The Bluebell Castle Collection

by Sarah Bennett

  She was halfway through her cornflakes when the swing door leading to the servant’s area opened to reveal Maxwell, the butler. Neat as ever in his dark pinstriped trousers matched with a crisp white shirt and a black waistcoat, he carried an armful of newspapers. ‘Ah, Miss Igraine, good morning to you.’

  ‘Good morning, Maxwell. Have you seen anybody else up and about?’

  Placing the papers down on the sideboard, Maxwell laid them out in a precise pattern, Arthur’s edition of The Times at the top of the fan, as always. ‘Miss Lucie has been and gone. She’s got a call with the restoration team at Witherby’s at nine and wanted to do some last-minute preparation. Sir Arthur is out with the dogs and I’m expecting him back in-’ he checked the plain gold watch on his wrist ‘-ten minutes. As for Master Tristan and-’

  ‘We’re here, we’re here. Sorry we’re late.’ Tristan entered the room with Will on his heels.

  Maxwell snapped into immediate action, ushering them both to the table and fetching coffee for both men. They tried to keep things low-key at breakfast with the family helping themselves as much as possible, but with a guest present they might as well ask the butler to dance a jig as not see to their comfort.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ Will said, accepting the napkin Maxwell shook out for him. ‘I got so mesmerised by the view from my window this morning, I lost track of time.’

  Tristan grinned at him after also accepting a napkin with a murmur of thanks. ‘No kidding.’ He glanced over at Iggy, eyes dancing with bright amusement. ‘When I stuck my head around his door he was sketching away, completely oblivious to everything-including the fact he was still only half-dressed.’

  ‘Could’ve been worse, at least I had my pants on.’ Will’s rich, deep laugh did something funny to Iggy’s insides, as did the unexpected mental image of him clad only in his underwear. Nope! She was not going there. Not today, not any day. Forcing the image from her mind, Iggy stared down at the soggy remains of her breakfast until the fluttering in her stomach subsided enough for her to spoon up a mouthful.

  Once Maxwell had departed with hot food orders for the men, she concentrated on her breakfast. Tristan and Will seemed content to carry the conversation, and it would’ve been easy enough for her to let them chatter away. A raised eyebrow from her brother put paid to that notion. He’d never call her on it in public, but she could tell he wasn’t impressed with her behaviour. Their father had raised them to always be polite and welcoming towards their guests-even those who hadn’t been invited. Remembering her little pep talk, Iggy rested her spoon beside her bowl and pasted on a smile as she met Will’s gaze across the table.

  Breathtaking.

  She wasn’t sure if it was the right description to give a man, but it was the one that came to mind. Four feet of burnished mahogany table was not a wide enough barrier when facing a man as good-looking as Will Talbot. This close, she could see the curve of his black lashes, and could name any number of women who’d kill for a set like them-herself included, and she wasn’t one for fussing over much about her looks.

  The hint of stubble that had darkened his jaw the previous evening had been shaven clean, leaving nothing to conceal the deep scar stretching from near the corner of his right eye to bisect his cheekbone before curling to the corner of his mouth. It should’ve marred his beauty, but somehow emphasised it. When he raised a hand to skim it over the inch of dark hair coating his scalp, she became conscious she was staring. Fighting the heat of a blush, she reached for her tea as an excuse to break the eye contact. Swallowing down the cold mouthful, she repressed a shudder and told herself it was her deserved punishment for mooning over Will. She set her cup down with a firm click against its saucer, and forced herself to look up, though she focused on the bridge of his nose rather than the unsettling depths of his storm-grey eyes. ‘I hope you slept well.’

  ‘It took me a while to unwind, but once I got into bed, I slept like a baby.’ His eyes skated over her face as though taking in the dark circles beneath her eyes. ‘What about you?’

  Refusing to acknowledge the indecent images from one of her dreams about Will threatening to creep back into her mind, she widened her smile. ‘Oh, I slept fine, thanks.’

  The corner of his lips twitched, as though he knew he’d caught her in a blatant lie, but when he spoke it was only to say. ‘The photos you sent me don’t do the gardens justice.’

  She considered the location of the green room with its view over the rolling rear lawn towards the ivy-covered stable block and the woodland beyond. ‘There’s something special about the light here, makes the colours seem richer, more vivid.’ She lifted one shoulder. ‘Well, that’s what I think, anyway. Maybe I’m just biased.’

  ‘There’s lots of things that are special here.’

  Iggy glanced up at the surprising comment to meet a heated grey stare. Was he implying that she was one of those special things? She melted just a little at the unexpected compliment, before giving herself a shake. Will Talbot might be one of the most attractive men she had ever met, but he had the reputation and ego to go with it. Flirting would be like breathing to a man who had a different girl on his arm, and no doubt in his bed, every week. She didn’t judge him for choosing to live his life that way, but it wasn’t and never would be for her. Besides, the papers had been making a big thing recently about his relationship with a reality TV star-not that she made a habit of reading about him the gossip columns. Well, not much.

  Her response to him was natural; nothing more than her body chemistry reacting to a stimulus. It would be strange if she didn’t find him attractive, given her propensity for sexy, and entirely unsuitable men. Feeling better, and a little more settled, she stood. ‘I’m getting another cup of tea. Would you like some more coffee?’

  ‘Yes, please.’ His smile was as warm about the thought of coffee as it had been about everything else. He was just one of those men imbued with a natural charm.

  Knowing that didn’t stop her stomach from fluttering though. Attractive man plus nice smile equals physical reaction, that’s all it is. Taking a firm grip on that reminder, Iggy went to refresh their drinks.

  She’d just set her own tea and a silver coffee pot for Tristan and Will to share on the table when Arthur entered the room.

  ‘Morning all.’ Pausing to brush a quick kiss on Iggy’s temple, he eyed the pot with a gleam. ‘Is that coffee?’

  ‘Guests, first,’ she said, giving the hand he’d outstretched towards the pot a playful slap.

  His pout switched to a grin when she shooed him to his seat at the head of the table then returned to the sideboard to pour her brother a fresh cup from the large urn. When she set it down in front of him, Arthur reached for her hand. ‘I don’t care what they say about you, Iggle-Piggle, I think you’re great.’

  The teasing she could take as nothing more than the usual banter of an annoying brat of a brother. But she couldn’t believe he’d actually used that wretched bloody nickname in front of Will! Wishing her eyes could shoot lasers and set him on fire, Iggy mouthed ‘I’m going to kill you,’ while he grinned at her like he’d said something hilarious.

  Deciding revenge was better than murder, Iggy resumed her seat and took a considering mouthful of her tea. ‘I think we should have a movie night tonight,’ she said, keeping her voice light and conversational. ‘What do you say, Tristan?’

  Two against one had always been the favourite game between the three of them, the pairings ever-changing. Catching on at once, Tristan beamed. ‘I think that sounds like a splendid idea, sister of mine. What did you have in mind?’

  Iggy pursed her lips as though giving the matter much thought. ‘Oh, I don’t know, how about a musical? I bet Lucie loves musicals.’

  Tristan covered a snort of laughter with a cough. ‘I bet she does,’ he managed to choke out.

  ‘Iggy.’

  Ignoring the warning note in Arthur’s tone, she turned her attention to Will. ‘Do you have a favourite musical, Will?’
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br />   ‘I find them all equally diverting.’ A hint of mischief glittered in his expression. ‘Do you have a favourite?’

  He might not know exactly what was going on, but he’d picked up the undercurrents and she wanted to grin in delight that he’d chosen to go with it. Keeping her face straight, she nodded. ‘Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat is a big hit in this family.’

  Tristan began to sing quietly. ‘It was red and yellow and green and brown and-’

  ‘I hate you,’ Arthur said, as both Iggy and Tristan giggled.

  ‘What’s the joke?’ Will asked as Iggy’s giggles subsided and she pressed her napkin to the corners of her eyes.

  Biting her lip, she cast a quick look at the glaring brother, before turning back to Will. ‘There was a brief period when Arthur was enamoured with the school choir.’

  ‘Enamoured with a member of the school choir, is what she means,’ Tristan butted in.

  ‘Genevieve had a very nice voice,’ Arthur muttered.

  ‘Must’ve been something to do with her well-developed chest,’ Iggy said, drily, making Tristan sputter over his coffee and start laughing again. She was about to pick up the story when Maxwell returned carrying three silver salvers on a large tray.

  ‘Everything all right there, Master Tristan?’ he asked as he set the first salver in front of Arthur and raised the lid with a flourish.

  Tristan coughed then nodded as the butler placed a second plate down in front of him. ‘We were just telling Will about Arthur’s starring role in Joseph.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Mrs Walters spent many hours sewing those coloured patches onto one of my old overall jackets.’ He turned to Arthur once more, features deadpan. ‘I believe you still have it in the back of your wardrobe, Sir Arthur.’

  Oh, that was a delicious titbit Iggy had never realised. Wanting to kiss the butler for dropping her brother well and truly in it, she clapped her hands together. ‘You can wear it tonight when we watch the production!’

  ‘What a splendid idea, Miss Igraine,’ Maxwell agreed, placing the final plate before Will then returning to Arthur’s side. ‘You’ll be delighted to know that I had all the late baronet’s old home movies transferred onto DVD.’

  ‘You’re fired, Maxwell.’ Arthur scowled at the butler before breaking into a chuckle.

  ‘Very good, sir.’ Lips barely twitching whilst the rest of them howled with laughter, Maxwell swept up the empty tray and left the room.

  ‘The joy of siblings, eh, Will?’ Arthur said with a rueful smile as he tucked into his breakfast.

  ‘I wouldn’t know. My parents had the good sense to stop after me.’ Though he said it with a smile, there was a hint of wistfulness about it. It reminded her of the way Lucie, also an only child, sounded sometimes.

  ‘Lucky you. Imagine being stuck with these two from birth.’ Iggy took no offence at Tristan’s comment, knowing he adored being a part of their triumvirate as much as she did. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who’d caught that note in Will’s voice.

  ‘So, what’s the plan for today?’ Arthur asked her. ‘Are you going to give Will the guided tour?’

  Dark-grey eyes met hers and those stupid flutters were back again. ‘I’d really like that, if you have the time. I know the deadline is tight, but the sooner I can get to grips with what we’re facing, the better.’ Well, someone had certainly changed their tune. What we’re facing sounded a lot like he was serious about staying.

  ‘I’ll show you around the Lady’s garden first. As the most formal part of the garden it needs the most work. Other than getting a tree surgeon in to inspect the routes for the walks we have planned, the woods will take care of themselves.’

  Will nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan. Speaking of which, perhaps I can sit down later with those plans you had last night?’

  ‘If you like.’ As much as she wanted to accept his change of heart at face value, she was still wary of it. This was all too easy, so what was the catch? ‘We’ll also need to discuss your fee.’

  ‘Let me work out first what contribution I think I can make to things, and then we can talk about it.’ He shrugged, like money was no big deal.

  Maybe it wasn’t to him, but regardless of the good fortune Lucie’s discovery had brought them, it still meant a hell of a lot to Iggy. Though she’d sworn to herself earlier she would take his presence as a gift, she couldn’t shrug off the tiny kernel of suspicion that somehow this was all some enormous joke, and the punchline would be at her expense. ‘What made you change your mind?’

  Setting down his knife and fork, Will held up his hands to her, palms towards him. ‘Look at these.’

  She looked. They were large hands. Big square slabs of flesh with broad fingers and neat, squared-off nails. No distinguishing marks beyond a few scattered freckles, no doubt from the hours they’d been exposed to the sun. ‘What am I looking for?’

  ‘Now look at your hands.’

  Surprised, she raised them in front of her face. Though she’d soaked them last night in the bath, and scrubbed them again in the shower this morning, a couple of her nails still had some ingrained dirt beneath them. Flustered over her behaviour the previous night, she realised she’d forgotten to apply her sunscreen-infused hand cream leaving the skin looking wrinkled and tight. ‘Not as pretty as yours,’ she mused.

  ‘Exactly. I’m a gardener, Igraine, or at least I’m supposed to be.’ His use of her full name surprised her. Almost as much as it surprised her how much she liked hearing him say it. She’d always thought it too girly, but on his lips it sounded like a woman’s name; one she might finally be ready to grow into.

  Not quite ready to think about that, she tried to concentrate on what he was saying. ‘The medal from Chelsea says plenty of people think you’re a gardener.’

  He shook his head, ignoring her attempt at levity. ‘A gardener who can’t remember the last time he got his hands dirty.’ His derisive snort told her what he thought of that. ‘Replanting the Chelsea garden was probably the last time I wielded a trowel.’

  Iggy blinked. Surely that couldn’t be right. His win at Chelsea had been two years ago. ‘I thought you were run off your feet.’

  ‘I am, but that’s with designing. I have a team who do all the real work. I try to get more involved, but it’s a nightmare because the clients spend so much time coming up with excuses to chat that we don’t get anything done. If I send Nick, my planting supervisor, in to run the job, it’s done in half the time.’

  She’d never considered the flip side of his fame before. Though she wanted to work with him because he was one of the best young talents in the field, there was no getting around the fact that some people probably hired him just so they could tell their friends they’d had their garden designed by Will Talbot. They wanted the celebrity, not the man whose innovative mix of traditional with shocking splashes of urban realism had caught her eye and imagination. ‘Surely your team are going to need you back in London?’

  ‘There’ll be things I have to go back for, I’m sure.’ He lounged back in his chair, the lazy sprawl drawing her attention to just how big a man he was. Big and capable, and just a little bit dangerous. Just as well he wasn’t her type. Or rather, just as well she refused to be drawn to what had always been her type anymore.

  Deciding she had time for one more quick cup of tea while the others finished eating, Iggy carried her cup to the sideboard. The large water boiler had gone into stand-by mode so she flipped through the newspapers whilst waiting for it to get back up to temperature. Their father had liked to get all the daily newspapers, same as their grandfather had. She supposed it dated to a time when the house was busier, when the family did more entertaining and were more likely to have visitors staying. It also put money in the pocket of the local shop in the village so it’d never felt right to Arthur to reduce or cancel the order-even though she knew he read the paper on his phone app more often than not.

  As usual, the headlines grew more dramatic and lurid towards the l
ower end of the tabloid market. It fascinated her that whilst most of the front pages often carried a variation on the same theme, there’d always be something different on one of the red-tops. The boiler clicked off, and she was just tidying the papers back into a neat pile when she spotted what looked like a cartoon drawing.

  Tugging the paper from the bottom of the stack, it took a moment for her mind to register what she was seeing. WHERE’S WILLY? Screamed the banner headline over a photo of Will’s face wearing a photoshopped cartoon red and white stripped bobble hat and matching jumper like the Where’s Wally character from the children’s books. Feeling suddenly sick and stupid, Iggy began reading the story beneath:

  Will Talbot, love-rat gardener to the stars, has left another broken heart in his wake. Bootcamp Babes beauty, Melody Atkins, was distraught when Talbot left her to strut the red carpet alone last night at the new album launch for pop sensation, Clay Givens. ‘I thought we had something special, that being with me had finally tamed his wild ways, but he’s not the man I thought he was,’ she confided to our reporter, barely holding back the tears. ‘I just hope he’s all right, and can finally get the help that he needs.’

  When approached, Mr Talbot’s office refused to comment, and his agent hasn’t returned our calls. There was also no answer at his exclusive Battersea apartment. So, where’s Willy? If you’ve seen him, you can call our tip line on 0800 444 5597. Turn to Page 5 for our exclusive tell-all interview with Melody Atkins.

  Suddenly, it all made perfect sense.

  Chapter 7

  Will had been prepared to weather a storm that morning, but thankfully Igraine’s mood seemed a lot more receptive to his sudden arrival than it had been the night before. He’d taken what Tristan had said seriously and spent a couple of hours really thinking about what his plans were, and whether he could make a difference to what the family was trying to achieve. When he’d eventually slipped between the soft cotton sheets on that monster bed he’d been expecting a night of luxury; alas, though it looked impressive, the mattress had left a hell of a lot to be desired. No matter what position he tried, he’d ended up rolling down into the soggy centre of the bed as soon as he relaxed. His back might never forgive him.