by Maggie Cox
* * *
It was close to dusk by the time they reached the end of a long tree-lined drive and pulled up outside the esteemed manor house where Hal had grown up. Surrounded by lush parkland, the building was frighteningly imposing, Kit saw, even in the gloomy half-light of the day. Its Elizabethan windows and stone turrets made it look almost ethereal. And, apart from the late-afternoon birdsong, the silence that cloaked the area was eerily tangible. When she switched off the car’s ignition and turned round to observe her passenger in the seat that she’d extended for him, so he could stretch out his injured leg, she saw immediately that his handsome face looked perturbed.
‘What’s up?’ she asked. ‘I’m sorry if it was a little bumpy coming down the drive. You’re not in pain, I hope?’
‘Unless you have the power to go back to Elizabethan times and predict that we’ll be driving round in engine-driven motor cars in five hundred years’ time, so we had better level the road, there’s not much you can do about the bumpy drive, I’m afraid. The surface has always been uneven and slightly bowed. And, in answer to your second question, I’m not in pain. But thanks for asking.’
Clamping down on her automatic response—It’s my job to ask how you’re feeling—Kit somehow shaped her lips into a smile. ‘Anyway, it looks like an amazing house. It must have been wonderful, growing up with so much space around you. The places me and my mum lived in were always so cramped and small.’
Hal’s gaze narrowed interestedly. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you...where does your mother live now? Is she on her own or does she have a partner?’
It had never been easy to talk about her mum at the best of times, and it wasn’t any easier now. Inevitably, even though she had forged a life of her own and didn’t regret it, Kit couldn’t help sometimes feeling guilty that she didn’t make herself as available to her as she’d used to. But the last time they’d spoken on the phone, Elizabeth Blessington had told her that she’d tentatively been dating the widower who lived next door to the building where her little flat was housed. It was early days yet, she’d stated, her tone sounding uncharacteristically cautious, but she had high hopes that it might blossom into something special.
Tucking some hair behind her ear, Kit stopped frowning and lifted her gaze back to Hal’s.
‘She lives in London and, yes, she lives alone. But she’s recently started dating a widower who lives nearby, so I’m sure she has company from time to time. Anyway, shouldn’t we go and find out if your dad is in? I can wheel you in your chair, or would you prefer to use your walking aids?’
‘I’ll use the crutches. I’d prefer to confront my dad when I’m standing upright.’ His lips thinned ruefully.
‘“Confront”?’
‘Wrong word. Come on, let’s go in.’
As they stood outside the imposing gabled front door Kit stole a glance at Hal to try and ascertain how he was feeling. His carved handsome face never failed to make her heart race, and it raced even more now because she’d intuited that he had mixed feelings about coming home to see his father again. She prayed the meeting would go well. The last thing he needed was to feel it hadn’t been a success.
‘If I didn’t have to hold onto these damned crutches I’d hold your hand,’ he said gruffly, a riveting dimple appearing at the side of his mouth.
Her insides cartwheeled pleasurably. ‘I’m here for you, Hal. You don’t have to worry.’ Gently, Kit touched her hand to the back of his chocolate-brown jacket.
At that very same moment the door opened. A distinguished-looking man who looked to be in his sixties appeared. He had liberally greying dark hair that must once have been as strong and lustrous as the hair of the man standing beside her, and was dressed in casual country tweeds with a waxed jacket. Possessed of the same compelling hazel-eyed gaze as the younger man, he stared at Hal as though being confronted by a ghost.
Kit dropped her hand.
‘Hello, Dad. Thought I’d surprise you.’ His son greeted him diffidently.
‘Why in God’s name didn’t you ring to let me know you were coming?’ the other man responded.
He had the kind of resonant, booming voice usually attributed to distinguished actors who performed Shakespeare, and Kit didn’t mind admitting that it startled her.
‘I’ll turn round and go back to London if it’s inconvenient,’ Hal countered immediately, unable to keep the hurt from his tone.
‘Of course it’s not inconvenient. If it’s a surprise you hoped for then you’ve succeeded. I didn’t mean that it was an unwelcome one. Come in, come in. It’s clear you can’t stand there for long on those crutches. It can hardly be good for you.’
‘I’ll help you,’ Kit said quickly, her hand once again going to Hal’s broad back to reassure him.
‘And who might you be, young lady?’ the older man asked pointedly, making no bones about looking her up and down.
Casting aside the uncomfortably warm sensation of self-consciousness that spread throughout her body, she determinedly lifted her head and silently defied him to find fault or look down his aristocratic nose at her for even a second.
‘My name is Kit Blessington. Your son hired me to give him some practical help while he recuperates from his accident.’
‘Did he, indeed?’ There was a definite suggestion of a mocking smile around the mouth whose upper lip was decorated by a dark military-style moustache. ‘Well, I’m Sir Henry Treverne—Hal’s father—as I’m sure you’ve gleaned by now. It’s good to know that my son had the foresight to get himself some help and support when he needed it, for once. He usually insists on doing most things alone, but I’m glad that on this occasion common sense prevailed.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ Hal interjected drolly. The strain of maintaining his upright pose with the walking aids was suddenly reflected on his furrowed brow. ‘I hate to break up the party, but can we go in now? And my companion and I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee and a sandwich. It’s been a long, tiring drive.’
‘If you and Ms Blessington make your way into the family drawing room, I’ll go and find my housekeeper and get her to organise it. Now, come in from the cold and go and sit in front of the fire to warm up.’
Before he turned to follow his father inside the house Hal deliberately caught Kit’s eye and gave her a reassuring wink, as if he already knew that this visit wasn’t going to be an easy one for her either...
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A WARM FIRE was indeed blazing invitingly in the marble fireplace as they entered the family drawing room. It was a strange feeling, coming back to the room Hal had sat in so many times over the years with his father and sister...almost a surreal sensation—as if the past was nothing but a dream he’d conjured up. It was literally years since the three of them had spent any proper time together, and it was growing more and more unlikely that they ever would. The loving, caring family unit that he’d longed for them to become after his mother had left had never really become a reality.
Not liking the sombre direction his thoughts were taking him in—especially when he’d resolved to heal the rift with his father—Hal made his way across the expansive stone floor, liberally covered with hand-crafted Persian rugs, and carefully lowered himself onto one of the leather couches. Kit stayed close by him to help. As he sat she took his crutches away and laid them down on the floor, where he could easily reach them. Then, with a self-conscious smile she moved away.
It wasn’t the reaction he’d anticipated. Whether she acknowledged it or not, there was a definite bond between them now, and in his mind their lovemaking last night had sealed that bond. He was no longer just a client she was working for, and she was no longer simply his hired help. With every fibre of Hal’s being he ached for more intimate contact—or at least for them to be easy enough with each other that they would automatically sit together. With th
at in mind, he gestured for her to come back and join him. It was akin to receiving a blow when he saw that her pretty blue eyes were reticent.
‘I’d better not. Your father might think it’s not very professional of me to sit next to you. He might think that I—that we—’ She was unable to finish the sentence and her cheeks coloured helplessly. As if desperately needing a distraction, she glanced round for a suitable place to sit. Selecting one of the armchairs positioned opposite Hal, she finally made herself comfortable.
‘That we are up to no good?’ he finished for her, his lips twisting wryly. ‘I hate that expression. Even if he doesn’t approve, do you think that’s going to stop me from wanting you or showing him that I want you?’
Exasperation was close to getting the better of Hal, because the need to hold Kit close had been mercilessly taunting him all day. In contrast, she had been unbelievably composed and pragmatic. How on earth was he going to convince her that he was in earnest about how he felt? That he didn’t just want a meaningless fling but something far more serious?
The depth and breadth of his intentions took him aback. Shaken, he shrugged off his jacket and dropped it onto the cushion beside him.
‘I told you that I can’t do this...that I—’ She stopped.
‘Need to be sensible?’
‘I know that you don’t want to hear that, but—’
‘My housekeeper, Mary, is going to bring us in some refreshments, and after that she’s going to go and get your rooms ready. I presume you and Miss Blessington are staying the night, Hal?’
His father’s timing couldn’t have been worse, Hal thought irritably. Yes, he wanted them to build bridges with him—that was why he was here—but equally he wanted to put things right between him and Kit—to get her to see that he wasn’t the spoilt playboy used to getting his own way that she might secretly fear he was...not a man who wouldn’t hesitate to use her and then cast her aside just as her mother’s ex-boyfriends had done to her. But it looked as if that particular conversation would have to wait until later, when they could be alone.
‘Yes, we are. I’d rather not ask Kit to drive us back to town tonight. And, by the way, I’m going to need a downstairs room—and so is Kit, in case I need her.’
‘That won’t be a problem. That’s settled, then. So, how have things been since the accident?’ his father asked, taking a seat in the high-backed armchair next to Kit.
The question was posed in the familiar non-committal and unemotional tone that Hal knew only too well. It was clearly too much to expect him to ask how he was feeling. Probably the only reason he’d referred to his son’s injury was so that he could once again tell him how reckless he’d been, proving his opinion that pride came before a fall to be unerringly right.
Unable to help himself, Hal immediately made it his mission to disappoint him. ‘Things are good—much better than I expected, given the debilitating nature of my injury.’ Glancing over at Kit, he was surprised to see that her hands were folded almost demurely in her lap and her eyes were downcast, as if she didn’t want to draw particular attention to herself...as if she believed she should be as unobtrusive as possible. Was it because coming face to face with the imposing grandeur of his home and meeting his father had overwhelmed her? Perhaps it had even made her nurse a feeling of inferiority? The mere thought that she might be entertaining such a self-deprecating idea made him see red. Apart from his sister, Hal didn’t know one other woman who could match her for sheer class...
‘In fact I went for a run in the park this morning. Didn’t I, Kit?’
‘This is a serious matter. I don’t think it’s something you should be joking about, Henry.’
The disapproving glance crossing his father’s features, plus the more formal use of his name, made Hal bristle. ‘Isn’t it? If we can’t laugh at the vicissitudes of life sometimes then we’ll all be permanently addicted to tranquillisers merely to help us survive. Personally, I’d rather feel the pain than dull it or pretend it isn’t there.’
‘Your son wasn’t entirely joking, Sir Henry,’ Kit interjected calmly, leaping to Hal’s defence. ‘We did go for a run in the park. At least, I ran as I pushed him in his wheelchair.’
‘Did you, indeed?’ Staring at her, his father blustered, ‘Did you really think that was a good idea when my son already has a broken leg, young woman? What if he had fallen out of the chair and hurt himself even more?’
‘There was no chance of that. For goodness’ sake, I’m an adult, not a child, and Kit was only trying to cheer me up.’ Hal was rigid with anger. ‘In any case, why is the thought of having some fun so alien to you, Father? Not everything in life has to be so damn serious. Do you even know the concept of relaxation?’
To his surprise, the other man looked almost crestfallen.
‘The truth is I probably don’t,’ he answered quietly. ‘I’ve always felt that my responsibility for raising a family and leaving a healthy legacy for my children after I’m gone was paramount...just as my forebears did. Too serious a matter to take lightly and relax.’
‘You drive yourself too hard. Sam and I have been independent for a long time now, Dad. I’d rather you stopped working so hard and just thought about what you wanted for yourself. Take some time out. Go on an extended holiday. You’ve got plenty of people working for you who could take care of things in your absence. Falteringham isn’t going to go to rack and ruin if you’re not here, as you fear it might. You should make a new priority to have some fun. Maybe even find yourself a nice woman?’
As Henry Treverne Senior’s downturned mouth nudged into a surprising smile the drawing room door opened. Transporting a tray laden with cups, saucers, a plate of sandwiches and a full cafetière, the housekeeper—Mary—came into the room. She was a statuesque middle-aged woman with broad hips, bobbed brown hair and a clear open face that in her youth might have been called pretty.
Aware that they hadn’t been introduced—his father’s last housekeeper had retired a few months ago—Hal automatically gave the woman a welcoming smile. ‘You must be Mary?’ he said as she laid the tray down on the walnut coffee table in front of him. ‘I’m Henry.’ He held out his hand to shake hers.
Clearly surprised at a welcome she hadn’t expected, the woman slid her palm into his and smiled back.
‘It’s nice to meet you, Mr Treverne. Your father is always singing your praises. I’m so sorry about your accident, by the way. But I’m sure it won’t be too long before you’re back on your feet again. Anyway, help yourself to coffee and sandwiches. If you want any more do let me know. In the meantime I’ll be getting your rooms ready.’
When she’d departed, his father sat back in his chair and sighed.
‘She’s a breath of fresh air, that woman. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.’
This frank confession, coming straight after Mary had told him that his father was always singing his praises, doubly stunned Hal. It opened the door to a distinct possibility that he had unfairly misjudged the man. Shaking his head in wonder, he said, ‘If you feel like that then all I can say is welcome back to the land of the living. Good for you, Dad.’ Glancing across the room at Kit, he felt his heart warm when he saw that her pretty mouth was curving in what looked to be an approving smile. ‘Why don’t you come over here and tuck into some of these sandwiches?’ he invited her. ‘They look seriously good.’
‘My son is right, Miss Blessington. Or perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I called you Kit? You must be hungry after making that long drive from London. You should definitely eat something.’
‘Thank you. I will.’
When she’d reached the table Hal couldn’t resist reaching for her hand and squeezing it. She didn’t immediately pull away, as he’d thought she might, even though her smile was somewhat tentative and shy. Catching the unspoken question in his father’s eyes, he realised he w
as watching them. But Hal honestly didn’t care that he’d witnessed the fact that the relationship between him and Kit wasn’t entirely a professional one. There was suddenly a great desire in him to be transparent for once—to be honest and open about his feelings and take the consequences, no matter how difficult or challenging they might be...
* * *
A short while later Kit was returning from the bathroom, just about to open the drawing room door to enter, when she heard Sir Henry’s deeply resonant voice saying to his son, ‘I must say your suggestion that I take an extended break sounds like a good one, Hal. I know I can rely on the staff here to take care of things in my absence. And while we’re on the subject, have you had any more thoughts about one day coming home to take over the estate? I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but I’m not getting any younger, and Falteringham needs some young blood in it again. Perhaps you need to think about marrying and having a family? Are you seeing any nice girls who might be suitable at the moment? The estate is your heritage, as well as your home, and I’d like you to help take it forward into the twenty-first century with a family of your own beside you.’
Outside the door, Kit froze and held her breath.
‘Given that I’ve had a lot of time on my hands lately to reflect on things,’ she heard Hal reply, ‘you and the estate haven’t been far from my mind. Yes, I would like to come back one day and take over the reins, with a wife and children of my own by my side...but just not right now. I’ll know when the time is right.’
‘Any idea when that might be?’
There was a pause, and then Hal sighed. ‘No, Dad. I’m afraid you’re just going to have to be patient.’
With her heart clamouring distressingly, Kit took a deep breath in and shakily curved her hand round the doorknob....
* * *
Dropping her holdall onto the end of the elegantly dressed half-tester bed in the room Mary had shown her into, Kit drew her hands down over her face and sighed heavily. She felt emotionally wrung out and weary to the bone. Even though she’d got through the rest of the evening without regretting that she’d agreed to Hal’s request to take him back to his ancestral home, because it looked as if his father and he were honestly resolved on healing the rift between them, she was in utter turmoil about the discussion she’d heard between Hal and his father about him returning home one day to Falteringham House and assuming the ancestral role he’d be inheriting with a wife and children by his side.
