Bluebell Castle. Sarah Bennett
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it was no big deal. He knew he was stoking her anger, but he couldn’t help it. There was something about that frozen façade of hers that made him want to smash through it and find the real woman he could sense behind the icy mask.
His team back in the office might have something to say about his dismissive attitude, too. Having raced back from the Cornwalls with his head full of those haunting images Iggy had emailed to him, they’d spent a gruelling two hours holding an emergency meeting to run through all their scheduled jobs for the summer.
Thankfully, they’d not only seen but understood his passion to abandon the roof terraces and back gardens of London for the chance to tackle something on the epic scale of Bluebell Castle. Even so, he’d needed to be convinced they had everything in hand before Will gave himself permission to follow the craving need the photos of the castle gardens had set itching beneath his skin.
A quick dash from his office to his flat to throw some essentials into a bag, and he’d been on the road. His traffic app had told him he could make it in four hours, but an accident at the Dartford crossing and some hellish roadworks on the A1 had stretched it to six. Plenty of time to debate with himself over the rashness of his actions, and more than once he’d been tempted to veer off onto a passing slip road and turn around.
As he took in the looks he was receiving-from Iggy’s barely contained fury to the amused grin from an older man sitting on one of a pair of enormous leather sofas-Will questioned once more the wisdom of acting on impulse. Showing up at this time of the evening was inexcusable, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d considered finding himself a hotel or B&B for the night and postponing his arrival until morning, but with every mile he’d drawn closer to the castle the doubts had compounded until he’d known in his gut that if he waited, he’d change his mind. The imposing stone wall guarding the castle had almost been the final straw, but then he’d found the entrance gate standing open as though in invitation and, well, here he was.
Iggy folded her arms across her chest, highlighting to him that she was as pleasing from the front as she was from the back. ‘You shouldn’t have bothered. We’ve managed to sort things out without your esteemed talents.’ She flicked a handful of that glorious hair over her shoulder, an act of dismissal if ever he’d seen one. ‘If only you’d called first, it would’ve saved you a wasted journey.’ So much ice, so much disdain in those words that another man might have withered before them.
Not Will, though.
He’d not forgotten that little exhalation she’d made over the phone, that combination of relief and self-doubt when she’d still had hope she might be able to hire him for her project. Tiny as it had been, it had been a chink in her armour none the less. Remembering it made him want to prod and push and dig until he won another glimpse of it. ‘Well, I’m here now, so it won’t do any harm to take a look, will it?’ He gestured towards the stack of plans behind her.
Shifting her weight, she moved as though to block his view of them. ‘Like I said, everything’s sorted now, thank you.’ He’d never heard anyone who could make thank you sound so much like eff you. God, she was marvellous.
Side-eyeing Iggy, the man sitting next to her butted in. ‘Bit of an exaggeration there, sis.’ Unfolding himself, he rose and offered his hand. ‘You must be Will. I’m Tristan Ludworth, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’
His informal, friendly manner told Will he had a least one ally present. Time to up the charm offensive and see if he could get the rest of them on side. ‘Cheers,’ he said as they shook hands. ‘You’ve got a hell of a place here.’
‘Not my place, as such.’ He turned to include the man who’d greeted Will in the enormous entrance hall. ‘Everything you see belongs to Arthur, here.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. Hi there, Arthur, sorry to burst in on you like this.’ As they shook hands, Will’s mind raced as he worked out the relationships between everyone. Tristan and Arthur were alike enough it was obvious they were brothers, and even if Tristan hadn’t referred to her as ‘sis’, Iggy had the same colouring and striking features.
The man on the sofa was an older version of the brothers-their father, perhaps, although if the castle belonged to Arthur, more likely an uncle. Tucking his free hand in his pocket, Will apologised once more. ‘I’m sorry to just rock up like this, but I was blown away by the photos of the gardens your sister sent, and I knew I had to see for myself.’
‘We’re getting used to unexpected visitors around here.’ Arthur curled his arm around the shoulders of the pretty redhead beside him, smiling down at her as though sharing a private joke.
‘At least I told you I was coming,’ she protested with a laugh. ‘It wasn’t my fault your internet was broken.’ Having accepted a quick kiss from Arthur, she turned to Will, eyes still sparkling in amusement. ‘I’m Lucie, by the way.’
With a flush of embarrassment, Will yanked his hand from his pocket and quickly shook hers. ‘Hi, I’m Will.’
Lucie bit her lip, casting a sly glance towards Iggy. ‘Yes, yes you are.’
‘Well, we were just going to take the dogs out, so I’ll track down Mrs W, our housekeeper, and get a room sorted out for you. You’re probably tired after your drive up so perhaps we can sit down after breakfast and talk things over?’ Arthur glanced towards his sister. ‘How does that sound?’
The look on her face was decidedly frosty. ‘Fine.’
Arthur raised a brow at his sister before turning back to Will with a smile. ‘I can see about some supper for you, as well, if you’re hungry?’
He shook his head, conscious once more of just how disruptive his arrival was to these people. ‘I’m fine, honestly, although if you could point me in the direction of the kettle, I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee.’ As soon as he said it, he wondered if people like this even knew where the kettle was. Arthur had already mentioned a housekeeper, and a place the size of this probably had an army of staff to fetch and carry. An image of Downton Abbeyesque servants scuttling about in neat black and white uniforms sprung to mind.
‘I’ll sort you a coffee,’ Tristan offered. ‘If you give me the keys to your car, I’ll get your bags taken up to your room as well.’
Perhaps he was too quick to judge. He hated people making assumptions about him, had been on the wrong end of enough stereotyping that he should try and avoid doing it himself. Apart from Iggy, they’d all been incredibly polite and charming so far. Retrieving them from his pocket, Will dropped his keys onto Tristan’s outstretched palm. ‘Thank you.’
‘And I’ll come out with you, Arthur. One of the mares took a knock to her leg earlier, I’d like to give it a final check before I turn in for the day.’ The older man placed an empty tumbler on a side table, then stood and approached Will. ‘I think we got lost in the introductions. I’m Lancelot. You’re that gardening chap Iggy was talking about at dinner, I gather?’
‘Lancelot?’ Will couldn’t help repeating as they shook hands. His eyes strayed to the other two men in the room. ‘Arthur … Tristan …?’
‘Yes, it’s exactly what you’re thinking,’ Lancelot said with an amiable grin. ‘Old Thomas, the ninth baronet, has a lot to answer for.’ His smile widened as he turned his attention to Lucie. ‘Although he brought you into our lives, my dear, so perhaps the silly names are worth it.’
Baronet? Wow, he really was hobbing with the nobs.
Lucie blushed, the glow of colour bringing a warmth to her pale, almost porcelain, skin. ‘Charmer.’
Clearly delighted, Lancelot bussed her cheek with an affectionate kiss.
‘You can cut that out.’ Arthur said, muscling his way between the two of them though it was clear from his tone that he was joking. All smiles, they moved towards the door.
Lucie paused on the threshold to look back at Will. ‘Welcome to Bluebell Castle, Mr Talbot. I’m so glad you changed your mind.’