The Royal Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
people who ever see the kitchen.’
‘It’s a shame. It’s a lovely house,’ said Lotty, who was still saddened by the echoing rooms and the bare patches where pictures had clearly been hanging on the walls for generations. ‘It needs a lot of love.’
‘It needs a lot of money,’ said Corran, holding open the door for her as they headed out to the car park. ‘Money I don’t have at the moment. Once the cottages are up and running, I’m going to invite some financial types to come and have a look, see what we’ve done. If they’re impressed and can see some potential, I’m hoping they’ll consider investing in the estate as a whole, but the house is way down my priority list. I need new breeding stock, not tablecloths!’
‘I can see that,’ said Lotty, ‘but I still think it’s a pity the house isn’t more comfortable. It wouldn’t take much to make it nice, and then you could invite people round.’
‘What people?’ asked Corran sarcastically. ‘No one from the village will set foot in Loch Mhoraigh House while I’m there.’
‘Have you asked them?’
Corran’s lips tightened as he opened the passenger door of the Land Rover for her. ‘We’ve been through this, Lotty,’ he reminded her shortly. ‘I haven’t got time to sit around being social. I don’t care if the entire village is queuing up to be invited in.’
Lotty wasn’t ready to let it go. ‘You should be part of the community,’ she said stubbornly. ‘Quite apart from anything else, how are you going to meet that sensible wife when you’re a recluse?’
‘I’m not a recluse.’ Irritation gave Corran’s tone a sharp edge. ‘I’m just busy at the moment. And I’ve certainly got no money to spend tarting up the house for non-existent visitors!’
Lotty held the bright tablecloth on her knees. She hated the thought that the village distrusted Corran so much. If they could just meet him and get to know him, she was sure they would realise that he wasn’t the monster his brother seemed to have painted him.
‘I hope you’ll get round to it one day,’ she said as Corran started the engine. ‘I’d like to think of the house brought back to life as well as the cottages. It must have been wonderful in its heyday. It’s the kind of house that should be full of people, and have lots of children and dogs running around,’ she added wistfully.
‘Well, I’ve got the dogs,’ said Corran. ‘If you can count Pookie as a dog!’
He threw an arm along the back of Lotty’s seat as he put the Land Rover into reverse and swung round to look over his shoulder. Lotty was very conscious of his hand near her shoulder. If he lifted it just a little bit, he could caress her neck.
If he wanted to.
Which he didn’t.
She swallowed.
‘I think you’ll miss Pookie when your mother gets back,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen the way you tickle his tummy sometimes when you think I’m not looking! Under that tough exterior, you’re just a softie.’
Corran finished manoeuvring out of the tight parking space before he glanced at Lotty. ‘I only do that to shut him up,’ he said, but there was a definite hint of a smile around his mouth all the same.
How did he do that, smile and not smile at the same time? It made Lotty feel very strange. One look at his mouth doing that not-quite-smiling thing, and she ended up feeling hollow and light-headed and sort of…fizzy.
She made herself look away.
‘Anyway,’ Corran went on, fortunately unaware of her reaction, ‘the chances are that my mother will have forgotten all about Pookie by the time she gets home. She’ll have moved on to some new enthusiasm, and it’ll be, Oh, darling, I’m sure he’d be so much happier if he stayed with you. And then I’ll be stuck with him!’ Corran shook his head. ‘Another ten years or so of calling a dog Pookie! Meg won’t be able to hold her head up with the shame of it! At least she’s a proper dog, who can bring the sheep in off the hill. What’s Pookie good for?’
‘He’s a companion,’ Lotty managed.
‘I don’t need a companion,’ he said. ‘I need a dog who’s some use to me.’
Just like he needed a wife who was some use to him, thought Lotty sadly.
Corran moved the gear lever into first. Now his hand was near her knee. The same hand that could have stroked her neck, if only he had moved it just a little.
Lotty wrenched her eyes away from it. Her mouth was dry. The Land Rover felt as if it had shrunk since they had driven down to Glasgow that morning. Now the sides were pressing in around her, pushing all the spare oxygen out of the vehicle and making the air twang under the pressure.
Nothing had changed, Lotty told herself. She was the same, Corran was the same, the Land Rover was the same.
She had spent too much time watching all those couples, that was all. It had made her twitchy. All that time she had spent reminding herself to be cool and careful around Corran, and now she might as well not have bothered. She was agonisingly aware of him beside her, and she shifted in her seat, desperate to find a way to convince him—or herself—that her heart wasn’t pounding and her throat wasn’t tight. Everything was just the same.
‘The children will love Pookie,’ she made herself say.
Corran stared at her. ‘What children?’
‘Well… I presume you’re thinking of having a family?’
‘I’m not married yet!’
‘Loch Mhoraigh would be a lovely place to bring up children,’ Lotty persevered, not even sure why she was making such a big deal of it. ‘You should have lots, and make sure their childhood isn’t like yours.’
Corran swung the Land Rover into the main road and put his foot on the accelerator. ‘I haven’t got time for any of that,’ he said briskly. ‘I’ve got the cottages to finish, an estate to get back on its feet, and then—maybe!—I can turn my attention to the house and finding another wife. It’ll be time enough then to talk about having children,’ he said. ‘That’s years down the line! Having a child now would be a disaster, just like it was for my parents. I’ve got far more important things to think about before then.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like getting new breeding stock, improving my herds. I need to buy some good rams in October.’
‘I’ve hardly seen any sheep,’ Lotty realised.
‘That’s because they’re all up on the hills at the moment. You’ll see plenty come September when we take the sheep to market,’ said Corran.
But in September she would be gone. ‘I’d like to see that,’ Lotty said in a level voice, ‘but I won’t be here then.’
She looked out of the window, suddenly bleak. In September she would be back in Montluce, back to her life as Princess Charlotte, always good, always obliging. A princess who never behaved badly. Who never sulked or lost her temper or felt herself burning up with desire.
And Corran would be here, taking his sheep to market, Meg at his heels and Pookie under his feet, bringing the estate back to life, without her.
Perhaps it would all be for the best. If her grandmother finally gave up the idea of her marrying Philippe, Lotty might be allowed to meet someone else. There had to be some prince or count somewhere the Dowager Blanche would deem a suitable match. Someone who understood royal life, who would know how to behave and how to smile and shake hands, who would be a dignified consort for Princess Charlotte of Montluce. Then Lotty could be married and lose her tiresome virginity to her husband. It would be sweet. It would be safe. It would be sensible.
But Lotty didn’t want sweet and sensible. She didn’t want suitable. She didn’t even want safe.