I turned to see Friedrich marching up the drive with a determined look on his face.
When he reached me, he announced, “I am Friedrich von Hoffenburg. I work for Mr. and Mrs. Harris.” He spoke with a charming formality and the slightest hint of a German accent. “You are in need of a lift, I believe. Please, allow me to drive you to your home.”
“In your Porsche?” I said, fl abbergasted.
Friedrich blanched ever so slightly, and when I envisioned the Porsche’s immaculate leather interior, I couldn’t blame him. I must have looked like a refugee from a village of mud wrestlers.
“Yes, naturally, in my Porsche,” he said manfully, and offered me his arm. “Please, you will allow me?”
It wasn’t every day that a tall, broad-shouldered youth with flaxen hair and sky-blue eyes appeared out of the rain to offer me his arm. What else could I do but take it?
Nine
I rewarded my escort’s gallantry by asking him to fetch a clean blanket from the stables and drape it across the passenger seat before I slid into his precious vehicle. He obeyed with alacrity—and with visible relief—and we were soon cruising down Anscombe Manor’s long and curving drive.
Although Friedrich drove with great restraint, I quickly realized that the Porsche wasn’t the right car for me. It was lovely to look at, but it didn’t offer much in the way of elbow room and it was so low to the ground that I would have had to be as limber as my sons to get in and out of it daily without straining vital muscles. More important, there was no place to put a week’s worth of groceries, a deluxe cat carrier, or a pair of wriggly boys.
“Who told you I needed a lift?” I inquired as we made a stately turn onto the lane leading to the cottage.
“Eleanor Harris,” Friedrich replied. “She is a friend of yours, I believe.”
“She is,” I said, smiling at his use of Nell’s proper name. “I understand that you met her at the Sorbonne.”
“Yes, we met in Paris,” he acknowledged, then went on boldly, “I fell in love with her immediately, of course. She is quite . . .” He sighed, and his eyes took on the faraway look common to young men in the throes of Nell-worship.
“Beautiful?” I hazarded.
“She is of course beautiful,” Friedrich agreed, “but there are many beautiful girls in the world. Eleanor is more than beautiful. She has a small bear—”
“Bertie,” I said promptly. One couldn’t know Nell for long without making the acquaintance of Sir Bertram, her chocolate-brown
76 Nancy Atherton
teddy bear. While I kept my relationship with Reginald under wraps, Nell kept hers with Bertie out in the open, for everyone to see.
“Yes, Bertie.” Friedrich nodded. “She speaks of this bear without embarrassment. This is character, I think. She is also quite clever, you know. She completed a three-year degree at the Sorbonne in one year. She is altogether remarkable.” He glanced earnestly at me.
“I have much to offer Eleanor. Not only my love, but comfort, stability, security. My family is quite well-off. We have homes in many beautiful places. Our stables are famous. If you are her friend, you will tell her this.”
As Friedrich spoke, it gradually dawned on me that he was driving slowly not because of the inclement weather but because he needed time to convince me that he was the best candidate to marry Nell. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he’d held up a sign saying VOTE FOR ME. If he hadn’t been so young and so sincere, I would have burst out laughing.
“I think she probably knows about your background already,” I said gently.
“But to hear it from a friend may . . . open her eyes,” he reasoned.
“I doubt it,” I said. “Nell’s not easily swayed by other people’s opinions.”
Friedrich gave me a puzzled look. “But she speaks so highly of you. . . .”
“She does?” I said, astounded. Nell was so superior to me on every measurable scale that I’d never imagined her speaking of me at all, let alone highly. “I’m glad to hear it, but it doesn’t mean that I have any influence over her. I’m afraid you’ll have to court Nell on your own, Friedrich.”
“I see.” He lapsed into a disappointed silence but rallied when we arrived at the cottage. “Your sons are fine equestrians, Ms. Shepherd.
If they were my sons, I would be very proud.”
Aunt Dimity: Vampire Hunter
77
“Thank you,” I said, climbing out of the car. “And thank you very much for bringing me home.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said with a courteous nod.