by Liz Fielding
Stupid question. He didn’t have to do anything but stand there looking dangerous.
“Nothing, He’s just a bit intimidating. I mean, he’s perfectly polite but he’s so cool. He’s got that whole sexy Special Forces thing going on, you know, all strong and silent, which is all very well until you’re trying to have a conversation.” Cool and sexy ... Not dangerous? Was she the only one who felt threatened? “Max isn’t Mr Chatty either,” Flora was saying, “and the arrival of the stony-faced Count poking around every corner of the Hall looking for trouble has brought home the reality of what this wedding is going to involve. It was left to me to do all the talking last night, and I was exhausted by the time I went to bed.” She sounded seriously fed up.
“By yourself?” Ally asked, hoping to tease her out of it. “Or did you have to be totally convincing. You know ... with sound effects?”
“For goodness’ sake, Ally! It’s just a bit of play-acting,” Flora said, with rather more vehemence and a lot less humour than was normal.
“Sorry,” she said, but Ally’s eyebrows had hit the roof. Had she inadvertently hit a raw spot? If she didn’t know any better she’d think there really was something going on there ... “To be honest I’m having a bit of a weird one myself. Your Count caught me in full skivvy mode at the Three Bells this morning. Not exactly the impression I was hoping to make.”
“You’ve met him already? Well that’s perfect! You can come to dinner tonight and use your famous charm to keep things ticking over while I’m in the kitchen doing my best to convince him that we’re not going to put on a hog roast to feed our royal guests.”
A hog roast?
“I’m not sure he’s impressed by my charm,” she said, her earlier Big Idea coalescing into something solid. “He’s pretty much accused me of encouraging Hope to marry her Prince in order to further my own ends.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
“I know, but he’s done a background check, Flora, and it was inevitable he’d think the worst.” She let it go, not wanting to depress Flora further. “Don’t worry. Once he’s been softened up by your wonderful cooking it’ll be a piece of cake to convince him that I’m not a wolf in rubber gloves and a pinny. I just hope Max is properly grateful for everything you’re doing.”
“Not so you’d notice. I’d wittered on all evening and I’m sure Fredrik thought I was a complete airhead, but when I said that to Max, instead of saying of course I didn’t come over as too silly for words and thanking me for doing all the work, all he said was that he wouldn’t be surprised at all.”
“And he looks so sensible. Does he know how lucky he is that you didn’t crown him with a copper-bottomed saucepan?”
“There’s still time. We’ve got to entertain the Count again tonight, so you’ve got to come and help, Ally. If nothing else, we can talk to each other.”
“Poor Floradear,” said Ally, amused. “What’s on the menu?”
“Chicken, quince and hazelnut ravioli to start, followed by roast haunch of venison with a potato and celeriac gratin and then lemon tart.” Flora rattled off the menu. “What do you think?”
She thought that she wouldn’t miss it for the world. She wanted to see Flora and Max together to find out what was really going on. What she said was, “Make it those pear and chocolate puddings I like instead of lemon tart and you’re on.”
“Chocolate will be too rich at the end of that meal.”
“Well, you could always chatter to Count Fredrik by yourself ...”
Flora sighed. “Chocolate and pear it is. Come about seven, okay? Wear something distracting.”
“I don’t think Fredrik is a man to be diverted by a glimpse of gooseflesh.” Hasebury Hall was draughtier than a railway station. “That ship sailed the minute he saw me in a headscarf and pink rubber gloves.” Not that anyone would have guessed from the fervour with which he’d kissed her. She could still feel –
“Rubbish,” Flora said. “Do a Cinderella transformation and knock his socks off. I’ll make sure Max piles the logs high in the grate.”
“Hope’s the one with the Cinderella dress and glass slippers but I’ll do my best,” she promised. “It should be an interesting evening.”
Realizing that Fredrik had given up on the lychgate and was watching her through narrowed eyes, she said, “Speaking of interesting, the man in question is eyeing the lychgate with the look of someone wondering where he can lay his hands on a chainsaw. I’d better go before he gets locked up.”
“Have you seen enough?” she asked, checking her watch as she rejoined Fredrik.
“Why? Are you in a hurry to be somewhere else?”
“The Old Forge,” she reminded him.
He frowned. “That’s all well and good for now,” he said, “but as a bridesmaid you are part of the wedding party. You’ll be expected to attend the reception and ball in San Michele next month when the palace make the official announcement.”
“I know. I have my invitation.”
“So? How will you manage?”
Good question. The truth was money was hideously tight and losing the best part of a week’s wages was going to hurt but she wasn’t going to tell him that.
“It’s just a few days.”
Fortunately, much as she would love the excuse to sack her, Jennifer would keep her on just to be able to say that one of the royal bridesmaids was skivvying for her. And Penny, who ran the Old Forge, would certainly welcome the extra customers who would come in at lunchtime in the hope of being served by her.
It was going to be an interesting summer.
“If you’ve got a moment, I wanted to talk to you about the wedding diary.” His expression was not encouraging. “The theme is ‘Becoming a Princess’. We’ll see Hope growing up, the story of how she and Jonas met and quotes from both families and photographs of the preparations for the wedding. I’m hoping that when I’m in San Michele I’ll be able to talk to Jonas’s family,” she said.
“You are very ambitious for a cleaning lady,” he said.
“Even cleaning ladies have dreams.” She had hoped he might return the favour and smooth the way for her but that was before she’d met him. “I just need a sentence or two for the diary. All the proceeds will go to a charitable trust set up in Hope’s name. I’m sure the royal family will want to support that?” When he didn’t immediately answer, she added, “Unless they want the entire world to know that they are not overjoyed at their youngest son’s choice of bride?”
“Ambitious and sharp.”
She didn’t think he was paying her a compliment.
“Since you’ll want to come along and keep an eye on me, reassure yourself that I don’t poke my nose behind the arras or sneak photographs of the royal knickknacks, I thought you might prefer to make the arrangements.”
“Knickknacks?”
Ally found herself wanting to reach out and use her thumb to wipe the frown from between his eyes. Wanting to see him smile.
Restraining herself, she said, “I imagine in a palace they would be objets d’art.”
“I see. Perhaps it would just be easier to confiscate your phone while you’re in San Michele.”
“I’m pretty sure that would be an abuse of my human rights,” she said.
“Which right, specifically, would that be?”
“The right of every woman to have access to social media 24/7.” She tried a smile, hoping to tease him out of his grump. “You’ll just have to stay very close.”
“I intend to,” he replied, thoughtful rather than amused. “You’re taking on a great deal of work for someone who is not being paid.”
So much for charm, she thought, but she kept the smile pinned her lips as she shook her head. “You know what they say about casting your bread upon the water,” she replied.
“That’s what you’re doing?” The question was apparently rhetorical since he did not wait for a reply but, pocketing his notebook, said, “Thank you for your time, Ally, and the history l
esson.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, taking the folder she’d prepared from her satchel and handing it to him. “You’ll find names and contact details of everyone you’re likely to need in here. If there’s anything else, email me.”
“Thank you. I’ll see you next month in San Michele.”
“Yes,” she agreed, not bothering to tell him that he’d see her sooner than that. Her turn to surprise him. “Are you going to Westonbury Court this afternoon?” she asked, to break that awkward silence when you’ve said goodbye but find yourself walking in the same direction. “I’m not snooping, promise –” she drew a cross over her heart with her finger “– it’s just that there are roadworks on the Ayesborough Road and although it’s the long way around I think you’ll find it quicker going through Upper Combe.”
Chapter Four
Fredrik paused at the tall, wrought-iron gates of Hasebury Hall, watching as Ally walked away from him. Her long legs ate up the distance, her hair catching in the low shafts of sunlight as it swung around her shoulders.
She paused at the Market Cross, to respond to the query of a couple dressed for walking, looking at their map, smiling as she directed them on their way.
For a moment he was tempted to go after her, have a sandwich at the café where she worked the lunch shift, delaying his visit to Westonbury so that she could direct him through the narrow lanes.
Keeping her close, he told himself, was a duty.
A duty and a danger.
She’d made a living seducing the unwary with that smile and his default position was distrust.
He could still feel the heat of her lips as they’d responded to his, the jolt as his body had quickened, stirring from a long winter in response to something raw, something as elemental as lightning that had passed between them. The exhilaration of meeting a woman who could think so quickly on her feet when faced with an unexpected encounter.
She had anticipated his mistrust, too. Seemed to accept is as legitimate, putting his irritability down to that rather than the disturbing jolt to his libido. She had also managed, mostly, to hang on to her sense of humour in the face of some serious provocation, attempting to provoke a smile in return.
That he had found it so hard not to succumb warned him that she was very good at what she did, which made it all the more surprising that she hadn’t been snapped up by another magazine.
All that would change the minute the news broke that she was at the heart of one of the biggest society weddings taking place this year.
She could sell news of the engagement now and pay off her debts with a substantial sum left over but she was cleverer than that.
As a bridesmaid she would be right at the centre of things and the wedding diary she was creating would give her access to the entire royal family. She would keep her secret until after the visit to San Michele. After that she would be able to deliver a scoop that would wipe out the opposition and set her up for life.
Casting her bread on the waters indeed ...
Tucking the folder she’d given him under his arm, he took out his phone and made a call to the palace.
News of Fredrik’s arrival had reached the Old Forge by the time she arrived for her shift.
“So? Who is the handsome stranger who swept you off your feet this morning?” Penny asked, grinning, before she’d even got her coat off.
She rolled her eyes and grinned back. “Good news travels fast.”
“I feel sorry for the guest speaker at the Women’s Institute tonight. Forget jam and Jerusalem, you are going to be the sole topic of conversation. Your mother is going to be everyone’s best friend.”
“Oh, joy.”
“So?”
“If you let me take a break in February,” she replied, “I’ll tell you everything when I get back.”
“Everything?”
“Everything that’s fit to print.”
“Spoilsport. Dates?” she asked, turning to the calendar.
“The thirteenth to the seventeenth.”
“So you’ll be away for Valentine’s Day,” she said, pointedly.
“Really?” she said, innocently. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Fortunately they were too busy for Penny to dig further and by the time she got home her mother, who was president of the local WI, was too flustered by the imminent arrival of the County Organizer to ask more than if it was “serious”.
Ally’s reply, that it was “too early to talk about”, got one of her mother’s looks, but for once she let it go at that.
The Hasebury Hall drawing room was empty, but the blaze in the hearth was inviting. Fredrik stood with his foot on the fender, the heat warming wounds that even though they were healed, still reacted badly to the cold.
He was looking into the flames, all attempts to concentrate on his schedule for the following day sabotaged by the memory of warm lips, a kiss, green-gold eyes that had stayed with him all day, when he heard the door open behind him.
He turned, a smile in place for Flora, who had tried desperately hard to make him feel welcome, and found himself face to face with the disturbing Miss Parker.
She’d disturbed him this morning when she was dressed down to clean the pub, her hair in a plait and without a scrap of make-up. Tonight, her mouth glistening a deep rose red in the firelight, her hair pinned up in an apparently careless topknot, loose strands curling round a creamy skin left bare by a soft, jade green sweater that had slipped off one shoulder, she was off-the-scale trouble.
And he was right about the heels. She was wearing a pair of narrow black velvet pants and very high heels that gave the impression that her legs were endless.
“Ally ...”
“Fredrik.”
“I did not realize that you would be joining us this evening.” She tilted her head to one side, a wry smile inviting him to try harder.
He was saved by Max.
“Ally!” he said. “Flora told me you were coming. How lovely to see you.”
She flicked a glance at him as if to say that’s how it’s done before turning to Max.
“My treat, Sir Max. I never miss a chance to enjoy Flora’s cooking.”
“Just Max, please. How are your parents?”
“Very well, thank you. My father sends his regards.”
He nodded. “What can I offer you to drink?”
“A glass of wine?”
“I’ve opened the red we’re having with dinner.”
“Perfect.”
Her smile filled the room and the empty shabbiness disappeared into the shadows as, settling herself into the corner of the sofa nearest to the fire, she crossed her long legs.
“Scotch, Fredrik?”
It took a moment for Max’s offer to infiltrate. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”
“Did you have a productive afternoon?” Ally asked when they were alone.
“Useful.” Her sweater slipped a little lower, the exposed strap of her underwear a blatant invitation to slip a finger beneath it, leaving the silky skin of her shoulder at the mercy of his mouth ... He swallowed, cleared his throat. “Thank you for the comprehensive folder you prepared. It’s been very ...”
She arched a brow. “Useful?”
“Yes.” He made an effort to focus. “I spoke to Princess Anna this afternoon. She informs me that you will not be bringing a partner to San Michele.” It had suited his plan to keep her close while she was in San Michele, but now he wasn’t so sure. “I would have thought there’d be a queue to join you.”
“I’m sure you meant that as a compliment, Fredrik, and no doubt I could have found someone.” Her shoulder moved in the smallest of shrugs, the implication being that she could have had her pick of men to squire her. “I’m sure my ex-boss would have leapt at the chance.” She smiled to show that was teasing. “Somehow I don’t think he’d have been welcome.” She put her head to one side drawing attention to long jade earrings that exactly matched her sweater. “Do I get a black mark from Princess Anna for mes
sing up her seating plan for the banquet?”
“On the contrary – she was relieved. She needed a spare woman to partner someone at the reception and ball.”
“Oh? Is this where I get my prince?” she asked. “I believe Prince Nico is unattached at the moment.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you but Princess Anna has other plans for him. You’ll have to make do with me.”
“Well that’s perfect. You’ll be able to keep me under close surveillance.” She gave him a cool look from beneath ridiculously long lashes. Was she flirting with him? Did she think she could seduce him into forgetting his doubts about her? “I hope you can dance ...”
The words died on her lips and a flush darkened her cheekbones. She’d obviously read about his close encounter with the grim reaper and was dearly wishing the words safely back behind her teeth. Until now she’d had him on the back foot but her embarrassment – a first hint of fallibility – gave him the advantage for once.
“Save the slow dances for me and I’ll probably manage,” he said, intending to press it home, but succeeding only in imagining what it would be like to hold her close. In those high heels she had been looking him straight in the eye. A perfect fit ...
“Sorry to be so long. Flora needed a hand ...” The reappearance of Max, bearing drinks, gave them both a moment to recover. “You looked around the church this morning, I understand,” he said, handing a glass of red wine to Ally and then passing him his Scotch. “Is it going to be big enough?”
“That depends. It’s surprisingly large for such a small place but if Hope plans to invite the entire village it’s going to be a bit of a squeeze.”
“Combe St Philip was an important centre of the wool trade in the Middle Ages,” Ally explained. She took a sip from the glass of wine that Max had handed her, licking a drop from her lips. “Rich merchants bought their way into heaven by building churches. The bigger, the more ornate ...” Her voice trailed away as she realized that he was watching her and she turned to Max. “Have you talked to the vicar, yet? We need to make sure the church remains free for the wedding.”