The Bluebell Castle Collection

by Sarah Bennett

  At least the water in the shower had been hot and plentiful, and after a good few minutes he’d started to feel like himself again. Then he’d drawn back his curtains and any lingering discomfort had been instantly forgotten as the castle revealed its true beauty to him. He’d assumed his room had been named for the décor, but as he’d taken in the view beyond the glass, he’d wondered anew. From the deep, almost black leaves of the ivy climbing over the pale stone walls and roof of the outbuildings, to the distinctive shades of oak, beech and elm trees and the dark and pale stripes of the neatly mowed lawn, there were more shades of green than he could put name to.

  His attempts to open the window had been thwarted-the ancient-looking metal opener refusing to budge more than half an inch. By pressing his face against the glass, he’d caught the glimpse of a structure beneath his window that looked like it might be some kind of glass house or conservatory. And then the sun had broken through the light clouds, illuminating the pale stonework and enhancing the contrast between the manmade structures and nature’s efforts to reclaim the space they occupied. He’d dug immediately for his sketchbook, and might have sat there all day trying to capture the play of the light.

  As he set his knife and fork together on his empty plate with the satisfied sigh of a well-fed man, he could only be thankful that Tristan had persuaded him to abandon his sketching for breakfast. ‘That was fantastic, who do I need to thank for the food?’

  Arthur finished off his last bite of toast then smiled. ‘We source as much as possible from the local area and have an account with the local butcher. You can really taste the difference, can’t you?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Will agreed. ‘Though I’ll have to resist the temptation of a cooked breakfast every day, I must say I could get used to a spread like this. It’s a far cry from the black coffee and toast I usually have at home.’

  ‘Oh, I doubt you’ll have time to get used to breakfast here with us, Mr Talbot.’ Igraine’s brittle tone drew his attention across the room. She still had her back to them, her attention seemingly fixed on the newspapers spread out in front of her. There was a tension in her spine, the rigidity of her posture a far cry from the laughing, relaxed woman who’d been sitting opposite him not five minutes earlier. And what was with this Mr Talbot business?

  Mentally retracing his conversational steps, he tried to work out what he might have said to sour her mood, but came up blank. Perhaps now they were going to be heading outside to survey the gardens, she was just feeling a bit tense about things. Hoping to reassure her, he aimed for a relaxed air. ‘I’m sure you’re right. We’ll be so busy working, the weeks will fly by.’

  Igraine turned to face him at that point, her face like thunder. ‘You can stop the pretence. It’s clear the only reason you’ve turned up here is to try and escape the press fallout of your breakup with your girlfriend. What did you do to the poor woman, anyway?’

  What the bloody hell was she on about? ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, what did I do to who?’

  At the same time as he was speaking, Arthur shoved his chair back from the table. ‘Enough, Iggy! I will not have you speak to a guest of ours like this. You were the one who wanted Will to help with the gardens, and yet you’ve done everything possible to make him feel unwelcome since the moment of his arrival. What’s got into you?’

  Eyes flashing, she rounded on her brother. ‘Ask him why he’s here. Go on, ask him!’

  A dull flush was rising on Arthur’s cheeks. ‘I don’t need to ask him, he’s here to help us. To help you, although the way you’re carrying on, we’ll be lucky if he gives us the time of day!’

  Still clueless as to why Igraine was so pissed off, and not liking the fact he was somehow the cause of her and Arthur falling out, Will waved his arms. ‘Umm, hey, guys. He’s right here.’

  Jabbing his hands onto his hips, Arthur huffed out a breath. ‘I’m so sorry, Will. What on earth must you think of us?’

  He waved the apology off. ‘It’s cool, really. I just don’t have a clue what’s going on.’

  Reaching behind her, Igraine snatched one of the papers from the sideboard and tossed it onto the table in front of him. ‘Why don’t you read all about it?’ Turning on her heel, she marched out of the room.

  With a feeling of dread twisting his stomach into knots, Will drew the newspaper towards him. A quick scan over the front page was enough to confirm his worst fears. ‘Shit.’ He jumped up, almost knocking his chair over in his haste to put some distance between himself and the unpleasant reminder of the worst aspect of his current life. Anger surged in his veins. Melody had done a serious number on him, that was for sure.

  ‘Is this you?’ Tristan was leaning across from his seat to look at the front page.

  ‘Yes, but the story’s a load of bollocks. I haven’t done anything to Melody, it was a purely business relationship.’

  ‘Well, she certainly appears distraught over something, and you can’t deny the two of you have been splashed across the papers for weeks now,’ Tristan mused as he flipped over to the inside page to reveal a full-length picture of Melody clad in three tiny triangles of material masquerading as a bikini. ‘I wonder if the poor girl needs a shoulder to cry on?’

  Though he knew Tristan was trying to make light of things to ease the tension, he could really do without it right now. As Will scanned the innuendo-laden text accompanying the photo, his gut sank. As usual, the reporter had been clever enough not to outright accuse him of anything libellous, whilst merrily trashing his reputation in the process. If you read between the lines, the article managed to infer he was a drunken yob with a propensity for violence. They’d even reproduced that awful photo of him snarling at the bottom of the article. Talk about a bloody hatchet job. Furious at Melody for dropping him in it, and with himself for not making sure she was on side before he left, he shoved the stupid article away. ‘Like 99 per cent of the trash they publish about me, there’s barely a grain of truth to it.’

  He started around the table, determined to catch Igraine up and explain, but Arthur shifted to intercept him. ‘Why are you here, Will?’

  ‘I’m starting to wonder that myself, to be honest.’ As soon as he’d spoken, Will held his hands up in apology. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Melody and I were never a couple, we just decided to play it that way because it suited us both at the time.’ Even as he was saying it, it sounded ridiculous and he knew it would do nothing to make them likely to trust him.

  ‘I promise you the only reason I came here was because I was captivated by the images your sister sent me, and I wanted to see if I could play a part in restoring your gardens.’ Frustrated that once again he’d been judged on crap written about him, Will yanked out a chair and slumped down in it. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have come.’

  Arthur clapped a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. ‘Or maybe coming here was exactly what you needed to do.’

  Feeling suddenly tired and a lot older than his 29 years, Will glanced up at him. ‘All I want to do is feel the sun on my back, the earth between my fingers and the ache in my muscles at the end of the day that tells me I’ve spent it doing some good, honest work.’ He flicked a resentful glare towards the newspaper. ‘I didn’t ask for any of this.’

  ‘Then spending a few weeks here out of the limelight sounds like it’ll benefit us just as much as you.’

  Still not sure whether he should cut his losses and take the chaos that always seemed to be dogging his heels these days with him, Will looked over towards Tristan. ‘What do you think?’

  Shutting the paper with the snap of his wrist, Tristan rested his elbows on the table and appeared to give the matter some thought. ‘I think we might be able to turn this to our advantage.’

  Arthur frowned. ‘How so?’

  ‘If we can keep Will’s presence here a secret, we can wait to unveil his participation in the restoration works. It’d be a great publicity coup-the tabloids can waste their column inches on speculation, and we can make a bi
g announcement a week or two before the grand opening about what Will’s really been up to.’ He turned to Will. ‘Assuming you don’t mind us using your name in that way?’

  Feeling uneasy, Will shook his head. ‘I’d rather avoid any kind of publicity at the moment. I don’t have any problem with you using my name to promote your event, but I want it to be focused completely on the work I do in the gardens and not my personal life.’

  Tristan gave him a speculative glance, before finally nodding. ‘Okay, I can see why you want to distance yourself from this kind of bad press. We’ll talk about it nearer the time and agree a statement.’

  Shaking his hand, Arthur gave him a wry grin. ‘Looks like you’re staying, then. Assuming you can convince Iggy, that is.’

  *

  It took Will the best part of an hour and half to track Igraine down in a hidden corner of the formal gardens. The way she was hacking at the brambles half-choking the statue he’d seen in one of the photos she’d sent him, it was clear that none of her earlier anger at him had faded. He moved into her eyeline and raised his hands in the traditional surrender gesture, hoping for at least a smile. All he got for his efforts was a disdainful curl of her lip before she attacked the brambles with a renewed vigour that was enough to make a grown man wince. Opting for a waiting game, Will began exploring that section of the garden, making sure to skirt wide around the fountain basin which held the statue.

  At first glance, it looked to be a dead end-the fountain enclosed on three sides by thick, overgrown box hedges. Though it would take a bit of elbow grease to extract the weeds interwoven with the box, once the brambles had been cleared and the fountain cleaned and restored to working order, it would be a nice quiet spot for visitors to take a breather and listen to the soothing trickle of the fountain. In his mind’s eye, he could picture a couple of benches, perhaps with integrated pergolas which would provide a respite from the sun on a warm day. He paced out the area, calculating angles and distances in his head, and it was only as he approached the hedge at the back of the rectangular space, he realised a narrow path had once run through it. ‘What’s through here?’ he asked as he bent to try and peer through the overgrowth.

  ‘I’m not sure it leads anywhere.’ When Will glanced back at her over his shoulder, she’d stopped chopping and was frowning in his direction. ‘The back wall of the apothecary’s garden is somewhere on the other side, so perhaps it’s just a gap where part of the hedge died back and then the weeds and stuff took over.’

  Not convinced, Will drew a pair of thick leather gardening gloves from his back pocket then hunkered down for a closer look. Yanking free several handfuls of grass gone to seed where the edges of the lawn had been allowed to run riot, he cleared enough space to see a clear break in the two section of the hedge at the base. The box had grown together to fill the gap, but with a bit of effort …

  Lying on his belly, Will wriggled forward, ignoring the surrounding plants that tried to snag his clothing as though bent on keeping him out. One more shove. His shoulders suddenly broke through and he craned his neck up.

  ‘What are you doing?’ A none-too-gentle kick to the side of his work boot jolted through him. ‘You’ll wreck the hedge!’

  Ignoring Igraine’s complaint he studied the small wooden door set into a red-brick wall. ‘There’s a door here.’

  ‘What? Where?’ Any animosity she’d been harbouring for him was seemingly forgotten as she tried to wiggle in beside him. ‘Get out a minute and let me see.’

  Rather than reversing out, he pushed through to the other side of the hedge, scraping a couple of layers of skin off the outside of his arm in the process. He was still wincing down at the graze, when Igraine popped up beside him, half her mass of curls hanging over one shoulder, the rest still tied back in a now lop-sided ponytail. She appeared not to notice, her eyes fixed on the weathered boards of the door. Reaching out, she touched the brick wall beside it, her fingers stroking over a patch of the yellowed lichen spreading over much of the red brick. ‘This is definitely the apothecary’s garden, but I’m sure there’s only one way into it.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s obscured from the other side?’

  ‘No, there’s nothing growing up the walls.’ She shook her head, only then seeming to realise her hair was a mess.

  Fascinated, he watched as she stripped the band from the remains of her ponytail, gathered it all together in a couple of swift, sure strokes of her hands and wound it back up in a knot on her head. The movement drew his attention to the lean musculature of her frame, the delicate graceful lines of her neck and throat as she tilted her head back.

  God, she was beautiful.

  That she appeared unaware of it only added to her allure. She was so unlike the pouting, preening women he met at those awful bloody promotional events. Though he understood why Melody had chosen to alter her appearance, he’d much preferred her more natural look when they’d first been introduced. Though he’d meant to give her time to calm down, he knew he could leave this particular sleeping dog to lie any longer. ‘There’s no truth to that article in the paper this morning. Melody is with the same promo agency as me and we decided to pose as a couple because it made life easier for the both of us.’ It suddenly seemed vital to Will that Igraine understand the truth of that. ‘She’s not my girlfriend, never has been, never will be.’

  Finished with her hair, Igraine stilled then turned towards him, as though sensing his gaze upon her. Worried about what she might be able to read on his face, Will made a big show of studying the garden wall beyond her shoulder. His eyes followed the length of the wall, and he frowned over her previous comment. She’d said there was nothing growing up the walls of the apothecary’s garden, but there were thick ropes of ivy spilling over to cascade down the red brick. He turned his attention back to the door. ‘Is it locked?’

  Igraine twisted the handle and tugged to no avail. ‘I can’t tell if it’s locked or just stuck from years of disuse.’

  ‘Let me see.’ Will stepped around to the other side of her and was surprised when she moved away with a scowl. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘I was making room for you to do your macho-man display, because weak and feeble woman that I am, I couldn’t possibly be able to open it without your assistance.’

  Will rolled his eyes. ‘Do you want some brown sauce to go with that chip on your shoulder? What I was going to suggest was you try the handle again and I’ll try to see whether the locking mechanism is moving.’ He pointed to the narrow gap between the edge of the door and the wall. ‘Try the handle again and this time hold it down.’

  With a blush, Igraine returned to her previous spot and did as he asked. Leaning closer, Will squinted at the gap. ‘Can you release it now?’ As she did so, he spotted something moving. ‘And open once more.’ He tilted his head to look below the lock and then above it before standing up to face her. ‘Something is definitely moving, but there looks to be an obstruction beneath it, so I think we’re going to have to try and find a key.’

  Igraine gave the base of the door a gentle kick with the toe of her boot. ‘That’s disappointing. I suppose I can ask Maxwell later if he’s got any old keys lying around.’ She paused a minute before glancing up at him through her lashes. ‘I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions, but you must see it from my point of view. One minute you’re laughing me off the phone, the next you’re on the doorstep acting like it’s completely normal for a man as busy as you must be to drop everything for a project you don’t believe can be achieved in time.’

  She had a point, but he wasn’t sure how he could explain his change of heart without going into the embarrassing scene with Phillipa Cornwall. It couldn’t possibly do anything other than make his already bad impression with Igraine worse if he was forced to explain he’d been fending off Phillipa’s advances when Igraine had called him. ‘It’s been too long since I got my hands in the soil. I’d been feeling restless for a while, but didn’t know what was wrong with me until I saw those
photos you sent me. I’m not one given to romanticising stuff, but the land here called to me. Can you understand that?’

  She blew out a breath, nodding slowly as she did so. ‘Yes. I’ve been desperate to do something about the gardens for ages, but I had too many other responsibilities to give them the time they needed. If I could spend months and months restoring them, I’d love to, but I simply don’t have that luxury. We have to open up to the public if we stand a hope in hell of keeping the castle up and running.’

  Damn, those were some very high stakes, and he wondered what it had cost her to admit that to a relative stranger. ‘I’ll do everything I can to help you. If I commit to something, I see it through, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Though he was curious to find out more about the family situation, Will counselled himself to be patient. Turning back to the wall, he tried to estimate its height. He was five foot eleven, and if he extended his arm he could probably just about touch the top of the wall, but he’d not be able to get enough purchase to haul himself up. He cast an appraising glance at Igraine. She was only a few inches shorter, if he gave her a boost up, she might be able to get at least a peak over the top …

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said as he got down on his hands and knees, spreading them just wide enough to create as stable a base as possible.

  ‘Giving you a boost up.’ He had a decent set of ladders in the back of his truck, but they might as well find out if it was going to be worth the effort before he lugged them all the way down here.

  ‘Don’t be daft, we know what’s on the other side, the apothecary’s garden.’