The Bluebell Castle Collection

  He’d joined Beaman and Tanner the same week as her, and from the moment he’d sat down beside her at the company induction day, she’d been drawn to him. She shouldn’t like him – they were rivals on the same graduate training programme and, come the summer, they’d be fighting it out for a permanent position on the staff. The trouble was he was so charming and funny it was impossible not to like him.

  He was the son of an aristocrat, according to the coffee room gossip mill, and Jess could well believe the lips currently smiling down at her had been born with a silver spoon between them. And there was no way the tuxedo he wore had come off the peg, it fit too well – the jacket hugging his broad shoulders, and the trousers the perfect length to cover the tops of his shiny, patent-leather shoes. His bow tie – classic black, not like those awful novelty ones some men wore – looked hand-tied, and the handkerchief sticking up from the top pocket was a flash of deep maroon silk, not one of those fake white triangles glued to a bit of cardboard. He’d never looked so gorgeous, nor so unattainable.

  There was an innate confidence about him, something that could’ve easily tipped into arrogance had he not been so damn nice to everyone. Where she fretted and worried over saying or doing the wrong thing, he seemed to breeze through the day without a care in the world. Which was why no matter how hard she worked, he would beat her in the final selection, and break her heart in the process.

  Shifting position so that he was beside her, Tristan raised a finger to tug gently at one of the tumbling curls she’d left trailing from the complicated up-do it’d taken three hours in front of a YouTube tutorial to arrange earlier. ‘I like this,’ he said. Lowering his hand, he brushed the shoulder strap of her velvet dress. ‘And this.’ The deep timbre of his voice sent another shiver down her spine. ‘You look fabulous, Jess; like a gorgeous Christmas present just begging to be unwrapped.’

  Warmth spread through her. Not because she thought for a moment that Tristan was being serious in his flirting, but because he’d obviously sensed her nervousness and was going out of his way to make her feel good about herself. It was the kind of thing he’d done since that first day they’d met – like the time he’d given her a little pep talk before her first big solo presentation, or the silly congratulations GIF he’d sent via their internal messaging service when she’d been part of the team that had managed to win back a big client who’d briefly left Beaman and Tanner for a rival company.

  Feeling brave, she fluttered her lashes at him. ‘You’ll have to be a good boy and see what Santa leaves you under the tree.’ Oh God. Had she really just said that to him? She hadn’t even had a drink yet, and she was already making a fool of herself.

  Mouth kicking up in one corner, Tristan offered her his elbow, covering the hand she rested upon it with his free one. ‘I promise to be a very good boy, although this gorgeous dress of yours is going to make that very difficult. Come on, Cinderella, let me be your Prince Charming and escort you into the ball.’

  The next couple of hours passed in a whirlwind of laughter, free cocktails and not quite enough of the delicious nibbles on offer to counteract the alcohol. She and Tristan had ended up at a table with a group of co-workers all in their early-to-mid-twenties. So many people had complimented her on her dress, she quite forgot her inhibitions and let the evening carry her away on a wave of fun and frivolity. She barely had time to sit and ease her sore toes before one or other person in their group declared whatever song was blasting across the dance floor as their absolute favourite and away they all went to dance.

  As the current song wound up to its climax, Tristan grabbed her hand and spun her out and back in a twirl. Unsteady from too many cocktails and the unfamiliar heels, Jess placed a hand on his chest to steady herself and let out a breathless laugh. Raising his hand to cover hers, Tristan squeezed her fingers lightly. ‘Having a good time?’

  Jess nodded, regretting the action as it made the spinning in her head worse. ‘A bit too much of a good time, I might have to slow down if I want to make it to midnight.’

  Whether through fate or serendipity, the music switched from fast-paced to a soft ballad. Around them, people left the floor in laughing groups, though a fair number shifted into pairs and began to sway to the music. Jess made to follow their friends but was stopped short when Tristan refused to release her hand. When she cast him an enquiring glance he tugged gently, drawing her back into him.

  ‘I thought you wanted to slow things down?’ he said, with that mischievous smile that did all kinds of stupid things to her insides.

  ‘This isn’t what I had in mind.’ Her voice came out breathless.

  Circling his arm around her shoulders, Tristan held her close, the sway of his body a temptation she was powerless to resist. ‘No? It’s been all I’ve thought about since I first saw you in this beautiful dress.’

  Not sure how to take his comment, Jess laughed. ‘You shouldn’t say things like that, or you’ll give a girl ideas.’

  Expecting him to laugh along with her, she was shocked when the hand resting on her hip tightened. ‘Good. I want you to have ideas about us, Jess. In fact, I want you to spend the next couple of hours thinking about the fact that before this evening ends, I’m going to kiss you.’ With one last squeeze of her hip, he backed away from her, a knowing grin plastered across his face.

  Heart racing, she turned in the opposite direction and fled for the safety of the ladies’. Locking herself in the far end cubicle, Jess pushed the seat lid down and sank onto it, knees wobbling. Though he’d been smiling, there’d been no mistaking the promise in Tristan’s eyes as they’d parted on the dance floor. He wanted to kiss her! A little giggle escaped her mouth and she clamped her hand over it. What if someone walked in and caught her laughing to herself?

  What if they saw Tristan kissing her? This was her first proper job. Getting mixed up in an office romance might ruin her chances of being taken seriously. But, it was Tristan – the man who made her stomach do somersaults, and her heart race a mile a minute. The man who went out of his way to do nice things for her, for reasons other than his general decency perhaps? The man who would be certain to beat her to the permanent position if she did anything to diminish her reputation in the eyes of their superiors.

  She might have sat there for another hour mooning over what could never be, had her bladder not decided to remind her quite forcefully just how much she had drunk in the past couple of hours. With a sigh, Jess stood and began the inelegant task of wriggling down her tights and underwear, almost groaning with relief as her stomach was released from the tight confines of her elasticated pants. She was in the process of struggling back into them when the external bathroom door banged open and she caught the tail end of a conversation.

  ‘… even more gorgeous than usual in a tux.’ Jess recognised the speaker as Michelle, one of the two company receptionists. She froze, not wanting the woman to know she was there. Though she’d never been overtly rude to Jess, there was an undercurrent to the way she treated her, as though she resented being asked to do things by the new girl – even when they were part of her job description and she never seemed to have a problem when anyone else asked her to make a drink for a visitor or to book a courier.

  ‘I know, right? Tristan’s so hot, he puts James Bond to shame.’ The second voice belonged to Nicola, the other half of the formidable duo who handled everything from dealing with visitors, to answering the phones and sorting the post without so much as a chipped nail or a single hair out of place. Jess had never seen either of them ever looking anything other than perfectly made-up and turned out. ‘I’m going to ask him to dance when we go back in,’ Nicola continued, her voice distorted in a way that told Jess she was applying lipstick as she talked.

  ‘Good luck with that,’ snorted Michelle. ‘You’ll have a fight on your hands the way Shrek has been hogging his attention all night. God, did you see the way she was hanging off his neck on the dance floor just now? I felt embarrassed for him.’

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nbsp; Jess found herself frozen in place, hunched over, her tights still halfway up her thighs. The bitchy edge to Michelle’s voice was harder and meaner than anything she’d heard from her before. And – God – had she really just likened Jess to the ugly ogre cartoon character? She clutched at the wall for support as she listened, the pair of them oblivious to her presence.

  ‘Everyone knows Jess has had a crush on him forever.’ Nicola said. ‘But tonight it’s downright embarrassing the way she’s traipsing after him like a dog with its tongue hanging out. As if he’d look twice at a fat lump like her.’

  ‘More like a bitch in heat.’ Michelle cackled. ‘And you’re right. How can she possibly think a man like him would fancy someone like her? That’s the trouble when you’re as nice as he is, I suppose – some people get the wrong message. Let’s go and find him and let him know we’ll run interference for the rest of the night. Give the poor guy a chance to enjoy himself without Shrek stomping on his toes.’ The pair’s laughter faded as the door closed behind them.

  Shocked and humiliated, Jess tried to focus on the task of pulling up her tights, and not on the burn at the back of her eyes. How was it possible people knew she fancied Tristan when she’d gone out of her way to keep it to herself? Perhaps she wasn’t as discreet as she’d believed and the whole office was laughing at her behind her back. Horrified at the thought, Jess yanked at the thin nylon of her tights, manging to rip a big hole in the left thigh which immediately zoomed down to her ankle in a ladder. ‘Damn it!’

  Vision swimming with tears, Jess kicked off her heels and yanked off the ruined tights. The pale, mottled skin of her legs looked shockingly white in the harsh overhead lighting. Now what was she going to do? She couldn’t go back out there flashing her dead-fish coloured legs, for God’s sake! Despair gave way to hope as she recalled the baskets of supplies on the counter tops. Leaving her heels on the floor of the cubicle, she padded barefoot across the thickly piled carpet and began to rummage. She came up with two pairs of tights, both of them size small. In desperation more than hope, she took one pair back into the cubicle but couldn’t get them much more than over her knees before the fibres stretched so thin and tight she knew it was no good.

  Feeling wretchedly sorry for herself, Jess tried to push her naked toes into the narrow confines of her heels. Her feet had swollen after so many hours in the unfamiliar shoes, and that combined with the lack of any barrier between her bare skin and the leather made it almost impossible to get them back on. A couple of steps was all it took for her to know she’d rub a blister if she tried to wear them like that. Why was everything going wrong for her, tonight of all nights? A hot tear coursed over her cheek, and Jess stumbled over to the mirror to grab at a handful of tissues. No amount of deep breathing, cheek pressing, and dabbing could stem the trickles. She wasn’t exactly crying, but her eyes wouldn’t stop leaking and the salt of her tears made her contacts start to itch.

  Between rapid blinks, she managed to get the right one out, only to drop it. Its slide down the plug hole was the last straw. ‘Sod it.’ Removing the other one, Jess flicked it into the sink and turned on the tap to flush it after its mate. Her ruined tights were balled up and chucked into the waste basket, the hated heels pried off and shoved into her backpack along with her evening bag. Retrieving her glasses, Jess popped them on and met her gaze in the mirror. A sense of calm descended as she reached up to tug and pull at the myriad pins holding her up-do in place. Curls tumbled around her shoulders only to be gathered up in one of the spare scrunchies she kept in the front pocket of her rucksack.

  Securing her hair in a rough ponytail at her nape, Jess then pulled out a knitted bobble hat and tugged it down over her ears. Coat on and zipped to the neck, feet and calves snug in her furry boots, she cast one last glance in the mirror as she slung her backpack over her shoulder. She should’ve stayed at home tonight. It was clear she didn’t fit in here, and the idea of spending another second around people who thought so little of her they made up cruel nicknames behind her back was more than she could stomach. It turned out she wasn’t a blue velvet dress kind of girl, after all. And, she thought as she reached for the door handle, that was just fine with her.

  Thanks to a points failure, it took Jess ages to get home and by the time she slotted her key into the front door all she wanted was to crawl into her pyjamas and curl up in bed with a mug of hot chocolate. Before she could turn the key, the door was yanked open and she was confronted with the sight of Steve, her brother’s best friend, red-eyed, his face an agonised mask. ‘Oh, Jess,’ he said, dragging her into his arms. ‘He’s gone. Marcus is gone.’

  No. No, no, no, no, no. It couldn’t be, he couldn’t be, not her darling big brother. After everything they’d been through with him the past couple of years. The endless worry, the thousands of pounds her parents had spent on rehab. A scream echoed down the stairs, inhumane, animalistic, a sound no human throat should be capable of making. As the waves of grief smashed into her, Jess clung to Steve, his strong arms the only thing that kept her from being swept away.

  Chapter 1

  Present Day – the first week of September

  Charlie Tanner, Tristan’s boss since he’d left university and the cofounder of a very successful events and PR firm he’d set up with his business – and life – partner Tim Beaman, took a sip of the wine poured by the waiter. Though Tristan had invited him to lunch and was footing the bill, he had left it to the older man to select the wine. Already feeling nervous about the news he was going to deliver, he could only hope the sop of a decent vintage would go some way to ease the news he was pretty sure Charlie wasn’t going to want to hear. Charlie raised his glass towards the light spilling in from the window, turned his glass a couple of times as he studied the ruby-red hue of the liquid in his glass before finally giving the waiter a nod. With the ritual of the wine selection over, he turned his hawk-like gaze to Tristan. ‘So, when are you coming back to us?’

  Okay, so they were cutting straight to the chase. Tristan smiled his thanks at the waiter then reached for his own glass, more to give himself time to word the answer than any real desire for a drink. Both Charlie and Tim had been incredibly understanding when Tristan had taken a twelve-month unpaid sabbatical in order to return home to help his brother, Arthur, and sister, Igraine, manage their ancestral home following their father’s death the previous autumn. Though he’d been happy to do everything he could to support Arthur, Tristan was grateful that being the youngest of the triplets meant the family title and all its burdens and responsibilities had not fallen on his shoulders.

  During the bleak winter months when it’d seemed to do nothing but either rain, snow or some hideous combination of the two, Tristan had missed his busy life in London. Once the bluebells that had given the family castle its pretty nickname had started blooming and the hard work the three of them had invested started to pay off however, Tristan had found his thoughts straying less and less to the smart apartment he rented in Battersea and his job as a marketing executive in the city. ‘Yes, well that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ he said to Charlie with an apologetic wince.

  ‘Oh, balls. Don’t tell me we’re going to be losing both of you? When you invited me to lunch, I assumed you wanted to get up to speed on our current projects in preparation for your return.’ Charlie cast him a gloomy look then took a large swig of the rather fine burgundy. ‘Well, you know what they say about assuming things …’

  It cut Tristan deeper than he’d expected to be letting the man opposite him down. Charlie had been an inspiration to him from the first day he’d started working at the events management and public relations firm. Both Charlie and Tim, chose to encourage rather than control their staff, giving them room to take chances as long as any failures were learning experiences.

  Feeling wretched, Tristan braced his forearms on the edge of the table and met the older man’s gaze. ‘I’m really sorry. I should have given you a warning, I suppose, but I wanted to talk
to you face to face and explain. After everything you’ve done for me, it seemed rude to put it in an email.’ Twisting his glass between his fingers, he studied the rich wine as though he could find the answers he owed his boss in its opaque surface. ‘If I’d thought for one moment I would find myself in this position then I would have resigned outright rather than requesting a sabbatical.’ He glanced up to find Charlie studying him over the steepled tips of his fingers.

  ‘What changed?’ There was no censure in this question, only genuine curiosity.

  ‘I fell in love.’ When Charlie quirked a brow, he laughed. ‘Not like that. As a second son, I always knew there was never any future for me at the castle and somewhere along the way my brain translated that into believing that I didn’t want there to be a future for me there. I told myself I was city boy, that life in the country was too slow-paced for me. And then somewhere along the line I found myself standing on the edge of our land looking out over the dales and I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.’

  ‘If that’s the case, then you can go with my blessing.’ Raising his glass in a silent toast, Charlie took another drink.

  Relief flooded Tristan and he returned the gesture in tribute to everything the man opposite had done for him. As his worry over letting Charlie down began to dissipate, something else his boss had said earlier finally filtered through his awareness. ‘Hold up. What do you mean losing both of us? Who else is leaving?’

  Setting down his glass, Charlie sat back in his seat with a sigh. ‘Jessica turned her notice in last month. Did you not know?’

  Tristan swallowed. Cocooned in the microcosm of life behind the thick curtain wall of the castle, he’d been a bit lax in keeping in touch with his friends and co-workers. Several unread emails rested in his inbox. Fearing they would be asking him about his planned return, and not sure how to answer them, he’d stuck his head in the sand and ignored them.