The Earl of London

by Louise Bay

“We’ll leave you an extra pot of jam,” Mrs. Lonsdale said. “That will be a nice welcome. And you might take some roses—they’re looking beautiful, Darcy. You can tell him the story about how your grandmother planted them because of the roses at Badsley.”

  These women didn’t know how to take no for an answer.

  I’d sooner take a pitchfork than a selection of my grandmother’s roses. At least that way I could threaten to slice and dice the guy if he flew a helicopter over Woolton again. As much as I might have admired his outside earlier today, his ethics and attitude were much more important to me. I’d devoted my life to Woolton Hall and the traditions of our village, and I’d do whatever it took to ensure Badsley House’s new owner didn’t disrupt any of that.

  Four

  Logan

  I’d finally done it. At last, my grandmother was back in the home she’d grown up in. The house that she’d given up for me. I was finally able to repay her sacrifice in a small way.

  Holding a tray of tea, I opened the French doors with my elbow and stepped out onto the terrace. I’d spent the last few days working from home while we got settled in our new house, which meant afternoon tea on a Wednesday was part of my day when ordinarily the afternoon would pass in a blur of conference calls, meetings and briefings.

  “There you are. I thought you’d got lost,” my grandmother said as I placed the tray down in front of her.

  “I’m still finding my way around.” My grandmother may have grown up in a place like this, but I hadn’t. The two of us had lived in a two-bedroom terraced house when I was growing up. Technically, I might be a member of the British aristocracy, but I’d learned quickly that titles didn’t provide anything I needed growing up. And they absolutely were no guarantee of financial success—that was all down to hard work and focus.

  I took a seat facing the neatly manicured gardens. The land immediately surrounding the house was divided into various sections—a walled area full of herbs and vegetables just outside the kitchen, one to the west that was nothing but roses, and three additional sections that—according to the gardener—were divided by color, although it was too early in the year to see. The terrace overlooked steps down to a pond and various raised flowerbeds. I could see why my grandmother had loved this place.

  “It’s a huge house. I’d forgotten quite how big. You really didn’t need to do this,” she said, shaking her head. “You know I was perfectly happy at my little bungalow.”

  “I wanted to do this.” More than wanted, I’d needed to do this.

  My grandmother sighed and patted my hand. “It was never your mistake to fix.”

  “This house was yours and was taken from you. I’m just giving it back—making things right for you in the way that you always made things right for me.” I placed the tea strainer over the rim of her porcelain cup and poured her a strong cup of oolong. “Anyway, you always told me that a man’s greatest strength was his ability to adapt—it will feel like home in no time.” I added a dash of milk to her cup but kept mine black.

  “Yes, but I meant to hardship,” she replied.

  She’d given up this place for me but never complained, never even mentioned it.

  “It works both ways, Granny.” I’d vowed to ensure that one day she’d get back the gardens she used to describe in my bedtime stories as a child. It wasn’t until I was older, looking through an old family photo album, that I realized how much she’d missed them. Things had come full circle now. She was back in the place she’d called home for so many years. I’d expected a sense of victory, but it was more a calming realization of this was how things were meant to be.

  She squeezed my hand. “It’s still a beautiful house and the gardens are no less spectacular all these years later.” She let me go and picked up her tea. “We’re lucky Mr. Fawsley agreed to stay on.” The previous owner’s gardener had been delighted when I’d asked him. He clearly enjoyed his work.

  “Have you met any other neighbors?” I asked, thinking back to the mud-soaked girl I’d met on Sunday. She’d said she was local.

  “No, but it’s early days, and as you know, I can’t get out much.”

  “I saw a farm shop at the far end of the village. I’ll take you down later in the week if you want.”

  “That’s a nice idea, but you can’t spend all your time with me. I want you to make friends around here, you hear me?”

  I chuckled. “Yes, Granny. In fact, I ran into a woman when I was out walking around the boundary on Sunday.”

  “Was she a neighbor?”

  “I think so. She seemed to know about the area.”

  “Was she friendly?”

  She hadn’t been unfriendly but she hadn’t been as pleased to see me as I might have expected. “I think she was a little distracted. Her horse bolted when I approached and she fell face first into the mud.”

  “Oh dear. This is a very different life to the one you have in London. Are you sure you’re ready?”

  My grandmother was right. I’d never had to hold a conversation with someone who was dripping in mud—apart from that one time in Vegas…That night had ended messily, but there hadn’t been much conversation involved. Darcy had the body for a little mud-wrestling, but I wasn’t sure she’d have the inclination. “I’ll still be in London most of the week. I think I can handle a little mud at the weekend.”

  “Was she pretty?”

  I paused, remembering her sodden hair and the way she’d refused my offer of my scarf to wipe the rivers of muddy water that ran down her face. “I guess.” There was no doubt Darcy was pretty—beautiful, even—with glossy brown hair that I’d spotted before she fell, deep brown and a great body. But she wasn’t my type. She was a lot shorter than the women I usually fucked. With a bloom to her cheeks and pale skin, she looked like the archetypal English rose. Her body, while phenomenal, wasn’t the usual gym-fit type I’d go for when looking for a girl for the night. She was softer, her arse a little bigger. And she seemed less into me than I was used to.

  But there had been something about her that drew me in and had me wanting our conversation to continue. I wasn’t sure if it was the unfamiliarity of her, or something deeper that had me hoping I would see her again and have the chance to…I wasn’t sure what. Touch her? Talk to her some more? Watch as her warm smile took over her face and warmed everything in its orbit?

  “I bet you’re the talk of the village. Rich, successful, handsome and without a wife. I can’t imagine there’s many men like you around these parts.”

  “I think you’re a little biased, and anyway, I told you—you don’t need to worry about my love life. I do fine.”

  “I’m not talking about sex,” she said. “I want you to find someone you can build a life with. When I’m gone—”

  “Granny,” I growled, interrupting her. “I don’t want you talking like that. You know you’re going to live forever.”

  “I certainly hope so, but I’d like to see you settled down. You’re not getting any younger.”

  “You’re hitting me high and low with the compliments. Give me a break. I’m thirty-five.”

  “Yes, exactly. You’ve had plenty of time to play the field. It’s time, my boy.”

  “You don’t need to worry, I’m putting down roots,” I said, lifting my chin toward the gardens. I didn’t spend time and energy playing at anything. I didn’t take on things I didn’t know if I could make work, but once I committed to something, it got my undivided attention. That approach had made me a lot of money, which was what I’d been aiming for. But it also meant that anything personal was a distraction. Women were simply a way of blowing off steam. Buying this house was the biggest personal commitment I’d ever made and was ever likely to make.

  “That will have to do for now. But don’t make this lady wait too long for great-grandchildren. This house is plenty big enough.”

  Great-grandchildren? Getting the semi-regular lectures about not having a wife was bad enough. “I’ve told you before, children aren
’t on my horizon.” Fatherhood was something I’d do everything to avoid. It wasn’t the kind of man I was. The only family that mattered to me and the only family I’d ever have was sitting right before me. “I’m sure this garden will keep you plenty busy enough.”

  “It is beautiful,” she said. “But not more beautiful than a family.”

  That hadn’t been my blueprint growing up—my family had been anything but beautiful. It had been sad, turbulent and chaotic and everything I didn’t want to repeat. “And you’re sure that you don’t mind me using the land out of the view of the house?” I asked, changing the subject. Beyond the gardens there were twenty-two acres of land, woodland and unfarmed fields. The stables and the surrounding area had long been abandoned, and the place was waiting for me to breathe fresh life into it. And that was what I planned to do.

  “You keep talking about the land—since when have you been interested in that kind of thing?”

  “I’m interested in anything that will make me money, Granny. You know that.”

  “You’ve always been the same,” she replied. “I hope you’re not still brooding over that newspaper thing.”

  I set my cup down. “I’m not a brooder,” I replied. “I’m a do-er.” I didn’t believe in signs from the universe and the stars aligning, but I was perfectly happy to take full advantage of a coincidence. The article in the London Times about me destroying entrepreneurship by rewarding destruction rather than new ideas and risk-taking had come out on the same day that Badsley House had come up for sale. And I had an idea percolating of how to use Badsley to prove that journalist wrong.

  “You shouldn’t let that sort of thing affect you. It’s just some self-righteous journalist who’s jealous that someone with a ‘useless title’ has created an empire.”

  “Hardly an empire,” I replied.

  “What would you call it? You’re thirty-five, and despite the fact that you started with nothing, you were just named one of the richest men in England.”

  “But like that journalist said, I don’t build anything. In fact, I’ve made all my money doing the exact opposite—they were right about that.” The article had got under my skin and stuck. I couldn’t shake it off. The criticism reminded me too much of the legacy my father had left behind—destruction. And I’d spent a lifetime proving I was more than my father’s son.

  I’d thought buying Badsley would fill the hollow inside me that sometimes echoed in the middle of the night. And although there was no doubt seeing my grandmother here had satisfied some kind of need in me, there was something still missing.

  “You’ve done nothing to be ashamed of. You saved countless jobs by ensuring companies don’t go into bankruptcy.”

  “Liquidation,” I corrected her. “But yes, there’s no doubt that any of the companies I’ve bought wouldn’t have survived otherwise.” There was value in what I did—my grandmother was right, I saved jobs, pensions and most of all I made money—but I couldn’t help shake the reality that I’d never built a business. I’d just broken up other people’s. I was hoping that I might change that.

  I’d start small, out of the glare of London’s spotlight and away from the reputation I had for being cutthroat and hard-nosed—I’d build, produce, create. My father had destroyed his family and his family’s legacy. I would do the opposite. Buying Badsley had just been the first step in undoing the hurt he’d created, but I had a long way to go before I’d completely rewritten the harm he’d done and the pain and resentment he’d carved into my history.

  Five

  Darcy

  I loved this time of year when the ground underfoot seemed to bounce with new life and the grayness of winter finally gave way to shoots of green. I closed the gate at the top of the farm shop car park and clicked the padlock shut. Having a private path to the Woolton Hall farm shop was an owner perk. The place had opened six months ago, but I still got a thrill whenever I visited. I waved as I spotted Aurora waiting in front of the gray clapboard building on the other side of the gravel car park. The shop sat on the outskirts of the village on a piece of Woolton Hall land that had previously housed a derelict barn. The location meant the shop attracted passing traffic, but was far enough away that it didn’t draw any stray customers toward Woolton Hall.

  I greeted Aurora with a hug and a blast of color caught my attention. “Oh, they’ve started doing the hanging baskets I suggested. That’s so cute.” I crouched to take in the baskets of begonias and miniature daffodils. “They look adorable.”

  “You’ve done an incredible thing setting up this place,” she said.

  “I can’t take any of the credit.” I linked my arm through Aurora’s and we bundled inside.

  “You’re ridiculous. If you can’t take the credit, I don’t know who can.”

  “This guy,” I said, high-fiving Rory as we stepped inside. As manager, Rory had done a fantastic job attracting local farms and craftsmen to display their products, and the shop had provided another full-time position and three part-time summer jobs for locals. The small profit that it was projected to make would support the Woolton Village charity, which provided help for the elderly village residents. It was exactly what I’d envisioned. A self-sustaining local shop, providing employment for local people.

  And—bonus—it sold plenty of things I liked to buy. “We’re running out of honey. Is there anything you need?” I asked Aurora.

  “I don’t think so. Are you going to create a basket for Badsley House? It would be a nice village welcome, don’t you think?”

  I paused in front of the two types of local honey the shop stocked. “You think I should?”

  “You were considering not taking a gift?”

  I didn’t want to go at all, but clearly Aurora was horrified at the idea that I wouldn’t take a welcome present, so I couldn’t admit that. I thought I’d been clear the other day in Woolton’s kitchen.

  “And anyway, we’ve already met, so it seems unnecessary to go and formally visit,” I said.

  Aurora’s eyes went wide and she grasped my arm. I shook her off. “Tell me everything! Is he as handsome as they said? Is he tall? Was there chemistry?”

  “Good grief. No, no and no. Why would you think there might be chemistry?”

  “I like the idea that you met and it was love at first sight, or at least lust at first sight.”

  I snorted. I had been covered in mud. And although before I’d found out more about him I’d thought he was attractive, it had just been a fleeting moment. What mattered was who people were on the inside, not how hot they were on the outside.

  “Hardly. Anyway, he’s absolutely not my type—you read that article. Being a weekender, he won’t be around much anyway.” I examined the label on a jar of lavender honey.

  I spotted a stack of wire baskets by the door and went to grab one. I put the honey in my basket. “I could never even be friends with someone who didn’t want to improve the world around them,” I said. “Clearly all he cares about is money.” In my experience, men like Logan just wanted to be better, richer, more successful than the next guy at all costs. Those things weren’t important to me and they weren’t attractive to me in others.

  “But so does Ryder,” she replied as we wandered toward the eggs.

  “I don’t think money is all Ryder cares about. It was important to him to make his own way in the world, that’s all. Anyway, I don’t get to pick my family.”

  She laughed. “But this new guy clearly likes the country, even if he didn’t grow up here.”

  “The man flies in to experience the country in a helicopter.”

  “That just means he’s wealthy, not that he doesn’t like the country. And you know what these journalists are like. They might have some kind of ongoing feud. The writer might just be jealous.”

  “You’re grasping at straws.” Aurora was nothing if not a romantic.

  “But didn’t you say he was handsome?” she replied as if she hadn’t read the article and didn’t know how little
his looks would matter given his character.

  I shook my head and guided us toward the “New in Store” section. “Definitely not. He looked like a fish out of water, and worse, a tourist.” There was no real doubt that he was handsome, even if he wasn’t what I’d normally go for, but admitting that would be adding fuel to Aurora’s fire. He was too direct, too confident. And he was taller than most men I’d dated. And broader. Like maybe he hadn’t given up playing a lot of sports since leaving university.

  “And he spooked Bella.”

  She winced, knowing how much I believed that horses were the ultimate judges of character. “Not a horse person?” she asked.

  “Not by the looks of it,” I replied, which was a little unfair. Logan had raced after Bella, and to my surprise, caught her and managed to bring her back to me. Bella was always a little skittish, and it had caught me off guard that she’d responded to him.

  “Well, like it or not, he’s a villager now. And even though you might be disappointed that he’s not as handsome as you’d hoped, you really should call ’round and welcome him.”

  I spun to face her. “Wait, what? You think I’m disappointed he’s not handsome?”

  Aurora shrugged. “I thought you wanted to meet someone special.”

  I’d settle for some sex—but yes, of course I wanted to meet the one at some point in the future. “I’m not desperate, Aurora.”

  “I see how you are around Scarlett and Ryder’s children, and I know you think Woolton is a little empty with just you living there.”

  My heart sank at the thought that I would be living at Woolton on my own forever. I loved the place and never wanted to leave—it was where I’d made all my good memories from childhood, and almost all of my adult ones. But at the same time, Aurora was right. I wanted to find someone to share it with.

  “That might be so,” I replied. “But I never thought that the new owner of Badsley might be suitable.” Maybe I’d thought about it for the thirty minutes between meeting him and reading that article. But I couldn’t get away from the facts.