Red Dirt Duchess Read online

Jon stopped and turned to her. ‘It will be fine. Don’t worry.’

  He turned the handle of the door and they stepped into a large hall, almost as cold as it was outside. The sea of worn, white marble tiles didn’t help, marching past several sets of closed double doors and terminating at the end of the hall in a large single door.

  There were no rugs, no greenery. Just a polished table holding a tangle of dog leads and some unopened letters. Underneath, rubber boots, and to the side a row of hooks, hung with an assortment of coats and hats. Charlie glanced up. Three enormous stags’ heads hung on the wall above the table.

  She quirked a brow. ‘And you turned your nose up at our boar’s head.’

  Several portraits in elaborate frames lined the walls. ‘The ancestors,’ Jon grimaced just as the nearest door opened.

  ‘Jonathan!’

  An elegant woman dressed head to toe in camel and with ash-blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail walked towards them.

  ‘Mother.’ Jon kissed his mother coolly then turned to Charlie. ‘Mother, this is Charlie Hughes from Australia. Charlie, my mother, Lady Bendale. But I’m sure she’ll want you to call her Diana.’ He gave his mother a wicked grin. ‘Right, Ma?’

  His mother ignored him, her eyes fixed firmly on Charlie. Charlie couldn’t remember when she’d ever been subjected to such a frank assessment, as the older woman’s gaze travelled over her, avoiding her eyes but taking in her nubbly jumper, jeans and scuffed boots. The silence stretched.

  Uncertain, Charlie stuck out her hand. ‘Hi. Nice to meet you.’

  Diana raised an imperceptible eyebrow at Jon then grasped Charlie’s hand by the fingertips. ‘How do you do?’ She had the same round vowels as Jon’s but with a manner that bordered on frosty.

  Charlie’s heart sank. Her own greeting sounded so inadequate in the face of such formality. She felt small and colonial and somehow lacking.

  She couldn’t bear the small silence that followed. ‘You have a lovely home,’ she pressed on. She caught the edge of Jon’s grin and Diana’s frigid stare, a glance that ricocheted between Jon and his mother.

  ‘Indeed.’ Diana inclined her head.

  Indeed. It was a word her father had occasionally used, one of the curious hangovers from Cliff’s past. It meant everything and nothing. It could mean yes or maybe. Most times, as now, it meant ‘If I must respond’. It was peculiarly English.

  Evidently Charlie had made yet another faux pas by commenting on the house, and it was beginning to irk her. It wasn’t like she’d commented on money. Everyone knew that was crass. But there seemed to be all kinds of rules here and she didn’t have a guidebook.

  ‘It’s not exactly a good time, Jon.’ Diana didn’t bother to lower her voice. ‘We’ve got that celebrity wedding tomorrow so the place is in an uproar. And Vera is unwell and coming down for a week. Really, I could do without it.’

  As welcomes went, it left a little to be desired.

  ‘Who’s Vera?’ Charlie whispered when Diana turned and preceded them towards the room she’d exited, her heels tapping on the marble tiles.

  ‘Friend of my late grandmother,’ he murmured. ‘A scary old stick at times but she’s almost part of the family, and Mother looks after her, despite how much she grumbles about it.’

  He quickened his stride to catch up with his mother. ‘What celebrity wedding?’

  She flashed him a look. ‘Goodness, are you the only person in Britain that doesn’t know that Desiree Walton is getting married?’

  ‘Who’s Desiree Walton?’ whispered Charlie, beginning to feel clueless.

  He edged closer and lowered his voice. ‘Reality-TV star.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Very “look at me, look at me”. Takes her clothes off at the drop off a hat.’ He glanced at his mother and raised his voice. ‘I say, I wonder if she’ll —’

  ‘Don’t even think it.’ Diana closed her eyes and shuddered. ‘Anyway, the public part of the house has been turned upside down, caterers, florists, stylists everywhere. And your Caro has been down twice. It turns out I went to school with her mother. A nice girl,’ she finished with a meaningful look.

  Now there was a name Charlie recognised. But his Caro?

  A hunted look flickered across Jon’s face. ‘She’s not my Caro. She’s my editor.’

  Ah, so the mysterious Caro was his boss. Charlie couldn’t help being glad that she’d sent Jon out to Bin, even though he obviously hadn’t shared the sentiment.

  But there was something more; most people didn’t blanch like that at a casual mention of their boss, did they?

  ‘What’s she prowling around here for?’ Jon asked.

  They entered a large sitting room decorated in soft shades of teal. The scent of furniture polish and damp dog hung in the air. It was marginally warmer here, with thick rugs scattered on the floor and soft lamplight. Sofas and chairs were grouped around small tables charmingly cluttered with silver photo frames, flowers and books. The windows, Charlie noted, looked over the drive.

  ‘Because Aristo have paid for the rights to cover the wedding,’ Diana said with an air of do keep up.

  ‘Aristo?’ Jon’s jaw dropped. ‘Let me get this straight. Desiree Walton, lately of the East End via several prominent plastic surgeons’ offices, is having her wedding covered by Aristo? Whatever happened to Hello!?’

  ‘I don’t care where she comes from. Her lovely lolly is going to pay for the new flashing on the east wing,’ said a quiet voice at the far end of the room.

  They all turned towards the man standing by the fireplace. About the same height as Jon but more thickset, he wore a musty-looking green jumper with leather patches on the elbows and a pair of corduroys, baggy at the knees and bunching at the pockets where his hands were thrust.

  Before Charlie could make it a hat trick Jon murmured, ‘My brother.’

  He crossed the room and gave his brother’s hand a hearty shake, putting his other hand on his shoulder in a gesture of affection. Then he turned.

  ‘Charlie, my brother Jeremy, Earl of Bendale. You can call him Germs, everybody else does.’ Jeremy punched Jon on the arm playfully. ‘And Germs, this is Charlie Hughes, all the way from beautiful Bindundilly, in Australia’s outback.’

  ‘Welcome.’ Jeremy crossed the room and shook her hand warmly. ‘You’re very welcome.’

  An earl. Dazed, Charlie shook his hand, then shot an incredulous look back at Jon. He should have warned her that his was no ordinary family. The alarm that had started to mount when they’d turned in at the gates had been building steadily. It had spiked with Diana’s cool welcome and now, despite Jeremy’s warmth, Charlie was floundering.

  She was well and truly out of her depth. And when they found out who she was, well … Then she thought of Cliff. How he’d have laughed at her self-indulgence. He’d never believed he was better or worse than anyone, and he’d be disappointed in her. She set her shoulders straighter and returned Jeremy’s smile.

  ‘Tea, I think.’ Diana picked up the phone and spoke into it. ‘Please, sit down, Charlie.’

  The cushions on the sofa looked so incredibly deep and pillowy-soft that Charlie thought she might not be able to get off the sofa without an inelegant sprawl of limbs. She chose a straight-backed chair just a little away from the main grouping. Jon frowned slightly, then threw himself onto the sofa with the casual abandon of a teenager.

  In a few minutes the door opened and a man walked in wheeling an elegant trolley bearing an elaborate tea service. Dressed in dark trousers and matching waistcoat, with a crisp white shirt and bright yellow tie, he sported a diamond stud in one earlobe.

  ‘Barker, you’re a legend,’ said Jon, leaning forward to clear the low table of magazines.

  ‘Good to see you, Master Jon. You’re looking well.’

  ‘Barker, this is Miss Hughes. She’s staying, so I’m hoping you have a room without too much trouble? Maybe the green room overlooking the drive?’

  ‘Please, just Charlie,’ Char
lie said, earning another look from Jon’s mother.

  ‘Welcome, Miss Hughes.’ The butler smiled warmly. ‘I’ll have the green room ready in an hour.’

  ‘So, back to Desiree Walton. The wedding’s tomorrow?’ Jon turned to Charlie. ‘Could be fun. We could hang out in the musician’s gallery and watch celebs at play. It would mean spending an extra night, though.’

  Charlie’s heart fluttered. All the way here she’d convinced herself that she’d misread Jon’s challenge back in Bindundilly. That he really was only interested in proving that the painting and the mural were by the same artist. And since that could be done any time this afternoon, that they’d be back in London tomorrow and that would be the end of it. But then there’d been that kiss in the car, a promise of more to come.

  ‘So, who’ll be there?’ Jon asked his mother as his eyes searched Charlie’s for an answer.

  ‘Barker?’ Diana glanced over her shoulder at the butler. ‘You follow all the who’s who of that world.’

  The names Barker reeled off had Charlie’s head in a spin. Rock stars, football players, fashion designers, names with large enough reputations to have made it all the way to Bindundilly.

  ‘You’re free tomorrow, aren’t you?’ Jon pressed.

  She was aware of Diana’s keen scrutiny, the way she pretended to fuss over the pouring of the tea while her whole body was alert for Charlie’s answer.

  ‘Well, I —’

  ‘Good. She’s free.’ Jon took a cup of tea from Barker and winked.

  CHAPTER SIX

  He couldn’t wait to get her to himself.

  After tea Jon stood and held a hand out to Charlie. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’m going to give Charlie a tour.’

  All that clattering of teacups and polite conversation had almost driven him mad. Through it all Charlie had sat like an outback duchess, quietly absorbing everything. Her eyes had flitted around the room but when drawn back to Diana they’d become a little shuttered. Occasionally he’d looked up to find them fixed on him, a burning blue that made his blood hum with anticipation.

  After his mother’s unfortunate welcome, her excessive politeness didn’t fool him. She wasn’t finished yet.

  Jon didn’t care. Within ten minutes of seeing Charlie in the street the previous day it was as though a weight had been lifted. She was an angel of mercy, a messenger from the gods of pleasure, divine intervention sent to distract him from duty. Duty be damned.

  For the moment.

  They passed out of the sitting room, across the hall and then down another corridor which led to the main hall, a massive timbered space with creaking oak floors and panelled walls. And there were what he’d come to think of as the props: the suit of armour by the staircase and the cavalier’s hat placed just so on the carved central table, as though a Royalist had only that moment jumped off his horse.

  ‘Your butler —’ Charlie’s voice echoed in the vastness of the space and she lowered it to a whisper. ‘Your butler is a bit of a surprise.’

  ‘He’s a bit of everything, old Barker,’ said Jon, not bothering about volume. ‘He started life as a fully-fledged butler but he has a fairly flamboyant private life that might not suit some households. Given our impecunity, we’re happy to turn a blind eye so he suits us pretty well as an all-rounder.’

  Her eyebrows rose at that, disbelief plain as she looked around the hall and back at him.

  ‘It’s true. We’re as poor as church mice. Why else do you think we’d have hordes of strangers through the house?’

  ‘If you’re so poor —’

  He stopped and placed a hand on her arm. ‘Actually my family are poor. Not me. I have a job, remember. I’m not tethered to this house.’ Only to the name and the expectations it brought. He looked down at his hand still resting on her arm. He liked the feel of it there. Through the nubbly, rough texture of her pullover he could feel the strength of her. She wouldn’t break easily no matter how Diana tried, and the thought cheered him.

  ‘That’s a bit remote, isn’t it? You’re a family, so you’re all in it together.’

  Jon had never thought of it that way. Jeremy was the big brother every child deserved. Stalwart and protective, he’d been the calming influence in Jon’s rocky childhood years. And despite everything, Jon loved his mother.

  But he’d always felt he didn’t belong. Which was ironic, now that it was all shoulders – well, his actually – to the procreation wheel.

  ‘Anyway,’ Charlie continued, ‘I like Barker.’

  Jon let out a snort of laughter. It said a lot about his family. His mother had been glacial, and Jeremy welcoming but vaguely puzzled about why she was here.

  Charlie liked the butler.

  He leaned close and colour suffused her cheeks. ‘Secret,’ he whispered. ‘You’re not supposed to like the butler. But yes, I do too. You can count on Barker.’

  Reluctant to remove his hand, he slid it to her elbow to guide her towards the staircase. He was pleased that she hadn’t tried to emulate his mother’s rounded vowels. She’d retained that touch of outback: uncomplicated and refreshing. She was in awe of the house, but give her a day and she’d be back to her usual snappy self.

  And then it came to him, on a euphoric wave of recognition. She’d conquer this family, given a chance. Locked in their relentless, ancestral drive to prevail, they were like lemmings, placing one foot in front of the other in the same tired way, in a centuries-old pattern. But then, his heart sank as he realised she would never be allowed to conquer them. His mother would chip away at her, subtly pointing out her unsuitability, and Jeremy would always be kind but remote. As for Jeremy’s wife …

  Maybe that was why the family was at this impasse. They’d finally used up their chances and had been found wanting. Maybe some great cosmic aristocracy committee had decided enough was enough. No more noble rights for them. No more high-handed dealings with the peasantry.

  He glanced down at Charlie as though seeing her for the first time. Maybe it was time to take a swim in an entirely new gene pool. He’d wanted her out in Bindundilly, but he’d been thinking of a fling, not a ring. Now, seeing her here, desire mounted, fizzing in his veins. Was it really so impossible?

  Or was he just clutching at straws?

  ‘Come on, let’s check the painting first,’ he said.

  They passed up the first flight of the Grand Staircase then turned and mounted the second until they arrived in the Long Gallery.

  Despite his having grown up here, the Long Gallery never failed to impress him. Running the length of the house with a view of the drive it was, together with the hall, a triumph of Elizabethan architecture. Weak light filtered through the long windows in the embrasures and played across the faded, jewel-coloured Persian rugs on the oak floors. The walls were hung with yet more portraits – honestly, had a family ever been painted so much? – and at the far end of the gallery the famous Hartley Hall oriel window commanded its own view across the park towards the woods.

  ‘We used to play up here as children when it was wet. If you roll back the rugs those floors make for excellent sliding.’

  ‘It’s magnificent.’ Charlie left his side and crossed to one of the deep windows, peering down to the driveway. ‘It’s so old. This house must have seen so much.’ She turned to face him. ‘Thank you for bringing me here.’

  ‘I hope my mother hasn’t upset you.’

  ‘Oh, she’s okay. She’s just worried that you’re interested in me.’

  The words hung between them like a challenge as she turned back to the window and placed a hand against the stone mullion, running it along the rough surface. A moment later she turned back to face him.

  ‘But she needn’t worry,’ she added with a small, enigmatic smile. She moved further along the gallery, bending to inspect a delicate figurine in a glass-fronted cabinet.

  Oh yes, she should worry, Jon wanted to say. She should be bloody terrified, because he’d never been more interested in anyone in his l
ife.

  Then it hit him and his shoulders slumped. Did Charlie mean Diana shouldn’t worry because Charlie wasn’t interested in him? Well, wouldn’t that be a laugh. Heiresses knocking themselves out for a crack at the Hartley-Huntley name, and Charlie Hughes, lovely uncomplicated Charlie from Bindundilly, couldn’t give a toss.

  He joined her at the cabinet, staring at the silly piece of fussy porcelain that seemed to have entranced her.

  ‘You like it?’

  She glanced up and grimaced. ‘No.’

  ‘Then you don’t want me to point out every gewgaw or knick-knack?’

  When she shook her head he grinned. ‘Handy, because I don’t have any idea what half this junk is. Come on, let’s see the painting.’

  They reached the middle of the gallery, where a corridor branched off to the left. ‘Just around here,’ Jon murmured, his pulse racing.

  Unease settled around him. He hadn’t been in this part of the house in years, but it was as though he were a small boy again. The corridor narrowed, the old floors sloping alarmingly. It had been fun as a child to play marbles here, to try to stop them running towards the wall. In those days he’d loved this part of the house.

  The door was just ahead and his footsteps slowed, then stopped. He’d been so eager to show her the painting, to see it for himself, yet now reluctance clutched at him, pulling him back. He glanced at Charlie, waiting patiently by his side. Of course she couldn’t know how that painting had changed the life of a little boy. He nodded towards the door. ‘It’s in there, my father’s study.’ Then he shook his head. ‘Well, it’s Jeremy’s study now. He won’t mind.’

  The door was closed and Jon put his hand on the handle and swallowed hard on his revulsion as he turned it. ‘It’s just inside the door.’ He turned the handle and pushed the door wide. Nothing much had changed since his father’s day but then, nothing ever changed much in this mausoleum. His eyes went straight to the wall where the painting hung and he let out a surprised breath of air.

  The wall was painted the same deep green as ever, but the spot where the painting had hung was bare, with only a tarnished brass picture hanger and a dark outline to mark where it had been.