The Actress and the Aristocrat by Katie Ashley

Chapter Thirteen: Charlie

Iwas in trouble. It had been two days since my staged kiss with Rand, and it was all I could think about. I’d like to say it was because it was so unexpected. One minute I was nibbling on roast chicken and then the next Rand was nibbling on my lip. And speaking of, how was it possible Earl Whittingham packed so much heat beneath his somewhat frosty façade? Like Teri had joked, it was always the quiet ones you had to watch out for, and holy shit, did you have to look out for him.

Of course, thinking of our kiss led me to other scenarios. Like if Rand’s mouth could do that, what could the rest of his body do? Or what could his masterful mouth do the rest of my body?

Today, however, my attention was focused on the task at hand—The Chelsea Flower Show. It was hosted by the Royal Horticultural Society. Not only were we attending the show, but Rand had an entry in the show. For years, the gorgeous flowers and greenery from Sutherlin House had been featured by Sarah, Rand’s mother. Since her passing, he had continued her work by continuing to have entries.

Now as my first event as Eliza Littleton was just moments from commencing, I couldn’t help feeling like every anxious molecule in my body was about to explode. Seated in the backseat of the Bentley beside Rand, I wore the beautiful emerald dress I’d originally picked out, a towering pair of nude heels, and Sarah’s pearls. On the outside, I had to admit I was impeccable. However, the inside was a complete wreck.

“Stop fidgeting,” Rand instructed.

“Sorry,” I replied in my best British accent. I’d already been speaking it the entire morning to get into character and not make a blunder in front of others.

Rand turned toward me in the seat. “There’s nothing to be nervous about.”

“Says the man who was pacing this morning, going over potential questions from the reporters.”

With a scowl, Rand replied, “I was merely getting it out of my system.”

“I’m glad because you’re going to do amazing.”

“Thank you. And I say the same to you.”

With my hand on the door handle, I silently prayed, “Lord, please don’t let me do anything to embarrass Earl Whittingham or his family’s name.” After drawing in a steadying breath, I opened the door and stepped out. Rand had quickly made his way around the car and was waiting for me. I slid my hand through his waiting arm.

Immediately I noticed the cameras and reporters. Of course, it wasn’t a paparazzi-type situation. They were merely walking around or stopping to interview people by their gardens. There was certainly a lot for them to report on. Two people dressed like woodland creatures walked around on stilts while others wore native costumes from Japan and India. Models strutted around in dresses adorned with flowers and even branches. A troop of gymnasts whirled ribbons around themselves within another garden.

“This is….” I shook my head in wonderment. “I don’t even have words.”

“Your first time can be overwhelming.”

“Somehow I just had in my mind we were going to a fancy garden party.”

Rand chuckled. “Not quite. Although there will be some of those later in the year.”

After seeing a flurry of movement to the right, I gasped. “What is it?” Rand exclaimed.

“It’s the Prime Minister,” I hissed. To my amazement, Rand threw up his hand to which the Prime Minister called, “Lovely afternoon, Earl Whittingham.”

“Yes, Prime Minister, it is.”

I glanced between the two of them. “Just like that you’re conversing with the Prime Minister?”

“It’s certainly not my first time, and it won’t be the last,” Rand replied matter-of-factly.

“This is seriously insane.”

With a knowing look, Rand said, “I’m sure people feel the same level of star-struck around actors and actresses.”

At his waggling brows, I laughed. “Yes, I suppose some people do. I’ve certainly had my moments.”

Of course, the ultimate star-struck moment came as we were winding our way along the pathway to Rand’s garden. While smiling and nodding at random people we passed, I made eye contact with the Duchess of Cambridge. She gave me a friendly smile before disappearing into a thicket.

I froze on the spot. “What’s wrong?”

“That was Kate!” I wheezed.

“Yes, the Duchess of Cambridge sponsors her own garden as well.”

“This is… insane,” I murmured.

“I hope you’re getting this out of your system, or you’ll be a statue at Ascot,” Rand teased.

“Very funny.” At the same time, I couldn’t help thinking he was probably right.

After stepping through the floral archway, I gasped. It was like being transported into a favorite novel of my childhood, The Secret Garden. There was even a swing in one of the trees along with a small, stone building.

“You did all this?”

Rand chuckled. “Actually, it was the workmen.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, it was part of my vision. Or I suppose I should say it was built off the vision of my mother.”

“She certainly had an eye.”

“She adored flowers. Somedays it would seem she stayed in the garden from dawn until dusk. As kids, Rob and I hated when she asked us to join her since it would turn into an all-day event, and we’d miss out on swimming or watching television.”

“Sounds like normal teenagers,” I replied.

“Earl Whittingham, your garden is absolutely breathtaking,” a reporter cooed from behind us.

As we turned around, a genuine smile lit up Rand’s face. “Thank you, Jocelyn.”

“Not that it isn’t every year, but there seems to be something special about this year’s.”

As Rand fiddled with his cufflinks, I knew he was getting nervous. I simply eased over to place my hand on his shoulder. After flashing me an appreciative look, he nodded at Jocelyn. “Yes, it’s the five-year anniversary of my mother’s passing. She was an honored patron of the Royal Horticultural Society from before she married my father, and upon their marriage, she was closely involved with the Chelsea Flower Show. She always said that outside of my father and her sons, gardens were her next love.”

Tears filled my eyes at the love and admiration in his voice and expression. Sweeping her hand to her chest, Jocelyn said, “Such a beautiful tribute. I do believe you’ve made your companion cry.”

Rand tore his gaze from Jocelyn’s over to mine. “It’s just so moving to hear the love for Lady Whittingham still being carried on by her son.” Smiling up at Rand, I added, “They certainly make her and her memory proud.”

After clearing his throat, Rand replied, “Thank you, Eliza.”

Jocelyn leaned forward with her microphone. “I don’t believe I caught your name.”

Before I could open my mouth to answer, Rand quickly replied, “This is my girlfriend, Eliza Littleton.”

Realizing she had just landed the new scoop, Jocelyn’s dark eyes bulged. “I suppose best wishes are in order then.”

I smiled. “Yes, they are, thank you.”

“I couldn’t be happier sharing this magnificent event with Eliza,” Rand remarked. I was impressed with the sincerity in his voice. He was certainly doing well selling our relationship. He didn’t even need the added touch of bringing my hand to his lips and kissing it.

As soon as Jocelyn left, another reporter stepped into her place. Rand fielded a steady stream of questions about the garden and his involvement. Some were interested in who I was, but the older journalists didn’t seem to care. Their scoop was about the horticulture, not if Earl Whittingham had himself a new piece of “arse.”

The day wore on, and we left the garden to go to a sit-down lunch under a large tent. It goes without saying that the tables were set with the finest linen and china. Although I’d kept my cool all day, I was on edge I might do something mortifying. You know, like I might spill something on my dress, or fling an unruly escargot across the room into a waiter’s hands. Okay, maybe I’d watched Pretty Woman one too many times.

Thankfully, lunch went flawlessly, and I was about to call it a perfect day until a douchebag-looking guy waltzed over to Rand while I hid under the canopy of one of the trees to make sure there wasn’t anything in my teeth. If I were speaking as Eliza, I would’ve called him a tosser.

With a smirk, he held up his white pad. “So, Earl Whittingham, this is your first RHS show since your divorce, right?”

Rand’s jaw tightened. “Yes, it is. I’m not sure what my marital status has to do with horticulture.”

“I just remember your wife always had a part in your garden.”

“Yes, Lydia and I shared a mutual appreciation of horticulture.”

“She seemed to appreciate other activities with your friend, Michael.”

I tossed the mirror in my hand into the shrubbery and rushed out of the trees. Plastering a smile on my face, I walked up to Rand and slid my arm around his waist. “Sorry, darling, I had to make a run for the bathroom.”

“It’s fine.”

Glancing from him to the reporter, I asked, “Did I miss anything besides this utter lame dick trying to get a rise out of you?”

The reporter’s eyes bulged both at the sight of me and my words. “I didn’t realize you weren’t alone.”

“Doesn’t say much for journalistic ability, does it? Of course, neither did your line of questioning.”

“Pardon me?”

As I felt my blood rising, I knew I was turning a corner Eliza would’ve shied away from. “Not only were the questions disrespectful because of his rank as a peer of the realm, but they were low for any professional to use.” Tilting my head, I asked, “What’s next on your line of questioning? Asking about our sex life? It’s bloody amazing, thank you very much. Or perhaps you’d like to ask about his todger? I find it impressively large and extremely orgasmic!”

After staring at me a moment, the douchebag whirled around and hurried off with his tail between his legs. Just as I wanted to inwardly do a victory dance, I realized what I’d done. Oh. My. God. Had I actually just alluded to Rand and me having sex? But worst of all, I had described his penis.

I didn’t dare look up at Rand. Instead, I just stood there as the seconds ticked agonizingly by. When he finally drew a breath to speak, I braced myself for the wrath to come.

“That was—”

“Horrific? Completely unladylike? Mortifying to you and your family’s name?” I suggested.

To utter surprise, Rand laughed. “I was going to say amazing.”

My eyes bulged at his response. “You can’t be serious? I just described your alleged penis and our sex life. God only knows what they’re going to say about us.”

“Correction: you told off a member of the gutter press.”

“Regardless of his tabloid stature, it was so very, very bad.”

“If you had said that to the Sunday Times, I would be having a strong word, but I couldn’t care less what he might write about us.” With a twinkle in his eyes, he added, “Although I have a feeling, he won’t be writing anything.”

An enormous breath of relief rushed out of me. “Thank God.”

“Is it wrong of me to say that what just transpired was worth every penny the vase cost?” Rand mused with a smile.

“That guy was a dick to try and provoke you like that.”

“Yes, but for the gutter trash that prints newspapers like his, it would’ve been a real coup to get pictures of me in a scuffle. I can only imagine a headline like, ‘Earl Whittingham goes mad among the gardens at the Chelsea Flower Show’!”

“That would be horrible.” With a sigh, I added, “Of course, I’m not sure how I’ll react if I see my name next to a quote about your penis.”

Rand chuckled. “At least you were complimentary.”

“I suppose a ‘you’re welcome’ is merited here?”

“It is.” His expression grew somewhat more serious. “In the future, it will be best to remember you will hear all sorts of negative things about me and perhaps about you. We have to keep our cool and not let it get to us.”

Nodding, I replied, “I understand. It’s the same way in Hollywood. Of course, I haven’t reached the stature of paparazzi tracking my every move or writing rubbish about me.”

“One day you will.”

“You think?”

With a smile, Rand said, “You certainly have star quality about you.”

As my heartbeat accelerated, I returned Rand’s smile. “I really appreciate that.”

“You’re welcome.”

At that moment, we were interrupted by a young family. While the mother wore the baby boy across her chest, a little girl around four or five ran around her parents’ legs. When she noticed us, she came running over. As her gaze followed up Rand’s legs to his face, she noted, “You’re tall.”

While I awaited some uncomfortably stiff remark, Rand totally surprised me by smiling instead. “You’re right. I am.” And there in the middle of the garden in what I could only imagine were thousand-dollar pants, Rand knelt down in front of her. “What’s your name?”

“Maisy.”

“That’s a beautiful name. Do you like all the flowers?”

She wrinkled her nose. “They make me sneeze.”

He chuckled. “What a pity you can’t fully enjoy the garden.”

Angling her chin, she said, “I bet I could enjoy the swing.”

“Ah, you think so?”

Maisy bobbed her head, sending her dark ponytail swinging. “Well, then, I suppose a few swings wouldn’t hurt anyone,” Rand replied.

As he rose to his feet, Maisy squealed before making a beeline for the swing. “Are you sure it’s safe?” I asked him.

“I never pegged you for a killjoy.”

With a scowl, I replied, “I’m not. I was just merely thinking ahead of the newspapers splashed with a story of Earl Whittingham’s death trap tree or even worse a lawsuit.”

Rand laughed. With a knowing look, he said, “What is it the Yanks say? It isn’t my first time at the rodeo.”

“Yes, I do believe they say that, but it sounds somewhat different with a British accent.”

“You can rest easy that the engineers checked everything out.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied as Maisy pumped herself higher and higher.

As her giggles floated through the air back to us, Rand smiled. “There’s nothing more beautiful than a child’s laugh.”

Once again, my heart broke out into a gallop. “You were amazing with her.”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you can be a little stiff around adults.”

“Children don’t judge you like adults do. They’re a fresh slate.”

As I studied his profile watching Maisy, I thought about what a good father he would be. Seeing him interact with Maisy certainly had my ovaries taking notice. It was then a thought popped into my head. Instead of keeping it to myself, I blurted, “Why didn’t you and Lydia have children?”

The moment the words flew from my lips I wished I could take them back. Not only because it was way too personal and intrusive a question for me to be asking, but because of the pain that flashed on Rand’s face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that,” I apologized.

“It’s okay.”

“No. It isn’t. There are some questions that should just be off limits.”

“Eliza, it’s all right.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “I’m sure anyone would wonder why after five years of marriage Lydia and I didn’t have children. Especially since I need heirs to pass on the title.” Rand remained quiet for a few moments. After sucking in a deep breath, he turned to me. “We’d been married two years when we started trying. I wanted to start on our honeymoon since I was nearing thirty, but Lydia wanted to wait. Three months later she got pregnant, and then three weeks later she had her first miscarriage.”

“Her first?”

“There were five in total.”

His anguish was palpable, so I reached out to place my hand on his arm. “Oh, Rand, I’m so very sorry.”

“Even with medical help, she kept miscarrying. We flew to New York to see a fertility specialist.” At what must’ve been my questioning look, he replied, “Lydia didn’t want any of her friends to know she was having difficulties. For her, everything was about perfection, and somehow not carrying a pregnancy made her defective.”

“That’s understandable,” I murmured.

“The specialist decided with Lydia nearing thirty-five, we should skip to a surrogate. While it wasn’t ideal, I was excited and hopeful to begin the process. She appeared to be as well.” With a rueful smile, he continued on. “But it was all just a façade. She was telling me she was seeing the specialist and preparing for the procedure, but she wasn’t. Instead, she was sleeping with Michael all over town.”

Words seemed inadequate. “I’m so very sorry,” I murmured.

“Thank you. Sometimes I wonder if it was my need for children that drove her away.”

“Oh please, lots of couples go through infertility, but they don’t go bang their husband’s best friend!” At Rand’s wince, I quickly said, “I’m sorry. But it’s true. The only way you’re truly going to heal is to realize you had nothing to do with what Lydia did. Some people are just selfish arseholes.”

The corners of Rand’s lips quirked up. “How very philosophical of you.”

With a scowl, I replied, “It’s the truth. She and Michael are total wankers.”

“Once again, you need to work on the gutter mouth. It’s very unbecoming of Eliza.”

I couldn’t help laughing at his statement. “What’s funny about that?” he asked.

“Just when I think you’re a complete one-eighty from the Randall I met a few weeks ago, you say something like that.” Before he could protest, I held up my hand. “I will temper my unsuitable vocabulary.”

He nodded at me. “I appreciate that.” With a sincere smile, he said, “You’ve done exceptionally well today, Eliza.”

I couldn’t stop the goofy grin from curving on my cheeks. Receiving praise from Rand felt incredible, although I wasn’t exactly sure why. “Thank you.”

“We were only required to spend close to two hours here, so if you’re ready, we can head home.”

“I am if you are.”

With a somewhat cheeky grin, he replied, “Just as soon as Maisy gets out of the swing without incident.”