Samantha and Jonathan had just returned from eighteen holes of golf and had only an hour or so before they were to report to Bellewood for Cynthia's semi-regular weekly Sunday supper.

"Good, Edward." Jonathan smiled easily at the concierge. "Anytime I'm three strokes or more under par is a good afternoon."

Samantha considered her husband. Even after all these years she couldn't understand how he'd turned out so polished but with none of his parents' superciliousness. He expected and received white-glove treatment in almost every aspect of his life, and therefore never seemed to have to demand it.

"And you, Mrs. Davis?" Edward asked. "Did the greens roll your way?"

"Oh, I squeak by."

"She underrates herself," Jonathan said. "Her short game is very impressive."

Samantha held back a laugh. She played golf because her husband asked her to. And she'd managed to achieve a level of competency that allowed her to avoid embarra.s.sment. When he was in town, Jonathan played in a regular Sat.u.r.day morning foursome. On Sundays the two of them often did brunch at the club followed by a round of golf together. Samantha played in the occasional charity tournament or when a client wanted to bring his wife along. It could be amusing to play when they traveled. But Samantha could not remember ever waking up in the morning eager to go play golf.

"And will you be able to join us for our Downton Abbey screening this evening?" Edward asked Samantha.

"Oh, I don't think so, Edward," Samantha replied. "I only came last week because Jonathan was out of town." And because the concierge had refused to let her off the hook.

"What's Downton Abbey?" Jonathan asked.

"It's a television series," she said. "From Britain. Edward has started screenings of the first two seasons in antic.i.p.ation of season three here in the States in January."

"Oh?" Jonathan asked.

"Yes, it's set in this fabulous castle in the English countryside. It's a very elaborately done soap opera with enough history thrown in to make you feel virtuous," Samantha said, surprised at the enthusiasm she heard in her voice.

"There was quite a nice turnout for the first episode," Edward said.

"It was fun," Samantha conceded. "We had an upstairs maid and a footman serving wine and snacks. And biscuits for dessert."

"What you would call cookies," Edward explained to Jonathan.

"It does sound like fun. You should go," Jonathan said to her.

"Oh, no, I don't see how. I mean we're expected at your mother's." The only cloud on the Sunday horizon. "You know how she looks forward to seeing you. I mean, us."

"I imagine something could be arranged," Jonathan said, his lips quirking. "Unless of course you'd rather go to Bellewood?"

Samantha schooled her features. "I didn't say that. I mean I don't . . ." Her voice trailed off. If Jonathan had been her savior, his mother had been her penance. "I mean I know I'm expected," she said. Like death, taxes, and Wednesday lunches, Sunday supper at Bellewood was something that rolled inexorably around.

"Yes, well. If you're able to work it out, I know we'd all like for you to join us, Mrs. Davis," Edward said. "I was very glad to have a board member present last week and would love for that to continue." He nodded and smiled pleasantly. "If you'll excuse me?" With a nod, the concierge headed toward the security desk.

Samantha and Jonathan walked to the elevator. When they were inside he said, "You know, I've been trying to think of a way to give Mother a little more of my time. Maybe we should change things up a little. Representing the condo board is a valid commitment, which I'm sure she'd understand. Besides you already see her for lunch every week." He fixed his gaze on hers. "How do you think she'd feel about spending Sunday evenings just with me? Just until the screenings are over?" he asked as they exited the elevator.

"Seriously?" Cynthia Davis would probably be turning cartwheels at the thought. If it wouldn't have shocked Jonathan to the core, Samantha might have done a few down the newly re-carpeted hall herself even at the idea of being excused from the formal Sunday meal in the dining room that was far too large for the three of them.

"I'm sure she'd love some time alone with you," Samantha said carefully. Cynthia would have the best of all possible worlds-her son to herself and a legitimate excuse to criticize her daughter-in-law. "But I wouldn't want her to think that I'm avoiding her." She waited while he put a key in the lock and pushed the front door open.

"I'll take care of it," Jonathan said, following her into the condo, through the kitchen, and back into the bedroom. "I'll tell her it was my idea and I had to talk you into it."

She looked at her husband in admiration. "You can be so Machiavellian."

"I've got some skills. But I try not to use them for evil." He shucked off his golf clothes and reached into the two-person shower to turn on the water. Her eyes strayed to his wide shoulders, then skimmed down to his trim hips and muscled thighs. He turned and caught her looking. His blue eyes darkened.

"Here, let me help you." His sure fingers unb.u.t.toned her golf shirt, then moved to the waistband of her shorts. A moment later she was down to her bra and panties. "There. Much better." He unhooked her bra and cupped a breast, skimming the pad of his thumb across her nipple.

Samantha shivered as he removed the rest of her clothing. Sunlight penetrated the clerestory windows and streaked across their naked bodies. "It's the middle of the afternoon," she said, feeling deliciously wicked.

"I know." His lips pa.s.sed over her bare shoulder on their way to the nape of her neck.

"You'll be late for supper," she protested as he brought his lips down on hers and pulled her tight against him.

"She'll forgive me," he murmured against her lips. "And it's not like I can go there without showering first."

She didn't understand how he turned her on so easily; a look, a touch-sometimes that was all it took. Was it his knowledge of her body that gave him this power? Or was she simply conditioned to respond to him? She didn't know. At the moment she didn't care.

"Come on." His voice turned husky as he took her hand and led her into the shower. Steamy heat enveloped them. Water sluiced down their bodies, turning them slick and wet. "Come here." He pulled her up against him. "I'll scrub your back if you scrub mine."

BROOKE COULD HARDLY BELIEVE HOW MUCH SHE was looking forward to that night's screening of Downton Abbey. For the first time since Zachary had moved out, she had something she wanted to do and people she wanted to do it with.

She made a salad for dinner, picked up the girls' rooms, then adjourned to the large walk-in closet where she contemplated the spa.r.s.ely filled s.p.a.ce. Her clothes were few and chosen for serviceability; things that didn't wrinkle or require too much thought or maintenance. Zachary had been the clotheshorse and she'd had no problem with him taking up more than half of the considerable closet s.p.a.ce. He'd believed that clothes could, in fact, make the man. And said repeatedly that you only got one chance to make a first impression. Which was, after all, what plastic surgery was all about.

She frowned as she noticed not just how few things there were but how beige those things seemed. Once she'd loved bright colors accented with bold blacks and whites. Somewhere along the way she'd begun to gravitate toward what she'd at first called earth tones, but which actually turned out to be various shades of beige and brown. The boldest thing in her closet was a brown-and-beige striped shirtwaist. She put it on, trying not to look at the way the fabric strained across the bust and waist. In the bathroom she applied more makeup than she'd worn in the last month to no discernible effect-she could still see every freckle that dappled her face. "Oh, stop," she said to herself. "No one's going to be looking at you anyway. You're going to go, watch the program, and leave." But she hoped Claire Walker would be there so she'd have someone to sit with.

Not wanting to be the first to arrive, she watched the clock and waited until exactly eight o'clock before taking the elevator to the clubroom. Hand on k.n.o.b, she drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "There's nothing to be afraid of," she reminded herself. "You live here just like everyone else. All you have to do is smile, eat some popcorn, have a drink, and watch Downton Abbey." Despite the pep talk, she suspected that if Callan and Logan Ritchie and their mother, Rebecca, hadn't come up behind her and swept her inside with them, she might have turned and fled.

Edward Parker stood just inside near the bar and food table. The popcorn machine was frantically popping and the smell of fresh b.u.t.tered popcorn reached her nose. Bags stood at the ready. Appetizers she didn't recognize had been laid out on the table.

"Welcome, Mrs. Mackenzie. I'm so glad you could make it."

Brooke smiled at the concierge. "I'm glad to be here. What is that Isabella is dishing up?"

"Angels on horseback-those are oysters wrapped in bacon. We also have miniature Cornish pasties-a pastry sh.e.l.l filled with meat, potato, and onion along with a bit of rutabaga. In their full size they're a meal all wrapped in one. James is serving shandies tonight-a mixture of lager and lemonade that I think you'll enjoy. I hope you'll give everything a try."

"Absolutely." Ignoring the feel of the too-tight dress that encased her, she stepped up to the table.

"'Ello, Miz Mackenzie, 'ows ya 'angin'?" Isabella asked brightly as she handed Brooke a plate of hors d' oeuvres.

Edward winced, but his smile didn't waver. "A shandy for Mrs. Mackenzie, please, James."

James, apparently content with a nonspeaking role, gave her a friendly nod and began to pour. When Brooke looked up from her gla.s.s she noticed that the concierge was studying her intently. He turned when the door opened. Sadie Hopewell and her neighbor Myra Mackelbaum arrived. Mimi Davenport stepped in right behind them. Diamonds sparkled on her fingers and at her throat.

"Ah, ladies, welcome." Edward reintroduced Brooke. "You look lovely tonight, Mrs. Davenport. Very sparkly."

"Why, thank you, Edward," the woman drawled. "But I've told you to call me Mimi," the pet.i.te woman said with a coquettish smile at the concierge. She offered Brooke a smile. "Very nice to see you again," the woman said in a blur of long vowels and consonants.

"We'll get started in about ten minutes," Edward said to both of them. "So do try the food and drink."

The professors Melinda and Diana arrived as did the nurse, Anna. As he had with the others, Edward greeted each new arrival, escorted them to the food and drink, and reintroduced everyone, initiating conversation. The noise level began to rise. Brooke had finished the appetizers and her shandy was almost gone. She was weighing the advisability of having another when Claire Walker arrived. Brooke felt her shoulders relax as the woman walked toward her.

"I thought you'd decided not to come," Brooke said.

"And end up plastered over every dating site known to man?" Claire laughed. "No, there's just something about living so close that makes me think there's no rush. I'm just down the hall, so I figured I had plenty of time. What are you drinking?"

"It's a shandy." Brooke held up her empty gla.s.s. "It's a combination of lager and lemonade."

"Really?" Claire wrinkled her nose. "I'm not a big beer drinker."

"Me, neither, but it's pretty good," Brooke said. "Light and tart. I could hardly taste the beer."

"Sounds . . . interesting."

They walked to the bar together. James served them with his sweet smile and nod. Raising their gla.s.ses in salute, they drank.

"Ummm, that is good," Claire said.

"Yeah, you don't want to miss the Cornish pasties or the angels on horseback, either."

Claire smiled. "This just gets better and better." Her gla.s.s empty, she held it out to James for a refill. Without asking she took Brooke's gla.s.s and set it in front of him then accepted a plate of hors d'oeuvres from Isabella.

"'Ave to pace yourself, mum," Isabella said with a curtsy. "The drink packs a bigger wollop than ye might think."

Brooke laughed. "Thanks for the warning, but it looks like we're both having another one."

"d.a.m.n straight." Claire raised her gla.s.s and clinked it against Brooke's. "Let the mingling begin."

Edward left them to their own devices, only stepping in to facilitate a conversation or to draw someone on the fringes into the group.

The decibel level was nearing a dull roar when he stepped up in front of the big-screen TV. "Ladies," he shouted with a smile. "We're about to get started. The bar will remain open, but there's no intermission planned, so you might want to take care of refills now."

Still chattering, women began to make their way to sofas and chairs. Samantha Davis entered, her face aglow, her hair artfully blown-dry, her form-fitting T-shirt tucked into skinny jeans that rode low on her slim hips. She looked so perfect-so not in need of Zachary's services-that some of Brooke's sense of well-being fled. Out of the corner of her eye, Brooke watched her accept the concierge's effusive greeting and a drink from James. Instead of hot appetizers, she took a bag of popcorn from Isabella and began to scan the crowd. When she spotted Brooke and Claire, she smiled and headed their way.

"Hi," she said, stopping in front of them. "How are ya'll doing?"

"Good," Brooke said.

"Better," Claire said raising her gla.s.s in silent toast.

Samantha took a first tip of her drink. "Wow. I see what you mean."

Claire smiled. "If I hadn't seen James mix this, I would have sworn there was no alcohol in it." She took another long sip. "I don't know why I haven't had one of these before. It's pure genius."

"Genius," Samantha agreed, also taking a sip. "Where are we sitting?"

Brooke looked at her in surprise as Claire nodded toward the front of the room. "It looks like 'our' sofa is free," she said, leading the way.

Without discussion they sank into the sofa. Brooke sat in the far corner and tried not to look as if she were hiding in it. Samantha settled in the center with a contented sigh. Crossing one long leg over the other, she took a delicate sip of her drink then set it on the c.o.c.ktail table. Claire plopped down in the other corner, careful not to spill a drop of her drink. Brooke snuck a peek at Samantha from beneath her lashes, then flushed in embarra.s.sment when she thought about Samantha witnessing Zachary's put-downs and the way he'd tried to fawn all over her.

"I wasn't sure you'd be back," Brooke said tentatively.

"Me, neither." A funny look pa.s.sed over Samantha Davis's face. "But I'm glad to be here. How about you?" She studied Brooke carefully. Was she searching for a warning sign of tears to come?

"Yes, I'm glad to be here," Brooke said. "Ava and Natalie are with Zachary. He's decided that he prefers Sunday nights to full weekends."

Samantha considered her. "That's good though, right? That they're with him and you can come here?"

"Yes," Brooke said, realizing that this was true. "It's almost weird to have an activity of my own. I've kind of forgotten what that feels like."

"I know what you mean," Samantha said.

Certain the other woman had to be joking, Brooke studied her more closely, but saw no hint of humor in the earnest green eyes.

Claire raised her gla.s.s. "Let's hear it for somewhere to go and something to do." She took a long pull on her drink. Brooke and Samantha joined her.

"Now then, ladies," Edward Parker said, clapping his hands to snag their attention. "We have plenty of seats so please go ahead and claim one. Drink and snacks are headed around." Isabella, serving plate in hand, performed a curtsy. James bowed, holding the beer and lemonade aloft. They began to circulate.

The chatter died down as Edward spread his arms wide. "It's a pleasure to have you all here tonight for episode two of Downton Abbey. Please let your friends and neighbors know that they're welcome and that I can loan them the episodes missed if they want to be caught up when they arrive." He gave them a stern look. "And no peeking ahead. No secret screenings. Remember, we're in this together."

There were murmurs and laughter. Beside her, Claire held her gla.s.s out for another refill, then drank eagerly. Brooke felt a kind of rosy glow surround her. Or maybe it was rising from the shandies within her? She took another sip and decided it didn't matter where the feeling had originated as long as it continued.

She felt a tingle of antic.i.p.ation as the lights went down and the room fell silent. Claire and Samantha leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the screen. The opening strains of music began. Downton Abbey appeared on the screen, solid and ma.s.sive against the blue English sky. And Brooke was sucked into another world. One in which a middle-cla.s.s lawyer meets the privileged world he must reluctantly join, a privileged young woman rebels against duty and expectation, and a less privileged woman dreams of something better.

WHEN THE EPISODE ENDED, THEY APPLAUDED ALL the way through the closing credits.

"Now then, ladies," Edward Parker said as the credits came to a close. "We have trifle for 'afters.' Which you may have with tea or another shandy."

Only two people opted for tea. James poured fresh drinks for the rest of them while Isabella pa.s.sed out small bowls of trifle. Claire swayed slightly but remained propped upright in the corner of the sofa. Brooke had lost count of how many shandies the woman had had.

"I'm curious about your favorite characters this week," Edward said. "Anyone?"

"I like Bates and Anna," Callan said.

"And I wish Daisy would pay attention to poor William instead of Thomas," her twin added.

"Maggie Smith still rocks!" Anna, the nurse from Emory, offered. "She's so droll."

"Any favorite lines?" Edward asked, egging them on.

"When Lady Mary says to Matthew, 'Oh, I wouldn't want to push in,' after she hears him talking about how he knows the Granthams are going to try to push one of the daughters on him," Mimi Davenport said. "Especially after we see how taken he is with her."

"I like the dowager countess's line-'what is a weekend'?" Samantha said. "It's such a telling remark."

There were more shouted lines and laughter. They chatted animatedly amongst themselves, no one seeming in any hurry to leave even though it was close to eleven p.m. on a Sunday night.

"I wish we could have a Downton Abbey marathon," Brooke said to Samantha. "Just sit down and watch one episode after another."