Page 86 of An American in London

“Last time we spoke, he pretty much closed the door. He said he wasn’t ready to divest. And I’m not surprised. Our engagement may have even worked against me. Maybe he sees me as someone who can’t hold on to what’s valuable.” My heart inches higher in my chest at his words, at the thought I might be valuable to him. “Serves me right for lying.” He shuts his eyes. “I should never have been so dishonest. That’s not how my father raised me.”

“No, but isn’t it worth telling him about your family connection to The Fairfield?”

“He might see it as attempted manipulation.”

“It’s the truth, Ben.”

“Tell me more about your vision boards.” He’s not subtle when he wants to change the subject, but I can’t blame him. He didn’t even know I was going to bring him here today. “What does that involve?”

“It’s fun. Just grab a bunch of magazines, some card stock and glue, and we’re off.” I don’t tell him I’ve already wasted an afternoon witha bunch of magazines and didn’t come up with anything. I ended up lying on my bed, scrolling through photographs of my time in London.

“You create your vision for the future?”

“Exactly. I used to do them all the time before my mom died. Since then, I lost sight of what I want my future to look like. I’ve focused too much on everyone else.”

“Ben? Tuesday?” I snap my head around to find the duchess coming toward us. “I didn’t expect to see you here. Together.” She’s beaming. I can tell she’s hoping this means we’ve reconciled. For real.

“Darling,” she calls. I follow her gaze and spot the duke having a conversation with someone at the entrance to the lounge.

He breaks it off when he sees us.

We stand and greet them like old friends, and they join us in seats around the low table in front of the sofa we’re sitting on.

“We didn’t expect to see you either,” I say.

The duchess orders tea for her and the duke. After we confirm we don’t need anything, she asks, “What are you doing here of all places?”

I glance at Ben. He’s not going to tell them, and I can’t help but think they would be entirely charmed, knowing Ben’s connection to this place.

“Do you mind if I tell them?” I ask.

Ben mumbles but I make out, “If you must.”

“Ben’s father worked here for thirty-five years. Ben has such wonderful memories of the place, I insisted he bring me to see where his ambition was born.”

“Your father worked here?” the duchess asks. “How long ago?”

“He retired just under ten years ago,” Ben replies.

“His name?” the duke asks, looking puzzled.

“Harry. Harry Kelley.”

The duchess raises her hands. “You’re Harry Kelley’s son? We love Harry! How is he?”

Ben pushes his hands down his thighs. “Very well. Thank you for asking.”

“He was a very good man,” the duke says.

Ben clears his throat. “Still is, sir. The best of men.”

“Ben was just sharing that his dad would smuggle him into the hotel to sit under the Churchill desk for the day while he worked.”

The duchess roars with laughter. “Did you ever know that, George?”

“Certainly not, and neither did my managers. I’m sure we would have been in breach of at least a dozen laws. But GMs never have a clue what’s going on with their staff. I’ve always said it.”

“He didn’t do any harm. It was years ago,” the duchess says.

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