She arrived before nine each morning, and left after six in the evening and yet she wasn’t tired. It was as though something – or someone – was watching over her.
And now the nursery was almost finished. The soft-furnishing company had arrived that morning with the drapes for the windows and – at Carrie’s request – with an extra three yards of the same material so that she could make cushion covers. She was looking forward to recovering the large, feather-filled, cushions she’d found in the room. She imagined a small child curling up on them, cuddling a soft toy in sleep, or maybe looking at a picture book.
The single bed that Morgan had agreed she could buy had been placed against the wall, but as yet no cot had been ordered. At what stage should she think about buying a cot for her own baby she wondered? Or maybe a crib to begin with – something small. Mrs Dawkins had said there was a crib up in the attic somewhere and that she’d ask Morgan to bring it down when he returned. Although when Morgan was going to return from Cannes to look for the crib, Carrie had no idea – already the two weeks he’d said he’d be away had turned into four.
And her body was changing shape with her growing baby. Thank goodness the fashion for summer was loose smocks, lots of fabric, copious gathers.
The evenings were getting lighter and longer. And now, the paintwork on the three guest bedrooms had been sanded down, and the walls prepared ready for papering, Carrie was reluctant to return to her flat.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Carrie said, coming into the kitchen. Mrs Dawkins was folding her overall, ready to put in the pantry until she needed it in the morning. ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you before you left.’
‘Only just,’ Mrs Dawkins said. ‘Is there something you need?’
‘Not really … well …’
‘What is it, dear?’
Mrs Dawkins laid a hand on Carrie’s arm.
Carrie shrugged, and Mrs Dawkins took her hand away again.
‘You’re not doing too much, are you?’ she said.
‘No, I’m fine, thanks. Everything’s going well at the moment. In fact I think I’m ahead of schedule.’
‘So, what did you want me for?’ Mrs Dawkins grabbed her bag and began scrabbling in it, her fingers finding a bunch of keys. ‘Only I need to be off now.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Carrie said. Her mind struggled to come up with something to say. She couldn’t say, I don’t want to go home, I want to feel near to Morgan.
‘Anything else?’ Mrs Dawkins asked.
‘Yes, there is something,’ she said. ‘Do you think Morgan would mind if I stop on for a while? I haven’t got a garden at my flat, you see, and I’d like to sit outside and make a start on the cushion covers.’
‘Of course he won’t, dear. He won’t mind at all.’ Mrs Dawkins snapped her bag shut, shrugged on her jacket and walked towards the back door. ‘See you tomorrow. Oh,’ she added, patting her own stomach. ‘And what you’re doing is called “nesting” in these parts.’
And then she was gone.
Nesting? Is that what I’m doing? And Mrs Dawkins knew why, didn’t she? She’d have to tell Morgan now before someone else did.
But first she’d go out into the garden and watch the sunset.
Chapter Twelve
And that was where Morgan found her. She leapt to her feet with surprise when she saw him. A breeze blew her top around her, accentuating her now very obvious baby bump.
She heard him breathe in deeply, letting it all out slowly.
Then he said, ‘You’re expecting a baby?’
‘I am.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ Carrie said, running her hands down over her bump.
‘Dare I ask?’
‘Yes. Yours. We locked the stable door after the horse had bolted in the birth control department, didn’t we?’
‘We did rather, didn’t we? Oh, Carrie … I … ’
‘And, just so we’re clear, I don’t want a penny from you.’
Carrie started to walk towards the house, but Morgan soon caught up with her because she was shaking so much and her legs were barely supporting her.
‘You can’t go anywhere in that state,’ Morgan said, laying a hand oh-so-gently on her shoulder and all Carrie wanted to do was lean in to him, but she shrugged him off.
‘This state is going to be with me for a good many months yet,’ Carrie said.
‘So, we’ll have plenty of time to talk about it,’ Morgan said, holding wide the back door for Carrie. ‘I’ll make us some tea. Unless you’re off tea? ’
‘I was for a couple of weeks,’ Carrie said, touched that he’d thought to ask. ‘And off a lot of other things too, but that seems to have passed, thank goodness.’
‘Good,’ Morgan said. He set about tea-making, humming a snatch of something to himself. ‘Biscuit with the tea, now you’re eating for two?’ he asked, handing Carrie her mug.
‘Or three,’ Carrie said.
‘You’re not?’ Morgan said.
Carrie gave a little ‘who knows’ shrug, and Morgan grinned as though the thought of sudden multi-parenthood might not be so bad an idea.
‘Well, Caroline Fraser, you have surprised me.’
‘I’m not Caroline.’
‘Just Carrie?’
‘Not that either.’
Morgan raised a quizzical eyebrow.
‘What other possibilities are there?’ he asked.
‘Carenza,’ Carrie said with a groan. ‘Awful isn’t it?’
‘No,’ Morgan said. ‘I think it’s rather wonderful. Carenza.’
He drew out the name so that to Carrie’s ears it sounded like a warm caress. Coming from his lips it didn’t sound so bad at all – in fact it sounded rather wonderful, as Morgan himself had said.
‘Am I the last to know about the baby?’ Morgan asked.
‘The first. After me obviously. I haven’t even told Mum yet because she’s always out somewhere with Paul these days and over the phone doesn’t seem the way to tell a mother something like that.’
‘Indeed not,’ Morgan said.
Carrie sipped her tea, glad of its warming comfort. She ought to be going soon but there was so much she and Morgan needed to talk about.
‘I’ve drawn up the plans for the last two bedrooms – the smaller ones,’ Carrie said, just for something to say, something to keep her at Oakenbury Hall. ‘And I’ve prepared the walls and paintwork, sorted the mood boards.’
‘I don’t want you overworking.’
‘I might be pregnant but I haven’t lost all common sense,’ Carrie said. ‘I’ll know when to stop. Right now I feel fine, so if it’s all right with you I’ll be here most days. How long are you staying anyway?’
‘That all depends on your answer to my next question.’
‘Which is?’ Carrie said.
‘Carenza, will you marry me? Will you be my lady?’
Carrie gulped. She hadn’t been expecting that.
Morgan reached for Carrie’s hand. He lifted it to his lips, and Carrie felt the tingle fizzle through her body. All her instincts told her she wanted to be with this man forever. But should she be even considering saying yes to his question? Could she go through the process of organising a wedding again? Might Morgan change his mind at the last moment as Aaron had? And, more importantly, was he only marrying her because she was pregnant?
‘Not at the moment, Morgan, no,’ Carrie said. ‘Because I’m not sure about your reasons for asking me.’
‘Gen?’ Carrie said, the second her friend’s excited voice trilled in her ear.
‘Right first time,’ Genifer said. ‘But I guess you’ve been expecting my call.’
‘Um, no,’ Carrie said, ‘but it’s great to hear you.’
She had a feeling Morgan had something to do with the call, but no way was she going to ask – she’d wait for Genifer to reveal the reason.
‘Oh, well, I expect Morgan forgot to tell you. But it’s a yes to his invitation.’
‘
To?’ Carrie said.
‘To come over and see what you’ve done to Oakenbury Hall! Honestly, Carrie, you should have heard the way he was singing your praises! There’s going to be a dinner party! The Saturday after next! Don’t say you didn’t know.’
But that was only ten days away – when had Morgan thought he was going to tell her, give her a chance to finish everything off to the sort of standard required to accept the first guests in the refurbished rooms?
Even though Morgan asked her to marry him every single day now, she hadn’t said yes yet. And despite his pleadings for her to stop the night she always went home when her day’s work was done.
‘Well, I’ve been busy. We both have. I expect he meant to tell me but forgot.’
‘He said you’d say that,’ Genifer said with a giggle. ‘And that’s not all!’
‘Spill the beans,’ Carrie said.
‘He’s only gone and given Jean-Claude and me joint managing director roles! We’re going to be running things exclusively over here! Isn’t that great? If the family we want comes along, then we’ll rethink my role in things. But hey! As I said – great!’
‘Great,’ Carrie said.
‘You don’t sound like you think it’s great one little bit! You sound a bit peeved, if I may say so.’
‘I’m not. I’m just surprised. Morgan told me he couldn’t make Oakenbury Hall his main home, and not so long ago either.’
‘Well, obviously, he’s changed his mind for some reason. Not entirely a female prerogative, changing one’s mind.’
‘Obviously not,’ Carrie said.
‘So, all you’ve got to do now is find something wonderful to wear, isn’t it?’
‘I suppose so,’ Carrie said.
‘And no charity shop bargains, Carrie!’ Genifer said, laughing. ‘Something that Cinderella might wear to the ball – after her transformation by magic wand, obviously, not the rags she went in.’
And then Genifer made kissy noises down the line and was gone.
It was the day of the dinner party – Genifer and Jean-Claude were due to arrive soon. And Louise. Carrie had at last finished the guest rooms and was pleased with her work. She was rearranging the cushions on a chaise longue one last time when she heard Morgan open the door.
‘Remember you said you couldn’t face organising a wedding again?’ he said, coming to stand beside her.
‘Yes,’ Carrie said warily.
‘Well, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. Because I have. Just us, you and me, and two witnesses the vicar will provide. But you can change any or all of those arrangements.’
‘No,’ Carrie said. She reached for his hands and held them tightly.
‘You won’t marry me?’
‘No. Yes. No. Oh, what I mean is, I don’t want to thing a change. I like as things …’
Oh God, she was talking gobblydegook again.
Morgan kissed the tip of her nose.
‘The second I saw you standing on my doorstep,’ Morgan said, ‘and the second you opened your mouth and got your words all muddled up, I fell in love with you.’
‘And I you,’ Carrie said. She leaned towards Morgan and kissed his lips – just a gentle kiss that didn’t linger but it would tell him everything about how she felt. ‘And I’m still muddling my words up!’
‘So, was that a no you don’t want to marry me, or …’
‘It was no, I don’t want you to change a thing about the arrangements. They sound perfect to me.’
‘This is your church?’ Carrie asked, as Morgan led her around the edge of his lake.
Carrie was wearing a cornflower blue ankle-length dress that billowed around her legs in the slight breeze. It had spaghetti straps with tiny silver butterflies embroidered on them, and a v-shaped neckline. Simple and elegant.
On her head she was wearing a circlet of tiny white flowers picked from one of the shrubs in the garden that Morgan had told her was called ‘Bridal wreath’. Her shoes were ballet pumps in the same shade of blue as her dress, and her bouquet flowers, now dangling from her free hand, a fistful of sweet peas grown by Mrs Dawkins’ husband, Ken, and picked that morning and tied with raffia.
‘Chapel. It goes with the house. I’ve always kept the licence for marriages up to date.’
‘Just as well,’ Carrie laughed.
She couldn’t quite believe that in half an hour’s time she’d be a married woman; Lady Harrington. She said the name over and over to herself in her head and still it seemed strange, alien almost. But she was going to have to get used to it – wanted to get used to it.
‘I wonder what they’ll all say when we turn up for the dinner party as man and wife?’ Morgan asked.
‘Oh, we’ll be bombarded with questions, I should think. And there’ll be an element of shock because they think they’ve only been invited for a dinner party, not a wedding breakfast,’ Carrie said.
‘Happy for us though, I hope.’
‘I almost told my mother. She’s going to be cross she’s not witnessing my marriage.’
‘Louise will be fine about it, trust me.’
‘I will,’ Carrie said.
Morgan laughed. ‘Just remember to say those two little words when the vicar asks!’
For answer, Carrie stretched towards him and kissed his cheek.
‘But you can still pull out if you want to. You don’t have to marry me just because of the baby.’
‘Oh, Carrie,’ Morgan said, stopping to fold her in his arms and hug her tight. ‘How can you ever think I’d want to? Even before I found my father’s letter and read about his wish for me to have children, I’d already fallen in love with you. I actually saw and heard our children in my head more than a few times.’
‘So did I!’ Carrie said. ‘But I never for a minute thought you’d feel the same.’
‘But I’ve proved you wrong,’ Morgan said, smiling down at her. ‘From that moment the idea was firmly planted in my mind to make a nursery.’
‘And I thought you were doing it for someone else.’
‘I was afraid to make my feelings known too soon … you know.’
‘Past histories?’ Carrie said. ‘Georgina and Talbot were yours, and Aaron was mine.’
‘Time to leave them behind?’ Morgan said as they reached the open double doors of the chapel.
‘Definitely,’ Carrie said, gripping tightly to Morgan’s hand.
And, head held high, with joy filling her heart like tiny fireworks going off, spreading warmth and light through her body, Carrie walked with Morgan down the slate floor of the chapel that was decorated with wonderfully scented lemon roses on the pew ends, to become his lady.
THE END
About the Author
Linda Mitchelmore has lived in Devon all her life where the wonderful scenery and history give her endless ideas for novels and short stories. Linda has over 200 short stories published worldwide and has also won, or been short-listed in many short story writing competitions. In 2004, she was awarded The Katie Forde Bursary by the Romantic Novelists’ Association. In 2011 she won the Short Story Radio Romance Prize.
Married to Roger for over 40 years, they have two grown up children and two grandchildren. As well as her writing, Linda loves gardening, walking, cycling and riding pillion on her husband’s vintage motorbikes.
Follow Linda on Twitter @LindaMitchelmor
More Choc Lit
from Linda Mitchelmore
Hope for Hannah
Linda Mitchelmore
How can two brothers be so different?
Hannah French has always wanted more from life than her sleepy Dartmoor village can offer. On the wild Devonshire moors, she loses herself in poetry and dreams of escape…
And there are two men who are willing to give her that escape: William and Ralph Lawlor. They are brothers but their bloodline is all that they have in common.
William is gentle, kind and sensitive; a painter who yearns for a creative life in France or Italy. Ralph is ru
gged, dangerous and extravagant. He is equally keen to show Hannah the world outside Dartmoor- but at what cost?
When events in Hannah’s life take a devastating turn, she is no longer certain who she can trust. Will somebody come to her rescue or will she have to accept that Hope is all she has left?
Set in Devon in 1903
Find out more and purchase in the Kindle store:
UK here
US here
To Turn Full Circle
Linda Mitchelmore
Full length novel
Life in Devon in 1909 is hard and unforgiving, especially for young Emma Le Goff, who finds herself totally alone in the world and evicted form her home by her callous landlord Reuben Jago.
His son Seth is deeply attracted to Emma and sympathises with her, but all his attempts to help only incur his father’s wrath.
When mysterious fisherman Matthew Caunter comes to Emma’s rescue, Seth is jealous at what he sees and seeks solace in another woman. However, he finds that forgetting Emma is not as easy as he hoped.
Matthew is kind and charismatic, but handsome Seth is never far from Emma’s mind. Whatever twists and turns her life takes, it seems there is always something – or someone – missing.
Find out more and purchase in the Kindle Store:
UK here
US here
Emma
Linda Mitchelmore
Full length novel
It isn’t easy to look forward when the past is so close behind you
Life hasn’t always been kind to Emma Le Goff. She has had her fair share of hardship and now finally, her life appears to be looking up. She and her childhood sweetheart, Seth Jago, are set to marry and both believe that an idyllic existence, free from heartache, awaits them.
Gorgeous Reads for Christmas (Choc Lit) Page 37
