Lucie waited until the door had closed behind her before she spoke. ‘Why are you here?’
The bluff man shifted uncomfortably in his seat for a moment. ‘I’m afraid we at Witherby’s haven’t been square with you, Miss Kennington…Lucie.’ He clasped his hands together then braced them firmly on the arms of the chair. ‘I’m afraid your suspension was my idea. We’ve known for some time there’s been a problem at the house, and although I had my suspicions, I didn’t have enough evidence to act.’
‘I don’t understand.’ The lump in her throat was the size of a golf ball and all she could do was swallow hard and nod at Mr Hazeltine to continue.
‘When the incident with the Meileau arose, and forgive me for saying this, your father’s unfortunate history was raised, I saw the opportunity I’d been waiting for.’ Steepling his fingers, he stared over them at her. ‘We’ve suspected Carl Nelson’s involvement with a handful of embarrassing, not to say costly, incidences over the past few years.’
Carl? The man who’d taken her under his wing and mentored her from the moment she’d first stepped through the door at Witherby’s? She couldn’t get her head around it. ‘But Carl’s been there for years, you can’t possibly think he’d have anything to do with this.’
‘I’m afraid it’s true. He was the one who told me about your father’s conviction.’ Mr Hazeltine’s lips compressed into a straight line. ‘He dropped the information in my ear a couple of weeks before the Meileau debacle. I think it was a kind of insurance on his part, setting you up to be the fall guy in case his plan to switch the paintings went wrong.’ He raised an eyebrow at her. ‘When both you and Piers recognised the copy, he panicked a bit and threw you under the bus as it were. I had no choice but to act immediately and suspend you. If I hadn’t, it would’ve put him on guard that we suspected him.’
She still couldn’t believe it. Carl had set her up? ‘I don’t understand how he thought he could get away with it?’
‘Apparently, he was in cahoots with the owner, Mr Richardson. He convinced him to have a copy of the painting made to be displayed on the family’s wall at home. Carl then switched the copy out for the original. The plan was for the mix-up over them to be revealed after the launch, forcing Witherby’s to quietly withdraw from auctioning the item to hide our embarrassment over putting a faked painting on display.’
‘But that doesn’t make any sense.’
’Not the smartest of plans, to be sure. Carl was going to drop a rumour to an art critic that Witherby’s had dropped the ball and couldn’t tell the real painting from the copy, but when you and Piers spotted the fake, he panicked and pointed the blame at you. It wasn’t as if he could admit to knowing there was a copy floating around.’ Mr Hazeltine continued. ‘He’d persuaded Mr Richardson they could sell to a private buyer once the fuss had died down. Carl would handle the entire transaction privately for twelve percent of the selling price. Given this is almost half our commission rate, they both stood to pocket a considerable amount between them. It’s not the first time. We’ve had a number of items unexpectedly withdrawn from sale only to find out they were sold on the private market at a later date.’
Lucie could only stare at him. ‘When did you find all this out?’
‘I approached Mr Richardson, and to my surprise, he confessed the whole thing. His wife had found out about it and was furious with him, was threatening to expose him if he didn’t come clean so I came knocking at just the right time. His statement has been enough for us to take action and Carl Nelson has resigned with immediate effect.’
‘Resigned? But where’s the justice in that?’ Lucie was outraged at the idea.
The security head had the decency to look embarrassed. ‘Witherby’s has a reputation to protect.’
‘But of course.’ She couldn’t hold in the bitter laugh. ‘And where does all this leave me?’
Mr Hazeltine shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Well, that’s entirely up to you. The board is willing to offer you a full written apology, and you are welcome to commence work again as soon as you wish to do so. Should you find yourself unwilling to return, I’m authorised to offer you a generous severance package and a glowing letter of recommendation. You shouldn’t have any trouble finding work at one of the other London houses. Not that we would wish to lose you.’
Could she go back? Could she walk through that door and act like nothing had happened and pick up the pieces of her life once more? She honestly didn’t know. ‘Can I think about it?’
As though she’d released him from a trap, Mr Hazeltine bounced up out of the chair. ‘Of course, Miss Kennington, of course. Take all the time you need.’ He was already halfway to the door before she’d even got up. ‘I do hope you’ll choose to come back in due course. You might not realise it, but you have a lot of champions there. I can’t tell you the number of complaints I received once word got around about your suspension. We had to hold a full staff meeting once Carl resigned.’
‘Everyone at work knows everything?’ There’d be no slinking back through the door and pretending nothing had happened.
‘Everyone knows the truth. Your reputation is fully restored.’
With them maybe, but not with the only person who really counted. ‘I’ll be in touch in a few days.’ Lucie couldn’t bring herself to thank him as she showed him out. At the end of the day, he’d used her cruelly to protect the reputation of his employer, and she wasn’t sure she could forgive that.
*
Two weeks later, Lucie paused at the bottom of the steps leading to the main entrance of Witherby’s and smoothed a hand over her skirt. When the reality of still having bills to pay had set in, she’d found she could forgive Mr Hazeltine after all. Besides, if she let Carl’s actions drive her away, she would lose a piece of her self-respect she might never get back. Lucie had done nothing wrong and it was past time to act like it.
As she approached the door, it swung back to reveal the smiling face of James, the doorman. ‘Welcome back, Lucie. It’s great to see you.’
‘Thank you, it’s great to be back,’ she replied, almost certain she meant it.
‘They’re waiting for you in the preview room. You know the way.’ James beamed from ear to ear like he’d told her something splendid.
Her stomach flip-flopped. Oh, goodness, was there some kind of welcome back party for her? She’d hoped to be able to settle in quietly, track down Piers and a couple of other friends for a bit of moral support before she faced everybody. ‘Thanks,’ she replied, weakly, and started down the corridor.
As she passed one colleague after another, each greeting her with a smile, a few words of welcome, even a couple of hugs, she grew more and more confused. Maybe there wasn’t going to be a big fanfare, after all. Who was waiting for her in the preview room, then?
When she pushed open the double doors, her heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. The room was empty, apart from a very familiar painting nestled on an easel in the centre of the raised dais. Spellbound, she crossed towards it, her eyes roaming over the magnificent image of the woman astride a horse, a knight in full armour knelt in supplication before her. It was even more magnificent than she remembered, from Eudora representing the Lady Guinevere, her stubborn chin raised as though accepting her rightful due, to the love and yearning etched on the face of Thomas as King Arthur. Beautiful. Heartbreaking. A masterpiece.
‘I’m furious with you.’
She spun so fast at the low, clipped words, Lucie almost stumbled down the small steps of the dais. Dressed in a smart dark suit and tie, Arthur was even more devasting than in his usual shirtsleeves and jeans. His dark brow glowered, giving proof to his words. Why was he here, what could this possibly mean? He couldn’t want her to work on the project to authenticate the painting, could he? To have to deal with him, knowing everything she could’ve had and let slip through her fingers? It didn’t bear thinking about. If she thought leaving Arthur had broken her, she’d been a fool. This would grind her d
own to dust. He wouldn’t be so cruel.
It’d be no more than she deserved, though, given everything she’d put him through. ‘You have every right to be. I’m sorry that I lied to you.’
‘Is that all you’re sorry for?’
The question confused her, what else was there? ‘I hope you can at least understand why I did it. A painting like this appearing out of the blue would attract enough suspicion. I couldn’t afford to be associated with it in any way.’
‘Mr Hazeltine has been good enough to explain the vagaries of the art world to me.’ His voice was so stiff, so devoid of warmth. So Baronet Ludworth, it cut her to the quick. He clearly couldn’t stand the sight of her.
‘James—th…the doorman, told me I was wanted in here, but he obviously made a mistake.’ She turned towards the door, desperate to escape his cold glare. ‘I should go—’
‘If you walk out of that door now, I will never forgive you.’ Oh, there was no coldness in his tone now, only heat, and anger, and beneath all of that the faintest flicker of something that threatened to turn her knees to jelly. Need.
She whirled about once more, expecting to find him glowering still, but instead there was such a look of yearning on his face, it could’ve been him on his knees in the painting. Hope sent her pulse fluttering. ‘And if I stay, is there a chance you might forgive me?’
He took a step towards her, seemed to catch himself and held his ground. ‘I shouldn’t.’
Oh, he was going to make her work for this. If he wouldn’t come to her, she would go to him. Today, and every day for the rest of her life if he would let her. She closed the space between them. ‘But you might?’ She slipped her hand inside the lapel of his jacket and placed it over his heart, gratified to feel it was pounding as hard as her own.
His lip twitched. ‘I might have told the board that Witherby’s would only receive my patronage if their best expert was put in charge of the project.’
‘Me?’ It came out as more of a squeak than she’d intended, but she couldn’t believe what he was saying. He wasn’t making her come to him, he was offering to meet her halfway.
Retrieving the hand she’d placed on his chest, he pressed a kiss to her palm. ‘This is your discovery, Lucie. If it hadn’t been for you, we might never have known about it. I won’t let anyone steal your glory, not now. Not ever.’
The truth of what he’d done for her was staggering. He’d risked everything to rescue her reputation, put her above everything, including the future of Bluebell Castle. Gone against everything she’d warned him about.
She was beyond furious with him. She’d never loved anyone as much as she did him in that moment. ‘You’re an idiot.’ She flung her arms around his neck. ‘I love you.’
Arthur laughed as he gathered her close, a rich glorious sound she wanted to hear every day for the rest of her life. ‘I love you, too.’
Acknowledgements
Welcome to Bluebell Castle!
Creating a brand new setting has been so much fun, I really hope you enjoy exploring the castle and its surrounds as much as you like the new characters I’ve introduced you to. I can’t wait to explore it with you as the seasons change over the next few months.
If you’ve read any of my other books, you’ll know by now I have a thing for character names and creating a tenuous link from the Ludworth family to the Arthurian legends was just too tempting to resist. Poor Uncle Lancelot got the worst of it, but he seems to be coping admirably!
As ever, though the words on the page are mine, it takes a lot of people to write a book, and I’d like to take a moment to thank just a few of them.
First and foremost, my husband. All my happy endings start and end with you x
My fantastic editor, Charlotte Mursell, without whom I simply couldn’t navigate the often-choppy waters of this publishing business. Knowing you have my back means everything.
Everyone at HQ Digital. I say it every time, but without each and every one of you who helps behind the scenes, there would be no book. You’re the absolute best x
Special mention to Dushi for weaving her copy-editing magic. You bring the sparkle x
Rachel Bavidge brings my audio books to life. I’m so pleased you’re back on board for Bluebell Castle.
So many author friends who hold my virtual hand and cheer me on when I doubt myself. Rachel Burton, Victoria Cooke, Jules Wake, Phillipa Ashley, Darcie Boleyn to name but a few. Getting to know you all has been the biggest joy x
And, saving the very best to last, here’s to you, my wonderful readers! Whether this is the first book of mine you’ve tried, or you’ve been with me from the start – thank you. If I can give you a few hours of escapism and enjoyment, my work is done.
Thank you for reading!
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Turn the page for an exclusive extract from Sunrise at Butterfly Cove, the first novel in the enchanting Butterfly Cove series…
Prologue
October 2014
‘And the winner of the 2014 Martindale Prize for Best New Artist is…’
Daniel Fitzwilliams lounged back in his chair and took another sip from the never-emptying glass of champagne. His bow tie hung loose around his neck, and the first two buttons of his wing-collar shirt had been unfastened since just after the main course had been served. The room temperature hovered somewhere around the fifth circle of hell and he wondered how much longer he would have to endure the fake smiles and shoulder pats from strangers passing his table.
The MC made a big performance of rustling the large silver envelope in his hand. ‘Get on with it, mate,’ Daniel muttered. His agent, Nigel, gave him a smile and gulped at the contents of his own glass. His nomination had been a huge surprise and no one expected him to win, Daniel least of all.
‘Well, well.’ The MC adjusted his glasses and peered at the card he’d finally wrestled free. ‘I am delighted to announce that the winner of the Martindale Prize is Fitz, for his series “Interactions”.’
A roar of noise from the rest of his tablemates covered the choking sounds of Nigel inhaling half a glass of champagne. Daniel’s own glass slipped from his limp fingers and rolled harmlessly under the table. ‘Bugger me.’
‘Go on, mate. Get up there!’ His best friend, Aaron, rounded the table and tugged Daniel to his feet. ‘I told you, I bloody told you, but you wouldn’t believe me.’
Daniel wove his way through the other tables towards the stage, accepting handshakes and kisses from all sides. Will Spector, the bookies’ favourite and the art crowd’s latest darling, raised a glass in toast and Daniel nodded to acknowledge his gracious gesture. Flashbulbs popped from all sides as he mounted the stairs to shake hands with the MC. He raised the sinuous glass trophy and blinked out at the clapping, cheering crowd of his peers.
The great and the good were out in force. The Martindale attracted a lot of press coverage and the red-carpet winners and losers would be paraded across the inside pages for people to gawk at over their morning cereal. His mum had always loved to see the celebrities in their posh frocks. He just wished she’d survived long enough to see her boy come good. Daniel swallowed around the lump in his throat. Fuck cancer. Dad had at least made it to Daniel’s first exhibition, befor
e his heart failed and he’d followed his beloved Nancy to the grave.
Daniel adjusted the microphone in front of him and waited for the cheers to subside. The biggest night of his life, and he’d never felt lonelier.
***
Mia Sutherland resisted the urge to check her watch and tried to focus on the flickering television screen. The latest episode of The Watcher would normally have no trouble in holding her attention—it was her and Jamie’s new favourite show. She glanced at the empty space on the sofa beside her. Even with the filthy weather outside, he should have been home before now. Winter had hit earlier than usual, and she’d found herself turning the lights on mid-afternoon to try and dispel the gloom caused by the raging storm outside.
The ad break flashed upon the screen and she popped into the kitchen to give the pot of stew a quick stir. She’d given up waiting, and eaten her portion at 8.30, but there was plenty left for Jamie. He always said she cooked for an army rather than just the two of them.
A rattle of sleet struck the kitchen window and Mia peered through the Venetian blind covering it; he’d be glad of a hot meal after being stuck in the traffic for so long. A quick tap of the wooden spoon against the side of the pot, and then she slipped the cast-iron lid back on. The pot was part of the Le Creuset set Jamie’s parents had given them as a wedding gift and the matching pans hung from a wooden rack above the centre of the kitchen worktop. She slid the pot back into the oven and adjusted the temperature down a notch.
Ding-dong.
At last! Mia hurried down the hall to the front door and tugged it open with a laugh. ‘Did you forget your keys—’ A shiver of fear ran down her back at the sight of the stern-looking policemen standing on the step. Rain dripped from the brims of their caps and darkened the shoulders of their waterproof jackets.
Spring Skies Over Bluebell Castle Page 24
