Newborn Under the Christmas Tree

by Sophie Pembroke

  The baby that brought them together

  As heir to Thornwood Manor, Liam Jenkins wants to erase painful memories by knocking it down and rebuilding it. But Alice Walters has turned the manor into a women’s refuge, and she’s prepared to be the thorn in the new lord’s side!

  When they hear the cries of a newborn under the Christmas tree, they’re forced to find a way to work together. And with each passing day, this little baby brings them both back to life, and gives them a Christmas gift they never expected!

  “Did you hear that?”

  Alice’s forehead creased, too. “I’m not sure.” She took another turn and suddenly they were back in the main hall again, its oversize Christmas tree looming over the staircase. From beyond the next set of doors, they could hear the dying chatter of the fund-raiser, the last few guests still hanging on in there. But that wasn’t the noise that had caught Liam’s attention.

  The sound rang out again and, this time, there was no doubt in Liam’s mind what he was hearing. He knew the sound of a baby crying well enough—from the age of ten upward, it had seemed every foster home he went to had a new baby, one he was expected to help look after. “Did someone bring their baby with them tonight?”

  Except he couldn’t see anyone nearby, and the cry had sounded very close.

  Like it was in the room with them.

  “I don’t think...” Alice trailed off as the baby cried again. Then she stepped closer to the tree, taking slow, cautious steps in her long, shimmering dress, as if trying not to spook a wild animal.

  Liam followed, instinctively staying quiet.

  The crying was constant now, and there was no denying where it was coming from.

  Alice hitched up her dress and knelt down on the flagstones, reaching under the spread of the pine needles, dislodging a couple of ornaments as she did so. Then she pulled out a basket—not a bassinet or anything, Liam realized. Just a wicker basket, of the sort someone might use to store magazines or whatever.

  A wicker basket with a baby lying in it.

  Dear Reader,

  Christmas has always been a very magical time for me and my family, but I know that isn’t the case for everybody. My hero and heroine in this book—Alice and Liam—certainly have little reason to celebrate the season, and no family as such to spend it with.

  But we all know that life can change in an instant. One small moment, one seemingly insignificant choice, one letter from a solicitor, one job offer—or the tiny pause between silence and a baby’s cry... Any one of them can alter a person’s world forever. And in this book, they all do.

  I wanted to give Liam and Alice a Christmas to remember, but given their starting points, they both have to work to get it! I hope you enjoy their journey and that all your Christmases are magical.

  Love and seasonal sparkles,

  Sophie x

  NEWBORN UNDER THE CHRISTMAS TREE

  Sophie Pembroke

  Sophie Pembroke has been reading and writing romance ever since she read her first Harlequin at university, so getting to write them for a living is a dream come true! Sophie lives in a little Hertfordshire market town in the United Kingdom with her scientist husband and her incredibly imaginative six-year-old daughter. She writes stories about friends, family and falling in love—usually while drinking too much tea and eating homemade cakes. She also keeps a blog at sophiepembroke.com.

  Books by Sophie Pembroke

  Harlequin Romance

  Wedding of the Year

  Slow Dance with the Best Man

  Proposal for the Wedding Planner

  Summer Weddings

  Falling for the Bridesmaid

  The Unexpected Holiday Gift

  Stranded with the Tycoon

  Heiress on the Run

  A Groom Worth Waiting For

  His Very Convenient Bride

  A Proposal Worth Millions

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  For Auntie Judy.

  Praise for

  Sophie Pembroke

  “A poignant, feel-good and irresistible romantic treat that I struggled to put down, Slow Dance with the Best Man is a fantastic tale about second chances, healing from old wounds and finding the courage to fall in love that will touch the hearts of romance readers everywhere.”

  —Goodreads

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  EXCERPT FROM HIS MISTLETOE PROPOSAL BY CHRISTY McKELLEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  LIAM JENKINS SQUINTED against the low winter sun as he looked up at Thornwood Castle in the distance and tried to imagine it as home.

  He failed.

  The dark grey of the stone walls, the rise and fall of the crenellations, the brooding shadow it set over the English countryside...none of them were exactly friendly. When he’d dared to dream about the idea of home over the years, he’d pictured himself somewhere warm and bright and welcoming. Somewhere near the beach and rolling surf of his country of birth, Australia. A house he’d designed and built himself, one that was purely his, with no bad memories attached.

  Instead, he had a centuries-old British castle full of other people’s history and furniture and baggage.

  And it was starting to rain.

  With a deep sigh, Liam leant back against his hire car and ignored the icy droplets dripping past his collar. Instead he wondered, not for the first time, what on earth his great-aunt Rose had been thinking. He hadn’t seen her at all in the fifteen years before her death, and before their disastrous meeting in London he’d only ever visited Thornwood once. Two encounters in twenty-five years didn’t make them family, not really. As far as he was concerned, she was just another in a long line of relatives who didn’t have the time or the space in their lives or homes for him.

  Even that first time he’d visited her, he’d known instantly that Thornwood Castle would never be where he belonged. Thornwood, with its buttresses and echoing stone walls, lined with rusting suits of armour, was a world away from the small home he’d lived in with his mother on the Gold Coast. Possibly a few hundred years away too. As a ten-year-old orphan, still grieving for the mother he’d thought was invincible until she wasn’t, the prospect of staying at Thornwood had been terrifying. And that was before he’d even met Great-Aunt Rose in all her intimidating glory.

  Thinking of it now, he shivered, remembering the chill of her presence. The way she’d loomed over him, steel-grey hair fixed in place, her dark blue eyes too like his for it to be a coincidence. He had the family eyes—no one had ever truly doubted whose son he was. Even if they didn’t want to acknowledge the fact in public.

  Liam shook off the memories and slipped back behind the steering wheel of his hire car.

  Thornwood was his—a bequest he’d never expected, or wanted. Th
e very idea of it filled him with a heavy apprehension. Thornwood Castle came with more than just history—it came with a legacy. An acceptance into a society that had cast him out before he was even born. People said that the class wars were over, that nobody cared about legitimacy or status of birth any more. Maybe that was true in some places, but Liam knew that those prejudices were still alive and well in Thornwood.

  Or they had been when Rose was alive. Now she was gone...

  Could Thornwood be a home? All he remembered of it was cold, unwelcoming halls and the obvious disapproval of his great-aunt’s butler as he’d met him at the door.

  But then there was the letter. The spidery, wavering handwriting on thick creamy paper that had come with the lawyer who’d explained the bequest. The letter from Rose, written just days before she’d died, asking him to make Thornwood Castle his home, at last. To finally take on the family legacy.

  You may find it rather different than you recall...

  That was what she’d written. But from this distance it looked exactly like his memories of the place. Grey, forbidding, unwelcoming.

  Liam was pretty sure that wasn’t what home was supposed to look like.

  Although, in fairness, he could be wrong. He could barely remember having a real home at all. Since his mother died, he’d ricocheted among his reluctant relatives—first his mother’s, out in Australia, then later a brief trip over to the UK to be rejected by his long departed father’s odd, unknown family—and foster care, never finding anywhere to settle for long. And since he’d been out in the world on his own he’d been far too busy building the life he’d craved for himself—one based on his own merits, not who he was related to—to worry about building that home of his own he’d dreamt of as a child.

  He had the success he’d wanted. No one in his world knew him as the bastard son of the heir to an earldom, or even as Marie’s poor little orphaned boy. These days he was known as his own man—a renowned and respected architect, owner of his own company, with turnover doubling every year. He was his own success story.

  Maybe he could bring some of that success to Thornwood.

  That was the plan, at least. The time for old-fashioned stately homes was over; nobody needed that much space any more. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make Thornwood work for him. Tourists still had a fascination with the old British aristocracy—Liam’s ex-girlfriend had watched enough period dramas for Liam to be sure of that. So if Thornwood was his it had to earn its keep—just like any other building he’d ever designed or renovated. Thornwood just had more potential than a lot of them.

  And he couldn’t help but smile out into the rain, just a little, at the thought of Great-Aunt Rose’s face watching from above—or below, probably—seeing Thornwood turned into the sort of aristocratic theme park she’d always hated. He might not have known Rose well, but she’d made her feelings about the hoi polloi roaming around her ancestral grounds very clear. As clear as the fact she included him in that number, whoever his father was.

  She’d hate everything he had planned. And that was pretty much reason enough to do it. Call it closure, maybe. Finally taking over the world that had rejected him as a child.

  Then he could move on, find his own home instead of one that had been left to him because there was no one else. Preferably somewhere it didn’t rain so damn much.

  Liam stared up once more at the shadows of the crenellations in the grey and hazy light, the narrow windows and the aged stonework, and knew that he would stay, just as Rose had asked. But only long enough to close that chapter of his life for ever. To finally slam the door on the family who’d never wanted him.

  Then he could return to his real life.

  Liam started up the engine of the hire car again and, checking his mirrors, pulled back onto the road to drive the last half a mile up the long, winding driveway to the castle itself, smiling out through the windscreen at the rain as it started to fall in sheets.

  He was nearly home, for now.

  * * *

  Alice Walters stared at the scene in front of her with dismay. ‘What happened?’ she asked as a couple of holly berries floated past on a stream that definitely didn’t belong in the main hall of Thornwood Castle.

  ‘Penelope was filling vases with water to add some of the greenery we collected from the woods,’ Heather explained, arms folded tight across her chest. The frown that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on her forehead since Rose died looked even deeper than usual. ‘Apparently she got distracted.’

  ‘And forgot to turn off the tap.’ It wasn’t the first time that Penelope had got distracted. Alice supposed she should be used to it by now. ‘Where’s Danielle?’

  ‘No idea,’ Heather said, the words clipped. ‘You know, for an assistant she doesn’t seem to be very much help.’

  Alice sighed. She’d noticed the same thing recently too. When she’d first hired the teenager to give her a hand with the admin and such at Thornwood, mostly to help her earn a part-time income after her mother died, Danielle had seemed bright and happy to be there. But over the last few months she’d barely even bothered showing up. ‘Right, well, we’d better get the mops out. He’ll be here any minute.’

  ‘Our new lord and master,’ Heather said, distaste obvious in her tone. ‘I can’t wait.’

  ‘He might not be that bad.’ Alice headed towards the nearest store cupboard and pulled out a mop and bucket. Given the number of leaks the castle roof had sprung over the last few years, they always tried to keep supplies close at hand. For a once grand house, the place leaked like a sieve and was impossible to keep warm. She wondered if the newest owner knew what he was letting himself in for. ‘Rose wouldn’t have left him the castle if he was.’

  ‘Wouldn’t she?’ Heather took the mop from her and attempted to soak up some of the impromptu river, while Alice hunted for more rags and cloths to absorb the worst of it. ‘He’s the last of the line—illegitimate or not. It wouldn’t matter what Rose thought about him. She’d leave him the castle because that’s what tradition said she had to do. And you know how she felt about tradition—at least you should. You spent enough time arguing with her about it.’

  ‘I did,’ Alice said, sighing again. As if an indoor river wasn’t bad enough, she had the prospect of spending her morning showing the new owner of Thornwood Castle around the wreck he’d inherited.

  Rose might not have always been the easiest woman to get along with, but she’d been pragmatic, in the way that people who’d seen everything the world had to throw at them come and go, and leave them standing, often were. She might not have liked the suggestions that Alice put forward about how to keep the castle alive and running, but she’d been willing to grit her teeth and bear it, if it meant that her home, her family estate, would survive to be useful to another generation, as something more than a historical show-and-tell. More than anything, Alice was sure, Rose just hadn’t wanted to be the one to let it go.

  But what about her great-nephew? He was the unknown quantity. Would he care enough about Thornwood to work with them to keep it going? Or would he sell it to the first Russian oligarch who offered him seven figures for it?

  Alice supposed she’d find out soon enough.

  Not that it mattered to her. Not really. There was always work for a woman who could be organised, inventive, effective and productive—and Alice made sure that she was all those things. Rose had written her a glowing reference before she died, just in case she needed it. Alice would have no problem finding a new job—a new project to dive into and find a way to make it work. And it was getting time to move on—she’d already been at Thornwood longer than she’d planned. Normally she’d be looking forward to it. Except...

  ‘Alice?’ Penelope stuck her head around the door, her eyes huge and wide in her thin, pale face. Sixteen and already so disillusioned by life, Penelope—and all the
other girls and women like her—was the only reason Alice was reluctant to leave Thornwood. The castle might not be her home, but it was the only place some of the women she helped had—and it was the best shot Alice had at doing something that mattered. Sure, she could get a job organising someone’s office, or arranging meetings and scheduling flights. But here at Thornwood she was making a difference. And that counted for a lot.

  ‘What is it, Penelope?’ Alice asked when the girl didn’t say anything further.

  Slipping into the hall, Penelope wrapped her oversized grey cardigan around herself, her arms crossing over her middle. ‘There’s a car just pulled up. A big black four-by-four.’ Her eyes slid away from Alice’s as she spoke.

  Alice and Heather exchanged a quick glance.

  ‘That’ll be him, then,’ Heather said with a nod. ‘Penelope, grab those cloths from Alice and do your best to mop up this mess, yeah? God knows where Danielle has got to.’

  Penelope did as she was told, just like she always did—without question, without complaint, without a word. One day, Alice hoped that she might just look up and say, ‘No.’ One day.

  Hopefully not today, though, as they really did need to clear up the mini flood.

  Alice wiped her damp hands on her jeans. ‘Right then. I’d better...’ She flapped a hand towards the entrance hall.

  Heather nodded. ‘You go. Go meet the beast.’

  Alice rolled her eyes. ‘He might be lovely!’

  ‘You keep telling yourself that,’ Heather said, turning away to help Penelope with the remaining puddles. ‘Just because I’ve never met a man yet who was, doesn’t mean that this Liam bloke might not be the one who broke the mould.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Alice said, hoping she sounded more certain than she felt. ‘And, at the very least, we have to give him a chance.’

  She just hoped that he gave her—and Heather, and Penelope, and all the others—a chance too.