Kitabı oku: «Australia: In Bed with Her Groom», sayfa 4
CHAPTER SIX
HARRY INSISTED ON serving their meal. Ashley insisted on his joining them at the table. It improved William’s table manners no end, and the ham salad followed by ice-cream and freshly cut strawberry mangoes never tasted better.
It was a marvellous evening. Ashley didn’t have to do a thing except enjoy Harry’s company. In between delving into all the important events of her life as though he was fascinated by everything that had contributed to the person she was now, he cleared the table, whizzed the plates into the dishwasher, cleaned up the kitchen, made and served coffee, saw William off to bed and generally performed all the duties of a housekeeper and parent while making Ashley feel special and extraordinary.
She had never been so pampered, never been the focus of such concentrated attention, never been so appreciated, never had her needs catered to with such charm and finesse. Certainly Roger had never done that. Harry had to be very close to the perfect man, she decided, feeling as intoxicated as though she had drunk a bottle of champagne.
William had not been ignored, either. Harry had generously committed himself to taking him to the Sydney Cricket Ground to watch a day of the test match between England and Australia, since cricket was William’s abiding passion at the moment. That was only if Ashley could spare him for a day, which of course she could, for her son’s pleasure.
The more Harry committed himself to staying with her and William, the more chance she had of really getting to know him. Ashley had the feeling she could be very happy with Harry Cliffton. He was a giver, a listener, a man who didn’t have to prove himself a superior being by reducing women to nothing. Everything he had demonstrated so far put him on a completely different plane to Roger.
Could he be weaned away from his life at Spring-field Manor? As long as it takes, Ashley thought, deeply pleased that she had a considerable amount of time on her side before any decisions had to be made.
She wandered out to the back veranda while Harry saw William to bed. It was a beautiful balmy night, the sky littered with bright stars, a three-quarter moon beaming enough soft light to take away the darkness, a gentle breeze wafting cooler air in from the sea. The house was only a few kilometres from the beach, and Ashley fancied she could hear the distant sound of surf breaking on the sand.
It was a night made for romance, and Ashley felt her body quivering with the need for it. So many years had been barren of any romance since Roger. She hadn’t trusted it, hadn’t wanted to invite more disillusionment, hadn’t met anybody who attracted her enough to give it a chance.
Would Harry answer that need, she wondered? Would he succumb to more than a professional involvement with her?
The glass door to the family room slid open. ‘Can I get you anything, Ashley? An iced drink?’
The caring tone in Harry’s voice made her pulse quicken. She flashed him a smile. ‘No, thank you. I was just having a breath of fresh air before going to bed.’
‘Mind if I join you?’
‘Please do.’
He had taken off his waistcoat and tie. His white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, shone starkly in the moonlight as he stepped out and quietly closed the door behind him. He moved over to the veranda railing beside Ashley and looked at the brilliant sky.
‘Where’s the Southern Cross?’
Still concentrating on all things Australian, Ashley thought with a twinge of uncertainty. Was he simply being obliging, the ultimate professionalism of a butler? She didn’t want duty from him now. She wanted the man, not the man with a mission. She wanted truth, spontaneity of feeling and confirmation that he felt the same attraction she did.
‘There it is,’ she said huskily, pointing the constellation out to him, willing him to move closer to her.
‘So that’s what Captain Cook steered by,’ he murmured, maintaining a proper distance. ‘It’s very distinctive.’
‘The Polynesian and Portuguese and French navigators also used it, long before Cook,’ she informed him dryly, wishing he wasn’t quite so focused on English history. She remembered the Harcourt family line he had shown her earlier, tracing it through to William. A spurt of resentment made her ask, ‘Why did Roger’s great-grand-father leave England to come to Australia if everything’s so marvellous at Springfield Manor?’
Harry gave her one of his quirky smiles. ‘He disgraced the family with the dishonourable act of publicly revealing he cuckolded a duke.’
‘And, of course, the British considered Australia the dumping ground for undesirables.’
His eyes caught hers, searing away their mockery with intense seriousness as he quietly answered, ‘It also provided the opportunity to start a new life.’
Was he making a personal statement or simply soothing any ruffled feelings she might have over her country’s convict and colonial past?
‘That’s been true for many people,’ she warmly agreed. Although there were some who clung to an old heritage, looking back instead of embracing what a new country offered. Like Roger’s mother. ‘William is fifth-generation Australian, Harry. I’m seventh generation,’ she added, wanting to impress on him that they were well-rooted here.
He smiled. ‘What I’ve admired about the Australians I’ve met is their attitude of anything being possible for them.’
‘Have you ever thought that other things were possible for you?’
‘I’m beginning to.’
Hope leapt through her heart. ‘Promise me you won’t tell William he’s the heir to Springfield Manor.’
‘I had no intention of doing so.’
‘Circumstances can change.’
‘Yes, they can,’ he agreed without the slightest hesitation, giving Ashley’s hope a further boost. ‘Though I must say William is a fine lad, Ashley. A credit to you.’
‘Thank you.’ She smiled on a glorious lilt of optimism. ‘He likes you, too.’
His gaze dropped to her mouth. Ashley’s skin prickled, reacting to the sudden tension charging the air between them. He wants to kiss me, she thought exultantly. But he didn’t move. There was a quality about his stillness that screamed of iron-willed restraint. Duty and discipline stamping on desire, denying it free rein, Ashley surmised, and that in itself was exciting, feeling the tug of war taking place inside him.
She sensed the gathering of purpose. His gaze flicked to hers, and there was certainly nothing impersonal in the dark blue intensity of his eyes. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he wanted to scour her soul. Even before he spoke, she felt herself tensing defensively, knowing instinctively that he had moved beyond physical attraction to a far deeper need.
‘What went wrong with Roger, Ashley?’
The shock of the question set her mind spinning. How did he know? She had never spoken of the crushing nature of her marriage. Even at the time, pride had insisted she maintain the public appearance of being happy with Roger. She had not confided her problems to her parents, let alone anyone else. She had hidden the guilty relief she had felt when Roger and his mother had died, accepted the condolences given, and closed the door on a hard-learnt experience that she never wanted repeated.
‘Why should you think anything went wrong?’ she countered, unaware of the guarded tone in her voice, the retreat from openness in her eyes.
‘What people don’t say is often more revealing than what they do say,’ he answered quietly. ‘You’ve told me a lot about your life. Roger Harcourt was your husband and William’s father, yet you did not once refer to him.’
‘Roger died seven years ago,’ she stated flatly. ‘I’ve spent far more of my adult life without him than with him.’
‘Happy times usually engender fond reminiscences.’ He shrugged and offered an apologetic smile. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude. If it’s a sensitive subject…Perhaps you miss him so much it’s still too painful to recall.’
‘No. I don’t miss him,’ Ashley confessed bluntly, recoiling from the idea of letting Harry think she was nursing a long grief that had never been assuaged. ‘If he was still alive, we’d be divorced.’
‘Why?’
‘I guess I stopped hero-worshipping him. I was only nineteen when we married.’ Her eyes flashed with irony. ‘A pity you didn’t come looking for an heir then, Harry. Roger would have leapt at being lord of the manor.’
‘He acted that way with you?’
‘It had its attractive side for a while,’ she acknowledged. ‘I didn’t realise I was supposed to become totally subservient to another person’s will.’
‘Do you fear that would be expected of you if you came to England?’
‘I don’t fear it because I wouldn’t accept it.’
‘It isn’t the situation anyway,’ he assured her.
‘Well, I guess you’d know,’ she said lightly, aware that any other judgement by her would be blind prejudice.
‘Yes, I do. I’m sorry you had that experience with Roger, Ashley. I hope you don’t judge all men by it.’
‘If I did, you wouldn’t be staying here.’
As soon as she spoke the words, they seemed to hang in the air between them, gathering nuances, laying bare the fact that she thought him special as a man and that being her butler was completely irrelevant. Still he didn’t move, and Ashley felt heat creeping up her neck as she recalled the sad way he had spoken of the woman he had loved. Did the memory of her remain in his heart, keeping it closed to any other woman?
She turned away and stared blankly at the night sky, fiercely arguing to herself that Harry had brought up Roger, so it had to be acceptable for her to ask questions that were just as personal.
‘What was her name…the woman you spoke of, Harry?’
The ensuing silence shrieked of dredging into deeply private areas. Was it too sensitive a subject? Did he miss her so much it was too painful to recall? They were the words he had used in referring to Roger.
‘Pen,’ he said at last. ‘Penelope.’ He gave the longer version of her name a soft, lilting cadence that filled Ashley with envy. It left no doubt in her mind that Pen had been very precious to him.
‘How long is it since…’ She hesitated, not wanting to sound crassly insensitive to his feelings. ‘Since she was with you?’
‘Pen died of leukaemia three years ago,’ he stated flatly.
Ashley closed her eyes. How awful! Bad enough for death to come suddenly. A long terminal illness had to be grief from start to finish. And afterwards…who could possibly forget it?
‘That must have been very harrowing,’ she said softly, her natural sympathy overriding her own interests. ‘I’m sorry it happened. To both of you.’
He didn’t answer. Ashley was acutely aware she had driven his mind into the past. She could feel a great distance between them that had nothing to do with physical space. She waited, although part of her wanted to tear herself away and leave him to his memories. In some strange way, staying with him was like holding a vigil, paying respect to the dead.
‘It wasn’t like that.’
Ashley barely caught the murmured words.
‘After the initial shock of the diagnosis, Pen refused to allow the situation to become harrowing,’ he went on quietly. ‘She made each day a celebration of life, finding joy and beauty and pleasure in even the smallest things. There were times when the treatment made her very sick, but she bore it so gallantly… .’ He shook his head. ‘I took it harder than she did. I hated feeling helpless.’
‘I’m sure you helped all you could, Harry.’
It wasn’t a platitude. Ashley was certain he would have been a tower of strength, supportive, caring, considerate, willing to do anything to make life as easy and pleasant as he could for her. Yet as much as he might have tried to hold death at bay, it was always going to overtake his efforts. She understood his feelings of helplessness.
‘I guess her going must have left a terrible hole in your life.’
‘She was an adornment to the human race,’ he said softly.
How on earth was she going to compete with that? Ashley thought despondently. ‘Then you were lucky to have known her,’ she said with a burst of envy. ‘Not everyone gets the chance to love and be loved by someone so special. Even if it was only for a short time, at least you’ve experienced it.’
It jolted him out of his reverie. His head turned sharply towards her. Ashley lifted her gaze to his and gave him a full blast of truth. ‘Your Pen made part of your life beautiful, Harry. Maybe that makes the loss hard to bear, but you don’t carry the sense of having missed out on the best, the sense of an emptiness that has never been answered.’
‘Ashley…’ His hand swung out, ready to touch. There was something in his eyes…pity? Anguish? She instinctively backed away.
‘I think I’ll go to bed. I feel cooler now. Good night, Harry. And thank you for making it such a wonderful evening,’ she prattled, carefully skirting any contact with him as she moved to the sliding door.
Somehow he got there ahead of her and pulled the door open. She stepped into the family room, giving him a nod of thanks. He followed closely on her heels. The door clicked shut. Ashley crossed quickly to the staircase. Her eyes blurred with tears as she remembered the bubbling light-heartedness with which she had started the evening. It wasn’t fair, she cried to herself. What hope did she have against a ghost who represented perfection?
She hurried up the stairs, hoping he would stay behind and let her escape to the privacy of the bedroom before he followed to his room. She felt him watching her, but at least his footsteps stopped on the floor below.
‘Good night, Ashley.’ His voice softly floated after her.
She didn’t pause or turn. She had already said good night. Tomorrow was another day, she told herself, brushing the tears from her lashes. And she did have something over a ghost. She was alive. She was warm flesh and blood. And Harry found the arrangement attractive. She wasn’t mistaken about that!
CHAPTER SEVEN
WILLIAM WAS UP early the next morning. Like most young boys, William had an inquiring mind. Since Mr. Cliffton’s bedroom adjoined his, it was a simple matter to make enough noise to wake up the new acquisition to the household without disturbing his mother. He figured he could worm more out of Mr. Cliffton if he had him to himself. His mother had a habit of gliding over grownup matters. William wanted the facts.
Harry woke before his watch alarm went off. It suited him to be up early. Last night he had inadvertently ended up stirring feelings that had driven Ashley away from him. That had not been his intention, although he didn’t regret their conversation.
Ashley’s directness had somehow acted as a catharsis for him. She had drawn a perspective he hadn’t considered before, and she was right. He was lucky to have had Pen in his life. The question now was whether he could or should attempt to make Ashley feel lucky to have him in her life.
On sheer impulse he had embarked on a light-hearted game that had promised to be an amusing challenge, a titillating battle of wits and wills with the added interest of considerable sexual attraction. As George had observed, he had been skating along on the surface of life, not caring if the ice beneath his feet broke. Ashley jolted him into the realisation that he was playing with deep waters.
It behove him to tread very carefully with Ashley Harcourt’s feelings. Roger had not been good for her. Harry did not want to inflict any more hurt and disillusionment. He liked her. Very much. She had guts and a firmer grip on self-direction than most of the people he knew. It was wrong to play with the life she had made for herself, yet Harry didn’t want to deal himself out of Ashley Harcourt’s life at this point.
Nevertheless, he was in two minds about the deception he had so frivolously entered into. He pondered whether he should state his real position as he washed and dressed. He heard William go downstairs and followed him, intent on subtly pumping the boy about the more personal side of Ashley’s life.
‘Good morning, William,’ he started, smiling at the huge bowl of breakfast cereal the boy had helped himself to. ‘When does your mother usually wake?’
‘Morning, Mr. Cliffton. Mum sets the alarm for seven,’ he promptly answered.
Harry had twenty minutes up his sleeve. ‘Does she have tea or coffee first thing in the morning?’
‘Coffee.’ William put his spoon down, deciding to tackle the important question without any beating around the bush. ‘Are you going to be my uncle?’
‘That’s a fairly close blood relation, William. I don’t qualify.’
‘I don’t mean that kind of uncle. I know I haven’t got any of those, unless you count step-uncles. Mum’s parents got divorced and married other people with kids who are now mostly grown up but we hardly ever see them. And my dad was an only child. I’m not talking about real uncles.’
William looked at Harry meaningfully as though he should know the correct import of his question now. Harry didn’t care for the flavour of it at all. He found himself recoiling from the idea of joining a queue of live-in relationships that had failed to meet Ashley’s needs, then pulled himself up for making unfounded assumptions.
Ashley hadn’t struck him as a woman who would lightly invite men into her life. But she had struck him as a woman who would kick out anyone who tried to take over.
‘Precisely what kind of uncles are you talking about, William?’ he asked, seeking clarification before making any judgements.
William sighed, suspecting an evasion. He spelled it out so there could be no misunderstanding. ‘Some of the kids at school don’t have their dads living with them. Other men move into their houses and live with their mums. Mostly they call them uncle. Rodney Bixell’s had three different uncles. He’s scored pretty well out of it, too. He got a go-cart from the first, a trampoline from the second and a bike from the third.’
Rodney clearly knew how to play every angle.
‘Mum won’t let me have a bike until I’m ten because we live on this hill and she reckons it’s dangerous,’ William continued with obvious exasperation at his mother’s judgement on this sore point. There was hope and devious calculation in his eyes as he added, ‘Maybe you could talk her into it, Mr. Cliffton. You look as if you could talk Mum into anything.’
Harry had his doubts about that but he hoped it was true. ‘Have you had any uncles?’ he asked, wanting this point settled unequivocally.
‘Nah. No luck yet. That’s why I haven’t got a bike. Mum’s never even gone out with any guys. So I figure since she let you move in, Mr. Cliffton, it has to mean something.’
‘No guys at all, huh?’
William wrinkled his nose. ‘She only has boring old girlfriends who don’t give you anything.’
Ashley was clearly not into sampling whatever was available. Such complete abstinence was, however, a measure of how gun-shy she was of men in general. Which made her acceptance of him highly intriguing. And flattering. It also loaded Harry with a heavy sense of responsibility. He didn’t think Ashley would appreciate the concept of having fun, especially if carried into intimate realms while she was still misled as to who and what he was.
‘You’re a big improvement, Mr. Cliffton,’ William assured him, giving him an encouraging grin. ‘None of Mum’s girlfriends would think of taking me to a test cricket match.’
‘Well, I do happen to like Cricket myself,’ Harry remarked dryly feeling more of a fraud by the minute. George had already fixed a private box for him in the Brewongle Grandstand at the Sydney Cricket Ground.
‘That was a great catch you made yesterday,’ William said admiringly. ‘It saved a window and a bit of Mum’s wrath. She wouldn’t have stood back and thought what a fantastic hook shot it had been. She wouldn’t have thought of anything else but the broken window.’ He paused to let Harry appreciate the different patterns of the male and female mind, then pointedly added, ‘I wouldn’t mind at all having you as an uncle.’
Was Ashley considering the same possibility? Or did being a butler put him in a different category, someone safe, leaving her in control of what did or didn’t happen between them? Would she instantly show him the door if he confessed the truth? He had a strong suspicion she would, despite the attraction he was sure they shared.
‘Thank you, William, but I’m here as a butler, not an uncle,’ Harry said firmly. ‘I think your mother would be very upset if you referred to me as an uncle. It would give people the wrong idea.’
‘Oh!’ William’s face fell. He reconsidered the situation and presented another argument. ‘But you are going to stay here for a while. I mean there’s the cricket and Mrs. Stanton’s party and it would be real good if you took my side on a few things. Like you did yesterday about the photos. Mum gets a bit fussy. Not like Mrs. Stanton. But, you know…she worries about small things that are really okay.’
Harry smiled his understanding. ‘Good parents are like that, William. You’re very lucky to have a mother who cares so much about your well-being.’
‘It can be overdone,’ William muttered.
Harry cocked a reproving eyebrow. ‘William, I have a lot of respect for your mother. She’s achieved a great deal by herself. It couldn’t have been easy being a young widow with a young child to take care of.’
‘She had me to help.’
‘Of course.’ Harry smothered a smile. ‘That slipped my mind for a moment.’
‘But she could do with a lot more help. It would be a good idea if you stayed as long as possible,’ William pressed, obviously seeing many advantages to himself in having Harry at hand. ‘I’d like to get my soldiers painted and have a few regiments ready to move by next week. Otherwise I can’t pretend to be Napoleon.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather be the Duke of Wellington?’ Harry couldn’t imagine William wanting to lead the losing side in any war game.
There was a gleam of pure animal cunning in William’s blue eyes as he answered, ‘I thought you’d rather play Wellington, Mr. Cliffton, being English and all that.’
William was clearly a master at holding out carrots. Harry was quite a dab hand at it himself.
‘Whether I stay or not will be your mother’s decision, William. Right now I’m going to make her coffee and take it up to her.’ Harry winked conspiratorially. ‘Show her what a good butler I am.’
The boy laughed his delight in their mutual understanding. ‘That’s how I get into favour. Especially when I want something a bit tricky.’
Tricky was definitely the word, Harry thought as he set a tray for the coffee. As William had pointed out, he was already involved here to the extent of taking him to the cricket match and transporting Ashley in the Rolls to Olivia Stanton’s party. Letting either of them down after giving his word went against Harry’s grain.
He had to maintain the role he had cast himself in until a decision about the future was made, either by Ashley or himself. Confession might be good for the soul, but Harry had little doubt that he would be banished from the household before he could blink if he stopped being the butler. That would not serve the purpose of getting George an heir for Springfield Manor, nor the purpose of getting to know Ashley Harcourt better.
The latter purpose was far more on Harry’s mind as he carried the coffee tray upstairs. He had picked a red rose from Ashley’s garden and laid it beside the coffeepot. The romantic touch appealed to him. He hoped it would appeal to her, too. It was wrong that so much of her life had been barren of romance.
He heard the clock alarm go off as he approached her bedroom door and waited until it clicked off before knocking.
‘Yes?’ A drowsy question.
‘It’s Harry with your coffee,’ he answered.
‘Oh!’ A pause filled with rustling movement. ‘Come in.’
Harry fixed a bright smile of greeting on his face as he opened the door. ‘Good morning, Ashley.’
It was just as well he had the words ready to trip off his tongue, because desire hit him in the solar plexus with breathtaking speed, stopping him in his tracks. She was sitting up in bed, a sheet pulled up to cover her breasts but not the two red lace straps that were obviously attached to a very feminine nightie. The pale silk of her hair fell in tangled skeins around the smooth roundness of her bare arms and shoulders. Her face was no less lovely without makeup, and her eyes held a soft, uncertain appeal that pummelled his heart.
Harry knew in that moment it was criminal to deceive this woman in any way whatsoever, yet he was trapped in his own contrived scenario. He didn’t want her to reject him. He wanted to take her in his arms, assure her that she was safe with him. He wanted to kiss the slight quiver from her lips, wanted to fill the emptiness inside her with the wonder and pleasure of not missing out on anything. He wanted to give what Pen had given to him.
Perhaps it was another mad impulse, a quixotic urge that could backfire with disastrous consequences. This was not a time for dancing on the edge, he cautioned himself. This was a time for taking things slowly, but his hastily summoned control was severely tested by the sad searching in her beautiful grey eyes. He felt her need and wanted to answer it. Common sense hammered out that it was too soon to know if he could.
Keep it light, Harry, he sternly advised himself, pushing his feet forward again. ‘William told me you preferred coffee first thing. Did you sleep well?’
‘Yes. Yes, thank you,’ she answered distractedly, her cheeks pinking as she turned to clear some space on the bedside table for the tray. ‘And you? Were you comfortable enough?’
‘Very much so.’ He set the tray down and proceeded to pour her coffee. Best to keep his hands busy. It was so tempting to reach out and touch her hair, feel its silkiness sliding between his fingers. Her warm, womanly fragrance was, fortunately, superseded by the aroma of coffee. ‘Bacon and eggs and toast for breakfast?’ he asked, hoping to put her at ease with him.
‘I usually have a bowl of muesli. But please help yourself to whatever you’re used to, Harry,’ she added quickly.
‘It’s just as easy to cook for two.’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow. She was more composed now. ‘Is the muesli a matter of healthy conviction or a symptom of not wanting the bother of cooking and cleaning up afterwards?’
It drew a rueful smile. ‘A bit of both.’
‘Well, let the bother be mine. I’m here to serve you, Ashley, and I want you to enjoy the pleasure of being served.’
‘Then I guess I might as well…once in a lifetime,’ she added with a self-mocking twist.
‘It needn’t be,’ he reminded her. ‘It could be your lifestyle if you choose to take up residence at Springfield Manor. Everything should be tried…once in a lifetime,’ he repeated, feeling somewhat exonerated.
She shrugged. ‘What would I do with myself there?’ Her eyes flashed derisively. ‘In between being waited on hand and foot.’
‘Interest yourself in the occupations of others. As you do now. There are estate farms and a village and—’
‘I’d be welcome to poke my nose into their business?’
‘Helping and interfering are two different things.’ ‘I’d be an outsider, Harry. A fish out of water.’
‘We’re all outsiders at one time or another. I’m an outsider here, but that doesn’t stop me from getting involved and being helpful and caring. Saying you’re an outsider is an excuse for do-ing nothing.’
‘Is it your duty as a butler to hand out homilies with coffee?’ she asked dryly as he put down the coffeepot.
He flashed her a smile. ‘I’m a man with a mission. You can’t expect me not to argue my case.’
‘You do it very well.’
His eyes held hers. ‘I think you could make a place for yourself anywhere, Ashley. Given the desire to.’
Her gaze didn’t waver. ‘I think you could, too.’
The zest of contest rippled through Harry again. A defiant pride and a will of steel had overlaid the vulnerability that had so touched him when he had entered her bedroom. The simmering challenge in her eyes put him and his beliefs and his heritage on notice that she was not about to be bowled over by any of them. Anything he won from her would be hard earned. But worthwhile.
Harry’s blood stirred. ‘You’ll join me for bacon and eggs?’ he asked, pressing for a crack of compliance.
‘I’ll dance with you, Harry, but don’t assume I’ll accompany you home,’ she answered.
He grinned. ‘Then let’s make the dance a merry one.’
His feet were light as he exited from her room. Ashley had accepted the game, come what may, and it was fun again. Apart from which, playing the butler wasn’t so deceptive because she would have all that he represented if she came with him in the end.
And more.
