Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
“It’s up to you,” she says. “If you change your mind, the key is downstairs in the castle kitchen, hanging inside the pantry.”
What am I thinking! Chrissy knowing where we’re going is enough to make this a topic of conversation for all in the castle.
“You know, I think the secret garden might be nice after all.”
“Oh, good!” Chrissy beams. At least until Griffin saunters into the kitchen, souring her mood.
“I come prepared!” he announces, brandishing a bottle of champagne.
“Me, too!” Swinging open the fridge door, I pull out a couple of juice boxes.
“Mimosas?” he asks, looking slightly confused.
“For us or the kids?”
“What?” He slowly lowers the champagne bottle. “What am I missing?”
“Hmm?” I keep my expression bland while internally cackling. I’d invited Griffin on a picnic. The picnic I’m taking Hugh and Archie on. I just didn’t tell him his wasn’t the only invitation. The fact that he’s arrived with a bottle of champagne confirms that keeping quiet was a good plan. Poor Griffin. He probably thought he was looking forward to an afternoon of champagne and canoodling on a cashmere rug. Not Frisbee and a couple of rowdy kids.
“Holly!” Archie, as usual, comes bounding into the room. “Can we climb trees and chase the peacocks?”
“Do you have a death wish?” I tilt his chin and smile down at him.
“Why? Will they peck out my eyes?” he asks, pulling down his cheeks and making himself look grotesque.
“If the wind changes, you’ll stay like that,” Chrissy says with a laugh.
“What’s he doing here?” Hugh asks, following his brother at a more sedate pace.
I turn my attention his way. “Griffin? He’s coming on the picnic with us.”
“Wonderful,” the kid drawls, sounding a lot like his uncle.
“Yeah, right back at you,” mutters the supposed adult. “I didn’t realise we’d have an audience.”
“To have an audience, you’d need to have something to show, laddie.” I try not to laugh at Chrissy’s barb as I notice she’s tucking a tube of sunscreen and some linen napkins into an honest-to-goodness wicker picnic basket labelled Fortnum & Masons. As in the bougie London department store.
“Whatcha got there?” I ask, peeking over the lip as she slides in a few more containers.
“Chrissy always packs the best picnic,” Archie announces, trying to get a look at the goodies she’s adding, container after container.
“Did you bring the Frisbee?” I ask Hugh, ignoring Griffin’s less than impressed expression. That’s the only action you’ll be getting, my friend.
“It’s in the hall, along with the picnic blanket and a cricket bat.”
“And my football!” Arch adds.
“Cricket is a game I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to show me.” And with that, we set off for the castle kitchen to look for the keys.
The strap hinges on the old oak door creak as it’s pushed open, Hugh pulling the barrel key from the lock.
“Oh, my gosh! I can see why this place is kept secret,” I murmur as I step into a garden that’s a profusion of colour. The smell of lilies planted along the wall is almost overwhelming, a velvety mossy path leaning on through flowers and plants of every shape, and colour.
“Isn’t it amazing?” I say, turning back to find Griffin grinning at me. Well, after he brings his gaze up from my ass.
“I don’t think you’ve looked any more American than you have today.”
“Like people in the rest of the world don’t wear denim shorts,” I retort with a scowl. But he’s not spoiling this for me.
“We don’t all wear baseball caps.”
“Excuse me, but this is a trucker's cap.” Glancing back at him, I tug on the bill. “And it’s Prada, thank you very much.” Or at least the nice man at Camden Market assured me it was. Which means it isn’t. But whatevs. It cost me less than twenty bucks.
Griffin chuckles, probably resuming his view. Meanwhile, mine is soaking up all this loveliness.
The wall around the garden is at least eight feet high and looks, in part, to have supported something like a greenhouse at one time, plants twirling and twining over the bones of the derelict frame.
Foxgloves, pineapple flower, lady’s mantle, chamomile, and feathery ferns run along the edges of a gravel path that leads to a patch of meadow grass surrounded by an array of trees. Something about the setting is magical. It’s more like an enchanted woodland, the kind of place fairies would choose to live. We reach the meadow grass where paths spill out in all directions, some bordered with hedgerows like a miniature maze, another leading to a pond with actual waterlilies. Bee’s buzz and birds sing as Hugh and I pull out the picnic blanket, which might actually be cashmere, and throw it up into the air like a parachute.
“It’s so beautiful in here.” I stare at the view where the garden dips to provide an almost never-ending view over the rolling lawns and landscaped gardens. “So pretty.” Dropping to the blanket, I stretch out my legs and turn my face to the sun, soaking up its rays like beams of sunshiney happiness. I decide the rainy weather during my first weeks was worth suffering through if it went some way to creating this spot.