‘When do you have to be back?’ he asked.
‘I’m not expected back until later tonight. One of Mum’s friends is coming around for a visit later, and she’s offered to help Mum get Dad into bed.’
‘I could do with a change of clothes. How would you like to see my country house?’ Jonathan grinned at her.
Rose pulled a face. ‘Of course you have two houses. Why didn’t I think of that?’
‘Er, two houses here, plus the family home. I’m afraid there are another couple abroad.’ He held up his hands. ‘Nothing to do with me. My father collects houses like other people collect hats.’
‘What? And just passes them on to you?’
Jonathan looked offended again. ‘He gave me the town house. I admit that. Simply to avoid inheritance tax. But the one I’m planning to take you to is all mine. I think you’ll find it interesting. Come on, what do you say? In fact, I’d really like your opinion. Ashley tells me I should decorate, but that’s not really my forte and I haven’t a clue what to do.’
‘Why don’t you pay an interior designer to do it? Their taste is bound to be much more like yours.’ But she couldn’t help feeling curious. What kind of house did Jonathan like to call home?
‘Okay, then,’ she capitulated. ‘Why not? But I’m warning you, I’ll tell you truly what I think—no messing around. I have to be honest, your town house is not my cup of tea.’ She had seen it once when she had brought over some urgent letters for Jonathan to sign. The opulent interior hadn’t seemed to fit with the Jonathan she was getting to know.
Jonathan’s grin grew wider. ‘To tell you the truth, it’s not mine either. That’s what happened when I let an interior designer loose—that was my cousin’s idea—not mine by the way. It’s like living in a boutique. Or a hotel. I’m not going to risk that again.’
So a medical secretary, a nurse, now an interior designer. If she wasn’t careful, she’d be taking on the role of housekeeper too.
Once they had flown back to London the drive took just under an hour. Jonathan drove fast, but he was a careful driver and Rose settled back and watched the countryside flash past. She still wasn’t sure what she was doing or, more to the point, what Jonathan wanted from her.
Eventually he turned into a long sweeping driveway. Instead of following the driveway, Jonathan pulled up outside a small house close to the gates. It was a typical gatehouse of the type Rose had seen at the gates of every stately home she had ever visited—as a fee-paying visitor, that was.
‘Here we are,’ Jonathan said as he switched off the ignition. ‘We can go up to the main house and say hello to Mary later. She’s the cook.’ His eyes softened. ‘Actually, she’s a damn sight more than a cook. She’s lived in the house since before my mother died. She’s been like a second mother to me.’
He opened the door to the gatehouse and stood aside for Rose to enter. There was a small hallway, not much bigger than the one in her parents’ house. To the left was a sitting room. It was furnished simply with deep leather sofas and a couple of side tables. There was an open fireplace and in front of it a worn but beautiful rug. All along the side were bookshelves, and directly opposite where they were standing a window seat overlooked the garden. On the walls were more paintings like the ones in Jonathan’s consulting rooms. The house was unexpected and a delight. Rose instantly fell in love with the room.
‘There’s another sitting room through here and a dining room and a kitchen. Upstairs there are three bedrooms.’
Whatever Rose had expected, it wasn’t this. Somehow she’d imagined something full of boys’ toys, not this cosy little house. It seemed she was constantly getting Jonathan wrong.
‘It’s perfect,’ she said. ‘I can’t see why you want to redecorate.’
Jonathan looked baffled. ‘That’s what I keep telling people. But Ashley seems to think it needs to be brought up to date.’
‘I wouldn’t change a thing,’ Rose said adamantly. ‘But, of course, it’s not my house.’
Jonathan smiled at her and her heart did the strange little somersault it always did whenever he looked at her that way.
‘In that case, I’m going to leave it the way it is. I like it. I can put my feet up on the table and I can turn around without worrying I’m going to knock over some ornament or another.’ He paused for a moment. ‘It feels more like home than any place I’ve ever lived.’
While Jonathan disappeared to get changed, Rose walked across to the bookshelf. There were the usual classics as well as a number of thrillers. There was also a pile of medical journals on the floor. On the side table was a photograph of a woman and a man. They had their arms wrapped around each other as they picnicked on the lawn. Rose recognised the gatehouse in the background. She picked up the photograph for a better look. The woman was rather plain looking, except for her eyes which were an arresting shade of green. The man could have been a younger Jonathan.
‘Your parents?’ she asked Jonathan when he returned.
He took the photograph from her and Rose caught her breath at the look of sadness that washed over his face.
‘Yes,’ he said heavily. ‘It was taken on their seventh wedding anniversary. Mother died shortly after that.’ He placed the frame back on the table. It was the only photograph in the room. ‘It didn’t take long for Dad to remarry. Six months, I think it was. He recently divorced his third wife. I guess he’s a man who can’t stand his own company.’
The bitterness in his voice shook Rose.
‘Don’t you get on with him?’
Jonathan laughed harshly and turned away from her to look out of the window.
‘No. I guess you could say we don’t get on. He didn’t want me to go in for medicine. He thought as the only son I should take over the family business. I don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for not doing what he wanted. And I can’t forgive him for forgetting about my mother so soon. He could at least have waited a decent period before marrying again.’
‘Maybe he wanted to provide some stability for you? Perhaps he thought he was doing the right thing?’ She walked across the room and touched him on the shoulder. ‘Perhaps he’s never been able to forget her and that’s why he keeps marrying?’
Jonathan turned to face her. He ran a finger down her jaw. ‘Ah, Rose. Trying to find the best in people all the time. When will you learn that there’s not many people like you?’
‘Hey, don’t make me out to be some kind of saint. It makes me sound so boring.’
‘One thing you’re not is boring, Rose Taylor.’ She held her breath as he tipped her face so he could see into her eyes. She was sure he was going to kiss her and her heart was pounding so hard she could almost hear the rush of blood in her ears. She closed her eyes, anticipating the feel of his lips on hers.
His mouth brushed hers in the lightest of kisses. She opened her eyes to find him looking down at her intently.
‘Come on, let’s take a walk up to the main house. We can see if there’s any dinner going. If not, we’ll go back to the village to find a pub. How does that sound?’
What just happened there? Rose thought, bewildered. Had she misread all his signals? It was perfectly possible. Once again she was reminded that she didn’t know how men like Jonathan operated. All she did know was that she felt a thudding disappointment.
Jonathan read the confusion in Rose’s eyes. She wasn’t to know it had taken all his willpower to pull back from her. For the first time ever with a woman he wanted to take it slowly. She was becoming too important for him to rush things. He wanted to woo her gently—take his time, make everything perfect. She was too important to him to treat her as if she were simply another woman he took to his bed. He was beginning to suspect that he had found the missing part to him and the thought filled him with dismay. In his soul, he knew Rose wasn’t someone who would love lightly. He owed it to her, and to himself, to be sure he wouldn’t hurt her before he let things go any further. He bit back a groan. He had never thought about a futu
re with any woman before, but it seemed finally he might have met the woman who could change his life. He was in deep trouble.
It was a substantial walk up to the house. As they turned a bend in the driveway the house came into view and Rose gasped. It was a beautiful large Georgian house, the facade grand but graceful. There were too many windows to count but Rose guessed that there had to be at least ten, possibly more, bedrooms.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she whispered. ‘Quite stunning.’ ‘I suppose it is,’ Jonathan said thoughtfully. ‘But to me it’s just the house I was brought up in.’
They walked up a number of steps towards an ornate front door and stepped into the hall.
‘Anyone at home?’ Jonathan called out. ‘It’s Jonathan.’ His call was greeted with silence. ‘Mrs Hammond, the housekeeper, is probably in her office. Let’s have a look in the kitchen. Mary, our cook, is always in there. She’s probably grabbing a snooze. Dad wanted to retire her years ago, but she won’t have it. Says she’ll go mad without anything to do. You’ll like her. She still bakes every afternoon.’ He sniffed the air appreciatively. ‘In fact, I’m sure I can smell scones.’
He led her across the hall and down some stairs and along another passage with several doors leading off. ‘In my grandparents’ day this was the servants’ quarters. At that time there were at least twenty people working in the house. Now it’s just Mrs Hammond and Mary who live in. A couple of women come from the village every day to help with the cleaning. Most of the rooms are shut up. Dad only keeps the rooms he’s using open, unless he has visitors. Then we draft in some more help.’
They followed the smell of baking to the end of the passage and turned left into the largest kitchen Rose had ever seen. There was an enormous old-fashioned range to one side and a huge scrubbed pine table in the centre. On top of the table was a pile of recently baked scones as well as a carrot cake. On the other side was a bowl of chopped vegetables. In the corner of the room was an armchair with a figure that, as he’d anticipated, was sleeping, snoring gently.
Jonathan tiptoed towards the sleeping figure and gently touched her on the arm. The old woman mumbled in her sleep before coming to. Faded grey eyes looked up in confusion, before the woman’s face broke into a wide smile.
‘Master Jonathan! How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that? You’ll frighten me to death one of these days. I keep telling you, this old heart can’t take surprises.’
‘And I keep telling you that there’s nothing wrong with your old heart,’ Jonathan teased.
‘Who is this?’ Mary struggled to get up. Jonathan placed a helping hand under her elbow until the older woman had heaved herself to her feet.
‘This is Rose. A friend.’
The faded grey eyes grew sharp. ‘A friend, huh? You’ve never brought a friend down here before. Does she know what she’s letting herself in for? And what does Lord Cavendish have to say?’
‘Who I’m friends with has nothing to do with my father, Mary.’
Rose stretched her hand out. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mary. I don’t think Lord Cavendish and I are very likely to meet. Jonathan and I aren’t that kind of friends.’ All the same, she couldn’t help feel offended. Cheek.
‘Hey, don’t mind me, love.’ She ruffled Jonathan’s hair as if he were about ten years old. ‘Jonathan here could do with a good woman. Someone with a bit of heart instead of the type he usually runs around with.’ She sniffed disapprovingly.
‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ Rose offered, not knowing what else to say.
‘No, away you go and wait in the drawing room. I’ll bring up a tray shortly.’
‘I’d rather stay down here, if we won’t get in your way,’ Rose said. ‘It’s such a cosy room.’
Mary sent another sharp look Rose’s way. Then she seemed to make up her mind. Her mouth turned up in the faintest of smiles.
‘I think you might have found a good ‘un, Master Jonathan. None of those other women would think of stepping down here to say hello to an old woman. It would be beneath them.’ Her eyes grew moist. ‘Not like your mother, love. No airs and graces about her. She was never happier than when she was down here, sitting in that chair, chatting away to me, her dress and her hands covered in paint. She’d even roll up her sleeves and tackle a bit of baking when the mood took her. She just laughed when your dad told her it wasn’t appropriate.’ There was another loud sniff. ‘This place has never been the same since she passed away. Bless her soul.’ Now Rose knew who had painted the wonderful landscapes that hung on his walls at the surgery and his home. Jonathan’s mother had been a wonderfully talented artist.
She sat back down in her chair while Rose put the kettle on the stove and found the tea things.
‘You said hello to your father yet, son?’ Mary asked Jonathan, while she watched what Rose was doing from the corner of her eye.
‘Dad is here?’ Jonathan said, sounding surprised. ‘I thought he was in America on business.’
‘He came back last night. Brought some woman with him. She’s staying the weekend, so he tells me. She’s already making all sorts of demands as if she owns the place. Get the rooms all opened up! Send to the village for more staff! She won’t believe me when I tell her that we can manage perfectly well. She’s already wrapped Mrs Hammond around her little finger by saying she needs more help. Well, that’s your father for you. There’s nothing like an old fool.’
A bell jangled furiously. Mary glanced to her left where a row of old-fashioned bells hung in a row. ‘That’s her. Probably looking for her afternoon tea in the sitting room.’ Mary began to heave herself out of her chair. ‘I suppose I’d better get a tray sorted for them.’
‘You just stay where you are, Mary. They can wait a moment or two.’ Jonathan squatted on his heels next to the old woman. ‘Maybe they’re right. More help would make life a lot easier for you. I thought you had people in from the village during the day? Where are they?’
‘Oh, they’re away home. They only do the cleaning. Said that’s all they’re paid for. And they’re right. Mrs Hammond wants to get another cook, someone who’s lighter on their feet. Someone who’s younger and can manage to take trays up and down all day.’ Mary folded her arms and her face took on a mutinous look. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been here all my life and the only way anyone’s going to get me out of here is in a wooden box.’
Although Rose’s heart went out to the older woman, she had to hide a smile. She was getting the distinct impression that no one was able to make Mary do anything she didn’t want to. This Mrs Hammond, whoever she was, sounded like a sergeant-major. And as for Lord Cavendish’s friend, she sounded as if she’d be better off at the Ritz.
‘Tell you what, why don’t you and Jonathan have your tea and a chat? If you tell me how to fix the tray, I’ll take it upstairs for you. I’ll introduce myself while I’m at it. And while I’m away, you can tell Jonathan about those chest pains you’ve been having.’
‘How did you know? I mean, what chest pains? There’s nothing wrong with me.’
‘Yes, there is,’ Rose said gently. ‘I saw the way you were rubbing your chest when you got up a few moments ago. And you seem a little short of breath. It’s probably nothing, but worth getting checked out.’ She pretended to look fierce. ‘Especially if, as you say, you plan to stick around for a few years yet.’
‘Now, Mary. Why didn’t you tell me?’ Jonathan said, frowning. ‘You know I would have come to see you long before now if I’d thought you needed me.’
‘Take no notice of Rose. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.’ But something in their expressions must have told her that further protests would be a waste of time. ‘Oh, well, then, if you have to have a look, go on. But don’t you go saying anything to anyone, mind.’
While Jonathan returned to the cottage to fetch his stethoscope, Rose laid the tray under Mary’s guidance. ‘Just point me in the right direction. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve handed this
over.’
‘It’s the third door on the right at the stop of the stairs.’ She paused and her mouth lifted in a smile. ‘And if you could tell Lady Muck or whatever her name is that there has never been dandelion tea in my kitchen as long as I’ve been cook and there’s no way it will ever be served here as long as I’ve breath in my body, I’d appreciate it.’
Rose carried the tray up the sweeping staircase until she got to the top. She smiled to herself. Now waitress was being added to her list of jobs.
She found the room she was looking for. The door was open, so she coughed and entered. A man got to his feet and instantly she recognised Jonathan’s father from his photograph. He shared the same arrogant nose and wide mouth as well as thick brown hair with his son.
‘Hello?’ Lord Cavendish raised an eyebrow. ‘You must be new. I don’t think I’ve met you before.’ His voice was welcoming, but more than that, to her chagrin, Rose was aware of his eyes sweeping across her body in the most disconcerting way.
‘Just leave the tray over there.’ The woman who had been looking out the window turned and waved at Rose with a dismissive hand. She was considerably younger than Lord Cavendish, closer to Rose’s age, possibly a year or two older.
‘I’m not new,’ Rose said, placing the tray on a coffee table in front of the sofa. ‘I’m here with Jonathan. He’s having a look at Mary downstairs. She’s not feeling too great, so I offered to bring the tray up for her.’
Lord Cavendish’s eyes clouded with concern and something else—could it be surprise?
‘Jonathan is here? To see Mary? Why didn’t she say she was feeling unwell? I’ll go and see her myself.’ He hurried out of the room, leaving Rose alone with his guest.
Prince Charming of Harley Street / The Heart Doctor and the Baby Page 10
