His Convenient Marriage

‘School used to mean everything to her.’ Her voice was tired.

‘I expect it did—while she was healing. It was safety—security, and she could use her studies to block out what was going on in the real world.’ Miles shrugged. ‘But the young recover fast, and now she’s ready to rebel.’

He leaned forward. ‘Face it, Francesca. Jenny’s bright, but she’s also spoiled, and brimming with resentment. Something had to give.’ He smiled brief thanks at the blushing waitress as she put Chessie’s brandy on the table, then reached for the cafetière. ‘Cream and sugar?’

‘Just black.’ Desolation had her by the throat. ‘I’ve failed her, haven’t I?’

‘Of course not. But you’re not experienced enough to see the warning signs, and impose sanctions in time.’ He handed over her cup. ‘So, instead of revising, she was cavorting round the neighbourhood, right?’

‘Apparently. The light was on in her room, and she used to play music all the time.’ Chessie shook her head. ‘It never occurred to me to check she was actually there. And, all the time, she was out, trying to con vodka and tonics out of unsuspecting landlords. With some fellow that Jim Fewston doesn’t approve of.’

Miles raised his eyebrows. ‘At least she’s not drinking alone. It could be worse.’

She gave a small, wintry smile. ‘I think it’s about as bad as it gets.’

‘Then you’re being naïve.’ He spoke gently. ‘But I do understand that you need to see Jenny and talk to her about it, so, as soon as we’ve drunk our coffee, I’ll take you home.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was subdued. ‘I—I’m sorry that I’ve spoiled your celebration.’

‘I promise that you haven’t spoiled a thing.’ He smiled at her. ‘On the contrary.’

He thought she was going to accept his proposal, Chessie realised as she drank her coffee. And, on the face of it, she had every reason to do so. Marrying Miles would provide her with the kind of security she could dream about otherwise.

He obviously saw it as a practical solution to both their problems. The same cold-blooded approach he brought to his novels, she thought bitterly. And although you were swept along by the sheer force of the action, you were invariably left feeling slightly cheated at the end.

But I can’t cheat him, she thought, swallowing. And I won’t cheat myself either. We both deserve better from life. And we don’t have to settle for second-best, just because we’re both still hung up on other people.

She studied him covertly under her lashes, wondering what the girl he’d loved had been like. Attractive, if not actually beautiful, that was certain. A trail-blazer, probably, bright and sharp, with bags of energy, sexual as well as emotional. And demanding high standards in every aspect of her life, including the physical attraction of the man she’d chosen to share it. But ruthless when he’d failed to satisfy her criteria.

She jumped, startled, when he said softly, ‘You’re looking bereft again. I think we’d better go.’

While he was at the cash desk, dealing with the bill, Chessie wandered out into the reception area, and stood looking without seeing at the display of watercolour landscapes by local artists that were featured there.

It was the sudden wave of fragrance in the air—half forgotten, but haunting—commingling the scent of some heavy sweet perfume and Sobranie cigarettes that alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. And that the newcomer was known to her.

She half turned, arranging her face into polite pleasure, expecting to greet an acquaintance, and stopped dead, staring with incredulity at the woman framed in the archway that led to the bar.

She was eye-catching enough, her lush figure wrapped in a silky leopard-skin print dress, and a black pashmina thrown carelessly over her arm.

Violet eyes under extravagantly darkened lashes swept Chessie from head to toe in an inspection bordering on insolence. Full red lips parted in a smile that combined mockery with a hint of malice.

‘Well, well,’ Linnet Markham said softly. ‘If it isn’t the little Francesca. Now, who would have thought it?’

‘Lady Markham.’ Chessie swallowed. ‘Linnet. So you’re back.’

‘Don’t sound so surprised,’ Linnet drawled. ‘I’m sure the local grapevine has been working overtime.’ She strolled forward. ‘But I’m astonished to find that you’re still around. I’d expected you to have made a fresh start somewhere a long way from here—where you’re not known.’

Chessie flushed. ‘Fortunately not everyone agrees with you. And I needed to provide stability for my sister.’

‘Ah, yes.’ Linnet said reflectively. ‘The sister. She was the pretty one, if my memory serves.’

‘Indeed,’ Chessie agreed quietly. ‘And with brains, too. In fact, you’d hardly credit that we were related.’ She paused. ‘Is Sir Robert here with you?’

Linnet’s smile developed a slight rigidity. ‘No, he’s still in London. I came down ahead to oversee arrangements at the house. You simply can’t rely on staff,’ she added, dismissing the faithful Mrs Cummings with a wave of her hand. ‘I’ve booked into a hotel for a couple of nights. I just popped into the Hart for a drink for old times’ sake.’

‘I didn’t realise it was a place you visited.’

Linnet shrugged. ‘Oh, it’s always been a good place to see people, and be seen.’ She paused. ‘But I’d have thought it way above your means,’ she added, eyeing Chessie’s blouse and skirt. ‘Or are you working here as a waitress? You never really trained for much, did you? And you wouldn’t have any real references either—working for your father.’ Her brow furrowed. ‘Nor anywhere decent to live. I presume Silvertrees House had to be sold.’

This, Chessie thought detachedly, was quite definitely the evening from hell. She lifted her chin. ‘Yes, of course, but I happen to work for the new owner, and we still live there. I keep house for him, and do his secretarial work.’

‘Well, that sounds a cosy little arrangement,’ Linnet purred. ‘You’ve certainly fallen on your feet. So, who is this paragon who’s taken you on?’

Chessie hesitated. ‘I work for Miles Hunter, the thriller writer,’ she said reluctantly.

‘Hunter?’ The violet eyes sharpened. ‘But he’s a bestseller, isn’t he? You see his books everywhere. He must be worth an absolute fortune.’

‘He’s very successful,’ Chessie agreed, wincing inwardly at the older woman’s crudity.

‘And charitable to waifs and strays too, it seems.’ Linnet’s voice was cream spiced with acid. ‘How did you manage it?’

Chessie shrugged, trying to control the temper boiling up inside her.

‘He needed someone to run things for him,’ she returned shortly. ‘I was available.’

‘I’m sure you were.’ Linnet gave a small, tinkling laugh. ‘However, I don’t advise you to start getting any foolish ideas this time. No girlie crushes. Because not everyone’s as understanding as Alastair.’

Chessie felt her whole body jolt with shock as if she’d been physically struck. Her nails curled into the palms of her hands. Over Linnet’s shoulder, she saw Miles emerging from the dining room, pausing to lean on his cane as he slotted his wallet back into his jacket.

She said, ‘Thanks for the warning, Linnet, but it really isn’t necessary.’

She went to Miles, sliding her arm through his with deliberate possessiveness, and giving him a radiant smile.

‘Darling, may I introduce Lady Markham, who’s just come back to live at Wenmore Court? Linnet, this is Miles Hunter.’ She paused quite deliberately. ‘My fiancé.’

Miles did not move, but the sudden tension in his body hit her like an electric charge.

Later she would hate herself, and she knew it, but now the expressions chasing themselves across Linnet’s face made it all worthwhile. Or nearly.

Linnet, however, made a lightning recovery. ‘Congratulations.’ She held out her hand to Miles, along with a smile that lingered appraisingly, and frankly approved.

My God, Chessie thought bleakly. First the waitress, now Linnet. Am I the only woman in Britain not to have registered his attraction on some personal Richter scale?

‘So, when did all this happen?’ Linnet went on.

‘Tonight,’ Miles returned, his face impassive. ‘We’ve been having a celebratory dinner. You’re the first to know.’

‘How marvellous,’ Linnet approved fulsomely. ‘I’m sure you’ll both be fabulously happy.’ She paused. ‘When’s the big day? I suppose you’ll marry locally?’