Australia: In Bed with Her Groom. Emma DarcyЧитать онлайн книгу.
to train him up to your standards. You could mould yourself a splendid master who would be everything you wanted him to be.’
George sighed. He had hoped to stir some pride in Master Harry’s direct blood line by using the Australian boy as a spur. There was no doubt in George’s mind that Master Harry could have his pick of any number of suitable young ladies whom he had entertained at Springfield Manor in latter years.
‘You are not dead yet, sir,’ he stated flatly.
‘We know not the hour nor the day, George,’ Harry replied flippantly. ‘Clearly the most provident course is to fetch the boy over here so he’ll become acquainted with his inheritance.’
‘It is not quite so straightforward as that, sir,’ George demurred, deeply vexed at the turn his attempt at subtle pressure had taken. ‘The boy has a widowed mother. His father, who was the last direct heir, drowned some years ago. The woman has her own home, runs a modestly successful business and is certainly attractive enough to have formed another attachment. Should she marry again…Well, it will be very messy getting the boy over here.’
‘I’ll bet you a bottle of 1860 Madeira that I can fetch them here, George.’
Such levity grated deeply on George’s sense of propriety. The wine cellar at Springfield Manor was of particular pride to him. One of the finest, if not the finest, private cellars in England. Master Harry had to be joking about giving everything up to what had to be an unworthy strain of the family.
‘It really would be much simpler, sir, were you to marry and have a decent number of children to ensure a succession of the family.’
Harry grinned. ‘Did you get photographs of the boy and his mother, George?’
‘There is no family likeness, sir. None at all.’
‘The photographs, George.’ Harry’s curiosity was piqued. ‘I want to see them.’
George had a very nasty premonition. He recognised the light of mischief in Master Harry’s eyes. He had been witness to it on many an occasion. What followed was invariably mayhem of one kind or another. He had been a venturesome boy and he had become even more dangerously venturesome once the benevolent influence of Miss Penelope’s lovely nature had passed away with her.
It had been a mistake to confess to the Australian investigation. It had been a mistake to present Master Harry with any kind of challenge. George knew it was all his own fault when his premonition proved right several hours later.
‘Make inquiries about flights to Australia, will you, George? It’s summer over there, isn’t it? I rather fancy a bit of summer. As soon as I can get this cast off my leg I’ll be on my way.’
Master Harry’s earlier gloom had completely dissipated. He was in fine fettle. ‘Might get in a few days’ cricket, as well. Make a note of the dates for the test matches between England and Australia, please, George. If there’s one in Sydney, I could take young William with me to watch the game. A nine-year-old should take a lively interest in cricket.’ He grinned at George. ‘Fine name, William.’
Mischief! That was what he was up to. Mischief instead of marriage. And where would it all end if Master Harry’s meddling caused mayhem?
ASHLEY HARCOURT DIDN’T know that today was to mark the beginning of a completely different phase in her life. her desk calendar looked the same as usual. It bore no big red letters to give warning of something momentous about to happen. There was no sense of premonition hovering in her mind.
She was faced with a particularly nasty piece of work in the person of Gordon Payne, who was sitting in her home office, filling the chair on the other side of her desk and voicing a string of complaints. But she was ready to deal with that. More than ready.
Giving satisfaction was a high professional priority to Ashley. She prided herself on running her employment agency effectively, fitting the right people into the right jobs. But there was a limit, a very definite limit, to how much satisfaction any one person could demand from another.
Ashley had precisely formed opinions on this point. She was twenty-nine years old, had worked hard to build up her own business after being widowed and had dealt with a great many people in a wide variety of situations. Satisfaction in any relationship was a two-way street, a compatible, complementary give-and-take situation.
As she listened to Gordon Payne revealing himself in his true colours, she silently berated herself for a bad mistake in judgement. The affable manner that had fooled her into misplacing a top quality client with him smacked of the same polished charm that had fooled her into a miserable marriage ten years ago. She should have recognised it, been suspicious of it. Warning signals should have crawled down her spine.
‘When I dictate a letter, I expect my secretary to type it word for word, each word spelled correctly,’ Gordon Payne ranted on. ‘I do not want her assuming she knows the English language better than me. If there is corrections to be made, I make them.’
Ashley held her tongue, mentally noting the two grammatical errors in that little speech. Here was another king-size ego who knew everything and could do no wrong! Ashley had been married to one for long enough to have experienced the God complex at close quarters. She had learnt there was no reasoning with it, no appeal that would pierce it, no way to get around it.
In her youthful naivety, Ashley had fallen blindly in love with Roger Harcourt. He had been handsome, always well-dressed, sophisticated in his tastes and strongly athletic, excelling in all competitive sports. Self-assurance had oozed from him, and during their early days together, Ashley had thought him utterly perfect.
Having drifted between divorced and disinterested parents for most of her teens, she had loved the way Roger took charge of everything and told her what was best for her to do. Ashley had interpreted that as proof of his caring for her. She’d had no perception of how tyrannical it could become.
She had thought she was getting love and strength and support and direction in her life when she had married Roger Harcourt.
She had certainly got direction.
She had had such a surfeit of direction from Roger, she doubted she would ever stomach the idea of marriage again. However difficult she sometimes found running her own life and being a single parent, it was still preferable to having her subordination taken as someone else’s right.
Gordon Payne was now behaving as though she was subordinate to him, too. ‘Run proper tests on these women in future. Don’t believe their résumés,’ he commanded. ‘It’s nothing but pretentious twaddle.’
As head of a home construction company—Painless Homes with Gordon Payne—and a member of the local shire council, he was a man of considerable standing in the community. Ashley had thought him a valuable business client, someone who would direct others to her agency if her service satisfied him. After hearing the dismissed secretary’s story earlier this afternoon, she had decided then and there to cut him from her files, regardless of cost or consequences.
She was still inwardly fuming over the treatment that this pompous pain of a man had dished out to a young woman whom any sensible employer would cherish. Cheryn Kimball was too good for him. That was the problem.
Cheryn was not only highly qualified in all the areas Gordon Payne had demanded, she presented herself with style and polish and had a natural charm of manner that would endear her to most people. She had been traumatised, reduced to floods of tears by the unjust haranguing and arbitrary dismissal over doing what she believed to be her job.
‘And I don’t want a woman who talks back at me!’ the monster ego raged.
That hit a particularly raw point with Ashley. Roger had felt he had the right to silence her by icily declaring, ‘I am the head of this house!’ What was she supposed to have been? The tail?