HE LEFT, AND what followed was three long weeks of waiting. They video-called and he worried as he saw her face, etched with the strain of packing, doubt that she was doing the right thing. Finally, though, she was in the air and he was driving to London to collect her.
The dogs were arriving on a later plane. The logistics of transporting seven dogs had been a nightmare. His mother was officially importing three dogs and Bryn was importing four. ‘Tell me why I’m adopting three dogs?’ his mother had asked faintly, and she’d watched in bemusement as he’d made a hash of trying to explain. She was confused? He felt the same.
But it was happening. The dogs would arrive three days later. That’d give Charlie time to find her feet.
Or get cold feet and turn and run before they even left Australia?
The finalising of dog flights had been Charlie’s doing. He wondered if there really had been no room on her flight, or if the delay had been deliberate. Was she giving herself time to check him out first—was he who he said he was? Was his offer real?
She couldn’t completely trust, he thought, not where her grandmother’s animals were concerned.
For her to trust...
Maybe he should have told her...
But it was too late now. He was in the arrival hall, watching as each passenger emerged from the customs hall. The place was packed with excited relatives and friends. There were balloons, flowers, emotion...
He hadn’t brought flowers or balloons, but emotion was there in plenty. That she’d trust to come all this way...
And then she was there, standing uncertainly in the doorway, in her standard uniform of jeans but in a new, fresh windcheater. She was dragging a battered roller suitcase behind her. Her curls were tousled and her eyes were shadowed.
She looked battered herself, he thought. Thinner. The last weeks had been tough and once again he felt the tug of remorse that he hadn’t been able to stay and help her pack.
He watched her for a moment more, soaking up the sight of her, her presence, the almost primeval surge of joy that said his woman was here. His woman? Surely it was too soon, but that was how it felt as he edged his way through the sea of balloons and flowers and hugging relatives. Finally she saw him and her face broke into a smile he thought he’d remember all his life. Relief was there in spades, but there was more. There was deep, abiding trust and it worked both ways. As he reached her and gathered her into his arms he truly felt that he’d come home.
* * *
The moments from alighting from the plane, going through Immigration, waiting for the baggage carousel to do its interminable thing, had been some of the longest of Charlie’s life. During the flight itself she’d felt almost numb. The last weeks had been filled with legalities, practicalities, emotion. She’d packed up the farm, putting the things she most treasured into storage. She’d done the same with her studio in Melbourne. She couldn’t afford to keep it.
Everything she possessed was now in a tiny storage shed or in the suitcase she carried—or in quarantine in Melbourne waiting to catch a following plane.
How much trust did she have in this man waiting for her? When she’d boarded the jet in Melbourne she was so tired she could hardly think. She’d dozed her way to London, but when she’d landed, when the seat-belt light went off and her feet were walking, taking her closer to where Bryn had promised to be, the sense of panic was almost overwhelming.
What was she doing, trusting this man to do what he’d said he’d do? Was she mad? She should turn around, get back on the plane and go home now.
But he’d offered her animals a home. She’d seen the paperwork. Their transport had been paid in full. And for her...this was just a holiday, she told herself. It was simply a part of his generosity. A two-week break on his farm.
But deep down, she knew it was so much more. She knew he wanted her.
Why?
What was the catch?
Stop it, she told herself as panic started again. He’s just a farmer, solid, a guy who has enough money to make a wonderful, generous gesture. He’s a guy who couldn’t resist driving his sleazy uncle’s supercar but, still, he’s a guy with no frills. A guy with a smile to die for.
A man whose body made her melt.
But as she was waved through Customs, her feet seemed to be moving all by themselves. She was in some crazy dream. She’d been sucked in by that smile, that tenderness, that care, and who knew what lay in front of her?
‘He’s a farmer,’ she whispered to herself. ‘A farmer like Grandpa. He has a toe-rag uncle who’s conned him like he conned everyone else but otherwise he’s solid. Sensible. Kind.’
The doors slid open to reveal the sea of waiting faces, the balloons, the crowds waiting for their loved ones.
And then, across the sea of heads, she saw...a smile. A smile that said it was okay, no, more than okay. A smile that said that solid, sensible and kind didn’t begin to describe this man.
A smile that said Bryn was here, waiting to welcome her home.
Home? That was a crazy thing to think, because this was only a holiday. In two weeks she’d go back to Australia, find herself a job, another place to live and get on with her life.
But Bryn was coming towards her, cutting through the crowd with ease. He was wearing what she guessed many farmers wore when they came to town—decent chinos, an open-necked, gingham shirt and a casual oilskin jacket. His smile creased his weather-worn face and lit his eyes.
He was walking toward her, a big man with quiet authority. He was smiling and thanking as people moved aside to let him through, but he had eyes only for her. The people moving might think his smile was for them but she knew...
And maybe the crowd knew too, because eyes were turning to her, to see where this man was moving. Were they sensing romance? Sensing a happy ending?
It was no such thing, she thought breathlessly, but then he reached her and his arms caught her and swung her high. He smiled up into her face, his eyes loving, laughing, joyous.
And then he tugged her back down and into him. His mouth met hers and the crowd around them burst into spontaneous applause.
But Charlie didn’t hear. All that mattered was that Bryn was holding her. She was in his arms and, dumb or not, the sensation was totally consuming.
Charlie Foster had come home.
* * *
What followed was a gorgeous, peaceful drive back to the farm.
They were in his battered farm vehicle. ‘Sorry, love, Mum has a meeting with the church ladies in the next town. She says she’s very happy you’re here, Charlotte Foster, and she sends a big welcome, but you’re not seventy and you don’t have arthritis so that means you get this and she gets the padded leather sedan.’
It made her chuckle. It made Bryn’s mother seem...less scary. ‘I need to warn you, she’ll be matchmaking like mad. You’ll have to wear it, I’m afraid. Like I’ve had to wear it all my life.’
She chuckled again. Bryn’s mum didn’t seem a threat. The morning was gorgeous and she was sitting by Bryn’s side taking in a world she’d never seen.
His farm was almost on the Welsh border, he’d told her, three hours’ drive away. That was fine by her. By Australian standards it was close and the vehicle felt good. It smelled strongly of dog and other things, indescribable farming stuff. There was a box of businesslike tools in the back and the duco was liberally mud spattered.
‘I should have got it cleaned for you,’ Bryn told her but she shook her head.
‘I like it the way it is. It smells...like Grandpa’s truck. It smells normal.’
‘And you the interior decorator.’ He smiled across at her. ‘I’m shocked. I hoped you might make a few suggestions while you’re here about sprucing things up. For instance, this. Interior suggestions?’
‘You mean...the car?’ she asked cautiously and he grinned.
‘I do mean the car. Let’s start small. If you do a good job here I might let you into my shed by the end of your stay.’
‘You’d let me decorate your shed? Isn’t that sacrosanct?’
‘Yes, but it’s messy.’ There were, in fact, many sheds, but he’d had one heated for use when he was mending things. Or pondering mending things. Guy’s stuff, he thought and he grinned.
‘You don’t really want me in your shed,’ she said and it was an accusation.
‘Not until you’ve proved your mettle. Okay, the car...suggestions.’
She gazed around her at the battered vehicle that looked as if it had been used for years doing tough farm stuff. She couldn’t think of a single thing she wanted to improve.
Like its owner. There was not a thing she wanted to improve there, either.
But he was waiting, smiling, daring her to suggest.
‘Okay,’ she said, bending her mind to the challenge. ‘The first thing we need...you carry livestock in this car, right?’
‘Right,’ he said cautiously. Dogs all the time. The occasional calf.
‘Okay, then pests are going to be a problem. I suggest a fly sticker.’
‘A fly sticker?’
‘A cute little yellow sticker that hangs from your visor and catches any bug that dares enter. Then I’m thinking dream catchers to match. Very tasteful.’ She gazed around at the dog-hair-covered interior—he’d obviously made an effort to brush her seat clean but nothing was going to get rid of the evidence of years of dog occupancy. ‘Then there’s the dog hair,’ she said happily. ‘If you can’t beat it, join it. I’m recommending faux-fur seat covers. I can order online if you like, maybe rainbow to match the dream catchers? Or faux leopard skin? That’s practical. The dog hair will disappear so you’ll never notice. You’ll need two sets so you can toss one set in the wash if things get really messy.’
‘You’re...very kind,’ he said faintly.
‘Don’t mention it. And then outside...’ She stared thoughtfully into the distance, formulating plans. ‘I know. We could transform it into an oonce car. How cool would that be? Driving over the farm ooncing like anything.’
‘Um... Ooncing?’
‘I’ve only seen a couple, in Melbourne on the nightclub strip late at night, but they’re amazing. You need a powerful sound system, by which I mean head-blowing-off powerful, and rainbow-coloured strobe lights underneath that can be synced with the music.’ Then, at the look on his face, she chuckled and relented. ‘You think that’s over the top? You may be right. Let’s make it uni-coloured. Purple seat covers? Purple dream catchers? We can find strobe lights that make the entire underside of the car flash purple. The cows will love it. Imagine coming home late at night, across the fields, with your oonce car...’
‘Why is it called oonce?’ he asked faintly.
‘Because that’s what it feels like—oonce, oonce, oonce—like a heartbeat. It stays with you for weeks.’
‘I can...no, I can’t imagine...’
‘And then your shed,’ she said happily. ‘Ooh, Bryn, I can’t wait to get my hands on it. I think I’m going to enjoy myself.’
‘Great.’
‘You do trust me?’ she said and twisted so she was looking directly at him. ‘After all, I’ve trusted you to come all the way to England. The least you can do is let me convert a wee car.’
‘If you really want to.’
There was a moment’s silence at that. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘You’d let me?’
‘Charlie, I trust you.’ He searched for the biggest commitment a man could make. ‘Even with my shed. Such is my trust.’
Wow, Charlie thought, and she sank back onto her seat and gazed ahead in stupefaction.
Trust...
This man...
Where was this going? She had no idea.
It scared her but there was something building inside, a warmth, a strength, a surety.
It wasn’t to be trusted, she told herself, but there was that word again.
Trust.
And then they slowed and Bryn took a right-hand turn from the highway. The roadside sign said Ballystone Hall. And then, before she could respond, he turned again, through grand stone pillars and onto a private road.
Ballystone Hall.
The name was like a slam to the side of her head.
The brochure.
This was the seat of the Barons Carlisle and it was also the home of the magnificent Ballystone Hereford Stud. It was the place Thomas had used for his scam. Photographs of this Hall, this property, even the cattle she could see grazing in the distance, had been plastered over the glossy literature used to cheat and to swindle.
The Hall loomed ahead, a vast pile of grey-white stone, three storeys high, surrounded by sprawling lawns. There were acres of paddocks...no, fields...stretching away to mountains in the west. It looked as if it had been here for centuries, settled, magnificent, grand.
A stately home.
Ballystone Hall.
‘Where...why are we here?’ she stammered.
‘Because we’re home.’
To say she was stunned was an understatement. There were no words for how she was feeling.
She’d been looking forward to a comfortable farmhouse, solid, yes, substantial even, as he’d told her money wasn’t a problem. But this...
‘Stop,’ she whispered, struggling to get the word out.
Bryn nodded as if he’d expected this response. He came to a halt in the middle of the driveway.
Driveway?
Massive oaks formed a grand avenue, sweeping up to the Hall in the distance. It’d take ten minutes to walk the length of the driveway alone.
‘Is this...?’ She could barely get the words out. ‘Is this where you live?’
‘It is,’ he said gently and then before she could get the next question out, before she could even begin to form the sentence, he answered it for her.
‘I’m Bryn Morgan,’ he told her. ‘Charlie, I know I should have told you earlier but to be honest... I thought if you knew you might not come. So I am Bryn Morgan but I’m also a baron. Since my grandfather’s death I’m Lord Carlisle of Ballystone Hall.’
The words were doing her head in. Thomas... Fraud... Ballystone Hall...
‘Thomas...your uncle...he said he was Lord Carlisle.’
‘Thomas was Thomas Morgan. He was my grandfather’s third son. My father was second in line, so when he and his elder brother and my cousin were killed I became the heir. Morgans have held the Carlisle title for generations.’
‘But... Lord Carlisle’s in his nineties,’ she managed. ‘It says so on the internet.’
‘I suspect the site you saw hadn’t been updated, or you looked before he died. My grandfather only died three months ago. His death was probably hastened by the shock he felt at Thomas’s scam. He was the Eleventh Baron Carlisle. I’m the Twelfth.’
‘I-I have no idea of what’s going on,’ she stammered, staring out at the intimidating driveway. ‘Bryn, you’re scaring me.’
‘The last thing I want to do is scare you.’ He was watching her as a cat watched a mouse, she thought, even as she acknowledged her thoughts were verging on the hysterical. But that was what it felt like, that he was watching for what her next move might be.
There were lies everywhere. When would she ever learn?
‘I haven’t lied to you,’ he said and that scared her even more. Could he read her mind? ‘I thought...if I threw the title at you back in Australia...well, it still seems unreal to me and I wasn’t sure how I could make it real for you. But I’m a farmer called Bryn Morgan, Charlie. Nothing’s changed.’
‘You’re kidding.’ She waved wildly in the direction of the Hall. ‘How do I know anything’s real? You’ve probably just rented this for the weekend. Or this is some sort of blow-up stately home you’ve hired from a theme park?’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘I have no idea, but nothing’s making sense.’ Her thoughts were swinging wildly but suddenly they focussed. ‘The dogs,’ she gasped. ‘They’re already kennelled in the transit holds. They’ll be here in three days. I have to stop them coming.’
‘Why would you want to stop them coming?’
‘Because they can’t come here.’ She was staring at the Hall as if it were some sort of monster. That was what it felt like, she thought. It was as if the building itself were mocking her.
The last few weeks she’d felt the burgeoning of faith in this man, the slivers of light that said here was something, someone solid... But who was he? An hereditary baron. Lord Carlisle of Ballystone Hall. It sounded like a hero in a romance novel. He should be wearing breeches and cravat and riding boots, with valet in attendance.
She took a deep breath and made a valiant effort to be rational.
‘So you own this place,’ she said and was proud of the way her voice sounded.
‘I do.’ He was sounding cautious, as if not sure where to jump. That made two of them.
‘And you’re saying... You’re Lord Carlisle.’
‘I am.’
‘But you call yourself Bryn Morgan.’
‘I am Bryn Morgan.’
‘Thomas called himself Carlisle—Thomas Carlisle.’
‘Thomas is Thomas Morgan. He is my uncle. He used the name Carlisle to evade police, and also to make the use of the title seem more plausible.’
His answers seemed to be wafting over her head, an irrelevance. She was staring at the great house and remembering the glossy brochure with photographs of exactly what was before her now. Pictures of a historic mansion at the end of an avenue that was truly breathtaking.
The promise of money, money and more money.
‘This must be part of his scam,’ she whispered. ‘The Ballystone Stud Herefords. Known the world over. What did he tell Grandma? A lifetime opportunity. Step right in, suckers, and let me bleed you dry.’
‘Charlie...’
But she didn’t want to hear. She’d been stupid to come. Stupid as she’d been stupid before. ‘Just take me to the nearest railway station,’ she said wearily. ‘Or let me out here and I’ll hitch but I’m going home.’
‘What, now?’ He had the audacity to sound bemused.
‘Of course now.’ The words were practically a shout and they reverberated through the vehicle with such intensity it shocked her.
There was a moment of silence while both of them seemed to take stock. But Charlie wasn’t taking stock. She was concentrating on breathing.
Paper bags were good for panic attacks, she thought. Where was a paper bag when she needed one?
‘I think,’ Bryn said at last into the silence, ‘that maybe you’re overreacting.’
Overreacting? She looked again at the opulence of the place in front of her and thought underreacting was a better description. ‘This place was used to con Grandma out of her life savings,’ she muttered. ‘And me. Can you blame me for not wanting anything to do with it?’
‘Yes, this place was used,’ he agreed. ‘As my grandfather’s title was used.’ For the first time she heard a trace of uncertainty in his voice. ‘Charlie, if I’d told you we were coming here, would you have come?’
And there was only one answer to that. ‘No.’
‘And that’s partly why I couldn’t tell you,’ he said softly. ‘Because it seemed desperately important that you come.’
He reached for her hand but she pulled away, as if the touch might burn.
For weeks now, ever since she’d learned the true extent of Grandma’s tragedy, she’d felt trapped. The sensation now was more of the same. A lot more.
She was stuck in his car. She was forced to listen.
‘Charlie, I needed you to come,’ Bryn was saying. ‘Back in Australia this place would have seemed a dream to you, or, more likely, a nightmare. I knew you’d see it as part of the fraud. But I need you to see it as it really is. It’s just...home.’
‘You have to be kidding. How can this be home?’
‘Believe it or not, it is,’ he told her and his smile returned. It was a gentle smile, though. She was reminded suddenly of the way he’d treated Flossie that first night. An injured creature... Was that how he saw her?
‘I only use one wing of this place,’ he told her. ‘I moved in to keep Grandpa company. Mum lives in the dower house.’
‘The dower house!’
‘Believe it or not, we have one,’ he said. ‘That’s what I’m asking you to believe.’
‘You’ve lived here for ever?’
‘Yes.’
‘But the scam...’
‘Can I tell you about it?’
She glared. She crossed her arms across her breast and concentrated on glaring. ‘Yes,’ she snapped and a rueful smile lit his eyes. But then he started talking and the smile died.
‘My uncle Thomas was, well, wild is maybe too kind a word for it,’ he told her. ‘Even when he was small he hated the farm. His life’s been a constant of gambling, cheating, lying, living far above his means. My grandfather’s always been more than generous but he’s squandered everything he’s been given. We haven’t seen him for years. But last year he came to visit. He’d heard Grandpa was failing and wanted to see him. We let him stay because how could we not? But he badgered Grandpa for more money. There’d be money in Grandpa’s will but he wanted it then. It seems he was in trouble with money-lenders—which might be the reason he ended up in Australia. But by then Grandpa was confused, too ill to respond, and I ended up hauling him bodily out of the bedroom. He spent the night abusing me, he got drunk on Grandpa’s best whisky and then he passed out.
‘The next morning he still seemed asleep so I left him to go check on the cattle. When I came back he was gone. It wasn’t until the police contacted us that we realised he’d rifled the office, stealing empty semen packs, literature, the things we’d ordered in bulk when the herd started being recognised. He’d been careful to only steal enough so we wouldn’t notice.’
‘But...’ She was still having trouble getting her voice to work. ‘It doesn’t...it doesn’t matter. You told me lies.’ She was holding desperately to her indignation. It seemed the only thing she had to cling to.
‘I told no lies,’ he said strongly. ‘Not one. I’m a farmer, Charlie, first and foremost. I have boots and wellies and battered rain hats in the mud room. I have sheds full of farm gear, calving equipment, everything I need to make this place work.’
‘But you’re a baron.’
‘You think I like that?’ Unexpected anger blazed, his eyes darkening to almost black. ‘You think I want it? My uncle was always supposed to inherit, and my cousin after him. Next in line was my father. And they all died and I was left. Even then there was my grandfather, the real Lord Carlisle. He’s the only person I can think of when I think of the title. He was a kindly, gentle man, bereft from his losses, and while his death was expected it’s still left me gutted. So, yes, Charlie, I’m a baron, but it took four deaths of people I loved for me to become one. So if you think that’s an occasion for joy, for shouting to the rooftops that I’m the new Lord Carlisle—’
He broke off, seemingly drained, but still searching for words. ‘And then there was my uncle Thomas,’ he said wearily. ‘He took my family’s legacy and he smirched it. So the title...who wants it? Not me. You ask why I didn’t tell you? Yes, I thought it might stop you coming but, at a deeper level, it’s not who I am. If that’s who you thought me, I’d be pulling you here on false pretences.’
She thought about that, or she tried to think. The muddle in her head couldn’t be untangled.
His grief...
Don’t go there. She had enough of her own to handle.
‘So first you say if you told me I might not have come, and now you say I might have come because you’re a baron?’ she managed. He might be angry but she was angry too. And confused. He had his reasons, but he had deceived...
And she was in so much trouble. His smile, his explanation, the way he made her heart seem to twist.
But she couldn’t be sucked in. Not again. This was so foreign to her, so crazy, so...unreal.
It was unreal, she thought, staring again along the avenue towards the Hall. Sure, this man told a good story and it might even be true, but to trust him... If she let herself be driven down this avenue, if the great doors opened and closed behind her...
The feeling of being trapped was almost overwhelming.
She wasn’t being reasonable—she knew she wasn’t—but the betrayals of the past were all around her. Her parents. The smooth-talking liar who’d been her husband. Thomas...
‘Bryn, I need to go home.’ Somehow she steadied, and for a moment she felt a flash of pride that she’d managed to set the hysteria aside. ‘I’m sorry.’ She took a deep breath and turned to him, facing him square on. ‘You...you’ve been wonderful. Crazily wonderful. You’ve done such a lot for me and you’re offering to do more. What you’ve just said... I’m sorry but I can’t be part of it.’ She took a deep breath and struggled to explain further, for he deserved an explanation. She had to believe him enough to try.
‘Bryn, my husband walked out on me two years ago,’ she told him. ‘Our marriage was never good but at least I trusted him. I was a fool. Then Grandma...she was good at trusting as well. Even my mum... She trusted my dad and his betrayal drove her out of the country. She’s hardly been back.’
‘You’re still saying I’m like that?’ The anger was still in his voice and she flinched. But she had to keep trying. She had to make him see.
‘No, Bryn, I’m not.’ She was trying to get it right in her own mind. ‘But I don’t know you. This...’ She waved towards the Hall, and out over the land to the distant hills. ‘This has been a shock but I think I needed that shock. Because I was about to jump again.’
‘Into trusting.’
‘Into loving,’ she whispered. ‘And that’s the scariest of all.’
There was a long pause. A very long pause.
‘You think you might love me?’ he asked at last. It wasn’t spoken like a lover. Anger still resonated.
‘I can’t.’
‘Can’t doesn’t mean you don’t.’
‘Can’t means I have to pull back. Bryn, it’s too soon, too crazy, too unreal. I’ve been out of control for too long and sitting here staring at your gorgeous house, thinking of your life, even your trauma, I’m thinking here I go again, jumping into trust... Bryn, please, I need to go home. The animals aren’t due to fly out until tomorrow. I can cancel their flights. Please don’t stop me. I need to do it.’
‘What will you do with the dogs?’ Anger had been replaced with weariness.
‘I have no idea,’ she said honestly. ‘But the worst-case scenario is the refuges and at least there they’ll be treated with kindness until...’
‘Until they’re put down. You’d do that to them?’
‘How do I know what’ll happen to them here?’ she demanded, confusion almost overwhelming. ‘For all I know they’ll be used here as... I don’t know...fox bait?’
‘As if such a thing was possible. Even if it was... Do you really think I’d let that happen?’ Anger blazed, full force.
She was being unreasonable, unfair. She knew she was, but she was past explaining.
‘No.’ She fought for control again, for reason. ‘Of course...of course I don’t. But I can’t...’
‘Trust.’
‘That’s right,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m sorry. But please take me to the nearest transport back to the airport. I’ll repay you for the flights. When I can.’
‘There’s no need.’
‘There is a need.’ She closed her eyes, aware of a wash of fatigue so great it terrified her. Was she being stupid? Maybe she was, but there was nothing she could do about it. ‘Bryn, please.’
‘There’s nothing I can say?’
‘Nothing.’
There was silence for a long time. She felt his frustration. More, she felt his anger. Because she couldn’t trust?
It couldn’t matter, she thought. She had to find her feet again. Somehow.
And Bryn knew it. He swore, very softly, and then he turned on the engine.
‘Okay, Charlie,’ he said bleakly. ‘Let’s get you back to the airport.’
And then he paused. A car was pulling up behind them. A big white sedan, glistening in the morning sun.
It had turned into the avenue a bit too fast and skidded to a halt as the driver realised the way was blocked. The driver’s door flew open and a woman emerged, little, buxom, dressed in an electric-blue frock, a startling pink jacket and heels that were far too high. Her silver white curls, piled into a messy knot, were embellished with streaks of the same electric blue as her frock and she came running towards the car with a beam a mile wide.
‘Oh, help,’ Bryn said.
‘Help?’
‘If you thought you were trapped before,’ Bryn muttered, ‘heaven help you now, but you’re about to meet my mother.’
* * *
‘Charlie!’
Normally when Bryn met his mother after an absence his reaction was to flinch. And then brace.
His mother was, to say the least, full-on.
Those meeting her for the first time might have said Alice Morgan was eccentric and maybe she was. Her eccentricity, however, was a shield. He knew it. The loss of her husband and her daughter had almost destroyed her but somehow she carried on. She faced the day with a beam a mile high, and her warmth and generosity were legion. So instead of bracing right now, Bryn climbed out of the vehicle to deflect her from diving right in to hug Charlie. And as he did he found himself hoping...
When all else fails, bring in the big guns.
His mother.
‘Is she here?’ She tugged back from him and peered into the car’s interior. And saw Charlie. ‘Charlotte...’ Her beam turned full on as she headed for the passenger side of the vehicle.
Charlie emerged to meet her, looking stunned.
What had he done to her?
Alice was enveloping as much as she could into an embrace. Charlie wasn’t big but his mother was tiny. Bryn came from a family of big men, and they’d been the ones to pass on their genes. His mother’s genes of little, blonde and bubbly were all hers.
‘Dear girl... He wouldn’t let me ring you,’ Alice was saying. ‘I wanted to, to tell you how welcome you were, but Bryn said it’d be pressure on you to come and it wasn’t fair. A two-week holiday? How wonderful. And he did pass my message on about the dogs? That they’re so welcome? And so are you. You did know that, didn’t you?’
‘I...yes, I did.’ Charlie was still being hugged but Alice had pulled back a little and looked at her critically.
‘Oh, my dear, you look exhausted. Those awful aeroplanes. I went on one once. Ugh.’
‘You flew to Edinburgh for Great Aunt Edith’s eightieth,’ Bryn said mildly. ‘You were in the air for an hour.
‘Totally discombobulating,’ Alice agreed. ‘I had jet lag for weeks. What you need is a nice bath and some tea and then a sleep. Bryn hoped you might be staying at the Hall but honestly, dear, it’s a cavern. You could fit a family into every bedroom. The dower house is much cosier. I think the peony room. I’ve just had new curtains hung—isn’t that lucky?’
‘Mum, Charlie’s not staying,’ Bryn said and that brought silence.
Alice paused and her eyes did a thorough search. On the surface Alice Morgan might appear to be bubble and fluff but underneath there was piercing intelligence. She was looking at Charlie now and Bryn knew she’d be seeing the exhaustion, but beyond that... The shock. The fear.
‘Oh, my dear, what’s happening?’ She wheeled about to face Bryn. Accusing. ‘She’s scared. Charlotte’s scared. Why?’
He held up his hands in defence. His mother was all accusation. ‘I just... I might not have told her how big the Hall was.’
‘Or that he was a baron,’ Charlie whispered. She gestured helplessly at the amazing avenue and the miles of lush farmland stretching to the mountains beyond. ‘Or any of this. I thought... I thought he was a farmer.’
‘And so he is a farmer,’ Alice said roundly. ‘A foolish one, though. Bryn... Are you mad? The first time I saw it I almost had a palsy stroke. Come and meet my family, your father told me, and we ended up here. For high tea. With a butler, even! Thank heaven we don’t do that any more but this place is still enough to scare a girl out of her senses.’ She turned back to Charlie. ‘You have to grant that my son’s heart’s in the right place, though. It always has been. When he rang and said we were adopting seven dogs—’
‘But you’re not adopting,’ Charlie said helplessly. ‘He said...you were organising homes...’
‘I guess we are,’ Alice told her. ‘Homes here. Did he show you the paper we had to sign that said we had no intention of getting rid of them? That’s the immigration rules. We need to bring them in as personal pets. I had to sign too, because there’s restrictions on numbers. Not that I mind. The dogs here have a very good time and...’ she waved an inclusive hand ‘...we appear to have enough room. But enough. Why is Bryn saying you’re going home?’
‘Because I don’t trust him,’ she said wildly. ‘All of this...’ And she wheeled on him. ‘The dogs...advertising...you said...’
‘It was what I thought,’ Bryn said apologetically. ‘It was only when I downloaded the formal papers I realised. But it doesn’t matter, Charlie. We have many tenant farmers who may wish to take on a dog with such a story and if they don’t, then, as Mum says, we have plenty of room.’
‘You didn’t tell me.’
‘And he should have.’ Alice put her hands on her hips and glared. ‘Why didn’t you?’
‘I wanted Charlie to come,’ he said simply. ‘Charlie, I couldn’t risk you not coming.’
‘It was so important?’ his mother demanded.
There was a pause. He met Charlie’s look full on. She was looking bewildered, angry...so many emotions. He wanted to gather her and hold her but the time for that wasn’t now.
The anger he’d been feeling had faded. There was only Charlie and there was time only for a simple truth.
‘It was so important,’ he said gently. ‘It was the most important thing I’ve ever wanted in my life. That you come.’
* * *
She was so confused.
Where did she take it from here?
In a romance novel this should have been the happy ending. If she took one step forward she knew she’d be enfolded in his arms, cherished, held...
Held.
There was the rub. Held?
How could she risk being held?
Her heart said it wasn’t a risk at all, but her heart had betrayed her before, as her mother’s heart had betrayed her, as had Grandma’s heart. Trust was such a fragile thing and the consequences of it failing were enormous.
He’d lied to get her here. Or...okay, he hadn’t lied but he might as well have. He’d deceived by omission. Leaving out the bits that’d scare her.
She was so bewildered, so tired, so...
‘Let her be, Bryn.’ Alice edged between Charlie and Bryn, doing her best to block out Charlie’s view of Bryn—hard given that Bryn was over six feet tall and Alice was barely five. In heels. But she was insisting that Charlie’s focus had to be on her. ‘You need to leave everything aside,’ she said. ‘Everything that Thomas has done to you and everything that my son has said or not said, or done or not done. Bottom line? Bryn tells me that seven dogs are booked to arrive here in three days’ time and two cows a little time after. Yes or no? Bryn?’
‘Yes,’ Bryn told her.
Alice nodded. ‘There you go. I’ve seen the documentation. Charlie, do you believe that’s happening?’
‘I...yes.’ She was having trouble getting her voice to work.
‘That’s a start,’ Alice said. ‘So right now you don’t need to trust any further. Here’s the suggestion. Forget my son for a while.’
‘Forget...
‘He has plenty to do without bothering you,’ Alice told her. ‘For the next few days, come and stay with me, in the dower house. Bryn can leave you alone. He can spend a bit of time reflecting on his folly and think about what he’s going to do about it, but that’s up to him. What I suggest you do now is rest. A long, hot bath, Charlotte, and don’t tell me you don’t want one. I can see it from here. Aeroplanes are horrible and Bryn says you’ll have been exhausted before you left. Then you can spend a few days pottering around the estate, doing a lot more resting. In three days we’ll receive the dogs. Bryn will collect them from the airport and get the paperwork sorted.’
‘I will,’ Bryn said helpfully from behind his mother.
Charlie thought, Is that laughter back in his voice? She cast him a suspicious glance but he was back to being bland again. And...concerned.
The concern seemed such a part of him. An intrinsic part of who he was.
Dared she trust it?
‘Just do it,’ he said now, gently. ‘Charlie, let my mother take over for a while. You don’t need to trust. You just need to take your bath and potter and let events unfold.’
‘I can stay in a B&B,’ she said, feeling foolish.
‘You can,’ Bryn said and that smile was definitely back in his eyes. ‘That’s a step better than going all the way back to Australia. But Mum has a guest bathroom to die for and she’s aching for a guest. Isn’t that right, Mum?’
‘Why would you stay in a B&B when you can stay with me?’ Alice demanded and tucked her arm through Charlie’s. ‘Go away, Bryn, and herd some cows or dig a post hole or something to vent a little spleen.’
‘I don’t need to vent some spleen.’
‘Yes, you do, dear,’ she told him. ‘I can tell. Go away and let me talk Charlie into taking advantage of my truly sumptuous bathroom.’
* * *
She gave in. Of course she did. Demanding to return to Australia on the next plane was an overreaction. She’d stay until the dogs arrived.
She lay in the Baroness’s over-the-top opulent bathtub, with bubbles floating around her, surrounded by a sea of pink bathroom décor, and she still thought returning to Australia was sensible.
There was so much she didn’t understand. This place. This man...
Bryn. The man who’d awakened a sliver of trust, who she’d thought...
Yeah, she wasn’t going down that path.
She sank further into the bubbles and thought of what she’d seen so far. The dower house was a manor in miniature and it was pink as far as the eye could see. Pink carpets, pink settees, great bowls of fresh flowers, mostly pink. Chandeliers, glittering, reflecting the pink.
There were pink cupids on the ceiling she was gazing up at.
It should be enough to make the interior designer part of her bolt in horror, but it was so over the top it was fabulous. It was a fine line to admire such over-the-top pinkness, Charlie thought, and she wasn’t sure whether she was brave enough to cross it.
She wasn’t sure she was brave enough...for anything.
Where was Bryn now?
In the Hall? Surrounded by servants? Preparing luxury dog kennels for seven soon-to-be indulged dogs?
That was a crazy thought. It should make her smile but she didn’t feel like smiling. She was so far out of her depth.
And he’d been angry. Was he still angry?
Forget it. Just do what comes next, she told herself, swiping bubbles from her nose. A week here max, to see the dogs settled, then home.
Where was home?
Oh, for heaven’s sake... She had friends. She planned to couch surf while she found a paying job. She had clients who’d surely...possibly...return to her?
But first she had to get away from here.
Get away from Bryn?
‘Don’t think about Bryn,’ she said out loud, but the words seemed to mock her.
Bryn Morgan.
Lord Carlisle.
She did need to go home.
* * *
This wasn’t what he’d planned. He’d got her here, he had her on his land—and she was staying with his mother.
How had that happened?
He was a baron. Didn’t that give him any rights? In the olden days a Peer of the realm could surely insist his wench meekly came at his bidding.
His wench? The thought made him grimace. Charlie was anything but. She was her own woman, a woman he didn’t know enough but wanted to know more.
Heaven knew he’d exposed enough of himself to her now.
He was sitting in the Hall’s vast kitchen, eating eggs and bacon and fried bread straight from the pan, feeding the odd crust to the collie at his feet. His father had given him Sadie as a pup. Bryn had been fifteen. The now ancient dog was now lying over his feet, oozing devotion. She was normally a comfort, but he couldn’t find comfort now.
He should have told Charlie.
If he had she would have rejected him sooner. And now...he’d let his anger hold sway and he knew he’d frightened her.
‘Dammit, Sadie, what would you do next?’ he demanded and Sadie wagged her tail and looked hopeful.
Have another rasher of bacon, her look implied, and Bryn sighed and obliged. And thought of Charlie.
Another rasher of bacon?
If only it were that easy.