Dora swallowed hard at the venom in the other woman’s silkily soft voice, and glanced towards where Griffin was still hidden by the bookcase. Surely he must be able to hear this conversation…?
‘As must already be obvious, Margaret, Griffin was the one visiting me. Not the other way round.’ Dora kept her voice deliberately light—although part of her wanted to tell the other woman to just go away and leave her alone! Her father’s death had been a shock, and Griffin’s constant intrusion upon her life was far from relaxing; she wasn’t sure how much more she could take without erupting. Griffin had likened her to a mouse several times, but at the moment that was the last thing she felt like!
Margaret’s lips twisted disgustedly. ‘Griffin always has had a soft spot for the injured and supposedly helpless,’ she bit out insultingly.
‘I am neither injured nor helpless!’ Dora gasped indignantly. And she was becoming more than a little tired of this family’s varying opinions of her.
Okay, so she was nowhere near as forceful as any of them, including Charlotte; nor did she find it necessary to step on people to get where she wanted to go, but that didn’t make her the weak simpleton that Griffin, and now his mother, seemed to be accusing her of being!
‘Aren’t you?’ Margaret drawled derisively. ‘Then you play your part very well, my dear.’
‘I—’
‘Griffin is not for you, Dora,’ the other woman told her, her eyes glittering furiously. ‘Not now, or in the future, either. You—’
‘How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want Griffin?’ Dora cut in heatedly, past caring that Griffin must be able to hear all this conversation.
If he wasn’t prepared to reveal himself to his mother, Dora decided that it was his own fault if he heard no good of himself! His mother’s intention seemed to be to link him with Amanda Adams, and at this moment, as far as Dora was concerned, the beautiful Amanda was welcome to him!
‘Griffin broke a date with Amanda this evening so that he could be with you.’ Margaret seemed to read at least some of her thoughts, her expression hardening even more.
He had…? But— ‘Surely that is between Griffin and Amanda?’ She met Margaret’s gaze in defiance, even though she was slightly shaken at the fact that Griffin had preferred to come here and help her rather than be with the other woman.
Margaret shook her head disgustedly. ‘Griffin has no idea what is or isn’t good for him. And—’
‘Oh, but he has.’ Griffin had finally decided to break his listening silence. ‘And, contrary to what you think, it certainly isn’t Amanda Adams!’ he added gratingly.
Margaret looked briefly stunned as Griffin could be heard descending the ladder behind the bookcase, collecting herself enough to shoot Dora an accusing glare as she realised her son hadn’t already left after all.
At least, Griffin began to descend the ladder. But he only began—because seconds later there was a hoarse cry, and then a clatter, a thump, followed by a loud expletive.
By the time Dora and Margaret had rushed to his side behind the bookcase he’d managed to sit up, although he appeared to be having trouble getting to his feet.
‘What on earth are you doing, Griffin?’ his mother demanded, her scathing expression taking in his old, paint-daubed clothing.
The answer to that question had to be more than obvious, Dora would have thought!
Griffin sat awkwardly at the bottom of the ladder, a screwdriver—miraculously!—still held in his hand. The shelf he had been fixing had luckily remained in place, otherwise Griffin might have been more damaged than he appeared to be already!
Griffin looked up at his mother with glacial green eyes. ‘Well, at the moment I appear to be sitting on the floor,’ he snapped. ‘But a few seconds ago I was standing at the top of this damned ladder listening to you warning Izzy to stay away from me!’ If anything his expression seemed to become even colder at this last statement. ‘Would you care to explain what the hell you thought you were doing?’
Dora looked at the older woman with a pained wince. Not that Margaret didn’t deserve his anger, but Dora had never heard Griffin talk in that coldly menacing tone before, and was glad it wasn’t directed at her. Although Margaret didn’t look unduly perturbed by her son’s obvious anger.
‘It’s obvious what I was doing, Griffin,’ his mother scorned. ‘For some reason you seem to have taken on some sort of responsibility for Dora since her father’s death, and so I—’
‘Hold it right there, Mother,’ Griffin cut in angrily. ‘I do not feel in the least responsible for Izzy. But even if I did, it would be none of your damned business!’
‘Of course it’s my business, Griffin,’ his mother dismissed scathingly. ‘You’re my son—’
‘To my regret,’ he cut in harshly. ‘But my being your son does not give you the right to choose my friends for me—especially at thirty-four years of age! Or—despite what you seem to think otherwise—the woman I marry,’ he added forcefully.
‘Amanda—’
‘Izzy,’ he corrected with a firm shake of his head, struggling awkwardly to his feet at last, although from the grey tinge that appeared in his cheeks at his did so the effort caused him more than a little pain. ‘You seem determined that I marry someone, Mother, so, for the second time in your life—’ he moved slightly, so that he could place his arm about Dora’s shoulders ‘—I would like you to meet your future daughter-in-law—Isadora Baxter!’
Dora drew in a sharp breath, not sure who was the more shocked by his triumphant announcement—Margaret or herself!
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘DORA?’ His mother spat the name at him venomously. ‘Are you out of your mind, Griffin?’
Margaret might have been the first of the two women to find her voice, but the words were the ones Dora would have spoken herself. She wasn’t marrying Griffin!
And any guilty feelings she was having concerning her rather unsympathetic thoughts earlier about Griffin falling off the ladder were instantly nullified. If she’d had any idea at the time that he would make such a ridiculous statement only a short time later, she would have pushed him off the damned ladder!
‘Not to my knowledge, no.’ Griffin answered his mother dryly, standing awkwardly at Dora’s side as he only seemed able to put weight on one side of his body. ‘Izzy, I have no wish to be a nuisance, but I think…’ He continued firmly as she would have told him just how much of a nuisance he was being! ‘I think you should get me to the hospital as soon as possible,’ he told her mildly. ‘I may have broken my ankle.’ He grimaced at the pain he was obviously feeling.
He did look very uncomfortable, she realised, somewhat guiltily. After all, she could vent her anger on him at any time, but if he was in enough pain to think he might have broken his ankle, perhaps she should get him to the hospital. She could kill him later!
‘Can you walk?’ she prompted concernedly.
‘If you’ll help me.’ He nodded grimly. ‘If you’ll excuse us, Mother,’ he added, his arm about Dora’s shoulders as she helped him to a chair while she got their coats and her handbag from the back room.
‘Griffin!’ His mother hadn’t moved while they did this, her face a set mask, hands fisted tightly at her sides.
He glanced across at her coldly, seeming more comfortable now that he was sitting down, with the weight off his injured ankle, although there was still a white ring of pain about his lips. ‘Are you still here?’ he bit out caustically. ‘I thought we had said all there was to say?’
To Dora’s mind he’d said more than enough! And to Margaret’s mind too, she was sure!
His mother’s mouth tightened to a thin, angry line. ‘Griffin, if you go through with this engagement—’
‘It isn’t a question of ‘‘going through’’ with it, Mother,’ he drawled coldly. ‘The engagement is already a fact.’
‘If you go through with this engagement to Dora,’ his mother continued determinedly, ‘then I will totally wash my
hands of you!’
He arched blond brows. ‘Could I have that in writing?’
If anything Margaret’s expression became more strained. ‘I mean it, Griffin. This time there will be no eleventh-hour reconciliations—’
‘Again, could I have that in writing?’ he cut in scathingly. ‘After the things you said earlier to Izzy, and the way in which you spoke to her, you’re the one who should be apologising—and it isn’t to me! But I know you too well to think you would ever do that,’ he continued harshly as his mother looked set to make yet another threat. ‘Let’s just take it there will be one less guest to invite to the wedding, shall we?’ he dismissed scornfully.
‘Wedding!’ Margaret’s voice came out as a high-pitched screech. ‘Griffin, I really can’t allow—’
‘I’m over twenty-one, Mother—well over! I’m not asking your permission, or indeed your approval, of the woman I marry. Izzy…’ He turned to her mildly. ‘I really think I should go to the hospital now. My ankle is starting to swell up!’
‘Swelling up’ didn’t adequately describe Griffin’s ankle when Dora looked down at it—it was almost twice its normal size!
‘Unless you want them to cut that boot off—’ and although they were obviously old, they looked an expensive pair of boots ‘—I suggest we try and take it off now.’ She bit her bottom lip worriedly, knowing the simple act of removing his boot was going to hurt him badly.
Not that he didn’t deserve a little pain after making that ridiculous statement to his mother. She would just rather it wasn’t from an injury he had sustained while working in her shop!
‘Griffin, once I leave here this evening there will be no turning back,’ his mother warned furiously as Dora knelt at his feet.
‘Make sure you close the door on your way out.’ Griffin didn’t even bother to look up in order to answer her, too busy watching Dora as she slowly unlaced his bootlace. ‘Just take it easy, Izzy,’ he groaned, as if even the smallest amount of movement caused him severe pain.
She was doing her best, but every little movement seemed to hurt him. How was he going to fare on the drive to the hospital?
It seemed to take for ever to get the boot off his foot—a foot and ankle that seemed to be getting bigger by the second now that the constriction had been removed.
By the time Dora looked up from concentrating on this delicate task, it was to find herself once more alone in the shop with Griffin. Margaret had gone—and Dora hadn’t even been aware of the bell ringing over the door as the other woman left!
Dora drew in a deep breath. ‘Griffin—’
‘Not now, Izzy,’ he bit out between clenched teeth, his face even greyer than before.
Not now! He had just erroneously informed his mother that the two of them were engaged to be married, and he said ‘not now’!
‘If you don’t get me professional help soon, Izzy, this may prove very embarrassing. For me, I mean,’ he told her with a shaky sigh. ‘I may just pass out!’
Dora needed no further urging on the need to get him to the hospital. There was no way she would be able to move him herself if he should collapse!
But as far as she was concerned this conversation was far from over. Griffin had to be told, had to be made aware that he couldn’t go around making rash statements. Especially ones like the two of them were going to be married!
If the whole idea of it weren’t so ridiculous it might actually be funny…!
‘Slow down, Izzy,’ Griffin grumbled from behind her. ‘I haven’t got the hang of these damned things yet!’
‘These damned things’ were the pair of crutches he had been issued with in the Accident and Emergency Department of the local hospital. After an examination, and X-rays, they had confirmed that he hadn’t actually broken his ankle but badly sprained it.
Griffin had been enormously relieved that it wasn’t broken—until the doctor had explained to him that a sprain was actually more uncomfortable than a break, and that it would probably take longer to heal. The doctor had also told him that he had to keep the weight off that ankle at least until the swelling and bruising abated, and that it could be several weeks in the case of the latter. Hence the crutches.
Dora turned to glare at him, the anger burning inside her giving her the extra impetus. ‘How dare you name me as your next of kin?’ she demanded furiously, having had great difficulty stopping herself from actually challenging his claim when they’d been in front of the doctor. Next of kin, indeed!
Griffin made his way awkwardly along the corridor to join her. ‘Who else was I supposed to say?’ he snapped impatiently. ‘Charlotte is still on her honeymoon, and after that she’s going to live in the States, anyway. And you heard my mother earlier—she’s disowned me!’ he reminded her grimly.
Because of his claim that he was engaged to Dora!
‘She preceded me by only a very short time!’ Dora assured him angrily. ‘How dare you tell your mother the two of us are engaged to be married?’ All the anger she had kept inside her suddenly broke free. ‘I realise she’s been pushing for you to marry Amanda Adams, but I object to being used to—’ She broke off awkwardly as two nurses hurried past them in the busy corridor. Perhaps this wasn’t the place to discuss this…
‘Let’s get out of here.’ Griffin grimly shared her view, using the crutches to help him get along his injured ankle tightly bandaged for support. ‘You can tell me how much you hate me once we’re well away from here,’ he added self-derisively.
Dora didn’t hate him. She had never hated him. And she had realised just how much she didn’t hate him when he’d made that announcement earlier to his mother about marrying her. It would be much better for Dora if she did hate him!
But she didn’t… In fact, the opposite: she was in love with Griffin!
She had realised she was still attracted to him at Charlotte’s wedding; she just hadn’t realised how much. Just for a moment, a brief, yearning moment, tonight, after he’d announced their engagement to his mother, she had ached for it to be true…!
She had been attracted to him at Dungelly Court two years ago; of course she had. She’d thought of him often in the weeks that had followed her return home, and had longed to see him again, to see the laughter in those deep green eyes, to know the warmth of his arms about her once again.
But Griffin knew her name, she’d reasoned, also knew the area she lived in with her father, knew that she helped him run his bookshop. So if Griffin had wanted to see her again she wouldn’t have been that difficult to find. But Griffin obviously hadn’t wanted to find her. He must have thought of their encounter as no more than that—if he’d thought of it at all!
And so Dora had done her best to forget about him. She’d made no connection at all between her local political candidate, Charles Sinclair, and the man she had met in Devon. Why should she have done? The two men had been complete opposites—to look at, as well as in their manner. Besides, Griffin had kept to himself the fact that his own family lived in the neighbouring country of Berkshire. In fact, when she thought back to those few brief hours of knowing him, he had told her very little about himself at all.
Her father had been a leading helper in Charles’s political campaign, and when he’d introduced the two of them it had seemed perfectly natural to Dora to accept Charles’s invitation, when it came, for her to go out to dinner with him.
The following months as Charles’s social partner had been busy ones, so much so that she had managed to put Griffin into a locked compartment at the back of her mind. And heart.
Until he had been introduced to her, six months later, as Charles’s younger brother!
But when, exactly, had she fallen in love with Griffin?
Dora glanced at him now from beneath lowered lashes as they made their way slowly to the car park. Did it really matter when it had happened? She was in love with Griffin now, and knew herself to have been so for some time.
She loved Griffin!
And he was a man n
o woman in a completely sane frame of mind should possibly fall in love with…!
‘Get in,’ she rasped, after unlocking her car, glancing across the roof of the vehicle at him impatiently as he made no effort to do so. ‘Griffin, it’s late, and—’
‘And you haven’t eaten,’ he acknowledged dryly. ‘I’ve noticed you get—irritable, if you aren’t fed properly,’ he explained ruefully at her blank look.
‘My—irritability, has nothing to do with my not having eaten yet this evening!’ she assured him tartly. ‘If you would just get in the car—’
‘That’s just it— I can’t,’ he admitted softly. ‘Sorry, Izzy.’ He grimaced at her frowning expression. ‘But I can’t manage the crutches and get into the car at the same time!’
Dora moved around the car to stand at his side. The car door stood open. Griffin had obviously managed to do that, but that was as far as he had got. The act of putting aside the crutches and levering himself into the car was obviously just too much for him.
This sprained ankle, Dora realised with an inward groan, was going to be a damned nuisance. Along with Griffin himself!
She sighed. ‘Give me the crutches while you hold on to the roof of the car and swing yourself inside,’ she decided with a frown.
To give Griffin his due, he only lost his balance once during this negotiation, instinctively putting his injured foot to the ground, instantly giving a pained groan, his skin taking on the sickly pallor it had in the shop earlier. Although, again to give him credit, he carried on with the manoeuvre, finally settling himself down into the passenger seat, his injured foot slightly elevated.
‘As my mother has thrown me out, we may as well go back to your place,’ he muttered grimly, his head resting back wearily against the seat, his eyes closed.
He looked terrible, Dora acknowledged. And having to ask for help couldn’t be easy for a man like Griffin.
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