by Liz Fielding
‘I didn’t expect to be staying this long.’
He grinned. ‘Well, I’ll look you out a clean T-shirt to be going along with, but I can see what your father meant about a disinclination for domesticity.’
‘Can you? Then if you’re wise, you’ll send out for a pizza,’ she retaliated as she retreated through the kitchen door.
But Harry March was way ahead of her and when she returned to the kitchen to give Ben his supper she found the promised T-shirt together with a note. ‘I’ve taken Alice down to the river for a picnic. Put Ben in his buggy and join us.’
An order, or an invitation? He clearly didn’t expect her to say no, but then, who had ever said no to Harry March?
She shook her head at her own foolishness. Level-headed, remember? Sensible. Quite capable of handling a sultry evening on the river bank with a man, no matter how irresistible. And she had two perfect little chaperones. Not that she would need them.
She fed Ben and, having finally begun to get the hang of babies, within half an hour she was dressed in a baggy white T-shirt that fitted where it touched and wheeling the bright little buggy towards the river. As she rounded a bend in the path she was driven to admit to herself that Harry March had style.
A thick white cloth was spread upon the grass and on it reposed the contents of a wicker hamper supplied by a London store famous for such treats. The plates, brought from the house, were of fine bone china, the wine glasses were old, hand-blown crystal and the cutlery fashioned by some master silversmith to grace a Georgian table.
He glanced up as he heard her approach. ‘As you can see I took your advice and arranged a take-away.’
‘It wasn’t quite what I had in mind,’ she murmured, parking the buggy beneath a willow tree and, spreading a net across it to keep insects from the infant, left him to enjoy the shadowy movement of the leaves above him. ‘Where I come from “take-away” suggests a spur of the moment choice between a pizza and a curry.’
‘They wouldn’t have travelled well, so I picked this up on my way home instead.’
‘Clearly you took my father’s warning seriously to heart.’
‘Not really. I just thought you might need a little pampering. Looking after children is pretty exhausting, even when you’re used to it.’
‘That’s very thoughtful of you,’ she said, primly, firmly ignoring her body’s over-excited response at the idea of being pampered by Harry, reminding herself that Julian was eagerly awaiting that pleasure. At least, she was sure he was; his letters were full of his work rather than excitement about their forthcoming wedding. She gave herself a gentle mental shaking and surveyed the picnic. Then her brows drew together with a tiny frown.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, slowly. ‘I really do appreciate the trouble you’ve gone to. But haven’t you forgotten something?’
‘Have I?’ His glance roved swiftly over the cloth. ‘Oh, you mean the wine. It’s keeping cool in the river.’
She refused to show her exasperation. ‘I don’t mean the wine, Harry, I mean me.’
‘I haven’t forgotten you. You’re here.’
‘That’s my point. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be on my way back to London. Remember?’
‘And you don’t think Nanny Kenway would have been tempted by my feast?’
‘I’m sure you could tempt the stars from their courses, Harry.’
‘Are you? Well that’s a promising start.’
‘No, it isn’t and by now Nanny Kenway would have the children tucked up in bed and be doing something thoroughly worthy like washing their clothes,’ she replied, more interested in Harry’s ploy of avoiding her question by asking one of his own, than pandering to his ego.
‘You’d be surprised how susceptible the Muriel Kenway’s of this world are to flattery. Crack the shell and the yolk is all soft and dippy.’
‘Like Aunt Janet?’ she murmured.
‘Like Janet,’ he agreed. ‘Alice likes these little pieces of chicken,’ he continued, holding out a plate to his niece. ‘Why don’t you find something you like while I open the wine?’
Instinct warned her that he was trying to distract her. But why?
‘Did you buy off Muriel Kenway?’ she demanded, as suspicion suddenly jagged at her. ‘Just to keep me here?’ Even as she said it, she realised how ridiculous she must sound. How neurotic. Why on earth would he go to such lengths? All he wanted was a temporary nanny for heaven’s sake. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, quickly, looking away from eyes that had narrowed in a fierce question. A question to which there were no answers. ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just that everything seems to be conspiring to keep me here when I—’
‘When you have so much to do somewhere else,’ he finished for her, thoughtfully. ‘What have you got to do, Faith? What is it that simply won’t wait a week or two?’
‘I...’ Still she hesitated, although why she was so unwilling to tell him the truth she didn’t know. Or just wouldn’t admit.
‘Is it so very bad?’ She stared at the lobster tail she was holding as if uncertain what it was, or where it had come from. ‘Whatever it is you have to do, Faith, you don’t seem to be very happy about it.’
‘Happy?’ The word had such a ramshackle quality. People put such faith in the notion that they should be happy that they were bound to be hurt. When she had received Julian’s letter suggesting they should get married it had been a surprise — of course it had. They had been writing to one another for three years, but they had never actually met. Yet they had agreed on everything. They had so much in common. It had seemed so sensible, so logical. Right now she couldn’t quite think why, but it would seem that way again, she knew it. Just as soon as she could get away from the unsettling Harry March. ‘Of course I’m happy!’ she declared.
The broad space between his brows creased in a frown. ‘So why aren’t you smiling?’ For a moment their eyes clashed, then he shrugged. ‘I do understand that your business is infinitely more important than mine and I promise I do appreciate you staying on. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘Like what?’ She couldn’t meet his eyes. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap, it’s just—’ He waited. ‘If you must know, Harry, I’m getting married in three weeks. There’s the reception to arrange, the invitations to send out and I still have to find a dress.’
CHAPTER FIVE
SILENCE greeted her announcement. The birds, the lapping of the water, the wind stirring the willow above her head all stilled. All she could hear was her voice echoing off the water, forlornly repeating the word married... married... married...
Harry’s long fingers stilled in the act of peeling the foil from the champagne cork.
‘Why?’ he asked, finally breaking the silence, his voice was quiet but insistent.
She looked up then, surprised by something in his voice. Concern? Could it be concern? ‘Why haven’t I bought the dress yet?’
‘No, Faith. Why are you getting married?’
She stiffened. ‘I’m not preg—’ She broke off, looking anxiously at Alice, who had wandered over to a pair of ducks and was happily feeding them a roll. ‘Alice come back, darling.’
‘You can’t avoid my question that easily, Faith.’
‘I told you, I’m not—’
‘Of course you’re not. Level-headed women don’t get pregnant unless they want to, although love makes fools of us all.’
‘I’m not in love!’ His brows rose and she flushed. ‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered, feeling stupid. How on earth could he be expected to understand?
‘Sorry that you’re getting married,’ he asked, ‘or sorry that you’re not—’
‘Will you stop that!’ He shrugged and she made an effort to regain her poise. ‘I have to return to London, Harry. You must see that.’
‘Why? You could arrange everything from here. There’s the telephone, the internet.’ He paused. ‘There’s even a very good bridal shop in
Melchester.’ It was her turn to raise her eyebrows. ‘So I’m told.’
‘By Clementine Norwood?’ Reminding him of the girl he had so callously jilted seemed to offer her a safety net. Remind her why she didn’t trust to love.
There was a momentary tightening of the muscles about his jaw, but nothing else to suggest she had disturbed him.
‘Clemmie? Wear a ready-made dress? I’d like to see the day.’ His fingers grasped the cork and he twisted the champagne bottle sharply. The cork came away with a restrained burp and the wine foamed into two glasses. ‘Elizabeth went there to buy her gown. She never fails to remind me of that fact when she comes to stay.’
‘Your matchmaking sister?
‘The very same.’ He offered a smile and the tension evaporated in its warmth.
‘Not very subtle, is she?’
‘Not in the least.’
His mouth straightened in a grin and she found herself responding quite helplessly. Irresistible. He didn’t need any help from his sister to find a wife she decided. But it was seven years since he had abandoned Clementine, the same seven years since Michael had abandoned her. So why—? She caught herself. It was absolutely none of her business.
‘Well?’ he prompted. ‘What do you say?’
She wavered. A lot of the things she had to do could be done at long distance, but it wasn’t quite that simple. ‘I don’t think I could manage it all and look after the children as well. And I’m rather short of clothes.’
‘You’re welcome to help yourself to mine.’
She tugged at the over-sized T-shirt. ‘Oh, gee, thanks.’
‘Don’t you like it? Women look so enticing in men’s clothes.’ His eyes swept her figure. ‘Sexy—’
‘And the children?’ she interrupted, determined to put an end to this dangerous conversation.
He shrugged. ‘You underestimate yourself, Faith. But I’m sure that if you insist on marrying your missionary we could arrange things between us.’
‘He’s not my missionary! He’s not a missionary at all!’ It was better when he made her angry. Easier. ‘He’s a scientist.’
‘A scientist?’ he repeated, thoughtfully, lifting a glass to offer it to her. ‘A scientist who is difficult to contact? Where is he, Faith? Paddling up the Amazon in a canoe?’
‘Not quite.’ Her sense of humour almost returned that this stab in the dark was so wide of the mark.
‘His canoe has a motor?’
‘You’re not even close. Wrong continent altogether. He’s in the Antarctic,’ she said.
‘The Antarctic?’ She had finally managed to surprise him and she took the champagne with barely a tremor despite the brief touch of his fingers against hers. ‘And are you planning to join him in his researches after the wedding? Or will you wait patiently at home for his occasional visit? I can’t believe that penguins have much use for bankers.’
‘Penguins? Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘I’m being ridiculous? You’re the one planning to live at the South Pole.’ He spun the stem of the champagne flute in his hand. ‘With a man you’re not in love with.’ She kept her mouth firmly shut. She had already said far too much. But he wasn’t going to let her get away without some explanation. ‘Is that the reason for the rush? Does he have to get back to his experiments?’
Relief that he hadn’t asked the obvious question loosened her tongue. ‘Is it so impossible to imagine that Julian might just be anxious to marry me as quickly as possible?’
‘Far from impossible. I can’t imagine how he’s managed to keep himself away, but what about you?’
‘Me too,’ she said, quickly. Too quickly, perhaps.
‘Are you sure? Most women about to get married can’t stop talking about it. You seem markedly reluctant to even mention the fact.’
‘The only thing I’m markedly reluctant to do, Harry, is to provide you with a source of amusement.’
‘I can assure you that I don’t find the prospect of your imminent marriage in the least bit funny.’ He said it as if he meant it, although what possible interest it was to him she couldn’t think.
‘You keep making jokes about Julian,’ she reminded him.
‘And Julian, it seems, is no joking matter.’
She gave him a hard look, but he seemed perfectly genuine. ‘No, he isn’t. So you must understand why I’m anxious to get back to London. I have to organise everything and there’s so much to do. The reception for instance. I was supposed to be seeing the caterers yesterday but I had to cancel the meeting—’
‘To come rushing to my rescue?’
She gave him a chilling look. ‘And then there are the invitations. The proofs have to be checked and then they’ll have to be written and sent. Dad’s organising the church, of course, but I can’t leave the flowers and the cake to him.’ He had accused her of being unwilling to talk about her wedding, suddenly she seemed unable to stop.
‘Haven’t you forgotten the most important thing?’ She refused to ask. ‘Your wedding dress?’
She seized on this excuse with gratitude. ‘I haven’t even begun to look at wedding dresses, so you can see how it is...’
Alice, having finished her roll, had returned to plunder the picnic for more treats for the ducks but mention of a wedding drove them from her mind. ‘Can I be your bridesmaid, Faith? My friend Charlotte was a bridesmaid.’
‘I’m sure that Faith knows a lot of little girls who would like to be her bridesmaid,’ Harry intervened.
‘I’m just having two of my own friends, Alice. Grown up bridesmaids.’ She glanced at Harry. ‘I was supposed to be meeting them yesterday, too, but I’ve had to leave them to organise their own dresses.’
‘Why don’t you leave everything to them?’ he suggested.
‘It’s my wedding.’
Alice, tugged at her sleeve. ‘Could I be a flower girl, then? My friend Charlotte was a flower girl when her—’
‘Alice,’ Harry said, firmly, ‘you have to wait to be asked.’
Alice turned to Faith, her eyes very big, very blue, just like her Uncle Harry’s, and waited to be asked. ‘I could bring my own flowers,’ she prompted, hopefully. ‘Uncle Harry would let me pick some from his garden.’
Faith floundered, melted, found herself saying, ‘Well, I suppose I should have one flower girl. We’ll have to ask your mother.’
She couldn’t believe that she was doing this.
‘Elizabeth will be thrilled,’ Harry said, confidently. ‘She’ll be so grateful that Alice will at last be able to get one up on the ghastly Char—’ Faith glared and he turned Charlotte in a cough. ‘If she isn’t home by then I’ll bring Alice myself. I’d be interested to meet your missionary.’
‘He’s not—’ She stopped. There was no point in repeating herself endlessly. He was only doing it to annoy her. His smile, all strong white even teeth, proved it.
‘Can we buy my dress tomorrow?’ Alice asked.
‘Your dress?’ Faith felt the ground being swept relentlessly from beneath her feet. Another complication. As if there weren’t enough already.
‘Flower girls have to have special dresses,’ Alice informed her, importantly. ‘My friend Charlotte had a pink one. With lots of frills. And ribbons. And she had pink satin shoes and flowers in her hair—’
‘Pink ones?’ Harry intervened somewhat dryly and Alice nodded happily. ‘However did I guess?’ Faith bit her lower lip to prevent herself emitting a slightly hysterical laugh. Clearly Alice was taking the whole thing very seriously. ‘We’ll go into Melchester tomorrow, sweetheart and choose one,’ he continued. ‘If Faith doesn’t mind?’ The look he turned on her was darkly amused, like the devil in a good mood, she thought as the desire to laugh rapidly deserted her. Only the hysteria remained. ‘It will give you a chance to look at wedding dresses. Maybe you could find one with lots of frills and ribbons to suit you as well?’
‘Are you mad?’ Faith was finally driven to demand. ‘Bridal shops don’t expect the bride to
bring along a bunch of children to the fitting. They usually come later.’
‘Usually,’ he agreed. She felt the treacherous colour rise to her cheeks, but he was refilling her glass and didn’t seem to notice. ‘We’ll have to take Alice, anyway,’ he pointed out. ‘And Ben will sleep through most of it if we time it right. We’d better leave straight after breakfast. And don’t worry about the rest of it. If only you’d explained yesterday instead of being so ridiculously coy. Heavens, anyone would think you weren’t eager—’
‘Of course I’m eager!’ Last week she had been bubbling with plans, had her lists all drawn up, couldn’t wait to get started on the arrangements. Then Harry March, with his blue eyes and scar-riven face had sent Janet a frantic SOS and now her life was getting more complicated by the minute. ‘Do you think I’d get engaged on some…some whim?’ she demanded.
He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘People get engaged for all sorts of reasons.’
‘Do they?’ She interrupted him before he could ask her reason for marrying Julian. ‘So why did you get engaged to Miss Clementine Norwood when you had no intention of marrying her? Tell me that.’ Then, as she realised what she had said, her hand flew to her mouth as if to stop the words. But it was too late.
Harry’s mouth had tightened almost imperceptibly, his blue eyes taking on a steely tone in the shadows beneath the willow and as he reached for her hand, pulled it away from her mouth as if to see the lips that had uttered such shocking words, her heart began to pound with an intensity that almost choked her.
Alice had wandered off to pick daisies so that she could practise her role as flower girl. Ben was sleeping. The only sound was that of the world turning to the accompaniment of the river and the sleepy quacking of the ducks settling down for the night.
‘Well?’ Harry asked, very quietly. ‘Have you finally lost your tongue?’
‘Not lost it,’ Faith murmured, desperate to look away, but unable to escape eyes like hot sapphires. ‘But my foot seems to be stuck in my mouth. Right up to the ankle.’
‘This will help,’ he said, with unexpected sympathy, refilling her glass and putting it in her hand before releasing her. Then, his face close to hers, he touched his own glass to hers, ‘To promises, Faith.’
