Dishonourable Intent. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
an out, but for reasons best known to himself Will chose not to take it.
‘Please stay,’ he said politely, though she thought his lips had stiffened. ‘But I am expecting guests for lunch, so if you’ll excuse me I have arrangements to make.’
IT HAD been a reckless thing to do, and Will knew it. Allowing Francesca to stay the night at the Abbey was one thing; inviting her to spend the weekend there was something else.
At any other time, it wouldn’t have mattered, he supposed. At any other time, he would not have been expecting a prospective ‘fiancée’ within a couple of hours. His grandmother was going to be furious, and with good reason, he reflected dourly. Apart from anything else, she’d be livid that Francesca should have come to him for help.
So why had he suggested Francesca should stay over until Sunday? It wasn’t as if her being here was going to change the situation at all. Sooner or later she would have to go back, and face whatever it was that was waiting for her. It was just that she had looked so weary, somehow, so defeated. He hadn’t had the heart to send her away.
Besides, after what she had told him, he needed a little more time to assimilate the information; to maybe think of some way he could help. It wasn’t his problem, but she had been his wife and he felt a certain amount of responsibility for her. It was ridiculous perhaps—his grandmother was bound to think so—but sometimes it was necessary to put practical thoughts aside.
In any case, for the moment he had his own immediate future to think of, and he went in search of Mrs Harvey to ensure she was informed there were only four for lunch. He’d already made the arrangement, but after Watkins’ treatment of Francesca he was wary. He could imagine how awkward they’d all feel if there were five places laid at the table.
If Mrs Harvey was surprised that his ex-wife was staying at the Abbey, she was shrewd enough not to show it. She left it to him to explain that Ms Quentin would be lunching in the morning room, and not in the dining room with him and his guests. He had considered suggesting that Francesca eat in her own rooms upstairs, but that smacked too much of subterfuge, and he assured himself he had nothing to hide.
Nevertheless, as he drove over to Mulberry Court later that morning, he realised he would have to inform his grandmother of his uninvited guest. He couldn’t permit her to hear the news via one of the servants, and he was well aware that Lady Rosemary’s maid was a frequent visitor at the Abbey.
Which was why he’d ensured that he arrived there fifteen minutes before the time he was expected. With a bit of luck, he’d find his grandmother alone, and he could explain why he’d allowed his ex-wife to stay on.
He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy, he reflected, when, after parking at the front of the house, he sauntered into the hall. The door was standing ajar this morning to allow the sunlight to filter into the panelled foyer, and as soon as he stepped over the threshold Emma appeared on the half landing that divided the dogleg staircase.
‘Hello,’ she said, with evident approval, and, resting one slim hand on the banister, she came prettily down the remaining stairs. ‘You’re early,’ she added, clearly interpreting that as an indication of his enthusiasm to see her again. ‘Mummy and Daddy are almost ready.’ She gave a gurgling laugh. ‘Well, Daddy is, anyway. Mummy’s still deciding what she ought to wear.’
Will managed a smile, aware that Emma had obviously not had that problem herself. Her cream georgette blouse and matching shorts would have fitted her for almost any occasion, her silvery hair scooped back on one side with an ivory clip.
‘As a matter of fact, I wanted a quick word with my grandmother,’ he remarked, after offering a polite greeting, and Emma’s expression tightened a little as she recognised her mistake. ‘Do you know where she is?’ he asked, glancing doubtfully about him. ‘Is she in the orangery again? She spends a lot of her time in there.’
‘I really couldn’t say.’ Emma spoke tersely at first, and then, as if realising she could hardly object to him wanting to speak to his grandmother, she recovered herself. ‘I—she was reading the morning newspaper on the terrace,’ she offered rather more warmly. ‘I had breakfast with her, actually. Mummy and Daddy had theirs in their room.’
‘Ah.’
Will reflected that he should have known. Lady Rosemary enjoyed eating her meals al fresco, and the terrace at the back of the house had a delightful view of the Vale of York in the distance.
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