran her fingertips along the smooth white wood of one of the posts at the foot of the bed. “Oh, Sue. This can’t possibly be your guest room. It’s gorgeous.”
“It is most definitely the guest room. I could never convince Alan to sleep anywhere so girlie. Or froufrou, as he calls it.” She shrugged.
Elizabeth shook her head, struggling to take it all in. “This room is fit for a princess. Not a dog nanny.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. What’s the use of having such a pretty room if no one’s enjoying it?” Sue grinned. “So, you like it, then?”
“Are you kidding? I love it.” Elizabeth gave Bliss a squeeze and released her to explore their new home. Much to Sue’s delight, she shuffled straight to a sweet little dog bed with a toile cushion that matched the duvet cover. “Correction—we love it.”
Elizabeth gave Bliss a little pat and noticed the large window on the far wall, framed with a generously proportioned window seat. More throw pillows, toile and pale blue crushed velvet, made the bench a cozy-looking refuge. She felt drawn to the area at once, captivated by the view of Sue’s charming neighborhood.
“This is fantastic. Look, I can see everything from up here.”
“Yes, it’s an excellent spot for spying on the neighbors.” Sue clapped her hands. “Success, then. I want you to feel at home here. There’s a tiny kitchenette at the end of the hall, right next to the water closet.”
“Water closet?” Elizabeth turned away from the window and searched Sue’s face for a clue. All she saw was a hint of amusement.
“The powder room, dear.” She laughed. “Don’t worry. We’ll make a Brit of you before you know it.”
Elizabeth had known she coddled Bliss, but she hadn’t realized to what extent until she’d been introduced once again to Sue’s Border terriers. They were the most perfectly trained dogs she’d ever seen. It was remarkable. They moved in flawless unison. If Elizabeth told one of them to sit, they all planted their rumps on the ground at the same exact moment. A down command elicited a similar uniform response. After only an hour of looking after them, Elizabeth had begun thinking of them not as a pack of dogs but rather a military unit. A scruffy, wirehaired infantry.
The jet lag hit Elizabeth full force, and by nine o’clock she could barely keep her eyes open. She slipped into her nightgown and situated herself on the window seat. As she gazed out at the darkened London street and reflected on her first day in the Barrows’ household, Elizabeth wondered why they’d hired her. Other than to help out at the shows, of course.
Those dogs—Violet, Hyacinth, Daisy and Rose—could run the house themselves. They hardly needed a nanny. Although she supposed they were smart enough to get in serious trouble if left to their own devices. They had a television in their room. Or the telly, as Sue had called it. When the house was empty, Sue left it on to keep them company. Elizabeth wouldn’t have been surprised if the Border terriers tuned in to the home-shopping channel, dialed the phone with their little paws and ran up thousands of dollars in credit-card bills for crazy things like the ShamWow or a blanket with sleeves. That was the kind of intelligence they possessed. These were not normal dogs she was dealing with.
Bliss danced around on her hind legs, peeking over the edge of the seat until Elizabeth scooped her up. Not that the Cavalier wasn’t fully capable of jumping up there on her own. She was spoiled, plain and simple.
“Yep, you’re spoiled,” Elizabeth murmured as she surrendered and ran her fingers over the Cavalier’s silky chestnut ears. “But I love you just the way you are.”
Bliss let out a little snuffling sound and wedged her way between one of Elizabeth’s legs and the neat row of velvet pillows. Behind her, the window glowed with the soft yellow light of the streetlamps that lined the sidewalk below. Elizabeth smiled at the bright red telephone booth she could make out, even in the dark, right next to the cupcake bakery on the corner.
London was charming.
Elizabeth had been in the country for all of fifteen hours, and she was smitten with the place. The street was quiet now. The cupcake bakery’s windows were darkened. Some of the quaint row houses had lights on, but only in one or two windows. Even the church down the street had stopped ringing its bells every hour, on the hour. South Kensington was packing it in for the night.
But as Elizabeth scooped all sixteen pounds of Bliss’s dead weight into her arms, ready to head for bed, she spotted something out the window that gave her pause.
Another Cavalier!
She planted Bliss back among the pillows and leaned toward the windowpane for a closer look.
Her bedroom was three floors up, but she could spot a fluffy, wagging Cavalier tail from any distance. The dog prancing around on the threshold of the house across the street was most definitely a Cavalier King Charles spaniel. She squinted and tried to make out the dog’s owner.
It was a man. But from so high up, and in the dark, she couldn’t tell much else. He appeared to be wearing jeans and a sweater, but there was something about the way he moved that carried an air of formality.
They meandered down the street and, once they’d reached the church, turned back toward home. The man kept a watchful eye on his Cavalier until they’d made it about halfway down the block. Then he suddenly turned his face toward her window.
Elizabeth couldn’t make out his expression in the darkness, or his features, for that matter. But her face flushed with heat as she watched him watching her. He stood on the sidewalk with moonlight caressing his broad shoulders for a long while. Longer than seemed appropriate. Not that anything about spying on the neighbors was necessarily appropriate.
Elizabeth knew she should back away from the window and head for bed. She couldn’t seem to make herself do it. For some inexplicable reason, she felt drawn toward the pair outside. She told herself it was because of the dog, of course. Another Cavalier. Why wouldn’t she be curious? But the way her heart pounded told her there was a bit more to it than that.
He waved. It was just a slight movement of his free hand, but the stir it caused inside Elizabeth was sizable. She returned the gesture.
The man tilted his head, as though studying her. She was struck with the sudden worry that he could see her face. Could he tell who she was?
Surely not.
What did it matter, anyway? She didn’t know a soul here, besides the Barrows. She was anonymous. Invisible.
She swallowed, but a flutter rose up from her belly and settled in her chest. Sitting there, in silent communion with this stranger on a London street, she didn’t feel invisible at all. In fact, she felt anything but. She felt alive.
Disappointment tugged at her consciousness when he looked back down at his dog. They headed toward home. Elizabeth kept watching as he opened the door and the pair slipped inside.
“Come on, sweetheart,” she murmured