His Australian Heiress (4 page)

“I'm sure you'll be very happy there.” Patricia Mansfield produced an indulgent smile, confident she was hiding her antipathy and, it had to be admitted, her wariness of Charlotte well.

“I'll let you know if we aren't,” Charlotte replied. “The Green Room is fine, but I like to be within shouting distance of Bren. We'll check the room next door. Easy enough to air it out and make up the bed.”

Patricia was jolted. “My dear, I've put Simon into the room next door to you. He's brought a friend, a lovely girl.”

Charlotte blew out a breath. “You
are
a surprising lady, Aunt Patricia. I certainly don't disapprove of Simon's having a lovely girlfriend, but I could do without them in the room beside mine.”

Brendon felt the need to intervene. “We're not really concerned, are we, Charlie?” he asked in a reasonable voice, when in reality he was as angry as Charlotte at the cavalier treatment they were receiving.

Charlotte turned to him. “As my closest friend, Brendon, I'm going to see you're as comfortable as you can be. I don't like to mention it, Aunt Patricia, but I come with the house. Perhaps you've forgotten?”

Patricia struggled hard to answer benignly, but was overcome by a rush of resentment for Alyssa's child, though Alyssa had never had such firepower. “And God bless you, my dear,” she said smoothly. “Dear Sir Reginald will never die while you're around.”

“Be sure of it,” Charlotte replied. She longed to tell Patricia to her face that her mother, Alyssa, had never liked her. Her mother had believed her sister-in-law was both a liar and a troublemaker. One reason why her mother had avoided her, even though Charlotte remembered clearly Aunt Patricia's shock and grief at her parents' deaths. She had been as devastated by the disaster as the rest of them.

Brendon was still quietly laughing as they left Aunt Patricia and climbed the stairs to the upstairs gallery. “No wonder you don't call your aunt a friend.”

“It's a sad fact that my mother kept her distance from her,” Charlotte said.

“A lot was going on in those days, Charlie,” he reminded her.

“You're right, of course. The thing is, Bren, I remember my mother and father as being a loving couple. All right, so they weren't living on top of one another. My mother made frequent escapes, but I never saw or heard any terrible fights until nearing the end. I'd never heard my mother being bitchy to my father, nor did I hear him offering her any kind of insult. Not long before they were killed, I surprised them kissing passionately. Yet my mother was supposed to be having a white-hot affair with
your
father?”

“Which he has always denied,” Brendon said, his expression tightening.

“It would have been no easy thing to be accused of,” Charlotte said. “Who was it who blew the whistle on them?”

Brendon followed Charlotte down the west wing. “We have no idea who started the rumours. I fancy someone who well knew how to remain anonymous. My dad put a stop to it all. He didn't call anyone out. He endured. He did
not
want out of his marriage. That was very clear. He had always given every appearance of loving my mother.”

“Yet he broke her heart? It's a question that needs to be answered, Bren. One that's been hanging over our heads.”

“It would take a miracle, Charlie, to find out the truth,” he replied soberly.

“In the meantime we've lived a life full of secrets, seductions, and endless lies,” Charlotte said. “It's a wonder we're not mortal enemies.”

“We will be in a good minute if I can't put this suitcase down,” he said briskly.

“Okay. Okay.” Charlotte picked up her step. “I don't want to get too angry at this stage, Bren. I've allowed Uncle Conrad to stay, but it could have been a mistake.”

“I'd say so from the way
Patricia
talks. Why didn't she give you the bad news over the phone?”

“That Simon is home?”

“Wherever ‘home' might be. These past years your uncle has been acting like he's dependent on your grace and favour. It's ridiculous. He's sitting on twenty-five million.”

“I know. But it was hard for him, with Poppa's sweeping him aside,” Charlotte said, trying to be fair. “One would have thought he had my father killed the way Poppa reacted. We all know Poppa made doubly sure the wrecked Mercedes was thoroughly checked. Nothing suspicious was found. Poppa's attitude could be seen as terribly unfair to Uncle Conrad.”

“No need for
you
to make amends,” Brendon said. “The good news is, your uncle received enough of your grandfather's fortune to keep him in clover for the rest of his life. Now, where are these bedrooms? I haven't been here for years and years.”

Charlotte gave him a quick smile. “I'm going to change all that. You can come here whenever you want to. You can bring some beautiful girl you really like. You can bring your super-bright male friends. In the springtime, when all the varieties of camellias, azaleas, and rhododendrons are out, I'm going to open the gardens back up to the public. Grandma Julia did that. I want to bring the custom back.”

“Now, there was someone who really loved you,” Brendon said.

“The loveliest woman you could ever meet,” Charlotte said quietly, starting to slow as she passed the series of closed doors. “Why she ever married Poppa I'll never know.”

Brendon nearly told her she wasn't on her own in that, but let it slide. Lady Julia Mansfield, the wife of Sir Reginald, never in robust health, had literally pined away after the violent death of her elder son. “Ironically, according to my grandfather, Sir Reginald as a young man was the answer to a maiden's prayer. Even as an old man he remained very upright, very handsome.”

Charlotte appeared unimpressed. “Be that as it may, my grandmother would have been better off with just about any other admirer she knew.”

An impressive truth. It was obvious from her remark that Charlotte still didn't know Sir Reginald had stolen away the love of his grandfather Hugo's life, right from under his nose. A huge betrayal of trust if ever there was one. The pain all these many years later was still there, although the subject was
never
mentioned. Indeed, he had never heard his grandfather utter Lady Julia's name.

* * *

The Green Room, so called because the colour scheme was a fresh lime green and white, had space enough for a chaise longue, a pretty little desk and chair, and a chest at the end of the bed. Two large matching framed photographs of the legendary Three Sisters hung on the wall behind the bed. All the bedrooms had their own en suite. The big picture windows that brought so much light into the large room afforded a superb panoramic view of the mountains and the valley. In the crystal-clear morning light, the blue haze lent an intriguing veil.

“I guess this will do,” Charlotte said, turning back from the view to speak to Brendon. “Now, for you. I'm not happy about Aunt Patricia fixing up Simon and his girlfriend next door.”

“It's not as though the walls are paper-thin,” Brendon said dryly.

“You're not going to toss them out, are you?” He searched her small, determined face. Although Charlotte had the Mansfield colouring, blond hair and green eyes, as she'd matured the looks of her beautiful mother, Alyssa, were coming through. It was all in the bone structure and the shallow cleft in her chin. One had to marvel at genetic encoding that reproduced physical features down the generations. Charlotte, like her mother, didn't have the Mansfield height. She was small-boned and petite. “Well?” He saw the brilliant look in her eyes.

“Once I would have jumped at the chance. I
would
do it if he hadn't brought his girlfriend.” She shrugged. “He's a real—”

“
Charlotte!
” Charlie had a goodly selection of salty words learned at the shelters she visited on a regular basis.

“I nearly said it, but I didn't,” she admitted. “Let's move on.”

They walked down the corridor, Charlotte opening doors and peering in. Four doors down, she was satisfied. It was a spacious room like all the others, but the colour scheme held to off-white, with the large Outback painting on the wall lending vibrant colour. The ochres, the pinks, and the rusts were picked up by the cushions on the armchair and the pile on the bed. “This will suit me fine,” Brendon said. “It's only one night anyway.”

“So it's
not
fine?” She spun on him.

“Charlie, settle down. Everything is okay. Simon may have changed. Grown up.”

“That would take a tectonic shift.”

He felt so, too. “His girlfriend could be very nice.”

Charlotte went quiet for a bit. “Wonderful luck for him if she is. Aunt Patricia seems to think they'll all be invited to my birthday party as a matter of course.”

“You don't want them?” Inviting one's family was the usual thing.

“No. They were never there for me, Bren. You know that. The three of them put on a terrible song and dance when the will was read. You weren't there.”

“Charlie, I
heard
all about it,” he groaned. The anger and bitter resentment displayed by Charlotte's family had shocked a hitherto unshockable team of lawyers.

“Does a leopard ever change its spots? No, never,” she said vehemently. “There are plenty of places around here to push me over a cliff and down into the valley. God knows the stakes are high enough.”

In an instant all of Brendon's senses were on point. “Charlie!” For Charlie to be at peril! He went to her, pulled her to him, his chin resting on the top of her glimmering golden head. Her hair smelled wonderfully clean and fresh. “That's not going to happen,” he said, with the rock-solid sense of commitment that defined him.

“I have dreams,” she confessed. “They take me to the very edge of panic. In every one of them, I'm the prey.”

“For God's sake!” He gathered her even closer. She was leaning into him so their bodies were touching. For a split second Brendon's heart gave a queer jerk. He was acutely aware of the feel of Charlotte—the exact shape of her—in his arms. He could feel a heat rising in him. Charlotte, for all her petite-ness, or perhaps because of it, seemed to
fit
him like no one else. He had to put a reason to it. He had known Charlie from childhood. Their bond had been forged over a very long time. Charlotte was “Charlie.” All of a sudden, he felt compelled to remember it.

“It's a bit like having a price on your head,” she was saying in a muffled voice.

He had never heard Charlotte sound so alone, so undefended. “No one is going to mess with you while I'm around, Charlie.”

“You can't be on duty all the time.”

“Yes, I can. Have faith in me.”

“I do. I do.” She wanted to stay there, safe, within Bren's strong arms, but she pulled back with a brief self-conscious laugh that wasn't usual
.
When had she ever felt self-conscious with Bren? “I can't explain my sudden vulnerability, even to myself. You'll get some practice protecting me, Bren. Mark my words.”

He took a deep breath. “I
said
I'm ready for it. So you don't want your family, such as it is, at the party?”

“I do not.” Her green eyes flashed.

“Of course they're expecting it to be held at a hotel. Two or three hundred guests.”

“When I've wound the numbers down,” she said.

“Do you intend asking my mother and father?” Brendon asked. “For that matter my grandfather, your guardian these past years?”

She met his silver-grey eyes. “I very much doubt you would come if I didn't.”

“So, that's a yes?”

She turned to him, her body framed by the great sweeping, magnificent mountain views, lit by the light that streamed into the room. “Of course it's a yes. I'm not an ungrateful person. I suppose they have to be good people if you love them.”

“I love you too, Charlie,” he said, keeping to the same familial tone he always used with her.

A sad little smile played around her cushiony mouth. “The thing is, Bren, I don't think I know what love is.”

Once her parents had gone, she had known precious little of it. “Coming here opens up old wounds,” he said with concern.

“I feel it's necessary, Bren. Poppa thought it a good place to die. My parents died not all that far from here, down the mountain. I own this house free and clear. There are answers here. I intend to find them. The chinks in the armour that open up and as quickly close might become clear to me.”

“Maybe you're frightened to remember what you believe you know? You were only twelve, Charlotte, but you weren't any ordinary twelve-year-old,” Brendon said.

“It's called sublimation, isn't it? I know my mother didn't trust Aunt Patricia. I mean, she
really
didn't trust her. Why not? Things can never go back to the way they were when trust is lost. The relationship becomes different. What did Aunt Patricia do or say about my mother? She was always making little jokes that weren't in the least funny. I do remember Poppa once telling her very loudly to ‘shut the hell up!' ”

“I can imagine!” Bren exclaimed, visualizing the lion roaring. Sir Reginald cranky and displeased would have been something to see. “Jealousy, that might be the answer, Charlie. Your aunt didn't have your mother's beauty or charisma.”

“And she could have had a hand in trying to destroy my mother's reputation,” Charlotte said, with a kind of resigned sorrow. “If it's true, I will never accept it. We're close to what I want to know. They hate me. The affability is sheer window dressing. I can
never
trust them.”