Starlight Over Bluebell Castle

by Sarah Bennett

  And just like that, Jess was the one in the wrong. It was exhausting trying to get her mother to face anything she didn’t want to. Not just exhausting, pointless. ‘I am not boarding that guilt train, Mum, so don’t even start. You know why I can’t come back with you, and at least you’re getting to see the boys. I’m doing my best to build a new future for us, and if I decide that means we’re staying here in Derbyshire then you are going to have accept it.’

  ‘We’ll support you in whatever you choose to do, flower,’ her dad said, walking the tightrope between his wife and his daughter. ‘Won’t we, Wendy?’

  The nod she got from her mother was a little begrudging, but Jess accepted it as all the victory she was going to get. ‘Okay, then. Let’s not fight about it, anymore.’

  Needing to get away for a few minutes, Jess grabbed their glasses and headed to the kitchen. As she splashed a bit more wine in her glass, she came to the realisation things were never going to change as long as her father continued to shield her mother from the reality of what had happened to Marcus, and why. Jess had two choices: to keep pushing and risk a permanent fracture, or be the grown-up instead of the child and move on. Even if she got Wendy to talk honestly about what had happened, it wouldn’t bring Marcus back. She was holding on to the wrong things and if she didn’t let go of those old hurts they would poison the future she was starting to give herself permission to dream of.

  Chapter 17

  By the time Tristan had waved off the last vendor on Sunday night, he was so cold his numb fingers could barely slide the chain through the gates and secure the padlock. Will had offered to stay with him, but he’d sent him inside an hour earlier to check on Iggy who’d been having one of her off-days and was no doubt feeling miserable. Shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, he forced his aching feet towards the beckoning warmth of the castle. As they had the first time he’d seen them on Friday, the decorations in the great hall took his breath away. The scents of pine, cinnamon and orange filled the air, relieving the aching cold in his bones almost as much as the heat emanating from the fire blazing in the enormous hearth. Kicking off his boots, he tossed his jacket in the general direction of the coat cupboard and padded on stockinged feet across the tiles towards the fire.

  Bliss. Closing his eyes, he let the heat soak through him as the dogs milled around his feet, the warmth of their bodies adding to his feeling of well-being. It was over. Six weekends on the trot and the car park had been full to bursting every day. The vendors were already pushing for details of the next event which was a real confidence boost. Now all they had to do was focus on their VIPs arriving tomorrow. He scrubbed a hand through the shaggy hair he’d still not found time to get cut and decided tomorrow morning was soon enough to think about them. He’d grabbed a burger earlier, so he didn’t need to worry about dinner. Hot shower, bed, nothing more.

  Moving on autopilot, he climbed the stairs and already had his thick jumper pulled off before he’d reached his bedroom door. He pushed it open and stared at the empty expanse of his bed. Though someone had been in and turned down the quilt – probably Mrs W – he felt no urge to move closer. It looked cold and far too empty. Tossing his jumper on the floor, he closed the door and continued down the corridor towards the nursery stairs.

  The door to the playroom stood ajar, and though the main room was dark he could see light spilling in from the direction of Jess’s little suite of rooms. Not quite sure why he was there, he called out her name.

  A few moments later the door to her room swung open and Jess stood framed in the light, clad in a pair of pyjama bottoms covered in rainbows and unicorns and a turquoise blue T-shirt. Her bare feet looked tiny, poking out from beneath the long legs of her pjs and her hair had been pulled into a loose plait which hung over one shoulder. ‘Everything all right?’

  He nodded, unable to move, just wanting to drink in the sight of her.

  ‘Tristan?’ She crossed the room towards him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’m tired.’

  She took his hand. ‘You’re freezing cold. Have you been outside all day?’

  He nodded again, the weight of the day – of the past few weeks bearing down on him.

  ‘Come on then, let’s get you warm.’

  Instead of leading him to her room, she turned the other direction towards the bathroom, urged him to sit on the closed lid of the toilet and fiddled with the taps on the shower to get it running. When she was satisfied with the temperature of the water, she turned to him. ‘Can you manage your clothes, or do I need to give you a hand?’

  The idea of her stripping him off was bloody appealing, but not like this when he could barely stand. ‘I can manage, thanks. Sorry to crash in on your evening.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Leaning down, she kissed his lips, a fleeting touch that was there and gone almost before he registered it. ‘It’s about time you let me take care of you for a change. There’s a clean towel on the rail. Come through when you’re ready.’

  For the first few minutes he couldn’t do anything other than shudder as the warm water from the shower beat down upon his chilled skin, as sharp as pins and needles. It was only once the worst of the shaking subsided that he realised the water temperature was barely much more than tepid, though it had felt almost unbearably hot to his skin. He must’ve been close to at least a mild case of hypothermia – unsurprising when the temperature, even in the sun, had barely squeaked over freezing. He remained in the shower for as long as his legs would hold him up, turning up the heat in tiny increments until eventually the bathroom filled with steam. He managed a quick scrub over with a couple of handfuls of the first bottle of shower gel his hands closed around, not caring in the least that he would smell of cherry blossoms.

  When he finally stepped out of the stall, he found a pair of his pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt folded neatly on the seat of the toilet. Jess must’ve gone down to his room to find them, though he’d been oblivious to her coming back in. Drying off seemed like too much effort, so he wrapped the towel around himself and let it blot the worst of the water off while he scrubbed his teeth with the lone pink toothbrush sitting in the holder and hoped Jess would forgive him for it.

  Warm and dressed, he followed the light from her room like a wise man following the star and found her curled up on the sofa in her sitting room, a fleecy blanket draped over her knees, e-reader in hand. ‘Feeling better?’ she asked, pushing back the blanket to rise.

  He waved her down, feeling awkward and a little embarrassed for invading her space the way he had. ‘I just wanted to say thank you, and I’ll leave you in peace now.’

  She tilted her head on one side, the long plait of her hair spilling down. ‘You came up here for a reason.’

  ‘I needed you,’ he admitted.

  ‘Good.’ Rising, she took his hand and led him towards her bedroom. ‘Now come to bed.’

  He wanted to resist, he was in no fit state to give her anything right now, but then he realised that was okay. Every relationship needed balance, and when you were with the right person, taking was as important as giving. He let her lift the quilt and push him onto the bed. ‘I sleep on the left,’ he mumbled, eyes already closing as the softness of the pillow welcomed his weary head.

  ‘Not anymore, you don’t,’ she said, tucking the quilt around him. When her little body slid in behind him and curled over his back, he decided that from now on the right side of the bed suited him just fine.

  He woke the next morning to the scent of fresh coffee and the disappointing emptiness of the mattress beside him. He’d slept like the dead, for – he checked his watch – ten hours, as it had been barely past eight o’clock when he’d staggered through Jess’s door last night. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so deeply, and he didn’t think it was all down to exhaustion. Though his recollection was hazy, he had the impression of turning over some time in the night and pulling Jess in tight against him, her head pillowing on his chest, one leg thrown over his th
igh in a proprietary way that made him smile now as he propped himself up against the headboard and reached for the coffee. It was hot, and strong, and with exactly the right amount of milk he preferred. She knew how he liked his coffee. An absurd thing to be happy about, perhaps, but it filled him with as much hope as her sweetness the night before.

  He’d drunk almost two-thirds of the mug and was trying to persuade himself to make a move when Jess entered the bedroom, wrapped in the same big towel he’d used the night before, a smaller, matching towel covering her wet hair. ‘Awake at last,’ she said with a grin as she crossed to the dresser and picked up a wide-toothed comb.

  ‘Come here,’ He patted the edge of the bed beside him, and though she hesitated, she eventually came to perch next to him. It would be so easy to tease her into dropping her towel and coax her back into the warmth of the bed, but he recalled their night under the stars and his pledge to himself to take the time to explore every level of intimacy with her before they took that final step. Instead of reaching out to tug at the tempting corner of the towel tucked between her breasts, he took the comb from her hand and slowly unwound the towel around her hair.

  Taking the first wet skein, he held it close to the root and pulled the comb through the rest of it until it lay flat and smooth against her back. He took another handful, repeating over and over until every tangle was loosened, every knot unfurled. By the time he finished, her head was bowed, her limbs pliant and soft. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure.’ He leaned forward and kissed the skin of her shoulder, allowing himself a few moments of indulgence to taste the exquisite softness.

  ‘Tristan.’

  His name on her lips was almost enough to undo all his good intentions, but today was a huge day for them both – Jess, especially – and he was damned if he would derail it. There weren’t enough hours in the day for all the things he wanted to do to her, and a lightning fast morning glory was not going to be the way he took her for the first time. ‘Put some clothes on, Jess, I’m begging you.’

  Laughing, she rose from the mattress. ‘At least you’re a bit perkier than you were last night.’

  ‘I feel amazing,’ he told her. ‘Better than I have in forever.’

  She cast him a shy glance over her shoulder. ‘Me too. I was missing the boys so much; it was good not to be alone.’

  He climbed from the bed and crossed to her. ‘Would you like to not be alone again tonight?’

  Biting her lip, she nodded. ‘But would you mind if we kept this between us? Not because I want to hide you from anyone, but I don’t have the bandwidth to cope with whatever questions it might raise with your family.’

  ‘That’s fine with me. The only thing I want you to concentrate on this week is delivering on all the hard work you’ve put in. If you want me here, I’m here. If you need space, you can ask for it. Give and take, okay?’

  Rising on tiptoe, she pressed a quick hot kiss to his mouth. ‘You’re something special, Tristan Ludworth.’

  Sliding his hand beneath the heavy drape of her wet hair, he pulled her close to steal another kiss. Her lips flowered beneath his, opening, accepting, welcoming the deep stroke of his tongue. When he could finally persuade himself to release her mouth, he pressed his forehead to hers. ‘You’re everything I ever dreamed of, Jess. Only the reality of you is ten times sweeter than anything I allowed myself to imagine.’

  She curled her arms around his waist, pressing her body against his with a groan. ‘Damn you, you don’t play fair.’

  Laughing, he held her tight for a moment before letting her go. ‘Not a chance. Not when the stakes are this high, and I’m playing for keeps.’

  By 4.30 that afternoon, Tristan was on his way back from a final trip to the railway station with the last of their guests loaded into the family Land Rover. The lady beside him, Ms Abigail Norman, was one of their three solo guests. She’d bumped into Tim and Charlie on the platform while waiting for their connection to the single-carriage train which visited Camland four times a day, and they’d persuaded her to share a gin-in-a-tin from the ample supply they’d provisioned themselves with for the journey. As a result, the short drive up the hill from the station was a giggly one. As he drew up at the front steps of the castle, the laughter in the car faded as his three passengers took in their first proper sight of their home for the next ten days. ‘Bloody hell,’ breathed Charlie from the back seat.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ Abigail added.

  ‘Wait until you see inside.’ Hopping out, Tristan rounded the four-wheel drive to open Abigail’s door and help her out before doing the same for Charlie and Tim in the back. ‘Don’t worry about your bags, I’ll sort them out. Come on in.’ He led them up the steps and pushed open one half of the huge wooden doors.

  Laughter, conversation and the soft strains of an instrumental backing track playing traditional carols greeted them, together with a blast of hot air and the familiar skitter of claws on tile as a couple of the castle’s dogs came to greet the new arrivals. Not wanting to overwhelm their guests until they’d had a chance to grow used to them, Arthur had confined most of their unruly pack to the family room, leaving only Nimrod and Bella, their gentle greyhounds, and little Pippin to mingle amongst the guests.

  ‘Let me take your coats,’ Tristan offered, as he shoved the door shut behind him. ‘We’re having a champagne reception to welcome everyone, and then we’ll show you to your rooms.’ He spotted Jess weaving through the small crowd around the round table and nodded towards her. ‘And here’s a familiar face.’ Taking Abigail’s coat, he smiled at her. ‘Jess and I used to work for Tim and Charlie.’

  ‘So, they were telling me on the train.’ As they watched first Tim and then Charlie envelope Jess in a big hug, she leaned towards Tristan. ‘I must say I was a little nervous about coming here on my own, but if they’re anything to go by, I’m going to have a lovely time.’

  ‘I certainly hope so. We have a couple of other single ladies staying, although they’re already friends. The idea of this break is to do as much or as little as you please. You’ll meet a lot of new faces tonight, but don’t worry too much about trying to remember who everyone is. Jess and I will be around to make sure you have everything you need, including company anytime you need it.’

  ‘Thank you. I am hoping to get some work done whilst I’m here, but it’s good to know there’s a friendly face.’

  He offered her his arm. ‘Come on, let’s get you a glass of champagne, and I’ll introduce you around.’

  In addition to Tim, Charlie and Abigail, there were also the Boltons – the empty nesters trying to avoid their first Christmas alone, and the Carlisles – a retired Canadian couple with the kind of perma-tans which spoke of a very happy retirement spent exploring the world. Tristan steered Abigail towards them and performed the introductions. Bob Carlisle immediately handed her the full glass of champagne he’d taken from a passing tray and set off in search of a fresh one, while his wife, Gloria, and Teresa Bolton complimented Abigail on her pretty sweater, and the three of them were soon planning a trip to the Boxing Day sales, the English women promising to show Gloria all the best stores.

  Content Abigail was in good hands, Tristan did a quick circuit to check on their other arrivals. Malcolm Austin, a business executive stood off in one corner phone glued to his ear as it had been since they’d arrived not long after lunch. His wife, Anne-Marie, a timid little thing, hovered nearby looking awkward. Tristan touched his sister-in-law on the back and nodded towards the lonely woman. With a smile of understanding, she excused herself from where she was chatting to Jess, Tim and Charlie and had soon gathered up Anne-Marie and taken her across to meet her mother.

  Standing with their backs to the fire, the greyhounds flopped on the floor at their feet, David and Yuki, a couple in their mid-forties who were both successful artists and hoping for inspiration, gushed to Iggy and Will about the amazing gardens. Marcia and Carole, the two female friends he’d mentally nicknamed the merry w
idows were laughing up at Lancelot, who could always be relied upon to deliver an outrageous story.

  So far so good. He frowned, looked around the room once more, and realised he was one couple short. Spotting Maxwell in his full butler rig, including white gloves, circulating with a bottle of champagne to top up glasses, Tristan called him over. ‘Any idea where the Swifts are?’ If they’d decided to go straight up to their room, that was their choice of course, but he and Jess had hoped the reception would act as a bit of an ice-breaker and give everyone a chance to get to know each other.

  ‘They’re in the long gallery with Sir Arthur. Mr Swift expressed some interest in the family history, I believe.’

  ‘Great, thanks.’ Tristan allowed Maxwell to find him a glass of champagne, and after seeing Arthur was making his way back through the gallery towards the hall with the Swifts, he made his way to Jess’s side. ‘All good?’ he murmured as Tim and Charlie wandered off to admire the decorations.

  ‘So far.’ She scanned the room. ‘They all seem to be having a good time.’

  He placed a discreet hand on her lower back. ‘Relax, I just checked on everyone.’

  Her fingers grazed his thigh. ‘Thank you. I’m going to speak to Maxwell and ask him to bring the food out before the champagne flows too freely.’

  ‘Good idea. I need to get the last of the luggage from the car and put it away before it freezes. I’ll see you later?’

  From the rosy glow on her cheeks, she understood his meaning behind the seemingly innocent question. ‘Yes.’

  Chapter 18

  As Jess stirred awake early the next morning, her first thought was how bloody hot she was, followed immediately by a rush of panic that she might be getting ill. She tried to shove the heavy cover draped over her, only to discover it was the unmoveable weight of Tristan – the human electric blanket – rather than any type of bug responsible for her current high temperature. She still couldn’t quite believe they were sleeping together, and sleeping was the operative word because when they crawled under the covers last night, Tristan had curled his arm around her and started watching some silly heist movie on his tablet. The plot had been incomprehensible to her, but she couldn’t have cared less, content to lie there beside him and run over the events of the day. She must’ve dozed off before the ending, because she couldn’t recall anything after the robbers had crashed the stolen armoured car off the side of a bridge and that had been quite early on in the movie.