Lovers Touch. PENNY JORDAN
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I’m a self-made man who’s made it financially in life, but, like all self-made men, I now want to crown my financial success with social acceptance. Not just for me, but for my children, especially my sons … my eldest son,’ he added meaningfully.
And then, in case she hadn’t understood, he added coolly, ‘Marriage to you will open doors which would otherwise have remained closed. Our son will inherit your grandfather’s title … Surely, Nell, you know how much men of my class yearn to become members of the aristocracy?’
She was sure he was mocking her. In all the three years she had known him, Joss had never once exhibited the slightest degree of envy for her grandfather’s social standing, and it stunned her to discover now that he was actually contemplating marrying her for the reasons he had just stated.
It was her grandfather’s fault, of course. He was the one who had initially put the idea in his head, but Joss had obviously not been slow to pick it up.
Unless, of course, he was simply making fun of her, constructing a hugely elaborate joke at her expense. Her common sense told her this was hardly likely.
‘Joss, I can’t marry you,’ she protested, struggling to deny the emotions churning inside her. Our son ̣. our son … the words seemed to reverberate inside her head, until she couldn’t hear anything else. In those two words, he had conjured up such an enormity of complex emotions and sensations within her that she could barely accommodate them all. To have a child by this man whom she loved so desperately. To live with him here in this house. To be his wife … but she was allowing herself to be swept away into a fantasy world.
Joss wasn’t talking about marriage as she envisaged it; he was talking about a coldly calculated business arrangement; a marriage that would have no emotions, no feelings, no love, and that would be nothing other than a mere exchange of assets. His money for her title and home.
It happened, of course it happened, even in these enlightened times, but not to her … never to her.
‘It was what your grandfather wanted, Nell,’ he warned her. ‘An ideal solution to a problem which never ceased to worry him.’
How dared he add to her guilt? He knew what he was doing to her by telling her that, although she didn’t doubt for a moment that he was telling the truth and that her grandfather had seen it as an ideal solution to their financial problems.
‘I can’t,’ she whispered painfully.
‘No …? Then I’m afraid you leave me no choice. As Grania’s trustee, I really have no alternative but to support her claim to half of your grandfather’s estate. In the courts, if necessary. Of course, if we were married, I’ve no doubt I could come to some suitable arrangement with Grania … a lump sum in lieu of what she considers due to her …’
Nell stared at him in disbelief and then whispered frozenly, ‘That’s blackmail.’
The dark eyebrows rose, and her mouth trembled as much with anguish as with anything else.
‘These days we call it gamesmanship … the art of being one step ahead of your rival.’ He flicked back the cuff of the jacket he was wearing. ‘I’ve got to be back in London this evening, and I shan’t be back until the early hours. I’ll come over in the morning, Nell. You can give me your answer then,’ he told her, ignoring her protest that he already had it.
He had no mercy … no mercy at all, Nell acknowledged half an hour later. She was huddled over the empty fire, her grandfather’s dog at her knee.
The pointer had been a birthday gift from Joss to Gramps, and with the loyalty of her breed had attached herself to him devotedly. She had pined after his death, and although Nell walked her and fed her she came way down the list in the pointer’s affections. She was a man’s dog, and never failed to place herself at Joss’s feet whenever he came to visit. It was unusual for her to show such affection to Nell, but today, sensing her despair, she had come to sit beside her and Nell welcomed the warmth of her body, hugging her in her arms as she rocked slowly to and fro, trying to come to terms with Joss’s proposal.
Even now she could hardly take it in. Joss wanted to marry her, and how brutally he had made sure that she was not likely to harbour any illusions about the reasons behind his proposal.
He didn’t want her … No, what he wanted was her home … her name … her family title … for his son … their son … And he had made no apology for wanting them either; but then, why should he? To Joss, everything in life was a commodity with a price on it. The price of the gift he wanted to give his son was marriage to her. It was as simple as that.
The phone rang abruptly, making her jump. It was the vicar’s wife, reminding her that she was bringing the Young Wives up to the house to tour round the greenhouses later in the week.
If only there was someone she could turn to for advice and counsel. Her closest friend throughout her schooldays was now married, with a busy household, her husband being a doctor. They lived near Cambridge, and as well as her own baby girl there were also two older children from Robert’s first marriage. It hadn’t been easy for her friend to make the decision to take on a widower with two young children, and there had been many long telephone calls between Liz and Nell before Liz had finally decided to commit herself to Robert.
Now she was blissfully happy, and fully deserved to be, and yet for all the confidences they had shared over the years, Nell had never told her how she felt about Joss. Perhaps she had hoped that by keeping silent she could somehow pretend that those feelings didn’t exist?
But they did, and today Joss had scoured her soul by what he had said to her; by the ruthlessness he had displayed; by his total lack of any consideration of her own feelings.
How could she possibly marry him? And yet, how could she not …? She had promised Gramps that she would do everything in her power to hold on to Easterhay; how could she live with herself if she refused to honour that promise?
It was easy to tell herself that her grandfather was the product of a different age, that her promise need not be kept … that no one would blame her for refusing Joss, bearing in mind his reasons for marrying her. It should be the easiest thing in the world for her to simply say ‘No’, but she couldn’t. Conscience … pride … or just sheer, stubborn love for her home and her family … She didn’t really know which, or if it was a combination of all three. Or even perhaps if she had inherited more from her reckless ancestress then just her blonde hair, and, for the first time in her life, was actually going to throw herself blindly into the arms of fate.
The morning papers brought in the shocking realisation that Joss wasn’t leaving anything to chance. There was a photograph of him prominently displayed on the society page of The Times, and underneath the caption, ‘Millionaire entrepreneur Joss Wycliffe announces that he is shortly to be married. The bride is not Naomi Charters, the actress whom he has currently been escorting, but the daughter of an old friend, Lady Eleanor de Tressail. The couple will marry within the next few months.’
Nell sat down at the breakfast-table, feeling faintly sick. How dared Joss take her acceptance for granted like this! He wasn’t allowing her anything … no pride, no compassion … nothing.
She pushed away her bowl of cereal and reached for the coffee-pot, her hand trembling.
There was a large pile of mail beside her plate, and it contained far too many ominous buff envelopes. She picked up the top one, her heart sinking as she recognised the familiar Inland Revenue stamp. When she opened it her heart sank even further.
It was a reminder that there were still death-duties to be paid, and the sum seemed astronomical. On the other side of the panelled dining-room was a lighter piece of panelling where a Gainsborough had once hung. It had been sold when her grandmother died. Now there was nothing more to sell … Other than herself … She shivered tensely. Dear God, why on earth couldn’t Joss have at least tried to make it easy for her … at least pretended to feel something for her, even if they both knew it was a pretence? This way … this way … he was making sure that she knew exactly what it was