Second Chance with the Millionaire

Lucy opened her mouth and closed it quickly, swallowing back the hot words of denial springing to her lips. She was angry, more angry than she could remember being for a long time. How dare Fanny make such careless assumptions about her feelings and actions, and even worse how dare she pass them on to Saul as though they were fact! It seemed to be a long time before she had control of herself sufficiently to say calmly,

‘You’re quite wrong, Fanny. I neither resent nor dislike Saul.’ She wanted to explain to her stepmother her guilt over the past, but it was impossible to find the words, especially now when her anger still formed a hard lump in her throat.

An hour later, when Saul arrived, Lucy learned that the children were also included in the outing.

She didn’t go downstairs, unable to trust her own reactions if she were to come face to face with him now. One thing was clear though. She could not allow this ridiculous belief that she resented him for inheriting the house to stand. When she felt calmer she would have to go and see him and explain the truth. She had been horrified by Fanny’s careless revelation of what had been said, and the pride which had held her back from making an open apology for her foolishness all those years ago, when she realised he was not prepared to meet her equally openly, would have to be sacrificed to the truth. She was not going to allow him to go on thinking that she was stupid and small-minded enough to resent him owning the Manor.

From her own bedroom she heard the children racing about, doors slamming and then the expensive purr of Saul’s car as he drove away.

Standing by her bedroom window, watching the car disappearing down the drive, she was once again swept by acute desolation. Could it possibly be a delayed reaction to her father’s death? At the time she had been almost too busy to weep. And then there had been the shock of discovering that Oliver…

If anyone should resent Saul, it ought to be Oliver, but then in reality why should he? Her father had left Oliver more than well provided for, whereas Saul’s inheritance was more of a burden than an asset.

The sunny morning had turned dull, and by lunch time it had started to rain. Lucy spent the afternoon in the comfortable sitting-room-cum-study which she had made her own terrain, sewing labels on to Oliver’s new school clothes.

At half past four she heard the car, and although her body tensed, vibrating as though someone had touched a nerve, she made no move to get up.

The study door opened and she composed her face into a calm smile as she turned her head to the door.

But it was not Fanny and the children who came in, it was Saul. Her face felt as though it was caked in ice and about to crack, a violent tremor shuddering through her muscles.

Saul paused for a moment in the doorway, and her heart thudded as though suddenly struck a giant blow.

‘I startled you. I’m sorry. Fanny asked me to call in on my way home to tell you that she and the children won’t be back until after dinner. They ran into an old friend of your father’s in Winchester, Colonel Bishop, and he invited them back to dine with him.’

‘Thank you… I…’

Her tongue felt stiff, her lips unable to form the words. Thank God he had merely thought her startled. If he knew the truth… The truth? What was the truth? That something about this tall cool-eyed man touched her in a way so totally outside all her previous experience that part of her ached to repudiate him, even while another part longed desperately to be admitted to the most intimate circle of his life.

At twenty-five Lucy considered herself too old and too sensible for the folly of falling in love—that was an adolescent’s game. So what was it that affected her so strongly about this man? Guilt alone did not explain away how she felt about him.

‘Very domesticated.’

He was looking at the labels and the neat pile of garments she had already finished.

‘For Oliver.’ She was only half aware of what she was saying, too caught up in the need to absorb every minute detail of him, torn between a desire to prolong this moment of intimacy, and a frightened urge to end it.

‘He starts his new school in September.’

‘Yes.’ He frowned. ‘Your father’s been extremely generous to his stepson, more so than to Tara or to you.’

‘My father was rather old-fashioned. He held the view that boys need a good education and girls do not.’ She risked a small smile at him and was relieved to see that he had stopped frowning.

‘I owe you an apology.’

It was abruptly said, his face turning away from her so that she could read nothing in his eyes.

‘I hadn’t realised until today what a burden your father had put on you.’

Her heart leapt. Had Fanny told him about Oliver?’