by Nina Milne
Down by the lake and rolling in duck poo from the smell.
‘I’ll take her while you show Mr Faulkner to his room,’ Agnès said, tucking the dog firmly under her arm, glad of an excuse to escape, catch her breath.
‘Would you like coffee, Mr Faulkner?’ Suzanna asked.
‘No. Thank you,’ he replied, his voice noticeably warmer as he spoke to the receptionist, but he still hadn’t moved, hadn’t taken his eyes off her. ‘One o’clock, Agnès,’ he repeated.
Kam and his mother had been treated shamefully by her grandfather and he clearly had things he needed to get off his chest. Telling him that she was sorry would be meaningless but maybe hearing him out would help him draw a line under the past so that he, at least, could move on.
It would be painful, humiliating, but he deserved that courtesy from her.
‘One o’clock,’ she agreed. ‘Suzanna, will you call Jamie and let him know? Mr Faulkner is a special guest,’ she added, knowing that the chef would ensure that he offered them something a little more interesting than the basic fare. ‘I’m sure Grandma will want to catch up with your news if you can spare the time, Kam,’ she added, as if this were a perfectly normal social event, ‘but if you’ll excuse me, I need to give this little monster a bath.’
‘It looks like the same dog,’ he said, ‘but it can’t be Daisy.’
He remembered the name of her grandmother’s dog? That should have reassured her but, on the contrary, it felt ominous.
‘Daisy crossed the rainbow bridge years ago,’ she managed, through a throat that felt as if it were stuffed with straw. ‘This is Dora. Her granddaughter,’ she added, very conscious of Suzanna’s interest. ‘They have the same colouring, but she’s smaller. The runt of the litter.’ Desperate to escape his intense gaze, she turned to Suzanna. ‘Where have you put Mr Faulkner, Suzanna?’
‘He’s booked into the Captain’s Suite.’
‘Oh.’
The suite had been named for the smuggler, Henri Prideaux. According to the legend on the castle website, he’d fallen in love with the daughter of Sir Arthur Draycott, baronet and local magistrate, charged by the Crown with the task of guarding the creek from those illegally running brandy and silk into the country. Sir Arthur, far from doing his duty, had been using his position to make a fortune as their accomplice.
Henri, so it was said, having fallen in love with Elizabeth, had given up his life of crime to marry her and settle down in Castle Creek.
It was the story she was using to sell the castle as a wedding venue. Take your vows in the pretty chapel where Henri and Elizabeth were wed, then seal your love in the four-poster bed where they created the Prideaux dynasty. She’d had a couple of enquiries, but if she didn’t get the boiler sorted her big plans would be going nowhere.
‘Well, you’ll be comfortable,’ she assured him, even while thinking that the Captain’s Suite was an odd choice for a man on his own, assuming he was on his own.
Why was he here?
She made an effort to look no more than professionally interested but the corner of his mouth lifted in an ironic smile and she felt her cheeks grow hot.
She needed to focus...
The B & B, the wedding business, were her last chance to save the castle and the good news was that Kamal Faulkner had taken their most expensive room. Hooray! If her conscience was prodding her to offer it to him as her guest, she refused to listen.
If he wanted to indulge himself by sleeping in the Tudor four-poster, alone or with a partner, he would have to pay the going rate because she couldn’t afford the gesture.
‘How long are you staying, Kam?’
‘As long as it takes.’
What?
Not her business. Her only interest was that he would be spending several days in their most expensive room. Whatever he might want from her, they would have extra money coming in.
Double hooray...
‘Right... Well, if you need anything, Suzanna is here and will be happy to help.’
‘What I want, Suzanna cannot give me, Agnès, but that will keep until lunch.’
Copyright © 2019 by Liz Fielding
ISBN-13: 9781488043673
Hired Girlfriend, Pregnant Fiancée?
First North American publication 2019
Copyright © 2019 by Nina Milne
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