A Convenient Wedding

by Lucy Gordon

  Hannah gave a snort that showed what she thought of that notion, beefed up the fire, announced that she’d return later, and marched out.

  The excitements of the day, plus jet lag, were beginning to catch up with Meryl. It was cosy here by the fire, and tempting to look into the heart of the red glow, feeling the comfortable warmth enfold her, and let her thoughts drift.

  They began to float through her mind in an unbroken stream, so that the dark moor blended into her first confrontation with Jarvis Larne, barring her way, being thoroughly rude to her-but then he too slipped away and she was in the icy water, struggling from the car to be hauled out of the water by a man who lifted her as if she was a feather. And the hardness of his broad chest had felt good.

  None of the men she knew made her feel good. They were focused, self-conscious, measuring every word, dressed in elegant suits. They charmed her and were pleasant company, but there wasn’t one she would have gone to with her problems.

  But why should she? She was the fabulously wealthy Meryl Winters, who bought whatever she wanted and had no problems.

  After a while she yawned and stretched, thinking how inviting the big four-poster looked. She unhooked the curtains and drew them about the bed, discovering that they did indeed shut out the draughts. Perhaps there was something to be said for medieval life, after all.

  But she changed her mind when she climbed onto the medieval mattress, which seemed to be stuffed with medieval turnips.

  This must be where they put their guests when they don’t want them to come back, she thought. It would be the first thing to change-if I was going to stay here.

  CHAPTER THREE

  S HE awoke to semi-darkness. Then she drew back the curtains to reveal a room where the light was fighting to get through the cracks. Bounding out of bed, she pulled back the window curtains and the sun flooded in.

  The storm had passed, and before her lay the glory of an English spring morning. Her room faced the land, and there was the causeway, a barely visible ribbon under several feet of water. To her left was a small town with a harbour where several masted boats bobbed on glinting water. Across the causeway she could see the road she’d travelled the night before, leading far inland, back onto green moors, and then further on to where the land rose and became darker.

  Entranced, Meryl opened the tall windows and stepped out into the bright morning light. From this little balcony she could look further around her at the sea, which moved gently after the storm of the previous night.

  Suddenly she found herself standing totally still, and holding her breath as though she was waiting for something to happen. A peace seemed to settle over her as she listened to the blessed quiet. Not silence, because she could hear the call of sea birds and the soft plash of the waves, but those sounds seemed, mysteriously, to be only a part of the peace. Above her the sky was a deep blue, cloudless, except for a few white puffs.

  Like rabbits’ tails, she thought with a smile.

  Once the smile started it couldn’t stop, spreading until it took her over completely. She raised her head, closing her eyes to feel the warmth on her face, and taking deep breaths of the freshest air she’d ever known.

  She showered in the antiquated bathroom, to a symphony of clanks from the plumbing, and emerged just as Hannah came bustling in with her suit, that had survived its ordeal thanks to skilled care. She also brought a pot of coffee.

  ‘We normally have tea, but I made coffee for you especially-you being an American.’

  Her tone suggested that she was dealing with an alien and exotic species, and Meryl hid a smile.

  ‘Thank you, Hannah, this coffee is lovely,’ she said after a few sips. This was erring slightly on the side of generosity, but she felt tact would serve her better than candour.

  ‘When you’re ready come down to breakfast. It’s in the Morning Room, next door but one to the Library, where you were last night.’ She eyed Meryl’s slim figure. ‘You poor soul, you look starved. Never mind. I’ll feed you up.’

  Nothing since her arrival had unnerved Meryl quite as much as this threat. It was with some caution that she descended the stairway a few minutes later and made her way to the Morning Room, wondering if Jarvis Larne would greet her with a vat of boiling oil perched on the door.

  But nothing happened as she carefully pushed open the door and peered inside. At first she thought the room was empty, but then a voice said,

  ‘Hello, there? Are you inspecting your domain?’

  By the window stood a very slender young man, of medium height. His voice was light and his blue eyes looked as though they laughed a lot. He was regarding Meryl’s entrance quizzically.

  ‘My domain?’ she asked, regarding him askance.

  ‘It will be if you become Lady Larne.’

  ‘What makes you think-?’ Light dawned. ‘Ferdy,’ she said. ‘Ferdy Ashton.’

  His impish face brightened. ‘Fame at last.’

  She came to stand with him in the window. ‘You’d better get out of here before Lord Larne murders you-or I do. How dare you write me that letter!’

  ‘I had to. Jarvis was being difficult about it.’

  ‘When I’ve finished with you, you’ll know the meaning of “difficult”.’

  He looked hurt. ‘I just wanted to help my friend out of trouble. He needs money badly, and you have it. It’s really very simple.’

  ‘Except that he and I took an instant dislike to each other. You never thought of that, did you?’

  ‘I know he’s not an easy man, but I didn’t think you’d just turn up without warning. I was going to manage it carefully so that you’d take to each other.’

  ‘You’d have to be a magician for that. It was a disaster.’

  ‘So I’ve heard. Jarvis called me first thing this morning and spoke his mind very plainly. He wants my blood.’

  ‘He can join the queue. I want your blood.’

  ‘Ah, now, that’s a different prospect.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘And stop trying to charm me. It doesn’t work.’

  But she was lying.

  He knew it, and she knew he knew it. Charm paid his passage through life, and in her eyes it was a fair currency. There weren’t enough charming people in the world, and trying to be cross with this one was like trying to reprove a sunny-tempered child.

  ‘The rage he was in, I’m surprised he waited until this morning,’ she reflected.

  ‘He didn’t. He called last night, but I was out, so he left a message that nearly burned up my answering machine, and he called me again early this morning, ordering me to get myself over here, fast.’

  ‘How did you get here while it’s still high tide?’

  He laughed. ‘It isn’t still high tide. It’s high tide again. I have a little boat that I keep tied up on the shore. My sister, Sarah, insisted on coming with me. She’s gone in search of Jarvis. I warn you, she has designs on him.’

  ‘You mean she’s in love with him?’ Meryl asked, dismayed. ‘In that case maybe I should back off.’

  ‘Forget it. Jarvis has known Sarah most of his life, and if he’d wanted to marry her he’d have done it by now. But their only link is horses. He loves riding. She owns a riding stable, does a bit of breeding. The trouble is, she’s fixated on bloodlines, in people as well as horses. The Ashtons are “good family”.’

  ‘I’m glad you told me,’ she said, amused.

  ‘Yes, you’d never have known that I’m “the Honourable Ferdinand” would you?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have called you honourable in a million years.’

  He grinned. ‘Well, I’m officially honourable. The Ashtons have married the Larnes before, and now Sarah thinks nobody else has any right to him. But love? No way. Just watch out in case she poisons your tea.’

  ‘If he doesn’t do it first.’

  ‘He improves on acquaintance.’

  ‘So I should hope,’ she said darkly.

  ‘You don’t think you mig
ht get to like him?’

  ‘Not if I live to be a hundred!’

  ‘That’s funny. He said the same thing about you.’

  ‘I don’t know why I’m even talking to you,’ she said, exasperated. ‘If I’d drowned it would have been your fault.’

  ‘But you didn’t. It was fate bringing you to us so that you could marry Jarvis, hand over impossible amounts of cash and save this place from falling down. Do you have impossible amounts of cash, by the way?’

  ‘Totally impossible,’ she assured him.

  ‘I thought so. I looked you up. You really are Craddock Winters’s daughter, aren’t you? Oil wells, etc.’

  ‘But he doesn’t believe that. He thinks I’m a journalist.’

  ‘Not any more. I’ve put him right. Jarvis needs a great deal of money, quickly.’

  ‘But if he doesn’t want to take mine, we’re no further forward,’ she pointed out. ‘And you still have to persuade me to waste even five minutes on a man who dislikes me almost as much as I dislike him. It’s a small point, but I thought I’d mention it.’

  ‘You’re right,’ he agreed solemnly. ‘One should always pinpoint the problems at the start. Then we can proceed to Stage Two-solving them.’

  ‘Don’t build your hopes up, Ferdy. As soon as my car’s been located and I’ve recovered my stuff I’m-’

  She’d meant to say ‘I’m out of here,’ but she was standing by the French door with the sun on her face and the words died. All the sensations that had assailed her on the balcony returned with greater force. Moving automatically, she pushed open the door and found herself in the garden.

  Here everything grew in profusion. Someone had tried to create a kind of order, but in a desultory fashion, so that there was none of the precision neatness that could make a garden appear soulless. Again there was the blessed sense of peace, and the realisation that she had never known it before today.

  She began to wander along a path, slightly overgrown but passable. It twisted and turned and she followed it eagerly, stopping once or twice to look at the trees laden with blossoms. After the previous night’s storm everything was dripping. A large drop of water went down her neck, but she only laughed.

  Ferdy trotted after her, a few feet away, watching her every move.

  ‘It ought to be better kept than this,’ he said, ‘but it’s a big job. And I’ve got plans.’

  ‘You’re the gardener?’

  ‘I do a bit, to make up to Jarvis for falling behind with my rent. I live in one of his cottages, inland.’

  ‘Do you do anybody else’s gardening?’

  ‘No, I’m a painter by trade. I just potter about this place to save him having to pay a gardener.’

  ‘And he doesn’t mind you getting behind with the rent? That doesn’t sound like the charmer I met.’

  ‘We were at school together. I probably know him better than anyone.’

  ‘And you thought he’d take to the idea of a strange woman?’

  ‘Not right away. He’s a very proud man. But if you’d only-ah, well, never mind. You blew it, but I forgive you.’

  ‘I-? You have an almighty cheek, do you know that?’

  ‘I’m famed for it.’

  They squabbled amiably as he showed her around the rest of the garden. It was impossible to be seriously annoyed with him, and the bright spring morning made her feel too good for annoyance anyway. She told him about her running argument with Larry Rivers, and Ferdy was highly entertained.

  ‘I think I’d like you to be Lady Larne,’ he said at last.

  ‘Thus saving your rent-free cottage?’ she supplied, reading him without trouble.

  ‘Exactly,’ he said, unashamed. ‘Don’t be in a hurry to leave. Give us a chance. You might like us. And Larne is beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ she said slowly. ‘Last night it tried to kill me. This morning-it’s amazing. I can’t believe it’s the same place.’

  ‘It’s got more moods than you can think of. Stay at least a few days.’

  She listened to the quiet again. It was made up of soft sounds, like birdsong and the muted roar of the sea. And if she went back? Noise, the smell of gasoline, fighting. Ferdy was shrewd enough to say nothing, watching her intently.

  At last she gave a sigh, like someone reluctantly leaving a dream. ‘You’re forgetting,’ she said, ‘that my “fiancé” is about to boot me out.’

  ‘But that’ll take time,’ Ferdy said. ‘You can’t leave until your car is found.’

  They smiled like conspirators, and Ferdy drew her arm through his.

  ‘Let’s go in to breakfast,’ he said.

  As they neared the house Meryl saw Jarvis waiting for them, and had a slight shock. Coming upon him unexpectedly, without time to hoist her prejudices into place, she realised that there really was something to be said for him after all. It wasn’t his height, or the width of his shoulders. It wasn’t even the proud set of his head, or his air of authority; nor the way he was looking at her, like a man willing to admire but keeping his powder dry.

  It was none of these, and all of them. And then it was something extra that would have made him stand out in any group of men. If they’d met at any other time she knew she would have found him interesting.

  He approached and spoke with formal courtesy. ‘Miss Winters, I hope you slept well last night.’

  ‘Fine, thank you,’ she said, stretching the truth a bit. This wasn’t the moment to mention turnips.

  ‘I must say,’ he continued, ‘you look better in those clothes than what you were wearing when we last met.’

  Into her mind there flashed the memory of her own moment of nakedness the night before. Quickly she raised her eyes to his face, and heard his swift intake of breath as he read her involuntary message. ‘You mean-your bathrobe,’ she said.

  ‘Of course,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m sorry it was too large-’

  It was the wrong thing to say. The memory was there between them again. He stepped back as though scorched.

  A woman appeared and Jarvis hastened to introduce her as Sarah Ashton. Meryl judged Sarah to be in her late twenties, with fair hair and a fine aristocratic face, not pretty but handsome. Ferdy had said she ‘had designs’ on Jarvis, and certainly she was looking at Meryl with blatant dislike. But she greeted her politely and stood aside to let her pass into the room. Then she took the place at table next to Jarvis and closest to the teapot.

  ‘Perhaps you would prefer coffee?’ she asked of Meryl.

  ‘I like English tea.’

  ‘Oh, really? Do you drink it very much in America?’

  Meryl’s lips twitched. ‘Well, America isn’t on the moon, you know.’

  Sarah presided over breakfast, assuming the role of lady of the house, terrifyingly gracious to Meryl, treating her like any casual visitor. If Meryl had been easily intimidated she would have gone down before this onslaught, but she had a determination that matched Sarah’s any day.

  She soon sensed that Jarvis was uneasy, and it puzzled her that he shouldn’t have regained his poise. An English lord must surely be enough of a man of the world to cope, even with this situation. She addressed a pleasant remark to him. He answered politely but didn’t follow through, and Sarah steamed in to take over.

  It was taking all Jarvis’s self-control to feign indifference. As Meryl had expected, a night’s sleep had restored his temper and he’d been prepared to meet her in a moderately friendly spirit. He would help find her car, and send her on her way with no hard feelings.

  That was before he’d talked to Ferdy.

  The discovery that this woman was as wealthy as she claimed had appalled him. If he became friendly now she really would think him a fortune-hunter, switching on his smiles for the sake of her money. He groaned inwardly as he recalled some of the things he’d said last night.

  He’d watched her with Ferdy in the garden, deep in animated conversation. There was something magnificent about her. And he’d called her passably pretty. H
ow her green eyes had glittered with indignation.

  There could be no peace with such a woman, and no man in his right mind would want her around, disrupting his life. But she was splendid, like fire. And as dangerous.

  He had tried not to dwell on the memory of her nakedness, but now he abandoned virtue and dwelt on it with pleasure. How could a woman be so slim and yet so beautifully rounded at the same time? Long, elegant thighs, delicately flared hips, a waist so tiny that his hands could almost have met around it-

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ he said hastily, realising that Sarah had spoken to him.

  ‘Do you want some more toast, Jarvis?’

  ‘No,’ he said hurriedly. ‘No, thank you.’

  Sarah continued to steer the conversation magisterially, inviting Meryl to talk about herself, her family background. After Ferdy’s words about bloodlines she thought she could see where this was leading, and decided to have a little fun of her own.

  ‘Daddy was Craddock Winters-’

  ‘Of oil well fame,’ Ferdy put in.

  ‘But nobody knows about his family,’ Meryl continued serenely. ‘He was born in a shack because that was all his daddy could afford-at least, the man we think was his daddy, but his mom was a very popular lady and-’

  ‘You’re overdoing it,’ Ferdy muttered.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes,’ Jarvis added, but he hid his mouth behind his hand.

  Only Sarah, with no sense of irony, ploughed on. ‘That must have made your youth very difficult. Unfortunate ancestors can be so hard to live down.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Meryl said, her voice becoming more theatrically twangy by the moment. ‘Because by the time I was knee-high to a grasshopper we were rich. Of course we were still common as muck, but when you’re rich nobody calls you that. Leastways, not to your face. ’Course, when they talk to their friends they can say you’re a vulgar, jumped-up little so-and-so with no breedin’ or style.’

  Jarvis’s head shot up. ‘I never said-’

  He drew a sharp breath as he saw the fool’s trap she’d lured him into. Meryl’s eyes were challenging, filled with laughter.