English Lord on Her Doorstep

by Marion Lennox

  ‘I can’t!’ She sounded panicked.

  ‘You can’t or you don’t?’

  ‘L-look at this place,’ she stammered. ‘You’re a baron. Lord Carlisle of Ballystone Hall. You own everything as far as the eye can see. If we got together... Okay, if we married... Baroness Carlisle? Lady Carlisle? How ridiculous is that?’

  ‘It’s just a title.’

  ‘Which you didn’t tell me about. How could I ever...?’

  ‘Trust me? You did when you thought I was just a farmer. That’s all I am, Charlie. The rest is an accident of birth. If I was born with a gammy leg would you still trust me?’

  ‘I...of course... I mean...’

  ‘Then what’s the difference? I was born into a family with a title.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me.’

  ‘Because I was still struggling with it myself. I still am. But it’s surface. Something I’m stuck with. I hate that you’re judging me for it.’

  Silence. The ancient grandfather clock in the corner started its sonorous boom. One, two...all the way to ten. While Charlie watched him.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, he thought. The rile of anger grew. He was exposing all here, and did she even get how hard it was to say it? But maybe what he was feeling wasn’t anger. Maybe it was pain. Whatever, the clock reached its tenth gong and he was done.

  ‘I can’t force trust,’ he said, and he could hear his own frustration. ‘And I won’t force anything. All I’m saying is that there’s work here for you. You could stay, draw up plans for the Hall, think about what you’d like to see done—I trust you, you see, not to lumber me with pink. And we could take our time to see how things progress. Maybe they will and maybe they won’t but you could trust enough to give it a try.’

  ‘Bryn...’

  ‘I’ve said enough,’ he said roughly, not bothering to disguise the anger now. He glanced—unnecessarily—at his watch. ‘I need to go,’ he said. ‘I have things to do before I collect the dogs. Isn’t it lucky there’s no room in the car for you? You’d be stuck with me for hours. You and me and seven dogs. You never know what I’d try on.’

  ‘I don’t...not trust you.’

  ‘That’s a lie,’ he said brusquely. ‘No matter. I’ll bring the dogs back here and I’ll care for them. Because I said I would, Charlie. You believed me that far at least. The rest...it doesn’t matter. Or it can’t matter. Leave it.’

  * * *

  Except it did matter.

  She felt about three inches tall. Or maybe not even that much.

  She should be driving to the airport to collect her dogs. Her dogs. He was doing this for her. He’d gone to enormous trouble and expense. The least she could do was trust him.

  The problem was, though, that she didn’t trust herself.

  He could have sent one of the men to collect them. There was a small army attached to this estate, mostly tenant farmers who helped out with Bryn’s herd, but also a farm manager and extra hands at need. She’d walked the estate and talked to enough people to know the lines blurred, between tenant, boss, neighbour and...friend.

  Bryn was admired. Loved even. His crazy mother was adored.

  So why couldn’t she throw her hat into the ring?

  Because she was afraid?

  Or...because there was no way a woman like her deserved a guy like him?

  Was that the crux?

  Left alone, she wandered through the vast rooms of the mansion and thought of what she could do if she was given free rein. The tiny upstairs servant quarters would make ideal bathrooms. The grand rooms below could incorporate discreet staircases. A couple of the rooms at the end were big enough to put in the tiny lifts she’d read about, so those rooms could be fitted for the elderly or those with a disability. Guests would flock to stay in such a home.

  She looked out of the windows at the rolling hills, turning to mountains in the background. At the sleek cattle grazing in the morning sun. At the tiny historic village down the road, at the tenants’ houses, beautifully maintained.

  This place was fabulous.

  Bryn was offering her a place here.

  She had no right...

  He wanted her.

  But for how long?

  ‘So take a risk,’ she told herself. ‘You can trust again.’

  It didn’t work like that, though. Trust had to come from the heart, and it didn’t operate on command.

  She took a last glance around at the fabulous Hall, at a project that could keep her happy for years. She thought of Bryn. He was a man who could keep her happy...for ever?

  Or not.

  She knew she was a coward. She couldn’t help it though. She wanted...to keep her heart safe.

  She was going home.

  CHAPTER NINE

  TO SAY SEVEN dogs were excited to arrive at Ballystone Hall was an understatement. They’d been crated separately for the flight, then confined in the car.

  Bryn opened the rear doors and the dogs leapt out in one unruly heap. The doors of the dower house were flung open. Charlie stood there beside his mother—and then Charlie was suddenly no longer standing. She raced through the garden path as the dogs raced towards her. She held out her arms and then she was on the ground, buried by a mass of hysterical, barking, joyous fur.

  How many women would do this? Bryn thought. She’d sacrificed her business to try and get her grandmother out of trouble. She’d refused to send the dogs—and the cows—to refuges where they’d almost certainly eventually be put down. She’d travelled half a world to see them safely settled—she’d even had to trust him.

  He was figuring it out by now, just what a big deal trust was. He’d done a bit of...sleuthing? His lawyers had hired investigators to try and find Thomas’ whereabouts. It hadn’t seemed too big a deal—hardly even intrusive—to have them check on the ex-husband of Charlotte Foster.

  ‘The guy seems almost as big a slime ball as your uncle,’ his lawyer had told him yesterday. ‘He’s currently got bankruptcy proceedings against him and there’s a paternity suit in progress. It seems like your Charlotte’s one of a line.’

  Your Charlotte. He thought of those words now as he watched her tumble with the dogs, holding as many as she could, laughing...weeping?

  Yeah, weeping but there wasn’t a thing he could do about it because he wasn’t allowed near.

  Because she’d been taught not to trust by experts, and who was he to undo years of distrust?

  If she could love...

  She certainly could, he thought, watching the mass of dogs, the laughter, the tears, the flying fur. He felt anger, frustration...love.

  ‘She had a shower this morning,’ his mother said. ‘What a waste.’ She was walking down the path to join him, watching the tumbling mass in approval. The Ballystone dogs were watching on the sidelines. They were clearly ready to check these new arrivals but even they seemed to know that what was happening between Charlie and her dogs was special. ‘Are you going to introduce us?’

  He could do that, mostly because it didn’t require him taking his eyes off the tumbling, hugging Charlie. It even gave him time out from the aching hunger around his heart.

  ‘Possum’s the fox terrier,’ he told her. ‘She’s missing an ear and she minds. When you greet her she’ll put up a paw as if to hide it. Like she’s embarrassed. Fred’s part basset, part who knows what? His name should be Hoover because that’s what he does. Hoovers everything up on the understanding that if it’s not edible he can bring it up later. Flossie’s the white scraggy mutt—part poodle, part a million other varieties. She’s the one I hit, but as far as we can tell she’s suffering no long-term consequences. The wolfhound’s Caesar. He shakes when he’s frightened and he’s often frightened. Dottie’s the Dalmatian. Her teats are hanging so low because she was used for puppy farming and then dumped when she’d outlived sequential
pregnancies. Mothball’s the Maltese fuzzball—you try and hurt Charlie—or even hug her—and you’ll need to contend with Mothball. And finally there’s Stretch... He’s the one on top of Charlie now. A sausage dog. A vegetarian. He loves lentils but don’t give them to him. His wind could clear the great hall.’

  His voice trailed off. He was watching the mass of girl and dog.

  His mother was watching him.

  ‘You love her, don’t you?’ she whispered.

  He didn’t turn. The question hung.

  ‘I was talking about the dogs,’ he said at last.

  ‘Surface talk,’ she said dismissively. ‘You love Charlie.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said simply because there was nothing else to say.

  ‘But she’s going home.’

  He shrugged. ‘Wherever home is. She has no money, no job, nothing. Here... I could offer...’ He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. She has to go her own way.’

  ‘You could follow.’

  ‘What, and leave you with the dogs?’

  ‘For such a cause, yes. I’d even let them share my pink living room.’

  ‘Greater love hath no parent,’ he said and smiled and hugged her but his eyes were still on Charlie.

  How could he make her trust?

  He had no idea.

  ‘Well, we’re all eating in the great hall tonight,’ Alice said, breezily cheerful again. ‘We have seven new residents and we need to celebrate. Charlie, wiggle your way out of that tangle. Bryn, take the dogs and Charlie and show them their new home. I’m about to organise a feast.’

  ‘Please, don’t go to any trouble,’ Charlie managed, emerging from dogs.

  ‘No trouble at all,’ Alice said, poking her son hard. ‘It’s Bryn who has to conquer...trouble?’

  * * *

  By dinner time the dogs were exhausted and happy to settle by the great fire in the massive dining room while their associated humans ate dinner.

  Charlie was also exhausted but it wasn’t physical exhaustion. Bryn had taken the dogs—and her—for a long exploratory walk over the estate. He’d been quiet for most of the time, peaceful even, strolling as if there were no undercurrents at all. He’d spoken only briefly, pointing out a cluster of heifer calves with obvious pride, showing her the field Cordelia and Violet would call home, showing her an ancient stone wall, which rumour had it had Roman foundations, talking of the problems with an old mining site on his west border and what the environmental people were doing now...

  It was a gorgeous day and Bryn hadn’t seemed to notice her silence. He’d simply been a good host, describing his land. He’d thrown sticks for the dogs, laughed at their antics. They were crazy happy to be out of confinement and he seemed content, too. He seemed...as if he was enjoying life.

  For Charlie, though... Every moment brought a build-up of tension.

  Why can’t I relax? she asked herself. Why can’t I just enjoy?

  Why can’t I treat this man simply as a friend?

  Or more to the point... Why can’t I let myself treat this man as more than a friend?

  She was being stupid. A coward. She knew she was, but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. She’d dug her hands deep in her pockets and left them there, as if she suspected that if they escaped she might find her hand in Bryn’s and how disastrous would that be?

  Stupid, stupid, stupid, but by the time they’d walked the estate and she’d come home...no, not home...by the time they’d come back to the dower house...and Bryn had left her to clean up for dinner she was emotionally exhausted. Then, sitting at the vast dining-room table covered with peonies and sweet peas and roses, all in silver vases that must be worth a fortune, with the dogs by the fire, with Alice beaming and with Bryn watching her with that same gentle, understanding smile... By that time she was so tired she wanted to weep. Her defences were taking every ounce of self-control. The emotional barrier she’d built was impenetrable, to be defended at all times—but at what cost?

  Alice had pulled in the big guns for the night. ‘We do this for special,’ she told Charlie happily. ‘In the old days the family had chefs, undercooks, kitchen maids, butler, manservants, the works. Now I have a lady from the village and a couple of girls who pop in at need. I have no idea what all the servants did.’

  ‘They catered to our every whim,’ Bryn told her. ‘But we can’t think up enough whims to keep them employed.’

  But Charlie wasn’t thinking about whims. She was thinking of Alice’s words. We do this for special. What was special about this night?

  It was the night to mark...the end? The dogs were here and happy. She could go home.

  The food, the setting, were magnificent. Charlie should have loved it. Instead she toyed with the food, trying to dredge up an appetite she’d completely lost.

  The dogs seemed to be peaceful here already. Could she go home tomorrow?

  ‘I enquired about flights while I was at the airport,’ Bryn said, cutting across her thoughts. ‘There are empty seats on a flight on Tuesday. Unless you want to stay until Cordelia and Violet...’

  ‘I don’t,’ she said, too fast, and got a grave look for her pains. She caught herself. ‘I’m sorry. That sounds...ungracious. But I do need to go home.’

  ‘What will you do there?’ Alice asked and Charlie thought Bryn wouldn’t ask that. He’d guess how much it hurt.

  ‘I have friends I can stay with until I find my feet,’ she said, trying to sound more certain than she was. But she did have friends. She would be okay. ‘There are always desperate calls for interior designers from socialites who want impressive party venues,’ she told them. ‘I have friends in the industry who’ll give me casual work until I can organise myself again.’

  ‘You’d rather organise parties than stay here and oversee the development of the Hall?’ Alice asked in astonishment. ‘I know...’ She held up her hands to ward off Bryn’s protest. He didn’t want her pressured, but Alice had no such qualms. ‘I understand Bryn not liking pink is an issue, but there are other colours.’ She turned dreamy. ‘Maybe we could have a marine theme. That might work being so far from the sea. A beachside holiday when there’s no beach. A challenge... We could use something like Neptune’s Retreat as the formal name and put Ballystone Hall in small letters underneath. We’d need to install a pool, though. With one of those wave makers?’

  She was off and running and Charlie looked at Bryn and Bryn looked at Charlie and their lips twitched. More. There was laughter in both their eyes, but the laughter faded almost as soon as it appeared.

  There was regret. Loss?

  The home phone rang.

  Saved by the bell, Charlie thought as Bryn sighed and rose, but she didn’t know what she was being saved from. Seeing the pain in Bryn’s eyes? Reflecting her own pain?

  ‘This is where we need a butler,’ Bryn growled. The ladies who’d helped in the kitchen had gone home, so Lord Carlisle had to head out of the room and answer his own phone. He was trailed by all the dogs.

  They heard him talking, briefly, urgently, and then he was back.

  ‘The team reclaiming the mining site either didn’t seal the fence properly when they left tonight or someone’s been messing around up there looking at what they’re doing,’ he said brusquely. He looked only at Alice—as if Charlie were already gone? As if that final gaze had been a goodbye? ‘Ewan Grady’s cattle have broken through and so have some of ours. There are exposed shafts up there. We need to get them out before we lose any.’

  ‘Ewan’s one of our tenant farmers,’ Alice told Charlie. ‘I think I told you. The mine...they’re uncapping the shafts to make more permanent repairs but at the moment they’re exposed and dangerous. Bryn, do you want help?’

  ‘Ewan and his son are there already,’ Bryn told her. ‘We don’t want anyone up there who doesn’t know the place backward.’ And then finally
he did look at Charlie. His face was grim. Because of his cows? Or because of her? ‘Goodnight, Charlie,’ he said brusquely. ‘Sleep well.’

  And he was gone.

  Charlie was left looking at Alice. Who looked at her...with understanding.

  Alice...

  This woman had watched her husband leave to clean a water tank and he hadn’t come back. And her daughter, too...

  ‘He knows what he’s doing,’ Alice said soundly. ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘How can you ever stop worrying?’

  ‘You have to trust,’ Alice said gently. ‘Otherwise you’ll go mad.’

  Alice started clearing but there wasn’t much to clear. Charlie walked out to the massive front doors, opened them and watched the tail lights of the Land Rover. She watched them until they disappeared into the distance.

  There was nothing she could do. She’d be no help up there.

  If she stayed here...if she trusted...could she learn?

  She closed her eyes and then Alice was there, touching her arm.

  ‘Come and help me wash up,’ she said gently. ‘And don’t look like that, sweetheart. Or if you do...think about what you can do about it.’

  ‘I can’t...’

  ‘I think you probably can.’

  She steered her back inside and closed the big doors after her. The dogs milled around their legs, excitement over. Heading back to the fire.

  And Charlie stopped dead. Checked. Rechecked. And finally said it aloud.

  ‘Alice...where’s Flossie?’

  * * *

  Once upon a time Flossie’s devotion had been absolute. That devotion had been repaid by dumping, by abandonment. Since then Flossie had learned new people, new devotion, but the last few days had been confusing to say the least. New country, new dogs, new faces...

  Flossie had stood with the other dogs by Charlie’s side but she’d seen tail lights retreating into the distance. She knew what that meant.

  She’d started to run.

  * * *

  Alice and Charlie spent useless minutes searching the house, searching the yard, calling. ‘She must have followed the car,’ Charlie said at last. ‘I had the door open. For a moment... I wasn’t looking.’ She felt dreadful but still...following the car would be okay. Surely? The mine wasn’t so far that Flossie couldn’t catch up, and the men would see her.