Falling For Fortune. Nancy Robards Thompson
copper ceiling tiles and a vintage art-nouveau crystal French chandelier in the entryway. Despite Amber’s travels to some of the bigger cities throughout the great state of Texas during her short-lived rodeo days, she’d never been inside a restaurant this fancy.
“I’ve heard how great this place is,” she said. “People need reservations weeks in advance to get in. How long have you been planning for us to have dinner here?”
Jensen chuckled, then lowered his mouth to her ear. “Not long at all. Despite the need to be on the lookout for constant media hounds and social climbers, wealth and notoriety also comes with some advantages.”
Amber stopped soaking in the decor long enough to lift a brow at him. The way “social climbers” had rolled out of his mouth had put a sudden bad taste in hers.
She suspected that gold diggers and people wanting to move up in class and status often tried to take advantage of him, so he’d had to put up an emotional barrier to keep them from getting too close. But now that he was becoming firmly entrenched in their sweet little Texas town, who would he suspect was attempting to climb his social ladder?
Certainly not her. But ever since that night in the hayloft, she felt a little uncertain about where things stood between them. So she found herself reading into everything he said. She’d have to stop doing that.
“I can see where having financial and social advantages would come in handy for you in London Town, but how does that work for you here in Vicker’s Corners?”
“You’d be surprised what you can do with some of those green advantages you Americans have—the kind with pictures of your old presidents and patriots on them. I’ve found them to be quite helpful in making my stay here in Texas a bit more pleasant.”
The maître d’ himself, a middle-aged man who’d introduced himself as Roland, led them back to a white linen–draped table for two, which was once again in a secluded corner. A single red rose in a bud vase, as well as a flickering candle in a votive, provided a romantic ambiance.
After Roland handed them menus and made sure they had ice water with lemon slices and a basket of fresh bread, he left them alone.
Still, Amber lowered her voice. “So you bribed someone to get us reservations?”
“I wouldn’t call it a bribe. It was more like a sizable contribution to ensure our privacy and to enhance our dining experience.”
She liked having him to herself. It also gave her an opportunity to get to know him better. So she reached for a slice of pumpernickel and asked, “What was it like to grow up in England? Did you have a happy childhood?”
“Brodie and Oliver, my older half brothers, may have had it a bit differently before my mum married my father. But I’ve never heard them complain. So I think they’d agree that we all had the very best of childhoods. We grew up on the Chesterfield estate in England.”
“I can’t imagine what that might have been like. I suppose you had tons of servants.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Jensen took a sip of water. “Mum wasn’t a traditional mother by aristocratic standards.”
“What do you mean?”
“She didn’t hire nannies to raise her children. She did have help, but she was in complete charge of the nursery, as well as the household. Our family may have been titled and privileged, but she was determined that we wouldn’t take our money or royal station for granted.”
Amber leaned her arms on the table, eager to hear more, yet not wanting to break the spell Jensen cast upon her when he finally began to open up about himself. So she sat quietly, but attentively, waiting for him to continue.
That is, until the sommelier interrupted him. “May I interest you in one of our wines, sir?”
Once Jensen placed their order for a bottle of zinfandel from California’s Napa Valley, Amber steered him back toward the conversation she meant to have.
“So you didn’t grow up with a house full of servants?”
“Quite the contrary. We had plenty of them, but they were under strict orders to ensure we weren’t spoiled rotten.”
The sommelier returned with the red wine, removed the cork and let Jensen have a sample. “It’s fine. Thank you.”
After filling their glasses half-full, he left them alone again.
“I was an only child,” she said. “So I find this fascinating.”
Actually, she found Jensen fascinating—and not just the way the candlelight glistened in his hair, the way he held his wine goblet, turning it just so and studying the deep, burgundy-red color. And she was thrilled that he’d finally begun to open up to her.
“After Brodie and Oliver went off to school,” he said, “my mother was busy with Charles and the girls, so my father would take me to the stables with him. We spent a great deal of time together, he and I. And as soon as I learned basic arithmetic, he had me adding up his ledger books. He told me never to trust anyone else with the family business or finances. I guess I took it all a little too much to heart.”
“How so?” she asked, taking the first sip of her California wine.
“I was always a stickler for the rules. Charles used to tease me and try to get me to lighten up, but the sense of family responsibility had been engrained early on.”
He sounded as though he’d been the perfect son, the perfect child.
“I’ll bet your teachers loved you,” she said.
“They did. I was the one they would send on special errands. In fact, I was a prefect my second year at Eton.”
“A prefect?”
“It’s a student who’s put in charge of the others.”
“Like an associated student body president?”
Jensen furrowed his brow. “I’m not sure.”
Maybe she shouldn’t make too many comparisons to their school systems. She didn’t want him losing focus.
“So you went to Eton? Even I’ve heard of that. Where did you go for college?”
“For university you mean? I went to St. Andrews in Scotland, naturally.”
Naturally. “Did you always do what your family expected of you?”
He picked up his goblet and swirled the wine in the candlelight, his expression growing wistful. “Father used to say that he could count on me for anything. I mean, he was close to all of his children and loved us all equally. But even Mum will tell you that Father and I shared a special bond. We enjoyed the same things like polo, managing finances, being with our families—even watching old cowboy movies.”
“I would have liked to have met him.”
Jensen reached into his pocket for a moment, then withdrew his hand. “My father and I even shared a love of airplanes, although he was a pilot and I wasn’t.”
“Did you ever think of taking flying lessons?”
“Occasionally. But now that he’s gone, I think about it even more. What I’d really like to do is purchase a jet. That way, I could visit my family in Texas whenever the fancy struck.”
“Seriously?”
Again, he reached into his pocket. “Well, I’ll probably take those flying lessons. And I might even buy a jet. But I’d hire the pilots.”
She lifted her linen napkin, trying to hide the smile that touched her lips. If he flew here regularly, she’d get to see him more often. But she didn’t want to corner him into making promises out of an offhand comment, so instead she said, “You keep reaching into your pocket. Why is that?”
“Oh.” He pulled out an antique gold