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I was. Kellie’s hobby was reading up on decorators and collecting books on their various styles. If she had mentioned this British designer to me, I didn’t remember him.
    “William Morris was the one who said, ‘Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful.’ ”
    “Oh, okay. Sure. I’ve heard you quote that before. I love that quote.”
    “Well.” Kellie made a sweeping gesture toward the rug. “Useful and beautiful.”
    “And apparently enduring if he made this rug 150 years ago.”
    “His firm might have made this rug,” Kellie said. “Or a rug maker who used his designs. But Morris couldn’t have made this exact rug. If he had, it would be in a museum.”
    I had no idea this man was so famous. It made me wish I had hunted and gathered some information on Morris before we left. I would love to see Kellie’s face if she could view some of his original work in one of the many museums in London.
    “Have you lost your way?” Opal called out.
    “We’re in here!” Rose added. “Keep coming.”
    I reached for the handle on the closed door at the end of the small sitting room. On the other side of the door, Opal and Rose were seated at a round table in a square room painted sunshine yellow with white trim. It was easy to see now where Opal’s inspiration for the colors in her apartment had come from. High windows in the breakfast room brought in light that seemed to suit the large fern in the corner just fine.
    “Close the door behind—” Rose said.
    “To keep the heat in,” Opal finished. “Tea?”
    “No, thank you,” I answered for both of us. “We need to be on our way to the hotel.”
    Rose and Opal looked surprised. “But it’s nearly four,” Rose said. “I have some sandwiches prepared. Nothing fancy—”
    “Minced ham is fancy enough,” Opal added.
    “Yes, of course. Minced ham. Opal’s favorite. And the scones are nearly ready from the oven.”
    Kellie looked as if the chance to pause for tea was a great idea. I reminded myself about our agreement to let the days come at their own pace and to stop for a proper spot of tea.
    I smiled and took the seat offered to me. London and my beloved Big Ben would still be there two hours from now. We could see a play tomorrow night or the next night or both nights if we wanted. Kellie and I were being invited to “take tea” in a cozy cottage in an English village with two engaging women. Why wouldn’t we stay for such an opportunity?
    As Kellie lowered herself into the chair next to Opal, I also lowered my expectations of what Kellie and I needed to accomplish that day. When Charles Dickens lived in this fine country he wrote about “great expectations.” I was preparing to write the first chapter of Kellie’s and my British story and entitle it “Realistic, Reduced, Willing-to-Get-Sidetracked, Yet Nonetheless Delightful Expectations.”
    With that adjustment in place, I found it much easier to agree with Kellie when she commented on the beautiful tablecloth. It was a quality linen fabric with a pattern in bright blues and yellows. The teakettle was an electric one with a fat cord attached to the wall by a large, round plug. The teacups waiting for us were in the Spode blue Italian pattern, the same china Opal used to serve us at her apartment in Florida. I no longer felt a little silly, as if we were sitting down to a little-girl tea party. I felt very grown-up and honored to be at this table.
    Kellie began the conversation by commenting on the rug as well as other design features she admired in Rose’s charming cottage.
    Rose seemed impressed with Kellie’s familiarity with Morris and the Arts and Crafts movement. She said the rug had been in the family for as long as they could remember. Opal said it had always been a favorite of hers too.
    “Do either of you know of a museum where we might see some of Morris’s designs?” I asked.
    Rose and Opal spoke at once, overlapping each