Starlight Over Bluebell Castle (Bluebell Castle, Book 3)

by Sarah Bennett

  ‘… even more gorgeous than usual in a tux.’ Jess recognised the speaker as Michelle, one of the two company receptionists. She froze, not wanting the woman to know she was there. Though she’d never been overtly rude to Jess, there was an undercurrent to the way she treated her, as though she resented being asked to do things by the new girl – even when they were part of her job description and she never seemed to have a problem when anyone else asked her to make a drink for a visitor or to book a courier.

  ‘I know, right? Tristan’s so hot, he puts James Bond to shame.’ The second voice belonged to Nicola, the other half of the formidable duo who handled everything from dealing with visitors, to answering the phones and sorting the post without so much as a chipped nail or a single hair out of place. Jess had never seen either of them ever looking anything other than perfectly made-up and turned out. ‘I’m going to ask him to dance when we go back in,’ Nicola continued, her voice distorted in a way that told Jess she was applying lipstick as she talked.

  ‘Good luck with that,’ snorted Michelle. ‘You’ll have a fight on your hands the way Shrek has been hogging his attention all night. God, did you see the way she was hanging off his neck on the dance floor just now? I felt embarrassed for him.’

  Jess found herself frozen in place, hunched over, her tights still halfway up her thighs. The bitchy edge to Michelle’s voice was harder and meaner than anything she’d heard from her before. And – God – had she really just likened Jess to the ugly ogre cartoon character? She clutched at the wall for support as she listened, the pair of them oblivious to her presence.

  ‘Everyone knows Jess has had a crush on him forever.’ Nicola said. ‘But tonight it’s downright embarrassing the way she’s traipsing after him like a dog with its tongue hanging out. As if he’d look twice at a fat lump like her.’

  ‘More like a bitch in heat.’ Michelle cackled. ‘And you’re right. How can she possibly think a man like him would fancy someone like her? That’s the trouble when you’re as nice as he is, I suppose – some people get the wrong message. Let’s go and find him and let him know we’ll run interference for the rest of the night. Give the poor guy a chance to enjoy himself without Shrek stomping on his toes.’ The pair’s laughter faded as the door closed behind them.

  Shocked and humiliated, Jess tried to focus on the task of pulling up her tights, and not on the burn at the back of her eyes. How was it possible people knew she fancied Tristan when she’d gone out of her way to keep it to herself? Perhaps she wasn’t as discreet as she’d believed and the whole office was laughing at her behind her back. Horrified at the thought, Jess yanked at the thin nylon of her tights, manging to rip a big hole in the left thigh which immediately zoomed down to her ankle in a ladder. ‘Damn it!’

  Vision swimming with tears, Jess kicked off her heels and yanked off the ruined tights. The pale, mottled skin of her legs looked shockingly white in the harsh overhead lighting. Now what was she going to do? She couldn’t go back out there flashing her dead-fish coloured legs, for God’s sake! Despair gave way to hope as she recalled the baskets of supplies on the counter tops. Leaving her heels on the floor of the cubicle, she padded barefoot across the thickly piled carpet and began to rummage. She came up with two pairs of tights, both of them size small. In desperation more than hope, she took one pair back into the cubicle but couldn’t get them much more than over her knees before the fibres stretched so thin and tight she knew it was no good.

  Feeling wretchedly sorry for herself, Jess tried to push her naked toes into the narrow confines of her heels. Her feet had swollen after so many hours in the unfamiliar shoes, and that combined with the lack of any barrier between her bare skin and the leather made it almost impossible to get them back on. A couple of steps was all it took for her to know she’d rub a blister if she tried to wear them like that. Why was everything going wrong for her, tonight of all nights? A hot tear coursed over her cheek, and Jess stumbled over to the mirror to grab at a handful of tissues. No amount of deep breathing, cheek pressing, and dabbing could stem the trickles. She wasn’t exactly crying, but her eyes wouldn’t stop leaking and the salt of her tears made her contacts start to itch.

  Between rapid blinks, she managed to get the right one out, only to drop it. Its slide down the plug hole was the last straw. ‘Sod it.’ Removing the other one, Jess flicked it into the sink and turned on the tap to flush it after its mate. Her ruined tights were balled up and chucked into the waste basket, the hated heels pried off and shoved into her backpack along with her evening bag. Retrieving her glasses, Jess popped them on and met her gaze in the mirror. A sense of calm descended as she reached up to tug and pull at the myriad pins holding her up-do in place. Curls tumbled around her shoulders only to be gathered up in one of the spare scrunchies she kept in the front pocket of her rucksack.

  Securing her hair in a rough ponytail at her nape, Jess then pulled out a knitted bobble hat and tugged it down over her ears. Coat on and zipped to the neck, feet and calves snug in her furry boots, she cast one last glance in the mirror as she slung her backpack over her shoulder. She should’ve stayed at home tonight. It was clear she didn’t fit in here, and the idea of spending another second around people who thought so little of her they made up cruel nicknames behind her back was more than she could stomach. It turned out she wasn’t a blue velvet dress kind of girl, after all. And, she thought as she reached for the door handle, that was just fine with her.

  Thanks to a points failure, it took Jess ages to get home and by the time she slotted her key into the front door all she wanted was to crawl into her pyjamas and curl up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate. Before she could turn the key, the door was yanked open and she was confronted with the sight of Steve, her brother’s best friend, red-eyed, his face an agonised mask. ‘Oh, Jess,’ he said, dragging her into his arms. ‘He’s gone. Marcus is gone.’

  No. No, no, no, no, no. It couldn’t be, he couldn’t be, not her darling big brother. After everything they’d been through with him the past couple of years. The endless worry, the thousands of pounds her parents had spent on rehab. A scream echoed down the stairs, inhumane, animalistic, a sound no human throat should be capable of making. As the waves of grief smashed into her, Jess clung to Steve, his strong arms the only thing that kept her from being swept away.

  Chapter 1

  Present Day – the first week of September

  Charlie Tanner, Tristan’s boss since he’d left university and the cofounder of a very successful events and PR firm he’d set up with his business – and life – partner Tim Beaman, took a sip of the wine poured by the waiter. Though Tristan had invited him to lunch and was footing the bill, he had left it to the older man to select the wine. Already feeling nervous about the news he was going to deliver, he could only hope the sop of a decent vintage would go some way to ease the news he was pretty sure Charlie wasn’t going to want to hear. Charlie raised his glass towards the light spilling in from the window, turned his glass a couple of times as he studied the ruby-red hue of the liquid in his glass before finally giving the waiter a nod. With the ritual of the wine selection over, he turned his hawk-like gaze to Tristan. ‘So, when are you coming back to us?’

  Okay, so they were cutting straight to the chase. Tristan smiled his thanks at the waiter then reached for his own glass, more to give himself time to word the answer than any real desire for a drink. Both Charlie and Tim had been incredibly understanding when Tristan had taken a twelve-month unpaid sabbatical in order to return home to help his brother, Arthur, and sister, Igraine, manage their ancestral home following their father’s death the previous autumn. Though he’d been happy to do everything he could to support Arthur, Tristan was grateful that being the youngest of the triplets meant the family title and all its burdens and responsibilities had not fallen on his shoulders.

  During the bleak winter months when it’d seemed to do nothing but either rain, snow or some hideous combination of the two, Tristan had missed his
busy life in London. Once the bluebells that had given the family castle its pretty nickname had started blooming and the hard work the three of them had invested started to pay off however, Tristan had found his thoughts straying less and less to the smart apartment he rented in Battersea and his job as a marketing executive in the city. ‘Yes, well that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ he said to Charlie with an apologetic wince.

  ‘Oh, balls. Don’t tell me we’re going to be losing both of you? When you invited me to lunch, I assumed you wanted to get up to speed on our current projects in preparation for your return.’ Charlie cast him a gloomy look then took a large swig of the rather fine burgundy. ‘Well, you know what they say about assuming things …’

  It cut Tristan deeper than he’d expected to be letting the man opposite him down. Charlie had been an inspiration to him from the first day he’d started working at the events management and public relations firm. Both Charlie and Tim, chose to encourage rather than control their staff, giving them room to take chances as long as any failures were learning experiences.

  Feeling wretched, Tristan braced his forearms on the edge of the table and met the older man’s gaze. ‘I’m really sorry. I should have given you a warning, I suppose, but I wanted to talk to you face to face and explain. After everything you’ve done for me, it seemed rude to put it in an email.’ Twisting his glass between his fingers, he studied the rich wine as though he could find the answers he owed his boss in its opaque surface. ‘If I’d thought for one moment I would find myself in this position then I would have resigned outright rather than requesting a sabbatical.’ He glanced up to find Charlie studying him over the steepled tips of his fingers.

  ‘What changed?’ There was no censure in this question, only genuine curiosity.

  ‘I fell in love.’ When Charlie quirked a brow, he laughed. ‘Not like that. As a second son, I always knew there was never any future for me at the castle and somewhere along the way my brain translated that into believing that I didn’t want there to be a future for me there. I told myself I was city boy, that life in the country was too slow-paced for me. And then somewhere along the line I found myself standing on the edge of our land looking out over the dales and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.’

  ‘If that’s the case, then you can go with my blessing.’ Raising his glass in a silent toast, Charlie took another drink.

  Relief flooded Tristan and he returned the gesture in tribute to everything the man opposite had done for him. As his worry over letting Charlie down began to dissipate, something else his boss had said earlier finally filtered through his awareness. ‘Hold up. What do you mean losing both of us? Who else is leaving?’

  Setting down his glass, Charlie sat back in his seat with a sigh. ‘Jessica turned her notice in last month. Did you not know?’

  Tristan swallowed. Cocooned in the microcosm of life behind the thick curtain wall of the castle, he’d been a bit lax in keeping in touch with his friends and co-workers. Several unread emails rested in his inbox. Fearing they would be asking him about his planned return, and not sure how to answer them, he’d stuck his head in the sand and ignored them.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ Charlie said after giving him a quizzical glance. ‘It’s her last day today. We’re having drinks in The Crown and Sceptre later; you should come along. I’m sure everyone would be delighted to see you.’

  Everyone apart from Jessica. They’d been great friends until he’d cocked it all up by coming on too strong at a work’s party. So desperate had she been to avoid his crass advances she’d done a runner, then hardly said two words to him on their return to work in the new year. Several years later, it was still a source of embarrassment that he’d managed to read what he’d thought was a mutual attraction so wrong. The fact she’d married some bloke she’d practically grown up with less than twelve months later had told him exactly how mistaken he’d been about the whole scenario.

  Even with her own wedding to plan, Jess had still beaten him hands down to the permanent position on the events team they’d both been interning for. Her work ethic had been formidable, even back then. Luckily for Tristan an opening had come up in the corporate affairs side of the business and he’d been able to transfer across. Things had soon settled down between them, and whenever they’d been called upon to work together on a big project it’d been fine. Oh, he still felt a pull towards her whenever she removed her glasses and stared at him, but married women were off limits. No matter how sweet and sexy they were. They’d never quite recovered that close bond forged during their first week as baby interns, both fresh from university and clueless about the real world, though, much to his chagrin.

  ‘Maybe I’ll drop in for a quick drink,’ he said, having zero intention of doing so. It wouldn’t be fair on Jess to appear out of the blue and steal any of her thunder. ‘Which of your rivals has been lucky enough to poach her?’ Their corporate world was a small one, and staff interchanged across the major firms with some regularity as they zig-zagged their way along career paths all headed in one direction. It was testament to both Charlie and Tim how few of their employees jumped ship for other opportunities. Someone must’ve made Jess one hell of a sweet offer.

  ‘That’s the absolute worst thing about the whole bloody business – she’s not moving to a new role, she’s quitting.’ Charlie shook his head then took another mouthful of wine.

  His revelation stunned Tristan. ‘But why?’

  The waiter chose that moment to return to the table, interrupting their conversation as they each selected something from the lighter lunch menu before throwing all their good intentions down the drain by adding a portion of chips to share.

  ‘Carbs will always be my downfall.’ As though to underline his point, Charlie reached for a piece of bread from the basket between them and began to slather it with butter. ‘What were we saying? Ah, yes, poor Jessica.’ As though intent on torturing Tristan, he took a large bite out of the bread and proceeded to chew it slowly.

  Poor Jessica. What the hell did that mean? Tamping down his need to demand answers, Tristan conjured every possibility. Perhaps her husband was changing his job and they were moving away. She already had a couple of kids, was she pregnant again and had decided to take a career break? Neither of those seemed likely to elicit the sympathy he’d detected in Charlie’s tone. Was she ill? Oh God, what if one of the kids was ill? The piece of bread he’d taken was now many crumbs on his side plate, shredded into pieces as he pondered ever more outlandish scenarios.

  ‘Now, normally I wouldn’t say anything, but she’s been very open about things around the office, so I don’t feel I’d be betraying a confidence if I tell you that she and Steve are getting a divorce.’ Charlie shook his head, expression sad. ‘No one else involved,’ he continued, answering Tristan’s unspoken assumption. ‘Just one of those things, apparently, and they’re still very good friends. With him moving out and giving up his job to go back to university, she can’t afford the rent on her own so she’s moving back in with her parents until she can get things straight. They retired to Surrey, or Sussex, or perhaps it was Somerset. One of the esses.’ He dismissed them all with a wave of his hand, the look on his face saying they were all as bad as each other as far as Charlie was concerned. ‘But, enough about that, tell me what’s been going on with you.’

  As they shared their meal, Tristan outlined the goings-on at Bluebell Castle, most significantly the discovery by Arthur’s now-wife, Lucie, of a long-lost painting which was going a long way to righting the family’s fortunes. ‘I saw something about that in the paper,’ Charlie said. ‘Hidden under the floorboards or something, wasn’t it?’

  Tristan laughed. ‘Walled up in a hidden passageway, actually. There’s a heart-breaking story attached to its creation. One of our ancestors commissioned the piece to commemorate his engagement and his fiancée did a moonlight flit with the artist. I’ve been working with my sister-in-law on the copy for the information boards to support an ex
hibition in the castle about it. We’re hoping to add some of our other ancestors to it as time goes on, bit of a potted history of the Ludworths, you know the kind of thing?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘You’re opening things up to the public then?’

  ‘Yes. My sister, Iggy, did an amazing job with restoring the grounds, and the summer fete was a huge success. We’d like to open a few parts of the castle as well to ensure we’ve got an all-seasons attraction. That’s where I come into the mix – I’m organising some top-end boutique holiday packages. A chance to experience a traditional Christmas in a real castle. I put a teaser up on the castle’s blog the other week just to see if there was any interest and I’ve had dozens of enquiries. I’d also like to do something with the grounds, create a Winter Wonderland experience.’

  ‘Hopefully it won’t end up like one of those disasters that seem to crop up on the news every year.’ Charlie observed, dryly.

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Tristan agreed, fervently. He’d come across some absolute horror stories during his research into it over the summer. ‘Thankfully, I’ve got my own crack team of garden designers on call in my sister and her other half, Will Talbot.’

  Charlie raised an eyebrow. ‘Not that Will Talbot?’

  Prior to meeting Iggy, Will had been something of a tabloid celebrity renowned for his wild ways. Happily settled, there was little about him now to hint at that bad boy image, other than a rather arresting scar on his face and a penchant for leather jackets and jeans.