English Lord, Ordinary Lady. Fiona HarperЧитать онлайн книгу.
It was dark and dusty now but if it were restored it would look sensational.
She was smiling down at him. Even standing on the chair she wasn’t a whole lot taller than him and he suddenly became aware of the rise and fall of her chest, of the glow in her eyes.
‘I…um…think we ought to discuss this at ground level.’
Something in the way she looked at him changed. She closed her mouth and stared at him. Hard, but without the familiar hint of disapproval. ‘OK…Lord Radcliffe.’
When they’d clambered down and found their seats again he said, ‘Call me Will.’
She smiled at him. It transformed her face. Without the eyeliner and pink hair she’d be an absolute knockout. ‘That wouldn’t really be appropriate, would it?’
‘It wouldn’t?’
She shook her head. ‘Barrett told me you’re a real stickler for doing the right thing—all that social-etiquette nonsense. It wouldn’t do to get too familiar with the hired help. Creates the wrong impression.’
He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m new to this.’
‘I can tell.’
‘Is it really that obvious?’
She looked him up and down. ‘Your clothes are expensive, all right, but not really suitable for the country. You look like a London city-slicker.’
‘Well, I am a…I do work in London.’
‘Then wear the Armani to the office. Your dry-cleaning bills will be astronomical if you don’t get something practical to wear down here.’
He raised an eyebrow. He wouldn’t have pegged Josie as being a girl who knew Armani from her elbow.
‘The suit makes you look out of place.’
And her clothes didn’t? However, it would do no good to mention that now. He was on a mission to build bridges. That piece of news could wait till a later date. For the first time since he’d met her, he couldn’t hear the tutting in his brain. And that was seriously good news.
If his instincts were right—and when it came to money and business, they invariably were—she was the only reason this place hadn’t closed down by now. She’d be a useful ally and he needed to keep her that way. So he nodded and filed her advice away for future use.
‘OK. Thanks.’
The door opened and Hattie skipped in. Josie rose to greet a woman he presumed was another of the village mothers. As they chatted in the doorway of the tearoom, Hattie made a beeline for his table.
‘Hello, Will,’ she said and plonked herself down on his lap.
Will held his breath.
What on earth was he supposed to do now? He didn’t know how to talk to kids, let alone play with them. He looked over to Josie for help, but she was still deep in conversation with the other woman.
He looked at Hattie. She looked back at him.
No smiles. No infantile chatter. Just a look.
A look that said she didn’t care who he was or how many grand buildings he’d restored, or even that he owned every stick and stone of Elmhurst Hall. She liked him, and that was that.
Odd.
But nice.
They were still staring at each other when Josie returned, eyebrows raised. He looked up at her, pleading, and saw a hint of a grin flicker across her face.
‘Why don’t you go and help yourself to a muffin, poppet? There’s a choice of blueberry or lemon and raspberry.’
Hattie was across the room in a flash and Will took no time in untangling himself from the table and chair and getting to his feet. He brushed himself down, although he didn’t know why; Hattie didn’t have a speck of dirt on her.
‘About the renovations. I’ll get my architect on to it straight away.’
She didn’t say anything, just nodded, and as he left the tearoom he still wasn’t sure if she was friend or foe.
Harrington House was visible from a good mile away. Josie’s heart sank into her stomach and the car complained as she crunched it into third gear.
‘Hooray!’ Hattie yelled from the back seat.
If only she could share her daughter’s enthusiasm. How Josie could feel claustrophobic in a house with nearly a hundred rooms was a mystery. But she did. Always had.
As they approached it seemed to grow and loom over her. Odd. She never felt that way about Elmhurst Hall. Mind you, it was probably less than half the size of this place and, whereas the hall sat in rolling countryside, framed by trees and old woods, Harrington House was almost the only vertical feature in view, built to dominate its surroundings. Built to intimidate.
She was determined not to let it work on her.
Still, she felt awfully small as she climbed out of the car and pulled the driver’s seat forward to let Hattie out of the back.
Hattie ran to the front door, which had opened while Josie had been locking the car, and disappeared inside. Josie pushed the keys into her pocket and walked slowly towards the woman waiting at the threshold.
They both ignored the awkwardness and leaned in for a stiff kiss.
‘Hello, Mum. Lovely to see you.’
Her mother looked her up and down, her eyes hovering on the pink bunches. She didn’t bother with a reprimand, which was very sensible. It would have done no good.
‘You too, Josephine. Your brother is already here.’
She made her mouth curve. ‘Great. What time’s lunch?’
‘We’ll be sitting down at one-thirty.’
They started the walk across the gargantuan hallway, the heels of her mother’s court shoes giving voice to the tension like the drumbeats of a Hollywood thriller. As they entered the drawing room, Josie’s smile approached something close to genuine.
‘Congratulations, Alfie!’ She ran to her older brother and gave him a squeeze. His sandy hair flopped over his forehead as usual and he wore his trademark silly grin, although it was possibly wider and sillier than normal—almost certainly due to the slender girl standing next to him who was staring at her with unabashed curiosity.
She slapped Alfie on the arm. ‘Didn’t you warn her about me, big brother?’ She gave the girl a kiss on the cheek. ‘Nice to meet you, Sophie. Your fiancé should have filled you in on his naughty little sister. Then again, perhaps he thought it wiser to keep me out of the way until you’d said yes. Let’s see the ring, then.’
Sophie obediently displayed her left hand.
Josie made all the motions of admiring the obscenely large diamond. It was so huge and Sophie was so skinny it was a wonder she wasn’t dragging it around on the floor.
Sophie was still staring at her. ‘Your hair’s…I mean, it’s very…’
Her eyes widened even further. She probably hadn’t meant to let that slip out, but the poor thing seemed to be in shock, like a startled pheasant from one of her father’s shooting parties.
‘I think the word you’re looking for is pink. The name on the box was “Hot-Pants Pink”, if I recall rightly.’
‘Really, Josephine!’
She turned to face her mother and shrugged. She wasn’t apologising for looking as she wanted to look and being who she wanted to be.
Dinner was as long and tortuous as she’d expected it to be. At least Hattie seemed content to demolish two bowls of some fancy apple tart with mountains of ice cream.
Poor Sophie—Josie