Three Graces (3 page)

‘No way! I can’t believe you’d really do that.’

He shrugged as if it was no big deal. ‘I’d do it because I’d really like to take you there.’

‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t want to go that much.’

For a moment, Richard looked somewhat crestfallen. ‘Come on,’ he said, leaving Roseberry House and walking across the driveway. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

Carys followed him. ‘Wait a minute,’ she said.

He stopped and turned round.

‘Whose car are we going in?’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Do you have a car here?’

Carys nodded and pointed towards it.

Richard’s eyes widened. ‘Is that really yours? I was admiring it from the window just before. I haven’t seen a Prima for years.’

‘No, they’re a dying breed.’

‘Like the aristocracy,’ Richard said grinning, causing Carys to blush.

They approached Carys’s car and Richard ran a hand over the curved bonnet.

‘So,’ Carys said, ‘which is your car?’

He nodded across the driveway. Of course, his car was a Marlva Country. Big as a tank but far more beautiful.

Carys looked back at her Prima. ‘Maybe we should go in yours,’ she said. ‘Slightly more room.’

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘but you must promise to take me out in your Prima some time.’

Carys laughed. ‘If you insist.’

A few minutes later, they were sat in Richard’s car. It felt so strange to be so high up after being so used to her tiny car. They left Roseberry House via the driveway where the trees stood deep in shadow.

‘Amberley’s driveway beats this one,’ Richard suddenly said.

Carys looked at him.

‘Have you ever been to Amberley Court?’

‘No,’ Carys said. ‘I haven’t.’

‘Well, I’m not just being conceited; I’m being honest: it’s the most beautiful place in the world and it’s at it’s best at the moment although I do have a fondness for autumn when the colours mellow and deepen and great, ghostly banks of mist roll across the valley.’

Carys looked at him. He wasn’t being conceited; he was very much in love with Amberley, she could feel that.

‘I guess I’ll have to visit, then,’ she said.

‘And let me know when you do and I’ll give you a personal tour.’

Carys bit her lip. This was all moving at a pace a little faster than she was used to. ‘I have a garden too,’ she said. ‘It’s a ten foot by fifteen yard which just about fits a dustbin, a collection of potted plants and a deck chair.’

Richard smiled. ‘It sounds great.’

She laughed. ‘Rather like my car, it’s a bit on the small side.’

‘But small can be beautiful. You know, large estates come with a lot of problems. Sometimes, I wish that things were simpler: that there was only a limited amount of space to worry about and manage - not often, but sometimes.’

‘What sort of things do you have to worry about?’

Richard turned left onto the main road that led to Carminster. ‘Well, the deer in the park are a big responsibility. Gardens need constant work, especially old gardens where walls are apt to crumble, and ancient trees have to be monitored. Last year, for example, we lost several trees in the gales and they’re our responsibility. We can’t just ring the council up and complain.’

‘I suppose not. But it must be incredible to actually own a tree.’

‘Are you making fun of me?’

‘No,’ Carys assured him. ‘I’m not. I really mean that it’s just an odd thing owning something so special.’

Richard glanced at her for a moment as if gauging her.

For a moment, they drove in silence, starring out at the darkening sky, the last streaks of apricot cloud fading to indigo.

‘Doesn’t it seem a bit obscene owning so much land?’ Carys asked at last.

‘Are you trying to pick a fight with me?’

‘No,’ Carys said.

Richard frowned but he was smiling too. ‘First, you recommend that I have all my ancestors beheaded, then you think I should turn all my trees loose-’

Carys laughed. ‘No!’

‘It sounds as if you are.’

‘I’m not - honestly. It’s just, I’ve never met anyone who owns so much land.’

Richard slowed the car down and pulled over into a passing place. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘let’s get some things sorted out. Firstly, I don’t own so much land. At the moment, the Amberley estate belongs to my father - as far as anything like that can actually
belong
to anyone. We’ve grown accustomed to thinking of ourselves as custodians rather than owners. Secondly, I didn’t choose the circumstances of my birth. Yes, I’m well aware that some believe I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth but they are thoroughly misguided.’

Carys’s eyebrows rose.

‘We sold the family silver two generations back,’ he explained.

They looked at each other for a moment and then they both burst out laughing.

‘I’m really sorry that you think I’m making fun of you,’ Carys said at last. ‘It’s just, well, I must admit to having a problem with inherited wealth.’

‘Then what are you doing letting the heir to the dukedom of Cuthland run off with you into the middle of the night?’

‘Because I like you,’ she said simply.

He waited for a moment before replying. ‘And I like you,’ he said at last, ‘but I can’t change who I am.’

‘I know; I don’t expect you to,’ Carys said. ‘Anyway, I don’t even know why we’re getting so worked up about all this. We’re only going out for dinner, aren’t we?’

Richard nodded and indicated to pull out into the road again. ‘You’re right.’

Carys bit her lip. She could feel her heart racing. This was very strange. Why was she getting herself all worked up like this? This wasn’t the way she normally behaved on a first date. Come to think of it, this wasn’t even a first date, was it? They’d merely done a runner from a party together.

Suddenly, she felt rather uncomfortable and fidgeted in her seat.

‘You okay?’ he asked.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Where are we going?’

‘Surprise,’ he said, ‘but I promise I won’t try to influence anyone into giving us better service by revealing who I am.’

Carys managed a smile which turned into a broad grin when they parked outside Perfect Pizza in Carminster.

‘I could have got us seats at Venezia,’ Richard said, ‘but this is the next best thing. How about a takeaway? We can eat up on Solworth Hill and watch the sunset.’

Carys nodded. She really couldn’t believe this man and his talk of trees and clouds and sunsets. She realised that she’d probably discovered the last gentleman poet in Cuthland.

Twenty minutes later, they were parked and eating pizza on their laps, an apricot and indigo sunset bathing the valley below them and making their skin glow.

‘Are you going back to the party?’ Carys said in between mouthfuls of Margherita.

‘Only to drop you off. I’m not going back in.’

‘Me neither.’

‘What about your friend?’

‘Louise? She’ll be long gone by now.’

‘Oh.’

After nearly burning the roof of her mouth on a particularly hot piece of tomato, Carys added, ‘I was double-crossed tonight.’

Richard frowned.

‘Louise - my friend - knew her ex would be there and I have a horrible feeling she’ll start seeing him again.’

‘And that’s not good?’

Carys shook her head. ‘It’s terrible. He’s a pig and a bore.’

Richard nodded. ‘Too many of those around.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ she said philosophically, her teeth pulling at a strip of cheese the length of an anaconda.

‘And have you a pig and a bore of your own?’

Carys smiled. ‘I’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what you mean.’

The sunset was deepening into a soft, shadowy mauve and the valley was slowly disappearing behind a veil of night.

‘We’d better get back,’ he said, wiping his fingers on his paper napkin.

‘I suppose we should,’ Carys said, feeling somehow flat that this was how things were ending. She’d been so hopeful for Solworth Hill.

‘Unless-’ he stopped.

‘What?’ she said, a little too eagerly. She mustn’t sound too eager!

‘Unless you want to go for a walk.’

‘But it’s getting dark,’ she said and, as soon as the words were out, she could have kicked herself. Why had she said that?

She sneaked a sideways glance at him. He was disappointed, wasn’t he?

‘We could, though,’ she added tentatively.

He shook his head. ‘No, you’re right. It’s getting late,’ he said, chucking his pizza box onto the back seat and starting the car.

Carys groaned. She’d screwed up. If she hadn’t been so stupid, she might have been wonderfully seduced under a summer oak tree in the darkening shadows of evening. And heaven only knew that she could have done with some of that to liven up her world at the moment. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been kissed properly.

So why had she turned down the possibility of passion tonight? She couldn’t deny that Richard Bretton was a very attractive man. He was also very respectable. He’d probably meant nothing by suggesting a walk at dusk at all. He may only have wanted to hold her hand. But she couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if she’d only got out of the car and taken his hand as he’d led her through a shady grove of oak trees before stopping to kiss her neck, luminous in the gathering dusk …

Shaking an image of passion in the undergrowth out of her mind, Carys went upstairs and switched on the lamp at the side of her desk and turned on her computer. As she spent most of her working days gazing at a computer, the one at home was only occasionally used but it was handy to have access to the internet and this was one occasion when it was most welcome.

For a moment, she wondered if what she was doing could be classed as stalking but shook the idea from her mind as she typed
Richard Bretton
into a search engine. She’d never gone out with anyone who’d had an internet presence before. It was quite exciting, really, seeing page after page on the man who’d abducted her.

She hit the images button and bit her lip as the photographs downloaded. There he was. Richard Bretton, Marquess of Amberley, opens a new wing at a children’s hospital in Carminster. Richard Bretton with Lady Electra Hewett at the summer ball. Richard Bretton with a boring line of dignitaries. Richard Bretton with Eustacia Viner, daughter of some lord or other. Richard Bretton with the Honourable Miranda Selby.

Carys frowned. He seemed to spend half his life with a beautiful girl draped over his arm, and they were all strikingly similar: willowy tall with costly manes of hair and clothes which Carys had always referred to as the
unimaginative designer
look: clean lines, neutral colours and showing absolutely no individuality.

Well, if that was the type of woman he went for, perhaps it was a good thing she’d nipped things in the bud before they’d really begun. It would only have ended in disaster, with her flowery, flouncy wardrobe of rainbow-coloured dresses in cheap fabrics. She’d never be seen dead in beige or wishy-washy pastels. She loved sherberty yellows, cornflower blues, deep lilacs and poppy-bright reds. Her job in the office, of course, frowned upon such displays of vibrancy so she toned it down by wearing close-fitting skirts and neat jackets, but there was always the hint of the rebel about her: a beaded hemline, an embroidered waistband or a stunning piece of silver jewellery to defy the dullness of office life.

So, what on earth had attracted Richard to her? Perhaps it was because she was so different from the women he normally mingled with. They wore pearls; she wore marquisate. They bought from boutiques; she bought from the market. They were expensive; she was ch- - no, not cheap - just not so high-maintenance as they were.

She paused, staring at Richard’s face which gazed out at her from her computer screen. She should stop this right now, she thought. Switch the computer off and go to bed. Forget she’d ever met him. But she couldn’t resist looking for more. Her fingers tapped effortlessly over the keyboards as she confided her nosiness to Google, wondering how on earth the world had managed before its creation.

Amberley Court
.

It was the first website to come up and Carys clicked on the link and then her eyes widened at the site that greeted her. It was one of the worst websites she’d ever seen: unimaginative, unattractive and - well - amateur. It was obviously done on the cheap, Carys thought. But there was no getting away from the fact that Amberley was beautiful. All mellow red brick and barley-twist chimneys, it looked straight out of a children’s fairytale book. No wonder Richard felt so passionate about it. A house like that got into your blood whether you owned it or not. She could imagine how hard it would be to think of leaving such a place to the ravages of time and how hard you would fight in order to save it.

The house was photographed from the driveway, peeping shyly through an avenue of brilliant green trees. It was pictured from the rose garden with blushing blooms making the prettiest of foregrounds. And it was pictured from the wood on the hill, making it look tiny and vulnerable as if the merest puff of wind might blow it away.

There were photographs of the interior too: the rooms looked sumptuous but slightly shabby around the edges. The colours were extraordinary: wine-red carpets, gilded ceilings, floors of multi-coloured marble, brilliant chintz bedding with flowers bursting in bright blooms, and curtains of every imaginable colour from brightest yellow to darkest emerald. Then there were plates and bowls, chandeliers and chaise longues, cabinets and candelabras, and things Carys couldn’t even begin to name. And, everywhere, there were portraits: the Bretton family peered down on the unsuspecting visitor from almost every wall in the house. Centuries of eyes - some looking stern and severe as if they were trying to frighten the visitor away; others looking kindly, perhaps curious at their new home in cyberspace.

Carys was in love. She’d never seen such an incredible place, and to think that this was the very place that Richard Bretton called home.

Open: Wednesday - Sunday; Grounds: 10:00 am - 17:00 pm; House: 11:00 - 16:00 pm

Tomorrow was Saturday. She could go there tomorrow. Richard had told her she should go. But would tomorrow be too soon? Would that make her appear too keen? Hang that, she thought. She couldn’t wait to see it. It was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen and she probably wouldn’t even run into Richard anyway. She could sneak in and out without him ever knowing.