Chapter 19
Robert wasat breakfast in the dining room, reviewing his list of tasks yet to be accomplished for the fete. Robert had a number of errands that he needed to run in Cambridge. He could send one of his staff members, as they were not errands that particularly required his personal attention, but he had to admit he really wanted to stop in and say hello to Diana. He missed her. Should he be admitting that? Probably not. But he could not helphimself.
“Good morning, Robert,” Amelia greeted, as she entered the dining room and went to the buffet table where she served herself breakfast from the morning’sofferings.
A footman served her tea as she sat at herplace.
“How are your efforts for the royal visit going?” Robert asked. “Do you feeloverwhelmed?”
“Not too badly. As you know, I have a very capablestaff.”
“As do I,” Robertreplied.
“All is on track and I expect a warm and felicitous welcome for Their Majesties when they arrive,” Amelia said as she began herbreakfast.
“I am to visit Cambridge this morning. Is there anything you need that I can get foryou?”
“Errands, or pleasure?” Ameliaasked.
“Errands, ofcourse.”
“Hmm. And would your journey include a visit to that writerlady?”
“Diana. Her name isDiana.”
“Di-an-a,” she enunciatedclearly.
“It might. And what concern of yours is that, might Iask?”
“None. But I seem to remember that she is engaged, is that notso?”
“It is. But, as I have mentioned many times before, we have a professionalrelationship.”
Amelia ate her breakfast in silence for a time, and then said, “No, there is nothing I need fromCambridge.”
* * *
Robert promisedhimself he would do all his errands before stopping to see Diana, but somehow his horse headed toward the inn just down the street from the Browningresidence.
After stabling the horse, he headed toward the house but decided to stop by the gallery to say hello to Mrs. Browning and to check on hisorchid.
“Good morning,” he said as he pushed open the door and rang the littlebell.
“Robert?” Diana said. “Goodmorning.”
“Oh, it is you. I was expecting your mother,” Robertsaid.
“She is ill in bed. Nasty cold, so I am minding thegallery.”
“No chance for a stroll in our meadow?” he asked, but suspecting herresponse.
“I am afraid not. It is summer. We have a lot of tourists this time of year and the gallery must be watched allday.”
Robert went over and stuck his finger into the wood chips holding the orchid’s roots to check formoisture.
“And how is your writing going?” he asked as he turned back toher.
“Miserably. With mother ill, I am either running up and down the stairs to tend to her, or I am dealing with visitors to the gallery. Mostfrustrating.”
