‘I have no idea.’ And, frankly, he didn’t care if it was. He took her place pushing the pram while she walked alongside staring at the cherry trees, the gardens...the squirrels. He sensed her mind racing, and he wondered how much of her surroundings she actually saw. He didn’t interrupt her. He simply kept walking and waited.
‘Seb?’
‘Yes?’
She swung to face him. ‘Look, I’m not going to ask why you haven’t spoken to your father in so long.’
Ice tripped down his spine and a vice gripped his temples. Just as well, as he had no intention of enlightening her.
‘But you obviously believe it’s possible that he’s either Jemima’s father or grandfather.’
He stared straight ahead, but could feel the heat of her gaze. It seared his flesh. ‘I don’t believe for a single moment that my father will make any such admission.’
She didn’t say anything and his flesh burned brighter and hotter.
‘Eliza?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you staring at me?’
He felt the release from her gaze as she swung forward again. He momentarily closed his eyes at the respite.
‘You went all icy,’ she murmured.
‘Would you prefer I worked myself into a passion?’
She hesitated a beat too long. ‘No!’ The word emerged too breathy, too full of anticipation.
An anticipation that couldn’t be explored. He ground his teeth together.
‘There was an incident two and a half years ago.’ He pulled in a breath, felt his nostrils flare as his stomach started to churn. He glanced at her. ‘You understand this is just between you and me.’
She crossed her heart.
He turned his gaze back to the front. ‘A young man came forward claiming Hector was his biological father. He was the son of one of our former housemaids.’
‘And?’
‘My parents threw him out of the house, with various insults and thinly veiled threats.’
Her breath hitched but he refused to turn and look at her again. ‘And you?’ she whispered.
‘His story seemed...creditable. So I went after him.’ His lips twisted. Oh, yes, it had been all too plausible. All his adult life Hector had used his charm and position to take whatever he wanted from whomever he wanted—including the sexual favours of his staff—before tossing them aside without thought or care. ‘We had a DNA comparison done.’
‘Oh! Did...did your parents know what you were doing?’
‘Yes.’ There’d been the most God-awful row. It was his first glimpse of Rhoda’s true colours. He should’ve heeded them then.
‘Well, good for you!’
From the corner of his eye he saw her plant her hands on her hips and give a decisive nod. She seemed to grow taller and for some reason it made him want to smile.
‘So...the results? Was he your half-brother?’
‘No.’ Acid coated his tongue. ‘More’s the pity. I liked him.’
‘Oh!’ She stared up at him with throbbing eyes before reaching out and touching his arm, her fingers wrapping about his wrist, her eyes filling with warmth and sympathy.
The action slid in beneath his guard. And then the warmth of her hand registered and a pulse quickened through him, spreading heat and havoc.
He wanted to pull her to him. He wanted to shake her off.
He wanted to stop feeling.
‘I’m sorry.’
They’d stopped and he forced his feet forward again. He told himself he was glad when her hand dropped away. ‘My parents weren’t. They were delighted at the outcome.’ They’d crowed about their victory. ‘But that was the moment I became aware that I could have several half-siblings I knew nothing about.’
‘Did you ask them—your parents?’
Of course he’d asked them.
‘Of course you asked them!’ she said, echoing his unspoken words. ‘But they refused to tell you anything—right?’
Exactly.
They both walked in silence for a while. ‘I take it your mother wouldn’t be of any help?’
‘None whatsoever. She’s as bad as Hector.’
‘What about staff—do you have any allies there?’
He did. Brownie and George had been at Tyrell Hall his entire life. But they didn’t believe in gossiping about their betters. If only he could make them see that they were worth ten Lord and Lady Tyrells.
‘What about old records...diaries...photo albums?’
Would either of his parents have been foolish enough to keep records that might incriminate them, that would make them financially responsible for someone else?
He pursed his lips. It wasn’t inconceivable. His father in particular was reckless. It was a possibility. A remote one, but a possibility all the same.
‘Seb?’
He shrugged. ‘The odds are slim.’
‘But better than what we have at the moment. Where would such things be kept? Here in London or at your Lincolnshire estate?’
‘Lincolnshire.’
‘Then...what are we waiting for?’
He halted halfway down the avenue of cherry trees. Here and there white blossom floated down through the air. Everything smelled fresh and sweet.
‘You want to go to Lincolnshire?’ He thought she’d been trying to get rid of him.
She huffed out a breath. ‘Want might be stretching the point a little. But I’m bullying you into finding Jemima’s mother and it seems a little cold-hearted to send you off on your own.’
She wanted to give him moral support? For a moment he was speechless. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had tried to be so supportive of him.
Which was his own fault. He rarely gave anyone the chance. But...
‘What?’ She pushed her hair back from her face.
He started when he realised he’d been staring, forced his feet forward again. ‘You haven’t bullied me into anything. You simply pointed out—correctly—that I was dragging my feet. You’ve no need to feel guilty.’
She bit the side of her thumb and sent him a look that seemed far from reassured. ‘Two heads are better than one; four hands are better than two. And I might be able to help in other ways too.’
It took a force of will, but he kept his gaze on the path ahead. The avenue of cherry trees with their spectacular blossom paled in comparison to the woman beside him. Every cell in his body strained towards her. ‘Such as?’
‘Babies catch at people’s hearts. The sight of Jemima might make somebody talk or confide in us.’
‘You’re a romantic, you know that?’
‘I am not!’
She looked personally affronted at the idea and it made him laugh. For the briefest moment it made him feel young.
‘And...’ She raised a reluctant shoulder. ‘There are other less salubrious tactics we can resort to if needs be.’
‘Such as?’
‘Gossip.’
His stomach curdled.
‘There are bound to be staff on the estate who’ve been there a long time...who might be able to provide us with a clue or two. Or neighbours or tradespeople.’
He stared down into the pram at the tiny baby. How much am I going to be asked to sacrifice on your behalf, little one?
‘I see what you’re driving at. You think that if you accompany me as Jemima’s nanny it’ll give you an inside track on any downstairs gossip.’
‘It’s a possibility, isn’t it? It could at least be worth a try, don’t you think?’
She didn’t understand the ugliness she could uncover. Nausea made his stomach rebel and his head spin. He had to stop and brace his arms against the pram, concentrate on taking deep, cleansing breaths to keep it at bay.
A hand on his back sent warmth filtering into his veins, maki
ng the nausea recede. But replaced it with an ache that he dared not assuage.
‘Seb, you’re evidently not feeling well. Let’s go back. You can lie down and—’
He captured her other hand in his and tugged her so close her perfume rose around him and he could see each individual eyelash—she smelled of gardenias and jam. ‘Eliza, my parents have done some ugly things in their lifetimes. I’ve spent my adult life trying to make amends.’
The hand on his back moved to rest against his cheek. ‘Oh, Seb, I’m so sorry. And here I am asking you to discover more potential awfulness.’
He needed some distance because he was in danger of breaking his promise and kissing her. He stepped back until her hand dropped away. ‘If you come to Tyrell Hall with me I need to ask a favour of you.’
She stared at him wordlessly and then nodded. ‘OK.’
‘Whatever gossip you hear, whatever ugly things you learn, I need you to promise that you’ll not go to the Press with the story.’
Her head rocked back. ‘I’d never do such a thing! You have my word.’
Some of the tension drained from him. ‘Thank you. You have to understand it’s not my parents I want to protect, but the people they’ve hurt or taken advantage of.’
‘I’ll sign a waiver or contract or whatever to that effect. I’ve no desire to profit from this situation. I just want to see Jemima safe and settled, and—’
‘I know. And I trust you.’
Shadowed eyes met his.
‘Your word is good enough for me. I don’t need you to sign anything.’
She glanced away. ‘When do we leave for Lincolnshire?’
He wondered if she was already regretting her offer to accompany him. He turned the pram for home. ‘How soon can you be ready?’
* * *
The closer they drew to Lincolnshire, the graver Seb became. The silence that had been mostly companionable—broken here and there with pockets of conversation—grew tight and tense.
Was he worried about what they might uncover once they started digging?
Of course he’s worried!
Liv stared at the hands clenched about the steering wheel—those white knuckles—and wanted to fill the silence with chatter in an effort to distract him and ease his worries, if only temporarily.
But she didn’t trust herself to chatter without giving Liz and herself away. For heaven’s sake, she’d told him her sister was expecting a baby! What on earth would he think when in a week or so’s time she—well, Liz, but he’d think it was her—told him she was pregnant too? Would he buy the coincidence?
She’d been meaning to keep a detailed journal outlining events as they happened and all of the things she and Seb talked about, but she’d yet to start it. Jemima had taken up all her time. Liz would need to know it all. Just thinking about the explanations, and accompanying justifications she’d feel compelled to add, left her feeling exhausted.
What on earth had she been thinking, offering to accompany her sister’s boss to Lincolnshire? Why on earth hadn’t she stopped to think for once? Being as far away from Seb as possible—and separate counties would’ve been perfect—would have made things so much simpler. Not to mention easier.
But the look on his face when he’d spoken about his parents... It had grabbed her heart and squeezed until she’d barely had breath left. He’d looked so alone.
She rubbed a hand across her chest. She was forcing him to delve into his parents’ past—a course of action he had no appetite for—to poke a monster—maybe multiple monsters—that was probably better off left undisturbed. And she hated it! She hated being responsible for bringing that haunted, stony expression to his eyes.
Her phone buzzed as a text came through. Liz!
So sorry. I need a few more days. Please say you’ll keep covering for me.
She texted back.
No prob. On way to Lincolnshire. Trying to track baby’s mother.
What?
The word beamed out at her like an accusation.
How is your mission going?
She quickly sent the question to get her sister’s mind off the predicament Liv had landed them in.
There was a long interval before her sister finally texted back.
I’ll call you later.
Liv winced and shoved her phone back into her handbag, tried to slow the pounding of her heart. Was she making an utter hash of things here?
She bit her lip. How was Liz really doing? She’d said she needed a few more days? Did that mean she’d found her tall, dark mystery man? She wriggled, rubbing her shoulders against the plush leather of her seat. If she had...and they’d liked each other enough to spend five steamy days together...maybe—
‘Is everything OK?’
She started when Seb spoke. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she lied.
He sent her a brief, narrow-eyed glance. ‘Regretting your offer to accompany me already?’
‘No!’ She shuffled upright. And then grimaced at the look he sent her—the man was too perceptive by half. ‘A little,’ she admitted. ‘I don’t have much experience with fraught family politics. My family is lovely.’
‘You see a lot of them?’
‘I do.’
The stark whiteness of his knuckles eased, so she continued. ‘My parents live in Berkshire. They’re both schoolteachers. Mum is Australian and they met when Dad was there on holiday.’
‘She came back with him?’
That made her laugh. ‘Absolutely not. She refused to relocate and upend her life on the basis of only two weeks’ acquaintance. So he stayed and got a posting to a local high school there. When he’d proven his devotion, and she was sure of her feelings for him, they married before moving to England.’
‘That’s equal parts romantic and sensible.’
‘They’re devoted to each other...and to my sister and me.’
‘Where does you sister live?’
‘London...out towards Watford.’
‘What does she do?’
The more relaxed his hands became on the steering wheel, the tighter the knot in her chest. ‘She’s an office temp.’ It felt innately deceitful to speak of herself in the third person like this to him. It is deceitful. You’re going to hell.
She bit back a sigh. She’d do anything for Liz, even this.
‘She doesn’t have a permanent position?’
‘She doesn’t want one. She likes the freedom temping gives her. And she says the money is good.’ The truth was Liv didn’t have the heart to settle for the monotony of a single day-in, day-out job.
‘But there are no benefits in temping—no holiday leave or sick leave...maternity leave.’
‘She, um...also designs jewellery.’ Liv had needed a creative outlet when she’d dropped out of art school...after Brent. She loved working with silver and semi-precious stones, but it didn’t come close to filling the gap left by painting and sketching.
‘Is she any good?’
She shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Will it support her once the baby comes?’
‘Seb, this is none of your business.’
He grimaced. ‘Sorry. Focusing on your family is a more attractive proposition than focusing on mine.’
For him, maybe. Not for her.
He gestured at the windscreen. ‘You’ll get your first glimpse of Tyrell Hall when we top the rise up ahead.’
They’d left the motorway over twenty minute ago, and were now winding their way through low green hills on a single carriageway. Everything looked lush and gorgeous.
‘To your left,’ he said.
She looked and her jaw dropped. ‘Oh, my God! It’s massive, huge...enormous. It looks like something straight out of an Austen novel! And I’ve loved Austen since...forever!’
CHAPTER FIVE
TYRELL HALL SAT amid rolling green fields. A large number of outbuildings trailed out to its right, but it was the hall itself that held Liv’s gaze...and her awe. In gorgeous grey stone, Tyrell Hall preened with an unselfconscious acknowledgement of its own grace and grandeur. For the briefest of moments her fingers ached for her sketchpad and charcoals.
But while the hall was more than aware of its charm, the grey stone and elegant lines were both weathered and warm rather than cold and uninviting. It stood three storeys high with two wings branching out either side, creating a U-shape that formed a large central courtyard. A fountain with frolicking Greek-style nymphs held pride of place in the centre. White-gravelled, rose-lined paths radiated out from it in eight different directions.
Just...wow!
She pointed to the main building. ‘How old?’
Seb stared at it with shadows in his eyes and she realised that, rather than a beautiful historic building, he saw ghosts. Unhappy ghosts. She bit her lip. Evidently, growing up here hadn’t been a happy adventure.
Not the house’s fault. But still...
‘It dates from the sixteenth century.’
‘It’s really beautiful.’
He blinked as if coming back to the present. ‘You think so?’
‘Absolutely!’ She wanted to remove those shadows. ‘Seb, regardless of anything else, empirically your house is amazing—graceful, elegant, not to mention historical...and just plain gorgeous!’
He stared at her with such evident disbelief she had to reach behind to scratch an itch between her shoulder blades. ‘At least that’s what my artist’s eye tells me.’
‘You have an artist’s eye?’
‘I do. A very good one.’ Even if her fingers didn’t want to work any more. ‘Still, I understand that a house may be one thing, while its inhabitants are the polar opposite.’
He stared back at the house. ‘It is considered rather fine in most circles,’ he murmured as if only just remembering that fact. ‘I...it’s been a while since I looked at it properly. Sorry.’
He sent her a half-apologetic smile that twisted her heart.
‘I’m afraid one takes it all for granted after a while.’
She didn’t believe he took any of this for granted—not for a moment.
A Baby in His In-Tray Page 7
