BRITISH BLACK SHEEP

EVER AFTER

BOOK FIVE

LAUREN SMITH

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Smith

Photography Copyright Wander Aguiar Photography

Cover art by Angela Haddon

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at lauren@laurensmithbooks.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-962760-07-2 (e-book edition)

ISBN: 978-1-962760-08-9 (print edition)

For Kate and her loveable scamp, the bulldog Yogi who gave me so much joy when writing this book.

ONCE UPON A TIME…

A PRINCE LOST HIS WAY IN THE WOODS UNTIL HE FOUND A PEASANT GIRL TO SHOW HIM THE WAY HOME…

1

NEWARK LIBERTY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, NEW JERSEY

“You’re not going to die.”

Brie Honeyweather laughed at her friend’s quip over the phone. If anyone could calm her down right now, it was Veronica.

“I know,” Brie said with a sigh. “But it’s been a while since I’ve taken one of these international flights. It’s a little scary. That’s all.” She shifted on the blue leather chair in the gate area. Her flight was scheduled to board in half an hour and all around her the other travelers were stuffing snacks in carry-on bags and adjusting curved pillows around their necks.

“It’ll be fine. Thad, Lyra, and I just landed this morning. We’re on our way to Merryvale Court. We can’t wait to see you.”

Brie grinned as she hastily pulled her backpack out of the way of a passenger stepping through the rows of chairs.

“I’m excited, too. I still can’t believe you helped arrange all this. I mean, Christmas in an English country house? It’s going to be a dream come true.” Brie could already picture the snowy gardens, taste the Christmas pudding, and see a large tree shimmering in the great hall.

“I only got the ball rolling, Brie. When I sent your books to the Countess of Merryvale, she was so impressed. She was so taken with your writing that she called your publisher for her Christmas holiday book.”

Brie blushed. She’d been a ghostwriter in Chicago for four years and loved writing the stories and biographies of famous people, but this project with the countess felt different. The countess called Brie three months ago and explained in a beautifully polished British accent that she wanted to write a Christmas tradition book detailing how the holidays were celebrated on grand British estates over the years. Brie had been hesitant until she’d realized that Merryvale was the location where her favorite Regency romance series had been filmed. Both Merryvale and the countess were legendary—to Brie at least, who’d poured over the garden maps and immersed herself in the architectural history of the grand manor house.

“So, you leave at 7:30 tonight and you arrive at 7 AM tomorrow in London? Are you staying in the airport all day tomorrow to wait for your flight to Manchester?” Veronica asked.

“Yeah. I have to. My flight from Heathrow to Manchester leaves around about six. Then I’ll have a car take me to Merryvale tomorrow night.” Brie glanced around at her fellow passengers in the gate area. “The flight is going to be packed.”

“At least the countess is flying you first class.”

“I know.” Brie exclaimed. “I’ve never flown first class in my life.”

“And overseas is the best. You get those little pod things to sleep in. It’s so nice. Lyra and Thad stayed up all night watching movies, of course. Now he’s exhausted.”

“Thad?” Brie giggled.

“Yep,” Veronica laughed. “Lyra never runs out of energy.” Lyra was Veronica’s six year old daughter from her first marriage. Four years after her husband died in a car accident, Veronica had met and married Thad.

“How does Thad know the Countess of Merryvale? I feel like I need to start taking notes.” Brie was beginning to think she needed a notepad to jot down all the family members and the titles of her hosts.

“Thad did a few college summers at Cambridge where he met Lady Merryvale’s son. They’re ‘old school chums’ as he says. Thad’s friend called his mother and had her invite Thad, Lyra, and I for Christmas. She thought it was a great idea since she was having you fly over for a few days.”

Brie dug around in her backpack for her laptop to take some notes. “Right.” If she was going to write about Merryvale and its family she was going to need more details.

“Well, I should go. You’ll be boarding soon…and I need to stop Thad from buying half the convenience store snacks for Lyra before we get back on the road.”

“Good luck!” Brie chuckled and hung up.

A minute later, the flight attendant at the gate desk announced that special needs passengers and families with priority boarding were to line up. First class would be next. Brie took one last moment to people watch at the gate, creating little stories about them in her head. The older couple who were dressed expensively, perhaps an anniversary trip? The family of six with two exhausted parents and wrinkled clothes, a Christmas vacation?

And then she saw him…

Mr. Gorgeous-as-a-God. He had to be six foot two with a trim, muscled physique all poured into an expensive tailored business suit. He had a rolling attaché briefcase made of what looked to be brown Italian leather. His dark golden hair was long enough for a woman to run her fingers through and grip tightly if she wanted. And she wanted. She wanted to commit his features for later mental replay. It was a long flight, after all.

He had a chiseled look that made her want to trace his face with her fingertips and memorize all the hard angles from his jaw to the straight nose and proud chin. He had a cell phone out and was casually texting with one hand while holding the handle of his briefcase with the other. Such an ordinary everyday thing to do shouldn’t have been attractive, but there was nothing more enticing than a man who looked like he meant serious business. Maybe it was because men like that could be so damn hot when they unleashed all that focus and intensity on a woman. Brie couldn’t tear her eyes away from him. He was just so gorgeous.

Most people in the airport had that harried, frantic look or they appeared disgruntled and rumpled. But this man looked like he’d walked off one of those video billboards in the terminal that featured attractive men in Gucci or Armani suits.

“First class passengers group 1, please line up for boarding,” the flight attendant announced.

A small collection of thirty people got up along with Brie to jockey for position at the entrance of the gate. Brie winced as her backpack straps dug into her shoulders. She wished she could have put more items in her checked suitcase, but she needed to work during the flight. If she didn’t stay busy, she would freak out.

Mr. Gorgeous was at the front of the line and he held out his phone, swiped his boarding pass and went straight onto the plane. The rest of the passengers ahead of her weren’t as organized and most had to dig for their boarding passes. By the time Brie was at the attendant station, she had her pass out.

As she headed down the gangplank, her stomach knotted with nerves. Flying always made her anxious. She just repeated Veronica’s words in her head over and over.

You won’t die. Everything will be fine.

As she boarded the plane, she glanced around the first-class seats and scanned for 4D. It was a window seat.

A window seat next to Mr. Gorgeous.

No…No…No. She did not want to sit down next to this guy. Sure, he was insanely hot, but he was the very opposite of her type. Okay, that was a lie, he was totally her type, but she was refusing to have a type right now. She’d married too young and divorced too soon, and Brie was not about to make the mistake of falling in lust with someone like her ex ever again. And this guy was just like Preston, all suave and sexy with that corporate alpha male sex appeal. Love and lust were two different things, and she’d confused the two badly.

It’s just seven hours. He probably won’t even talk to you. He’ll be glued to his phone or laptop, and you will be too.

She halted next to his seat as she shoved her purse into the overhead bin and then looked expectantly at him. He didn’t look up. Just like she thought. Arrogant asshole.

“Hi, I’m so sorry, but I have the window seat. We can switch if you want…”

He lifted his dark gold brows and his light hazel eyes flicked up to hers. With an exaggerated sigh, he rose from his seat and stepped into the aisle, allowing her to squeeze by him to the window seat. She shoved her backpack under the seat in front of her and settled into the cushy first-class seat.

Oh yeah, first class was definitely amazing. She was going to owe the countess one heck of a Christmas present for this plane ticket.

Her not-so-charming seatmate removed his jacket and folded it, stowing it in the overhead compartment. He was facing her, but his face wasn’t visible because of the overhead bin. He rolled up the sleeves of his pale blue dress shirt. Even though their seats weren’t squished together like they would be in coach, she could smell a soft blend of pine and spice with a natural masculine aroma. Damn, so Mr. Gorgeous smelled amazing. Well, at least that was a plus and not a minus. Brie focused on the window, watching the ground crews loading bags as she heard the man settle back into his seat.

While the rest of the passengers boarded, she retrieved a book from her backpack to distract herself. She preferred her e-reader when she traveled, but she’d misplaced her charger the day before and her poor e-reader was sitting dead on her nightstand back in her apartment in Chicago.

Luckily, she had a stack of books on her to-be-read pile. This one was a pirate themed historical romance. The bodice ripper cover was a tad embarrassing, even though she secretly liked those covers, and she adored the author. She carefully angled the book’s cover toward the window.

When she was fairly certain she wouldn’t attract any attention, she peeped at her sexy seatmate. He had his laptop out and was reviewing spreadsheets. The way he was staring—no, glaring—at the screen, along with the scowl and stubborn set of his chin, meant he wasn’t happy with what he was seeing.

Brie wondered what he did for a living. Something fancy, or intense. He wore an expensive tailored suit and even the rough, yet artfully-styled look of his hair screamed money. Was it the alpha vibes he was putting out that was attracting her? How did men do that? Just sit there and ooze sexuality?

He noticed her watching him, turned slowly to look at her and raised a brow. God, the man could do so much with his eyebrows. She felt like she’d just been caught watching him undress or something.

“Sorry,” she muttered and focused on her book again. This time she did manage to get lost in the story, at least until the plane started rolling down the runway. At that point, she abandoned her book and gripped the armrests in a white knuckle hold and closed her eyes. This was happening. This was really happening. Hours and hours of flying way too damn high over nothing but ocean.

“Are you all right?” A deep British accent asked. She opened one eye to see her seatmate watching her. That voice had been exactly what she would have expected from him: deep and sexy as hell.

“Er…nope,” she whispered. “I just hate flying. Like any sane person.” She spoke in short bursts, too afraid to keep talking about her fear. It would only make it worse.

“You’re going to be fine. Just don’t think about it,” the man replied. His British accent was going a long way to distract her. He could read a grocery list and it would sound amazing.

“Can you keep talking, please?” she asked, closing her eyes again as the plane began to rumble faster down the runway.

“You want me to talk to you?” He sounded half-amused and half-annoyed by her request.

“I’m sorry, it’s just…your voice is nice and distracting.”

The man chuckled. “You know, most people would just pop an Ambien or Benadryl and it’s lights out.” He snapped his fingers.

“Most people might, but I’m not about to do that. Fall asleep on an airplane headed to a foreign country? No chance. My cousin works as a paralegal for a law firm that defends airlines. You wouldn’t believe what she tells me happens to some female passengers.”

“Color me intrigued,” the man said.

Brie was about to speak but the plane chose that moment to power up and her body was flattened back against her seat as it gained momentum. She tried not to look out the window to see how fast the runway was zipping by. In fact, she shut her eyes as tight as she gripped her seat, which was pretty damn tight.

After a minute or so, the rumble lessened, and the sense of acceleration dropped.

“We’re in the air,” the man said more quietly, his tone gentle. She opened her eyes to see him leaning back in his chair, watching her with an unreadable expression.

The plane now shifted in the air, dipping down enough to send her stomach roiling as she recognized a few seconds of them freefalling. The horizon dipped out her window. They were making a turn.

“I really hate this. We’re stuck in a huge metal deathtrap.”

“Let me guess.” He steepled his fingers as he continued to look at her. “You don’t travel.”

“Oh, I travel,” she shot back, her temper flaring. She didn’t like that he was implying she was a coward. “I just hate planes.”

He made a low noise in the back of his throat that sounded disbelieving. She wanted to argue with him, but he leaned over and pulled the romance novel out of her lap and flipped it over to see the cover. He burst out laughing the second he saw it.

“Do you mind?” She pried one of her hands off the armrest to grab the book, but he swatted her hand away.

“This trash entertains you?”

“Trash? It’s not trash, you…” She bit her lip to keep from calling him an asshole. She usually had much better control of herself, but something about this guy set her on edge. Gorgeous men always did.

“Come now. All of it is bodice ripping mommy por—”

“Don’t say it!” She made another attempt to get her book back, but he leaned far enough away that she missed and her hand smacked his stomach. He had a hard, muscled abdomen, because of course he did. The man now thumbed through a random section of the book.

“Let’s see here… Heaving bosoms, a pirate lord, an arrogant naval officer who wants to marry the heroine. Yes, this is most definitely—”

Before he could finish, Brie unclipped her seatbelt and lunged at him, half landing on his lap as she struggled to free her book from his hands. He released the book immediately to grip her hips and steady her. If he hadn’t, she would have taken a swan dive into the first-class aisle with economy-class grace.

“Very well, take your book back Miss…”

“Honeyweather, Brie Honeyweather.”

“Brie?”

“Brie. B-R-I-E.”

“Like the cheese?” He laughed, drawing the attention of the man across the aisle. She became keenly aware that she was still sitting on the British asshole’s lap while she should have been strapped down by the window. Brie pulled free of him and sat back in her own seat, clutching her book.

“It’s short for Breanna.”

The asshole was still laughing at her.

“What’s your name? Or should I just call you Mr. Asshat?”

“You may call me whatever you like, Brie.” He emphasized her name with another chuckle. “Or you can call me Alec.”

Alec. Of course, he had a sexy sort of name. It couldn’t have been something silly like Eugene or Percy, something that would have lessened that British sex appeal.

“Well, Alec, I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you but…well…” She trailed off, feeling a tinge of guilt at her catty remark. It wasn’t like her at all.

She was not usually this rude, but this guy made it impossible to be nice. Maybe it was because he reminded her of Preston, and she was determined to see every flaw in advance. Not that she’s stood a chance of a guy like this. Not that she wanted to.

She was twenty-nine with a job that she could do from home, and she’d embraced her single life quite comfortably. She’d bet anything that this guy always dated models. Brie knew she was attractive, but she wasn’t a model; she was too curvy to pull off that waifish look, and she was only five foot five.

She tried to focus on her book, but soon gave up. After she retrieved her laptop from her bag, she pulled up her notes for the countess’s Christmas book and started plotting out chapters based on some of the events events that the countess said took place at Merryvale Court during the holidays. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Alex opened his own laptop back up. Both were lost in their own work for at least an hour.

By the time the flight attendants came by to serve drinks and dinner, she was starving.

“Filet mignon or chicken Parmesan?” The flight attendant asked Alec with a broad smile. The young woman practically leaned on the seat in front of him, displaying her figure to her best advantage to catch his attention.

Alec’s eyes swept over her, but it wasn’t a very interested look, at least from what Brie could tell.

“The filet, please. Thank you.”

The attendant turned to her. “And you, miss?”

“The same.”

“For drinks we have this menu.” The attendant passed them a copy of the menu and Alec politely leaned left to let Brie see it at the same time.

“A Diet Coke,” Brie said.

“You’re in first class and you order a Diet Coke?” Alec muttered in disgust. Then he turned to the attendant. “A bottle of champagne, please. Two glasses.”

“Yes sir,” the attendant smiled once more at Alec, the invitation quite clear, but Alec only smiled back politely at the woman.

“You’ll try the champagne,” he informed Brie.

“Not very likely. You don’t seem like someone I’d want to share a drink with.”

“Because I took your book?”

“And made fun of it. Oh yes, I’d love to share a glass of champagne with you. You probably only read Salman Rushdie or Pulitzer Prize nominees, or Proust.” She then put her finger to the tip of her nose and pushed it up as high as it would go.

“Charming behavior.”

“Hey, you started it. Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it.”

“Very well. I was simply trying to do you a favor.”

“A favor?”

“If you don’t enjoy first-class, you aren’t doing the thing properly, are you?” When he said this, it sounded so perfectly British, like she was sitting next to a modern day Mr. Darcy.

“Okay fine. Twist my arm. It’s not like I’m buying.” This time when he smiled, he turned the full wattage on her. He hadn’t done that with the attendant. The expression knocked the breath from her. Damn, he had a gorgeous smile. It was slightly mischievous, as though whatever caused the smile was going to be trouble. He was trouble and she was stuck with him for the next seven hours.

2

Alec Halston had expected a nice quiet flight to London. After two intense weeks overseeing the setup of a new investment banking division at Barclays in Chicago, he was glad to be heading home. The work had been exciting, but now he was exhausted and on the edge of burnout. Knowing he had more work waiting for him back in London only added to his sense of fatigue. This flight was his only chance to rest before getting back into the chaos at his office, and he’d expected to sleep most of the flight.

What he hadn’t expected was this puzzling contradiction of a woman sitting beside him. She seemed to be close to his own age, maybe a little younger. She had that mix of intellect and innocence he didn’t often see in his social circles. With her battered romance novel and delightfully witty reactions to his biting humor, he felt more energized by the minute.

This woman was different…and that was surprisingly refreshing. She was attractive too, which didn’t help his plan to not get involved with anyone. He just couldn’t help himself; he enjoyed pushing her buttons. There was something delightful about the hint of a smile she had when she talked, even when she was clearly frustrated with him. It made a man wonder how it would feel to kiss those lips into silence in the middle of an argument and see them soften into a broad smile as she looked up at him.

The fall of her dark brown hair was straight and shiny, almost like silk. Most women he’d known used products that made the strands crinkle when he tried to run his hands through them. With Brie, he could tell just by looking how soft her hair would be. It was too bad he had no excuse to reach over and verify. Then again, she’d literally fallen onto his lap earlier and damn if that hadn’t been almost as good. He knew he was an arse for thinking that, but he did enjoy it.

Normally these flights were long and boring, but now things were getting interesting. His initial frustration at having this Brie Honeyweather share his row had faded. He was rather entertained with disrupting her. He liked the way her cheeks colored and her eyes widened when he had surprised her with his inappropriate behavior.

The flight attendant returned with a bottle and glasses. “Your champagne.” The bottle was already opened, and she poured two glasses and set them on the attached tray Alec had flipped down. He handed Brie her glass.

“Er… I really don’t think I need—”

“Take it. Just don’t drink too fast. The alcohol has a greater effect at this altitude.” Alec took a sip. It wasn’t bad…for airline champagne.

“Thank you,” Brie blushed again, and he resisted the urge to grin. Yes, spending the next few hours toying with her would be quite entertaining.

She sipped her champagne and her eyes lit up in delight.

“A champagne fan?” he asked. “I thought all you Americans preferred beer.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not into beer. Wine is okay, but I love champagne,” she admitted with another blush. The tension in her body relaxed and she eased into her seat.

“So, what brings you to London, Ms. Honeyweather.”

“Brie,” she corrected.

“Brie. Lord, I’m sorry,” he laughed. “I just keep thinking I should eat you with some crackers…or perhaps some grapes.”

The second his innuendo registered, her face turned red. “Just when I thought you were starting to be nice.”

“I’m teasing. Please, do tell me what brings you to London.”

“I’m a ghostwriter.” She nudged the edge of her backpack under the seat with a toe of her brown boot.

“A ghostwriter? What do you write?”

“Mostly nonfiction. I work with people who have lived amazing lives, gone on incredible journeys, or made incredible discoveries. But they don’t always have natural writing talent. When they work with me, I bring magic and structure to their stories.”

“It sounds like you enjoy your job,” he mused as he twisted his champagne glass by the stem.

“I do.” She looked up at him, her confidence returning. “What do you do? Oh wait, I bet I can guess.” She twisted in her seat to eye him critically and tilted her head slightly as she held her drink.

“Oh? And what am I then?” He set his glass down on his tray and crossed his arms, offering her his most charming smile, the one that made even married women consider hiding their wedding rings.

“You are…” She squinted one eye, and the adorable expression on her face almost made him laugh. “An investment banker.”

“Bravo!” He leaned toward her a little, closing the distance between them. “What gave me away?”

She rested her chin on her hand as they stared at each other, only a few inches apart. A spark traveled between them and damned if he wasn’t tempted to close the distance and kiss this stranger. He’d had sex a few times on a plane but that was only for fun when there was a thrill. And for some reason this woman, the opposite of his usual tastes, was thrilling the hell out of him. He usually dated tall leggy blondes who looked like they came right off the runway, and she was the opposite of all that.

He was completely fascinated with Brie’s soft, natural appearance and the playful relaxed way she interacted with him. There was a hint of sexual interest from her; he could see it every time her blue eyes swept down his body, but she wasn’t trying to lure him in or catch him. If anything, he sensed she was fighting to keep her distance.

“What gave you away?” she repeated softly, drawing out her explanation in a way that tantalized him. He had to admit he liked her voice. It wasn’t husky and low, nor was it high and girlish. It had hints of energetic delight, yet it was tempered by a soft sensual note. Forget writing books, the woman should narrate them.

“Yes, tell me, what revealed my job?”

“Expensive leather briefcase…” She squinted one eye again as though peering through a microscope. “Your perfectly tailored suit, that haircut—”

He reached up to drag his hands through his hair. “What’s wrong with my hair?” he demanded.

She giggled, the effects of the champagne were starting to show. “Nothing,” she replied with wide, guileless eyes that didn’t fool him one bit.

“Then what did you mean?”

She gestured vaguely at his head. “You know.”

“No, darling. I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” He rather liked his hair. To think that it might be… what was he thinking? His hair was just fine.

“It has that whole overly perfect look to it,” she explained and took another drink of her champagne, emptying the flute.

“It’s not overly styled.” He took his time each morning to get the look just right. It wasn’t overdone. He was certain of that.

“It so is,” Brie asserted confidently. “You need it more like—” She leaned over, closing the distance between them and dug her hands into his hair. It was clear she was messing up his hair.

“Very funny,” he grumbled.

“I thought so.” She winked at him, but her hands didn’t leave his hair.

Fuck… Her fingers threading through his hair felt good. Too good. He tried to prevent himself from being aroused by her touch, but it wasn’t easy. She ran her fingers through his hair a few more seconds, biting her lip in a way that did not help his condition whatsoever. Maybe he should just get her into the bathroom and—

“Like that.” She pulled her hands free of his hair, but he reached out and caught her wrists before she could retreat.

“I’m almost afraid to go look,” he muttered. His hair was probably standing completely on end. Alec brushed his thumbs against the skin of her wrists before letting go.

She laughed. “You have to go look, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” He slid off the seat and went to the first-class bathroom and peered at himself in the mirror. His hair wasn’t mussed up. It was…good. It was perfectly touched up the way he liked, though it did look a little like he’d just made love to a woman and she’d been running her fingers through it. The thought gave him too many tempting ideas about Brie. He placed his hands on the counter and closed his eyes.

Think of primary school, or algebra… Anything other than what it would be like to pin Brie up against the counter and pull down those jeans she’s wearing and—

“Bloody Christ.” He drew in a dozen breaths before he regained enough control to leave the bathroom.

When Alec returned to his seat, he found dinner waiting on his tray table. Brie had poured herself another glass of champagne and was swiping through the in-flight movie selections.

Alec sat down and unrolled the silverware from his cloth napkin. “Anything good?”

“Some rom-coms, a few thrillers, and a couple of documentaries.” Brie mused as she continued to swipe through the available shows.

“You’d better eat before it gets cold.” He pushed her tray toward her.

Brie glanced his way and smiled. “You didn’t fix your hair.”

“I thought you did a fine job and didn’t want to waste your efforts,” he lied. The truth was he couldn’t stay in that bathroom without indulging in a fantasy that would lead to trouble. Trouble was the last thing he needed. Even though he enjoyed a quick hookup, he did not want to do that on a seven-hour flight, no matter how cute Brie was or how her mouth was making it very hard for him to think straight.

“So, you’re a native Londoner?” she asked as she cut into her filet.

“Not really. I grew up in the country outside of Manchester before attending Eton and Cambridge.”

“I have a question about that. Why do Cambridge and Oxford have all these colleges within the main university?” She took a bite of her filet and made a sweet little sound of pleasure. “What’s up with that?”

“Ah. No, I see your confusion. It’s not like they are separate schools,” he paused, thinking over how best to explain it. “It is more like residence halls that you would have at a University. So, if a student stays at King’s College, that would be the location of his or her room, perhaps even their dining hall for lunch and dinner. Some colleges were established with religious purposes hundreds of years ago, though the religious connections may no longer exist.”

“Okay…” She paused, seeming to think it over. “So what college were you?”

“The King’s College of Our Lady and St. Nicholas in Cambridge.” He could see he had her full attention. This woman liked history and he could bloody well deliver on that. “It was founded in 1441, but its construction was disrupted by the War of the Roses. It was finally finished in 1544 and has the world’s largest fan vaulted ceiling in its chapel. Notable alumni include Robert Walpole, the first prime minister of England, and E.M. Forster, the novelist.” He recited what he remembered from his first tour of the college all those years ago.