A Will, A Wish...A Proposal (Contemporary Romance)

by Jessica Gilmore

Ellie folded her arms and raised her eyebrows. If Max Loveday thought he was getting away with anything short of a full-on grovel he could think again.

  ‘Yes...?’ she prompted.

  ‘And I’m sorry. It’s no excuse, but my family is going through some stuff right now and I’m a little het-up about it.’

  ‘Tell me, Mr Loveday...’ Ellie deliberately parroted his words back to him. ‘Which is worse? Seducing a family man for his money or conning an old lady out of her cash? And which are you accusing me of?’

  As if she didn’t know. Well, if she’d conned the old lady he’d been right there with her; he was joint trustee after all.

  ‘I think they’re both pretty vile.’ There was a bleakness in his voice, and when his eyes rested on Ellie the hardness in them unnerved her. He hadn’t come back because he was stricken with remorse. He still thought her guilty.

  ‘So do I.’ The look of surprise on his face gave her courage. ‘I also think making slanderous accusations against strangers and proffering fake apologies in order to get the keys to a house and a cup of coffee is pretty out of order. What do you say to that, Mr Loveday?’

  ‘I’m prepared to pay for the coffee.’

  It wasn’t much of a retort but it was the best he could do when he was firmly in the wrong—as far as manners were concerned—and so tired that the wooden floor was beginning to look more than a little inviting. Flying Sydney to Boston to Hartford and then on to England in just a few days had left him in a grey smog that even first-class sleep pods hadn’t quite been able to dispel.

  ‘Look, you have to admit my great-aunt’s will is pretty unusual. Leaving her entire fortune in the hands of a virtual stranger.’

  The large brown eyes darkened with something that looked very much like scorn. It wasn’t an expression Max was used to seeing in anybody’s eyes and it stung more than he expected.

  ‘Yes, she said more than once that she wished she knew her great-nephew more. I thought this was her way of trying to include you.’

  Damn her, he hadn’t meant himself—and he would bet a much needed good night’s sleep she knew that full well.

  ‘It was her money to leave as she liked. I didn’t expect to inherit a penny. Nor do I need to. If she wanted to leave it all to charity that’s one thing. But this...? This is craziness. Leaving it to you...to found a festival. I didn’t ask to be involved.’

  He just couldn’t comprehend it. What on earth had his great-aunt been thinking? What did he know or care about a little village on the edge of the ocean?

  ‘She didn’t actually leave the money to me, to you or to us.’

  Ellie sounded completely exasperated. Max got the feeling it wasn’t the first time she’d had this conversation.

  ‘I can’t touch a penny without your say-so and vice versa—and we’re both completely accountable to the executors. There is no fraud here, Mr Loveday, and no coercion. Nothing at all except a slightly odd request made by a whimsical elderly lady. Didn’t you read the will?’

  ‘I read enough to know that she left you this shop.’

  No coercion, indeed. Ellie Scott wasn’t just a trustee she was a beneficiary: inheriting the shop and the flat above it. The flat she already currently resided in, according to the will. It was all very neat.

  ‘Yes...’ The brightness dimmed from her eyes, and it was as if the sun had gone behind a cloud. ‘She was always good to me. She was my godmother. Did you know that? My grandmother’s best friend, and my own good, dear friend. I will always be grateful to her. For everything.’

  ‘Your godmother?’

  Damn, he had come into the whole situation blind and it was completely unlike him. It was sloppy, led to mistakes.

  ‘Yes. But even more importantly she was your great-aunt. Which is why she wanted you involved in her legacy, why she left you the house. It was the house her father was born in, apparently. And his father was some kind of big deal sea captain. He would have been...what? Your great-great-grandfather?’

  ‘Yes, although I don’t know anything about him or about anything to do with the English side of the family. A sea captain?’ A reluctant smile curved his lips. He had been in Cornwall all of an hour and had already discovered some unknown family history. ‘My grandfather took me sailing all the time. He had a house on the Cape. Said he always slept best when he could hear the sea. Must be in our blood.’

  ‘You can hear the sea from every room in The Round House too. Maybe my godmother knew what she was doing when she left the house to you.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  It was a nice idea. But, really? A house? In Cornwall? A seven-hour flight and a tedious long drive from his home. It would have been far simpler if Great-Aunt Demelza had instructed her solicitors to liquefy the whole estate and endowed a wing at her favourite museum or hospital. That was how philanthropy worked. Not this messy, getting involved business.

  Although it was kind of cool to find out about his distant Cornish heritage. A sea captain... Maybe there was a photo back at the house.

  A voice broke in from the corner and Max jumped. He’d forgotten about their audience.

  ‘This is all very entertaining. But what I want to know, Ellie, is are you planning to actually start this festival or not?’

  Ellie looked at him, her face composed. ‘I don’t think that’s up to me any more, Mrs Trelawney. Well, Mr Loveday? Are you willing to work with me? Or do we need to call the solicitors in and find a way around the trust?’

  ‘I can’t just drop everything, Miss Scott. I have a very busy job. A job in Connecticut. Across the ocean. I can’t walk away to spend weeks playing benefactor by the sea.’

  But even as he spoke the words a chill shivered through him. What did the next few months hold? Could he find a way to make his father toe the line—or was he going to have to force a vote at the board?

  He would win. He knew many of the board members shared his misgivings. But then what?

  His already fragile relationship with his father would be irrevocably shattered.

  It was a price he was willing to pay. And if his great-aunt’s house did hold the key to an easy win then the least he could do was help get her dream started while he was here. His mouth twisted. It wasn’t as easy to walk away from family obligations as he’d thought, even when the family member was a stranger and deceased.

  ‘I can give you two weeks. Although I’ll be in London some of that time. Take it or leave it.’

  Ellie’s cool gaze was fixed on him. As if she could see straight into the heart of him—and see all that was missing.

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘So I can set up a meeting?’ asked Mrs Trelawney. ‘I have a lot of ideas and I know many other people do too.’ Ellie’s assistant had given up any pretence of working, her eyes bright as she leaned onto the counter. ‘We could have a theme. Or base it on a genre? A murder mystery with actors? Or should we have it food-related. There could be baking competitions—make your favourite literary cake.’

  Your favourite what? Max tried to avoid catching Ellie’s eye but it was impossible to look away. The serious, slightly sad expression had disappeared, to be replaced by a mischievous smile lurking in the deep brown depths of her large eyes.

  He could feel an answering gleam in his own eyes, and his mouth wanted to smile in response, to try and coax a grin out of her, but he kept his face as calm and sincere as he could, trying to keep all his focus on Mrs Trelawney.

  But he couldn’t stop his gaze sliding across to watch Ellie’s reaction. She was leaning against a bookcase, her arms folded as her face sparkled in amusement.

  ‘They are excellent ideas,’ he managed, and was rewarded by the quick upturn of her full mouth and the intriguing hint of a dimple in one pale cheek. ‘But we are at a very early stage. I think we need to talk to the solicitors and look at fun
ds before we...ah...appoint a committee. I do hope you can manage to hold on to those ideas for just a little longer?’

  ‘Well, yes.’ Mrs Trelawney’s cheeks were pink. ‘Of course. I can make a list. I have a lot of ideas.’

  ‘I for one can believe it.’ Ellie pushed away from the shelves in one graceful movement. ‘I’m expecting a delivery in an hour, Mrs Trelawney, so now would be a good time for you to take your break if that’s convenient?’

  ‘My break?’ Mrs Trelawney’s eyes moved from Max to Ellie and back again before she reluctantly nodded.

  Ellie didn’t speak again until her assistant had collected her bag and left the shop. ‘Poor Mrs T. She’s torn between being the first to spread the gossip and fear of missing out on any more. Still, the arrival of Demelza Loveday’s mysterious American great-nephew should give her enough to be getting on with. And...’ there was a tart note in her voice ‘...you certainly managed to stir things up when you walked into my shop.’

  This was his chance to apologise. Max still wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Ellie Scott, but what had his grandfather always said? It was much easier to judge from the inside rather than out in the cold. ‘I had my reasons. But they didn’t really have anything to do with you. I’m sorry.’

  Ellie pushed back a piece of hair that had fallen out of the clip confining the long tresses. ‘I can’t say that’s okay, because it isn’t. But I’m willing to give you a second chance. It’s going to be hard enough for two incomers to win the support of a place like Trengarth as it is, without being at war ourselves.’

  ‘You’re an incomer?’ Max wasn’t exactly an expert on British accents and Ellie sounded just as he’d expected her to: like the heroine of one of those awful films where girls wore bonnets and the men tights, all speaking with clipped vowels and clear enunciation.

  ‘I spent most of my childhood summers here, and I’ve lived here for the last three years, but I’ll still be an incomer in thirty.’ She hesitated. ‘Look, I’ll be honest. I would be more than happy to see you off the premises and never have to deal with you again, but we have to work together for the next two weeks. You must be tired and jetlagged. Why don’t you go and rest now and come back tomorrow? We’ll start again.’

  Her words were conciliatory, her voice confident, but there was a wariness in her posture. She was slightly turned away, the slim shoulders a little hunched, and her arms were protectively wrapped around her. She was afraid of something. Afraid of him? Of what he might discover? Maybe she wasn’t as innocent as she appeared.

  He’d been putting this off long enough, distracted by his father’s extra-marital shenanigans and the all-consuming pressures of living up to the family legacy. It was time to talk to the solicitors, read the damn will properly and find out just what Ellie Scott was hiding.

  ‘That is a very generous offer. Thank you.’

  Ellie exhaled on a visible sigh of relief.

  ‘Then I’ll see you back here tomorrow. I’ll telephone the solicitors and see if they can fit us in. Do you know how to get to the house?’

  She walked around the counter, crouching down and disappearing from view before handing him a set of keys.

  They were old-fashioned iron keys. Heavy and unwieldy. ‘I’ll find my way, thanks. See you later, honey.’

  It was both a promise and a threat—and he was pretty sure she knew it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE SHOP HAD been busy. So busy Ellie hadn’t had a moment to dwell on the morning’s encounter. And even though she knew a fair few of her customers had come in to try and prise information about Max Loveday out of her—or out of the far more forthcoming Mrs Trelawney—they had all bought something, even if it was just a coffee.

  Slowly Ellie began to tidy up, knowing that she was deliberately putting off the moment when she would head upstairs. She loved her flat, and normally she loved the silence, the space, the solitude. Knowing it was hers to do with as she pleased. But this evening she dreaded the time alone. She knew she would relive every cutting remark, every look, every moment of her bruising encounter with Max Loveday. And that inevitably her thoughts would turn to her ex-fiancé. It wasn’t a place she wanted to go.

  And tomorrow she would have to deal with Max all over again.

  As always, the ritual of shutting up shop soothed her. From the day she had opened it the shop had been a sanctuary. Her sanctuary. She had planned and designed every feature, every reading nook and display, had painted the walls, hung the pictures, shelved each and every book. Had even chosen the temperamental diva of a coffee machine, which needed twenty minutes of cleaning and wiping before she could put it to bed, and sanded the wood she used for a counter.

  She had been able to indulge her love of colour, of posters, of clutter. Nobody expected a bookshop to be tastefully minimalist.

  By seven o’clock Ellie could put it off no longer. Every book was in its rightful place. Even the preschool picture books were neatly lined up in alphabetical order. A futile task—it needed just one three-year-old to return the entire rack to chaos.

  The shelves were gleaming and dust-free, the cushions on sofas, chairs and benches were shaken out and plumped up, the floor was swept and the leftover cakes had been boxed away. She’d even counted the cash and reconciled the till.

  There was literally nothing left to do.

  Except leave.

  Ellie switched the lights off and stood for a moment, admiring the neatness of the room in the evening light. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. If Demelza Loveday hadn’t encouraged her to follow her dreams, hadn’t rented her the shop, where would Ellie be now?

  And, like the fairy godmother she’d been, Miss Loveday had ensured that Ellie could always stay here, always be safe. The shop and the flat were hers. Nobody could ever take them away from her. And, no matter what Max Loveday thought, it hadn’t been Ellie’s idea. The legacy was a wonderful, thoughtful gift—and it had been a complete surprise. The one bright moment in the grey weeks following Miss Loveday’s death and the unwelcome burden of the trust.

  A rap at the closed door made her jump. The shop was evidently closed. The sign said so, the shutter was drawn, the lights dimmed right down in the two bay windows. But it wouldn’t be the first time someone had needed an emergency gift. That was the thing about small towns: you were never really fully closed.

  ‘Coming,’ she called as she stepped over to the door, untwisting the lock and shooting back the two bolts before cautiously opening it...just a few centimetres. Not that there had ever been any robbery beyond the odd bit of shoplifting in Trengarth’s small high street.

  Ellie’s hands tightened on the doorframe as she took in the lean, tall figure, the close-cut dark hair and stubbled chin.

  She swallowed. Hard. ‘I didn’t think we were meeting until tomorrow.’ She didn’t open the door wider or invite him to come in.

  ‘I wanted to apologise again.’ Max held up a bottle of red wine. ‘I found this in Great-Aunt Demelza’s wine cellar. She had quite a collection.’

  ‘It’s your collection now.’ Ellie didn’t reach out and take the bottle, her hands still firmly clasping the door, keeping it just ajar.

  Max pulled a face. ‘I can’t quite get my head around that. It seemed pretty intrusive, just walking in and showering in the guest en-suite bathroom, looking around at all her stuff. I mean, I didn’t actually know her.’

  Showering? Ellie immediately tried to push that particular image out of her mind but it lingered there. A fall of water, right onto a tanned, lean torso... Her fingers tightened as her stomach swooped. Her libido had been dead for years. Did it have to choose right this moment to resuscitate itself?

  ‘I was planning on chocolates as well, but the shop is shut.’ He gestured behind him to the small all-purpose supermarket. ‘They were shut this morning as well. Do they ever ope
n?’

  Ellie looked over at the firmly drawn shutters, grateful for a chance to think about anything but long, steamy showers. ‘They do open for longer in the school holidays, but otherwise the hours are a little limiting. It’s okay if you know them, but it can be frustrating for tourists—and then Mr Whitehead complains that people drive to the next town and use the bigger supermarkets.’

  There. That was a perfectly safe, inane and even dull comment. Libido back in check. She was most definitely not looking at the golden tan on his arms, nor noticing the muscle definition under his T-shirt. No, not at all.

  ‘You really didn’t have to,’ she hurried on, forcing her eyes back up and focussing firmly on his ear. No one could have inappropriate thoughts about an ear, could they? ‘Really.’

  ‘I think I did.’ His smile was rueful. ‘I managed a few hours’ sleep on the couch and when I woke up I felt just terrible. Not just because of the jetlag. My grandfather would have been horrified if he had heard me speak to a lady that way. He brought me up better than that.’

  Grandfather? Not parents? Interesting...

  ‘Anyway, I thought I’d make amends and get some air...have a look at this town my great-grandfather crossed an ocean to escape. I don’t suppose you’d like to join me? Show me around?’

  No, she most definitely would not. In fact she had a very important date with the new edition of Anne of Green Gables she had unpacked that very morning: hardback, illustrated and annotated. She also had a quarter-bottle of wine, a piece of salmon and some salad.

  Another crazy evening in the Scott household of one.

  Would anything change if she threw caution to the wind and went out for a walk before dinner, book, bath and bed? In fact she often took an evening walk. The only real difference would be her companion.

  He was her beloved godmother’s nephew. Surely Demelza would have wanted her to make him welcome, no matter how bad his first impression? Hadn’t she just been remembering just how much she owed her benefactress? She really should replay the debt. Besides, he was trying to make amends. She wasn’t used to that.