Love at First Laugh: Eight Romantic Novellas Filled with Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever After Read online

  “Good for me? Like the last one where you sent me to a dinner ‘meeting’.” His fingers made the quotes. “—between your old friend’s daughter and me? Tasha, I believe was her name.”

  His uncle groaned. “I’ve learned my lesson since then. She wasn’t the type for you.”

  “Nor the last three such…experiments, Donovan.”

  Donovan grumbled through a dismissive shake of his head. “You’re so picky. Just like your father was.”

  Ethan almost smiled. His uncle’s comment came from a deep respect and, if Ethan guessed right, a little envy in the fact Ethan’s parents loved each other so well. Something Ethan prayed and hoped for, but in his almost thirty years, failed to find. “What can I say?” He shrugged. “I like the idea of old-fashioned values and intelligent conversation. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

  Donovan swirled his fingers in the air and released a puff of disagreement from his lips. “Well then, maybe all your patience will pay off during your vacation. Take an extra week, even, just because you’re willing to go to Bath for me.”

  Sly move, Uncle Donovan.

  A knock at the door interrupted their conversation. Elaine, his uncle’s secretary, walked in to distribute some papers, her tight skirt highlighting the length of her legs. She slid Ethan a subtle smile, attempting to bait him, as usual. His uncle made certain to keep pretty women around, a deplorable habit Ethan had no intention of cultivating.

  His last two serious relationships started with his uncle’s scheming and ended when Ethan discovered his money more of a lure than he was, a mistake he would not replicate. If he delved into the tangles of a relationship again, it would be at his choosing without his uncle’s fingerprints smudging the dialogue.

  Ethan walked to the side of the desk opposite Elaine, deliberately keeping his distance. “You’re much better at the international trips than I am, and I’m really not a fan of traveling.”

  “Nonsense. You used to love traveling. And England.” His uncle took the papers in his hands and nodded to Elaine, his admiration taking an ungentlemanly turn.

  How Ethan’s mother held out hope for his sordid uncle’s soul, Ethan couldn’t quite figure. He may be good-natured and shrewd, but three previous wives could testify to his wayward heart.

  Ethan waited for Elaine to exit the room before nailing his uncle with a glare-of-blame. “Miranda squelched that love when she ran off with my wallet and my assistant in the middle of Spain. Do you realize what I had to go through to make it back to the States?”

  His uncle grimaced, waving the memory away with the papers in his hand. “Well, she was all wrong for you, anyway. Just because you’re my flesh-and-blood doesn’t mean you share my likes and values.”

  “Or lack thereof.” Ethan crossed his arms, a wry smile tilting into place.

  Donovan’s chuckle turned into a cough—a slightly more convincing one. “What can I say? Your father got the moral compass, and I got the business know-how.” He smacked the desk in front of him. “Luckily, my boy, you got both, so I plead with your good nature to take this trip. It’s only for two weeks. Finalize all the paperwork, plan the changes, and then we can sort out the future. Timothy’s hotel is a perfect blend of country village style with high class amenities—a solid investment.”

  Ethan released a reluctant sigh. He preferred the predictability of his desk and routine—a quiet office, small group of friends, and the ability to disappear to his house in Concord—away from Charlotte’s bustle—whenever he chose.

  “Do it for your rascally uncle, won’t you? Just this once?”

  “Just this once?” Ethan challenged his uncle with a raised brow and slid into the nearest chair. “Fine. But after this, I’m taking a five-week-long vacation in the mountains away from—”

  “The city?”

  “And you, dear Uncle. Because I’ll get no vacation if I stay near you.”

  Chapter 2

  Nora willed her tired eyes to focus on the burgundy-clad desk clerk, but if she kept them open too long, the pulsation in her head throbbed more deeply in her skull. Three people waited ahead of her to check in to the English-cottage-style Elliott Elizabeth Inn, but she wasn’t sure her balance would hold out that long. Why didn’t someone warn her about turbulence? Or that planes weren’t comfortable sleeping options? Not that she would have managed a wink of sleep in any case since the row behind her sounded like one of her family’s raucous reunions.

  Pain twisted inside her head, voices tunneling through a filter in her brain as her stomach rolled, waiting for the bottom of the plane to drop out beneath her one more time.

  This was not the English dream-introduction she’d had in mind. Where was a good Mr. Knightley rescue when she needed one?

  She squeezed a cautious look around the adorable setting, her Austen-loving heart aflutter. After reading Emma as a teen, she’d imagined traveling through Jane Austen country, but since stepping foot off the plane, all she craved was a nice, soft bed to sleep away the nausea.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I rang every other accommodation in town, but there’s nothing available.” The poor clerk’s voice sounded desperate—in a beautifully English way.

  “This won’t work!” an angry male voice thundered in response—decidedly American.

  Nora frowned and pressed her fingers into her forehead. Couldn’t people speak to each other in regular voices instead of angry ones? Of course, any voice right now sounded too loud. Including her inner one.

  “Perhaps she won’t arrive, then all will be as right as rain.”

  “I’m not a fan of rain.” The grumpy American’s firm tones rattled inside Nora’s aching skull. “And what if she does arrive? What happens then? I’m here for a meeting with the owner of your hotel. This isn’t acceptable.”

  Oh great! One of the grand American entitled. She squinted through the pain to take a peek. The poor clerk’s complexion faded by slow degrees. “There are some nice accommodations in the surrounding villages. I could ring them for you.”

  “And exactly why should I be punished for your oversight?”

  Jerk!

  Had Nora growled or was that her rebel stomach? She peered over the head of the lady in front of her and tried to burn some consideration into the back of the tall, dark-haired troublemaker.

  Some people needed a room and some privacy.

  “I’m sorry, sir. There is nothing I can do at the moment.”

  Stiff upper lip and all that. Nora attempted a grin, but it felt more like a grimace.

  “My uncle reserved this room over a month ago, with the cooperation of your employer. I’m certain he can clear up this situation.”

  “I understand, Mr. Keller.” The clerk lowered his voice. “But Mr. Steele was admitted to hospital this morning, else I would contact him immediately to rectify the situation.”

  Well, the American should feel duly ashamed of himself now.

  “Of course, he has.” The man released a humorless laugh without one hint of regret. “This is ridiculous. You really expect me to share a room with a complete stranger? Some crazy Austen-nut? This…Nora Simeon person?”

  What did he say? Nora’s stomach tightened, worsening the nausea. She couldn’t have heard correctly. With the thrumming in her ears, that made the most logical sense. She hoped.

  “At least Miss Simeon is an American, sir.”

  Her name twice? Oh, Lord help me. Her brain steered into action along with her feet. Unfortunately, the rest of her felt faint.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  The American’s harsh reply exploded in her head as she drew nearer, and her steadiness took a nosedive as she stepped forward to grab the counter. She couldn’t think enough to complain. “Excuse me,” she whispered.

  A pair of piercing blue eyes filtered into her vision, framed by a much-too-handsome face. Deep lines carved a furious line across his brow, and she almost stepped back from the anger etched into his expression.

  �
�I couldn’t help but overhear.” Did he feel the sting of her blame? She hoped so. She smiled to the clerk. “I’m Nora Simeon.” She slid Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Cranky a glance. “The Austen-nut.”

  A tint of pink brightened his cheeks. At least he had the good sense to wear regret well.

  “I’m really not happy about this either, Mr—”

  Those piercing eyes blinked, once. “Keller.”

  “Keller.” Nora swayed into the counter. “And it’s certainly not my first choice of options—”

  “It’s not an option.” He folded his arms across his Superman-sized chest. “Period.”

  That was it. She couldn’t take anymore. She pulled herself up to her full height and braced one palm at her waist, waiting for the room to stop spinning before she spoke. “Do you plan to murder me? Seduce me? Steal all of my belongings?”—She gestured toward the two bags at her feet. “—Which consist of Austen-nut stuff, so I doubt they’d appeal to your…” She waved her hand in the direction of his top-dollar clothes. “…big-city style.”

  He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Best thing she’d heard in the past two minutes.

  “Good. I’ll take that as a no.” His face swam in her vision and she gripped the counter again. “Listen, can we please sort this out later?” She turned to the clerk, who looked a lot more approachable than the suit to her left. “My head is pounding, my nerves are shot, and I’m not sure how long my stomach’s going to hold down breakfast. I really don’t care if I sleep under the bed or in the closet at the moment, but I think I have a pretty bad case of jetlag.” She sighed and turned back to Mr. Grumpy-and-Gorgeous. “I know I’ll be furious about this later, but right now—”

  “Did my uncle send you?”

  “What?” Nora squeezed her eyes closed. Maybe he was crazy too.

  At least crazy was familiar.

  “Never mind.” Mr. Keller sighed and faced the clerk. “Just give us the keys and find a solution before tonight, okay?”

  The poor clerk’s frightened gaze volleyed between Mr. Keller and Nora before he handed over the keys with an apologetic smile. Mr. Keller wore a sour expression but, surprisingly, lifted Nora’s suitcase without a word.

  She lurched for it, but he stepped out of reach and raised an imperious brow. “Do you actually need more incentive to fall over?”

  If her head didn’t hurt so much, she’d have glared with enough force to impress her mom, but nausea won over intimidation. “Good point.”

  He led her to a staircase that twisted up to the next level like something from Gone With the Wind. On any other day, she would have pulled out her phone to snap a photo, but, today, the spiral steps sent her head into a spin cycle. She drew to a stop and stared over at her handsome-yet-humorless companion. “You think the stairs are my best option at the moment?”

  That same dark brow stabbed high again—an annoying trademark. “Conveniently, the elevators are broken. But they should be ready in an hour.” His smile tensed, gaze taking a detour down her body and back. “Care to wait?”

  She matched his sarcasm. “Do you want me to throw up on your fancy shoes?”

  His eyes widened before he gestured toward the stairs with her suitcase. “Well then, Miss Simeon, you accepted this catastrophe. Let’s get on with it.”

  She hesitated, peering ahead, a sense of impending doom nibbling at her wobbly heels.

  “Second thoughts?” His voice needled her doubt.

  Seconds, thirds, fourths…

  Nora closed her eyes and pressed back the tears, her nausea spurring her onward as she held to the stair railing like a lifeline. A handsome valet walked past, staring at her with a ‘crazy American’ look on his face. Her lot in life.

  It was a truth universally acknowledged that NO single man was in want of a senseless widow with jetlag and a matchmaking mother.

  Thankfully, she was disappearing into the Regency world for the next ten days, where she could forget all about her humiliating introduction to modern-day England.

  And perhaps a certain arrogant American too.

  After two deliberate steps up the stairs, her body swayed against her unwanted companion. Mr. Keller groaned and took her elbow, guiding her to the top, down the hallway, and finally into her—their room.

  She stumbled over the threshold and would have landed face-first on the floor in glorious fashion if Keller hadn’t caught her. His face remained as humorless as his suit.

  She made a grab for the nearest post of the massive four-poster bed, but the sweet scent of soap hitting her nostrils proved the final straw. Without a glance around the room, Nora ran for the toilet and deposited her entire breakfast there. To press her embarrassment into deeper layers of humiliation, Mr. Rude stood right outside the bathroom door with her luggage in hand. Tears burned her eyes as she shoved her hair from her face and stared at her horrifying complexion in the mirror.

  Could she just crawl under the Victorian-style bed…maybe even die there? This was not how she’d envisioned her first day in England.

  With a whimper, she pushed herself to a stand and wobbled past Mr. Keller to the bed, falling prey to the exhaustion without another thought to Mr. Keller, Jane Austen, or the possibility of romance.

  Ethan’s frustration dimmed as Nora Simeon stumbled from the bathroom. She glanced at him as he steadied her forward motion toward the bed. Dark, wispy lashes framed eyes marbled with golds and browns, distracting him from his irritation with an unfocused plea.

  He sighed and released her bag, sweeping her up in his arms. Whether she was a pawn in his uncle’s matchmaking scheme or not, he couldn’t dismiss her obvious discomfort.

  He had to help.

  With a careful turn, he placed her on the bed as she murmured something unintelligible about knowing self-defense, dousing his annoyance with a humored curiosity.

  Who was this Nora Simeon? Nothing about her fit his uncle’s usual suspects. Ethan’s gaze diverted to her limp legs falling over the edge of the bed, their well-worn tennis shoes still place. If his sister was caught in a situation like this, he’d want a gentleman to help her out.

  Of course, he couldn’t imagine his pristine sister ever finding herself in a similar situation. But then he wasn’t too certain his behavior downstairs sounded very gentlemanly either. Delaying his vacation and traveling abroad already had him on edge. The room situation proved the last straw…and he’d taken it out on the poor clerk downstairs and a semi-comatose Southerner.

  The gentle curves and sways of Nora Simeon’s accent placed her somewhere in Appalachia, he’d guess.

  A country-girl in England? No wonder she seemed ill-equipped for traveling.

  Ethan rolled his eyes and sighed. He tugged off her shoes and tucked her legs beneath the blanket, a gentle whiff of apricots teasing his senses into deeper observation.

  Apricots? Definitely not a scent one of his uncle’s ‘ladies’ would pick. They usually preferred more exotic and expensive fragrances.

  The early morning light shone through the window onto her hair, brightening the silky brown with faded threads of auburn and gold. She couldn’t be more than thirty - a tiny thing, easily four inches shorter than him and light enough to sweep up into his arms without hesitation. He fought a grin. From the bits and pieces of her snark downstairs, he’d bet her personality loomed a lot bigger than her frame.

  But she didn’t look like a manipulative gold-digger.

  Something felt wrong about this. He pinched his rebel lips into a frown and redirected his curiosity to the problem at hand. How on earth did the hotel double-book this room?

  Ethan took up his room keycard and cast one glance over his shoulder before stepping from the room. The narrow hallway leading from the massive winding staircase to their room held a cottage-like charm rather than the sleek appeal of his uncle’s usual full-service investments. Rugs flooded with rich, brilliant colors lined the floors, dark wooden bookshelves filled with hard-bound classics tucked into various corners or around
a central fireplace. Clean, roomy, with enormous windows welcoming plenty of light, the atmosphere beckoned the weary traveler to linger.

  But…not Donovan Keller’s MO at all.

  His uncle had some explaining to do. About a lot of things.

  He found one of those private corners in the lobby and settled into a red chair facing into the room, feeling very much like a time-traveler in this place. Old-fashioned. Quaint. Knick-knack-cluttered shelves and thick, brocade curtains.

  No, this inn stood in direct contrast to the more modern style Keller Inn & Suites promoted, but he couldn’t deny the appeal. He enjoyed spending his vacations in places like this. Quiet, small, breathing a certain otherworldliness—or at least a very different world than the bustle of Charlotte.

  Flipping out his phone, he dialed up the most likely culprit for the room fiasco.

  “Ethan! You arrived?” His uncle’s boisterous personality vibrated through the phone with enough volume to snag the attention of a few onlookers.

  Ethan turned his head to deflect the sound. “Indeed, I did.”

  “And how have you found the place? Your room?” His uncle’s sanguine tone gave nothing away. “The photos Timothy sent really won me over.”

  “Well, first off, I found the sleeping arrangements a bit…confining.”

  His uncle coughed, right on cue. “Confining?”

  “I trusted you, Donovan, and you’ve done it again.”

  “Come on, now, be a good sport. This isn’t anything like the other setups.”

  Ethan rolled his gaze to the ceiling. “Oh, of course not.”

  “Honestly, Ethan, I was doing a favor for a new friend, actually. A fellow businessman and his wife. Because of some sort of festival or other, all the rooms in Bath were taken, so I thought I could help them out. They needed a gift for their daughter, and you need a life outside of work.”