A Winter Proposal / His Diamond Bride: A Winter Proposal / His Diamond Bride. Lucy Gordon
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was free to go on their honeymoon. The idea of another woman had never crossed her mind.
When he returned she paid an unexpected visit to his apartment, heralding her arrival by singing a Christmas carol outside his door.
‘New day, new hope, new life,’ she yodelled merrily.
When he opened the door she flew into his arms, hoping to draw him into a kiss, but he moved stiffly away.
Then he dumped her.
For a while she’d been knocked sideways. Instead of the splendid career that should have been hers, she’d taken a job serving in the local supermarket, justifying this by saying that her grandparents, both in their eighties and frail, needed her. For the last two years of their lives she’d lived with them, watching over them, giving them every moment because, as she declared, she had no use for boyfriends.
It was then that the innocent beauty of her face had begun to be haunted with a look of determination so fierce as to be sometimes alarming. It would vanish quickly, driven away by her natural warmth, but it was still there, half hidden in the shadows, ready to return.
‘Don’t give in to it,’ Dee had begged in her last year of life. ‘I know you were treated cruelly, but don’t become bitter, whatever you do.’
‘Gran, honestly, you’ve got it all wrong. So a man let me down! So what? We rise above that these days!’
Dee had looked unconvinced, so Pippa brightened her smile, hoping to fool her, not very successfully, she knew.
Only after her death had Dee been able to put the situation right with a modest legacy, conditional on Pippa training for a proper career.
Pippa had changed from the quiet girl struggling to recover from heartbreak. Going back out into the world, starting a new life, had brought out a side she hadn’t known she had. Her looks won her many admirers, and she’d gone to meet them, arms open but heart closed. Life was fun if you didn’t expect too much, and she’d brought that down to a fine art.
‘Aunt Sylvia would have been proud of you,’ her mother told her, half critical, half admiring. ‘Not that I knew her, she died before I was born, but the way she carried on was a family legend and you’re heading in the same direction. Look at the way you’re dressed!’
‘I like to dress properly,’ Pippa observed, looking down at the short skirt that revealed her stunning legs, and the closely cut top that emphasised her delicate curves.
‘That’s not properly, that’s improperly,’ Lilian replied.
‘They can be the same thing,’ Pippa teased. ‘Oh, Mum, don’t look so shocked. I’m sure Aunt Sylvia would have said exactly that.’
‘Very likely, from all I’ve heard. But you’re supposed to be a lawyer.’
‘What do you mean, “supposed”? I passed my exams with honours and they were fighting to hire me, so my boss said.’
‘And doesn’t he mind you floating about his office looking like a sexy siren?’ Lilian demanded.
Pippa giggled.
‘No, I guess he doesn’t,’ Lilian conceded. ‘Well, I suppose if you’ve got the exam results to back you up you’ll be all right.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Pippa murmured. ‘I’ll be all right.’
One man, speaking from the depths of his injured feelings, had called her a tease, but he did her an injustice. She embarked on a relationship in all honesty, always wondering if this one would be different. But it never was. When she backed off it was from fear, not heartlessness. The memory of her misery over Jack was still there in her heart. The time that had passed since had dimmed that misery, but nothing could ever free her from its shadow, and she was never going to let it happen again.
‘I reckon you’d have understood that,’ she told Sylvia. ‘The things I’ve heard about you—I really wish we could have met. I bet you were fun.’
The thought of that fun made a smile break over her face. Sometimes she seemed to smile as she breathed.
But the smile faded as she turned to leave and saw the man she’d seen before, frowning at her.
Well, I suppose I must look pretty crazy, she thought wryly. His generation probably thinks you should never smile in a graveyard. But why not, if you’re fond of the people you come to see? And I’m very fond of Sylvia, even though we never met. So there!
Her mood of cheerful defiance lasted until she reached her car, parked just outside the gate. Then it faded into exasperation.
‘Oh, no, not again!’ she breathed as the engine made futile noises. ‘I’ll take you to the garage tomorrow, but start just this once, please!’
But, deaf to entreaties, it merely whirred again.
‘Grr!’
Getting out to look under the bonnet was a formality as she had only the vaguest idea what she was hoping to find. Whatever it was, she didn’t find it.
‘Grr!’
‘Are you in trouble?’
It was him, the man who’d interrupted her pleasant reverie in the graveyard and practically driven her out by his grim disapproval. At least, in her present growling exasperation that was how it seemed to her.
Not that he was looking grim now, merely detached and efficient as he headed towards her and surveyed the car.
‘Won’t it start?’
‘No. But this has happened before, and it usually starts after a while if I’m firm with it.’
His lips quirked slightly. ‘How do you get firm with a car? Kick it?’
‘Certainly not,’ she said with dignity. ‘I’m not living in the Dark Ages. I just—tap it a little and it comes right.’
‘I’ve got a better idea. Suppose I tow you to the nearest garage, or have you got a special one where you normally go when this breaks down? ‘
‘My brothers own a garage in Crimea Street,’ she said with dignity.
‘And do they approve of your “tapping” the car?’
‘They don’t approve of anything, starting with the fact that I bought it without consulting them. I just loved it on sight. It’s got so much personality.’
‘It’s certainly got that. What it hasn’t got is a reliable engine. You say you have brothers in the trade, and they let you buy this thing?’
‘They did not “let” me because I didn’t ask their permission,’ she said indignantly.
‘Nor their advice, it seems. I hope they gave you a piece of their minds.’
‘They did.’
‘So would I if you were my daughter.’
‘But I’m not your daughter, I haven’t asked for your help and I certainly haven’t asked for your interference. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to leave.’
‘How?’ he asked simply.
In her annoyance she’d forgotten that she was stranded. She glared.
‘It’s three miles to Crimea Street,’ he pointed out. ‘Are you going to walk it? In those heels? Or are you going to call them to rescue you? They’ll love that.’
‘Yes, and I’ll never hear the end of it,’ she sighed. ‘Ah, well, I don’t seem to have any choice.’
‘Unless I give you a tow?’ Seeing her suspicious look, he said, ‘It’s a genuine offer. I can’t just leave you here.’
‘Me being such a poor, helpless damsel in distress, you mean?’
His