Catching the Wind(61)

She stood beside him. “Perhaps what?”

“If you’ll try driving again.”

Quenby followed him out of the library, stopping beside him at the bottom of the steps. “I might actually damage your car this time.”

“I’m willing to take that risk.”

Courageous or stupid—she wasn’t quite sure what to make of the man standing in front of her. “I’ll drive—if you’ll let me take back roads.”

“As long as you stay on the pavement.”

She tilted her head. “All four tires?”

He nodded. “Preferably no mud or grass or men named Kyle today.”



“We’re going to be late.” Lucas glanced at the clock on his dashboard as they circled a roundabout in Lambeth, wedged into the crush of London traffic.

“Late for what?”

“The concert,” he said.

They’d traveled country roads most of the way up, stopping near Tonbridge so he could see the Terrells’ former cottage and in Westerham for lunch. He’d taken the wheel once they reached London proper, an hour ago. Until then she had managed to keep all four tires on the road and a fair distance from any other vehicles, though she couldn’t make any promises about mud or grass on the tires. Either way, she was quite proud of her feat. They’d had a good day together. Fun even.

“You should come with me to the concert,” he said as he turned left onto Westminster Bridge.

“No luck finding a real date?”

“I didn’t say that.”

They crossed over the Thames, the London Eye circling above the river on their right, Big Ben standing stalwart on their left.

She pondered his question, her mind wandering. What kind of woman would Lucas Hough ask out on a date? Someone like Gwyneth Paltrow or more like Princess Kate? Probably a woman who knew all the rules of British etiquette, dating back to King James.

After they passed Westminster Abbey, Lucas turned left and parked on a side street.

“Please, Quenby.” He flashed a puppy dog–esque look. One that was almost impossible for her to refuse.

“Please what?”

“Come with me.”

He hopped out of the SUV as she reviewed her options. He couldn’t drive her home, at least not until after his concert, but she could easily call for a ride or hop on the Tube a block away.

But then again, if he really wanted her to attend a concert, why shouldn’t she accompany him? She might actually enjoy the music.

He opened her door.

“I’ll go,” she said, stringing her backpack over her shoulder. “But no promises that I’ll stay.”

“Fair enough.” He locked the door behind her. “I think you’ll enjoy it.”

They walked down the street, and he turned toward the plaza that led into Westminster Abbey. An outdoor board said there was an evensong at three.

Quenby glanced at her watch. It was five minutes after.

The stained glass glowed inside the Gothic cathedral, the warmth of light filtering up to the tip of the vaulted ceilings, raining down on the solemn stone statues and marble floors. A chorus was singing at the other end of the abbey, their voices echoing off stone and glass. She and Lucas hurried across slabs inscribed with names like Sir Isaac Newton and David Livingstone, along an aisle flanking the immense nave as they rushed toward the music on the other side.

Had her mother visited this abbey during her childhood in London? Perhaps she’d even sung here in a choir.

Quenby remembered well the music that seemed to smolder somewhere deep inside Jocelyn, surging up through her lips on the best of days into the most beautiful songs. She even remembered, in choppy clips, her mother and father singing together. Their laughter as they stood hand in hand onstage to perform for a crowd. That’s all she really remembered about her father. That he’d enjoyed laughing.

She and Lucas emerged in a tiled annex between the sanctuary and quire. Dozens of children sang from the tiered choir stalls, their young voices blending in with all things old, brightening the somber space.

Rows of folding chairs lined the annex, most of the seats filled with families listening to the children’s song, the women all in smart casual with their dresses or a skirt and jacket. Quenby glanced down at her jeans and blouse and wished she’d had an opportunity to change.

Lucas placed his hand on her back as they walked up the side aisle. They slipped into two chairs near the front, about three rows from the choir.

“There’s my date,” Lucas said with a grin.

Date? Quenby froze as the word ricocheted through her mind. Then she began to panic, scanning the rows around them for the woman who belonged with Lucas. All she saw were irritated glances from several parents, annoyed at the interruption.

Right now, she was more than annoyed at the man next to her. She wanted to clobber him. “You’re meeting someone?”

“Of course.”

She scooted to the edge of her seat. “I’m outta here.”

“She won’t mind.”

“I’m fairly certain that she will.” Her voice was much too loud, but at the moment, she didn’t care.

Lucas reached for her hand. “It would be ungentlemanly of me to let you walk home alone.”

“It would be unladylike of me to tag along on your date!”