The Heiress's Pregnancy Surprise

by Donna Alward

  “You coming?” she called, starting to walk toward the front doors. “I’m hungry and I’m sure Mrs. Flanagan has everything ready for us.”

  He picked up the pace to catch up with her, carrying the bags along the narrow cobblestone walk flanked by very precisely trimmed shrubs. “Mrs. Flanagan?”

  “The housekeeper.” Charlotte’s smile was wide as she looked over her shoulder. “She’s a wonder. Been the housekeeper here for as long as I can remember. Pretty sure she was hired before I was born.”

  A housekeeper. “I suppose there’s a cook, as well?”

  She laughed. “Yes, and a couple of maids. We don’t live here full-time but we use it enough that staff is here year-round. Stephen is here often, and Christmas is always here. You should see the house at the holidays. It’s gorgeous.”

  He had no doubt. It was already glorious, with extensive gardens. “How old is this place, anyway?”

  She stopped at the steps leading to the doors. “It was built in the seventeenth century. My great-great-grandfather, Edward Pemberton, bought it and it became the country home for the Earl of Chatsworth. And so it was my father’s home and now it is Stephen’s.”

  Jacob wasn’t afraid of money or fame. In his line of work, he came into contact with a lot of both. But it was different, knowing he was fathering a child into such a family. Being a bodyguard was a totally different dynamic than being a dad. Not much threw him off balance, but this did. If he’d been out of place in New York, being at the country home of the Pemberton family was like another universe.

  And then the doors opened and he stepped into Chatsworth Manor.

  “Miss Charlotte! Oh, it’s good to see you back.” A middle-aged woman, her red hair streaked with a little gray, came forward and gave Charlotte a hug. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything special while you’re here?”

  “Maman told you,” Charlotte said dryly.

  “Of course she did. You let us know if there are any foods that don’t agree with you right now, or anything you need at all.” Her eyes shone. “I’m delighted there’s going to be a baby in the house. And that’s all I’ll say about that.”

  Charlotte gave the housekeeper another squeeze. “Oh, I doubt that’s all. Mrs. Flanagan, this is Jacob Wolfe. Jacob, our housekeeper, Mrs. Flanagan.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” he said, and nodded.

  “You’re the one?”

  He was surprised at being put on the spot and by the housekeeper no less, but he met her gaze and answered, “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mrs. Flanagan’s eyes were sharp. “Then you’d better treat Miss Charlotte right. And that’s all I’ll say about that.”

  He was starting to think that was her go-to phrase, and that it meant exactly the opposite, and despite himself he was charmed.

  “Charlotte deserves all the good things,” he agreed, and smiled.

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Miss Charlotte, you brought home a charmer.”

  Charlotte laughed then, and he realized how much he’d missed the sound. There’d been no laughing the other night when they’d spoken, but hearing it now filled him with...well, happiness.

  Be careful, his heart said. The last time he’d felt this kind of unfettered joy it had been ripped away so cruelly.

  “I’m going to get settled in my room,” Charlotte said. “Mrs. Flanagan, where should I put Jacob?”

  “We’ve readied the blue room down from yours.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Flanagan. We’ll be down for dinner at seven.”

  “Very good.”

  Charlotte turned away and Mrs. Flanagan’s voice stopped her again. “Charlotte?”

  Jacob watched as Charlotte turned back.

  “It’s very good to have you home, love.”

  “It’s good to be home,” she replied softly, and then she led Jacob up the stairs.

  He followed, still carrying the bags, and before too long they were at Charlotte’s bedroom door. He deposited her suitcase inside, and stared at her bed. It was the most original, beautiful piece of ironwork he’d ever seen and must weight a ton. A four-poster, but each post had iron twisted around it like vines, with leaves, flowers and more vines creating a canopy over top. The walls were a soft sage green with white trim, and the bedding and draperies had a softer sage green background with delicate pink and yellow blossoms. It was like walking into a garden.

  “Wow,” he said, stepping farther into the room. “I thought the rooms at the Manhattan apartment were gorgeous, but this... This is amazing.”

  “Maman and Father let me decorate it myself when I was sixteen. I chose the furniture and fabrics myself, and I’ve never had the heart to change it.”

  “Remind me why you’re in PR and not design or something?”

  To his surprise, she blushed. “I do help William out on the fashion side of things. It’s why I was so happy to go to New York for Fashion Week. The thing is, we, as family members, don’t really do much of the designing or formulating. We run the business. Of course we love it all, so the disconnect is one of function only.”

  “You certainly seem to have a talent, though.” He still couldn’t get over how stunning her room was. “Have you thought about doing a home design part of the business?”

  She laughed. “You’re good for my ego, Jacob. And truthfully, not home design. I have a secret thing for shoes, and it’s one of the few things Aurora hasn’t delved into yet.”

  “Then you should.” He put his hand on her shoulder. “You should do whatever sets you on fire, Charlie.”

  Shock gripped him as she spun around and pressed her lips to his. He opened to her fully; he’d wanted to do this each day since they’d last seen each other. She tasted like spring and the mint tea from their drive, and he dropped his duffel and put his arms around her, pulling her close.

  Thank God. He’d started to think that she was over what had happened in New York.

  She ended the kiss and stepped back, pressing her fingers to her lips. “Oops,” she said softly.

  “That didn’t feel accidental to me,” he replied, and he looked at her lips again, biting down on his own. Hers were plump and pink, waiting to be kissed again.

  “Not accidental...maybe impulsive?” She giggled a bit, as if she were nervous. “You said to do what sets me on fire...”

  “Be careful,” he warned. “That’s what got us here in the first place.”

  Her face changed, sobering. “God, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. We’re here to talk about what we want for the future. This has to be part of that discussion, don’t you think? We shouldn’t dance around it. It’ll only complicate things.”

  “I agree.” She lifted her chin. “We’re here to set out terms, not for some weekend getaway.” She gestured toward the door with her hand. “Shall we? I’ll show you to your room. You can get settled and we can meet for dinner.”

  Charlotte was resetting the baseline for their conversation and he understood and appreciated it. Still, he was glad she’d kissed him, with such passion and longing. It gave him hope. They had nearly seven months before the baby was born. Time in which he could show her how he felt about her. Time for her to maybe fall in love with him the way he’d fallen in love with her.

  Because in the days since she’d told him the news, he’d been able to come to only one conclusion. He wanted to be with her, even if it was messy. Even if he was intimidated and out of place. Life was just better with her in it. He found himself wanting things he hadn’t wanted for years. Money be damned, status be damned... He wanted to be a father to this baby and he wanted to love its mother the best way he knew how. The way his father had loved his mother until she died. And the way Cedric Pemberton had loved Aurora.

  * * *

  Coming home had been the right choice.

  Charlotte stepped out
side into the back garden and breathed deeply. This time of year, the gardens were really coming into their own. The wisteria wound along a pergola and draped its fragrant blossoms in massive clumps of light purple. The roses weren’t quite on, but the buds were plump and near to blooming. The azaleas were bright pink and gorgeous, and her personal favorite, lilac, filled the air with the sweet scent she equated to love and security.

  She loved the chateau. She loved her flat in Paris. But Chatsworth Manor would always be home to her. She wished her father were here now, to offer his guidance and wisdom. She reached out to the profusion of clematis leaves and flowers, her fingertips touching the trellis that supported the vines. Cedric Pemberton would not have been overjoyed at her being pregnant without the benefit of marriage, or at least in a long-term relationship rather than a weeklong fling. But he would have put that aside to support her, to help her sort the threads of confusion into a solid plan for the future. He’d always been a grounding force, and she’d never missed him so much.

  That Jacob reminded her of her dad didn’t help, either. He had the same steadiness, the same calm in the face of the storm. Unfortunately, he was also part of the problem. Every time she considered seeing if something could work between them, she remembered the scars on his body, evidence that in years past he’d been a target. Knife wounds and gunshot wounds... And still he chose to put himself in front of people for their protection. She could admire it and still not be willing to take that on herself, couldn’t she?

  And then there was still the question of Jacinta. Charlotte knew Jacob had loved her utterly. There was no denying that. She cared for Jacob, but she refused to be with someone, in a real relationship, when that person was still in love with someone else. Even if that someone else was a ghost.

  Which kept circling her back to the same issue: how to manage her feelings for Jacob and come up with a workable plan so their child would grow up knowing both parents.

  The walk in the gardens had helped calm her mind, so she went inside and got ready for dinner. It would be just the two of them tonight, and Charlotte knew Mrs. Flanagan would have told the cook to have some of Charlotte’s favorites during the weekend. Her mouth watered just thinking about it. Charlotte had learned to cook, but her skills were rudimentary at best. Oh, it was good to be home.

  She found Jacob in the dining room, looking up at one of the paintings with a thoughtful expression. “You’re early,” she said.

  “Occupational hazard,” he replied, dragging his gaze away from the art and settling it on her. “I go in and assess ahead of time. On time for me is fifteen minutes early.”

  She smiled. “And yet I was at the pub before you the other night.”

  “So you were. But then I discovered you are generally very prompt.”

  “I was nervous. I wanted to control the situation.”

  He went to her then. He hadn’t changed. He still wore jeans and a light sweater, and she was glad they hadn’t dressed for dinner. There was no point, was there? It was just the two of them, after all.

  “You don’t have to be nervous with me.” He reached out and took her hand. “I don’t want to make this more difficult for you, Charlie. I want us to work as a team.”

  She pulled her hand away. Ugh, a team. Like the guys he worked with, she supposed. Approach this in a tactical way as if her heart wasn’t involved. She knew he was right but resented that it seemed to be so easy for him.

  Dinner was served then, and Charlotte smiled fondly as she looked down at her plate. One of her favorites—steak and Guinness pie, with a side of garlic mash and French green beans.

  “This smells amazing,” Jacob said, picking up his fork. “I’ll confess I’m a little surprised. It’s very, uh...”

  “Ordinary? Did you expect something you couldn’t recognize or pronounce? I promise, the Pembertons can be quite normal.” She lifted her fork with a piece of savory beef and put it in her mouth. The rich flavor exploded on her tongue. “We have a great cook and this was one of my favorites growing up. It’s lovely that she still remembers.”

  “Your staff has been with you a long time,” he observed, digging into his meal.

  “Many of them for years. I know it’s going to sound strange saying they’re like family, but it really isn’t like all that upstairs/downstairs nonsense from TV. Yes, we pay them a wage, but you get to know people. Mrs. Flanagan, for instance. She was widowed a few years back, has a lovely daughter named Esme who is around my age. Mrs. Flanagan never drove, but when her husband died, she finally went to get her license. When she decided to get a newer car, my dad went with her on the test drive and ensured she could get financing.”

  The memory made her smile. The two of them had taken the older car in to trade and Mrs. Flanagan had driven the new car, a cute little hatchback, right up the main drive with the Earl sitting in the passenger seat grinning broadly.

  “You miss your father.”

  She swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. “Terribly,” she admitted. “But we’re all managing okay, aren’t we?” Determined, she continued with her meal. “Now, we should discuss the baby. Did you come up with any ideas during our days apart?”

  He took a long drink of iced water and then put the glass back down. “Nothing concrete. I think a good starting place, though, is for me to tell you that I want to make this work. I want to be there for you and for our child. I don’t ever want my kid to feel they don’t have a father, or that I’m not invested in their happiness.” He looked at her evenly. “And that means making sure our relationship is solid, based on respect and consideration. Whatever this ends up looking like, those are my non-negotiables.”

  “Mine, too.” She let out a sigh of relief. “I think what I want from you isn’t material, Jacob. Clearly, I’m set financially. This is more about...well, our child’s sense of security and family.”

  “I know. What does that look like for you?” He watched her with an expectant expression, and for some reason she felt a strange pressure to say the right thing.

  What it looked like in her heart wasn’t what logic dictated. In her heart she saw the two of them, making coffee like they did in the morning in New York, maybe Jacob still in his workout clothes. Saw a little boy or girl come into the kitchen, looking for breakfast from Mum or Dad. That was where the logic jumped in and self-corrected. After breakfast Dad would take his duffel with him when he left for two weeks or a month, putting himself between his client and the threat.

  She wasn’t really hungry anymore.

  “What’s wrong? Are you still nauseated?” Jacob’s face tightened with concern and he got up from his chair, going to her side. And at that precise moment, the dining room door opened and Stephen strode in.

  Charlotte collected herself quickly. “Stephen! We didn’t expect you.”

  “Nor did I.” His face looked appropriately contrite. “What I mean is... I didn’t know you’d be here. With company.” His gaze moved to Jacob.

  Jacob rose and held out his hand. “Jacob Wolfe.”

  Stephen shook it firmly. “Stephen Pemberton. Earl of Chatsworth and Charlotte’s big brother.”

  They dropped hands and to her surprise Jacob smiled at Stephen’s obvious staking of territory. “Of course. Shall I address you as My Lord?”

  “Only if you hurt my sister.”

  Jacob’s grin widened. “Join us for dinner, won’t you?”

  Through all this Charlotte had remained silent, but now she spoke up. “Actually, Stephen, Jacob and I were having a private conversation.”

  “Which we can continue later, can’t we?” Jacob looked down at her. “It’s okay, Charlie. We have time. It’s all going to work out fine. We want the same things.”

  Oh, she doubted it, but she understood what he meant. Stephen took the seat opposite Jacob and flipped his napkin open before putting it on his lap. Another meal appeared for
Stephen, who sighed with appreciation.

  “I’ve missed the food here,” he admitted.

  Charlotte nodded. “It’s good. Why are you here, Stephen? I didn’t recall seeing anything on the family chat.”

  “I’ve got to be in London next week, and thought a weekend here would be a nice break. We don’t come here as much since...”

  He stopped, but she knew the end of the sentence. Since Dad died.

  “Anyway,” he carried on, “I didn’t realize you’d be here or I would have given you your privacy.” He looked at Jacob. “You are the father, yes?”

  Jacob’s gaze was even and unflappable. “Yes.”

  “We should meet for a drink later this evening.”

  “Stephen, I really don’t think—”

  “Of course. I’d like that.”

  She cleared her throat. “As long as you stay away from the antique dueling pistols. Stephen, I can handle myself.”

  He put on an innocent face. “Of course you can.”

  She leaned closer to him. “And your interference with Will and Gabi was not appreciated. Hint-hint.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Entirely different situation.” He looked back at Jacob. “I’m sure you can understand, that since our father is no longer here...”

  “I understand completely. If I had a sister, I’d feel exactly the same.”

  “Good.” Satisfied, Stephen tucked into his meal as if he hadn’t eaten all day, and to her surprise, so did Jacob. It was like they’d spoken some secret male language and come away with a satisfactory conclusion. Puzzling. And she didn’t like it, either. She called her own shots. Still, Stephen had been through a lot the last several months. Probably better to let him flex his big-brother muscles and then talk to Jacob again once it was over.

  Dessert was another of her favorites, treacle tart, which Jacob exclaimed over and then sat back and patted his belly. “I haven’t had a meal like that in a very long time,” he said. “My compliments.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass them along. Now, are you two going to be all archaic and take cigars and brandy in the study or something?” Sarcasm dripped from her lips, but she couldn’t help it. Stephen’s behavior was so cliché. Still, she knew it came from a place of love so she didn’t protest too much. She’d need her family in the weeks and months ahead. Besides, maybe Jacob did need to have a conversation with one of her brothers. He was going to be connected to their family now forever.