Newborn Under The Christmas Tree. Sophie Pembroke
OKAY, THIS WAS not going as well as she’d hoped it might. Even if she hadn’t really hoped all that hard—her experiences were generally even worse than Heather’s, after all.
Behind her, she heard Penelope let out a tiny gasp at Liam’s words and realised it was time to move this conversation elsewhere, before he upset all their girls. He might sound so laid-back he was almost horizontal, but this was his house and he could still throw them all out on a moment’s notice if she didn’t do something fast.
‘Mr Jenkins, how about you come with me into the estate office? I can explain everything there.’ Plus there was a kettle. And biscuits. Maybe a nice cup of tea and a sit down would make them all friends.
‘Works for me,’ he said with a shrug.
She led him the long way round—partly to avoid any remaining flooding in the great hall, and partly to show off some of the parts of Thornwood that weren’t underwater.
‘Has it been many years since you were last at Thornwood?’ she asked politely as they skirted around the edges of the library, avoiding the combination of mismatched tables pushed together in the middle of the room with abandoned wool and knitting needles strewn across them. Everyone had dropped what they were doing the moment Liam’s car had pulled up. Understandable, given the impact he stood to have on their future. But still, Alice couldn’t help but wish they’d paused to tidy up a bit first.
‘Twenty-five,’ Liam said, raising his eyebrows at a ball of neon orange wool that had rolled off the table and into his path.
Alice swept it up as she passed, and lobbed it back on to the nearest table once he wasn’t looking. Really, for an Australian, it seemed he had the imperious English aristocrat thing down pat. The mixture of relaxed disapproval was most disconcerting.
‘That’s a long time,’ she said, knowing it sounded inane. But really, what else was she supposed to say?
Your great-aunt was alone for the last fifteen years of her life, and you couldn’t even spare an afternoon to visit?
Sure, he lived on the other side of the world. But Alice had been doing some reading up on Liam Jenkins, ever since she’d got wind of the details of the will, and she was willing to bet he’d been in London often enough over those twenty-five years. Looking at his résumé, he’d built at least a handful of buildings less than two hours’ drive away. How hard would it have been to stop in and see a lonely old lady? Or even to check on his inheritance, if he was truly that heartless.
Alice frowned. So why hadn’t he? Having met him, she could buy him not being bothered enough about Rose to visit. But he’d called Thornwood Castle his home. How could it be home if he hadn’t been there in two and a half decades? Maybe it was just a slip of the tongue. Or maybe not...
Suddenly, Alice got the feeling she was missing something in this story. It had the ring of the tales she’d heard from some of the women who stopped by the castle sometimes. Stories about slipping on the stairs, or losing their purse with the housekeeping money in it. No more believable than walking into a door and getting a black eye, but that was the point. Nobody expected those tales to be believed, not here. They didn’t need to be. Thornwood was a safe place.
But maybe Liam didn’t know that yet.
Well, if he wanted to make it his home, he’d have to learn. And hopefully he’d see the value of it, and let her continue her work.
Otherwise, there were going to be a lot of local women who didn’t have a safe place any more.
With that dismal thought, they reached the estate office. Alice reached past the suit of armour she’d named Rusty and opened the door. ‘Come on in.’
Inside, the office was as tidy as it ever got. Which, given that it was essentially a store cupboard with a desk shoehorned in and covered in a mass of paperwork and Post-it notes, wasn’t very. Thornwood had plenty of rooms—far more than one person could ever need. But when Alice had arrived at the castle three years before, she’d known that all those public spaces could be put to better use. Besides, they were all far too big—echoing and full of draughts. At least here in her little cupboard she was cosy. And hardly anyone ever came looking for her there.
‘Have a seat.’ She motioned to the rickety wooden dining chair on the near side of the desk, and squeezed past the filing cabinet to flip on the kettle. She didn’t need to look back to know he was staring dubiously at the seat—she’d done the same. Rose had said it dated back over a hundred years and hadn’t collapsed yet. Alice thought it might just be biding its time.
Maybe it had been waiting for Liam Jenkins...
She turned back but the chair was still standing, even under Liam’s weight. Which...well, he was a big man. Lots of muscle. Objectively, she supposed he could even be called well built, which was more than she’d have said for the chair before this point.
Maybe the chair was as scared of him as she was...
No. That was crazy—and not just because chairs didn’t have emotions. She wasn’t scared of Liam—he was too laconic to be scared of. She was...apprehensive, that was the word. And, even then, it was only because he could end everything that she’d built here in one fell swoop. It wasn’t personal. He had no power to hurt her, not like other men had. He was her boss, and if he fired her she’d be fine and free to pursue other worthwhile projects elsewhere.
This wasn’t like before. She had to remember that, even when he was scowling at her.
She wasn’t that Alice any more, and she never would be again. That much she knew for sure. Life had changed her—not always for the better, but for ever.
‘So,’ Liam said as they waited for her ancient kettle to brew, ‘what’s the conversation we need to have that you couldn’t have in front of all those women out there?’
‘Not couldn’t,’ she corrected him. ‘Chose not to.’
‘Right.’ He shrugged, obviously not seeing the difference. Alice sighed. Perhaps that was where she needed to start.
‘Those women—they’re part of the work I’ve been doing here,’ she said, swilling hot water around the teapot to warm it. She might not have space for much in her utility cupboard office, but there was a sink, a kettle and a teapot with cups and saucers. Besides her laptop, there really wasn’t much else that she needed.
‘Yeah, your work. Making Thornwood useful, wasn’t it?’
Did he really have to put such emphasis on the word? He made her sound like a small child trying to earn money for chores. ‘How much do you know about the history of the English aristocracy, Mr Jenkins?’
‘Not as much as you, I’d wager.’ He watched her, curiosity in his gaze, as she measured out the tea leaves and added the boiling water, before leaving the tea to steep. ‘I suppose you’re going to educate me? Starting with the national drink?’
‘I’m no expert myself,’ Alice assured him. She placed the pretty floral cups and saucers on the tray beside the pot and the small milk jug, then swivelled round to place the whole thing on the desk. Settling into her own desk chair, she rested her forearms on the wood of the desk and eyed him over the steam drifting up from the spout of the teapot. ‘But I know what that history meant to your great-aunt.’
‘It meant she left me this place, for a start.’
‘That’s right.’ However wrong a decision that might have been. Rose had been full of misgivings, Alice knew, about leaving Thornwood to someone she knew so little, who had shown no interest at all in his heritage or legacy before. But, when it came down to it, Liam Jenkins was the only family she had left. So blood had trumped legitimacy, and everything else that went with it. ‘But I want to be sure you understand exactly the expectations that she was leaving