The Dating Mr Darcy Trilogy: Prada and Prejudice / Love and Liability / Mansfield Lark

Cherie sighed. She’d survived Holly’s mood swings and teen angst; now it was Hannah’s turn. Overnight, her normally sunny child had turned into a moody, disaffected stranger.

Their house had become a war zone of slammed doors and meals that ended in shouting and recriminations. Cherie knew Hannah’s moods had everything to do with Duncan Hadley.

The phone rang. “Hello,” Cherie said, and cradled the receiver against her ear as she picked up her pearl earring.

“Hello, darling.”

“Alastair! Are you on your way? Or shall I meet you at the restaurant?”

There was an ominous pause. “Neither, I’m afraid. I just got out of a late meeting with Rhys, and he wants me to rework the markdown budget. I’ll probably be working most of the day tomorrow as well.”

Cherie focused on the eardrop dangling between her fingers. “Can’t you work on it tomorrow? Surely it can wait.”

“I’m sorry, darling, but it can’t. Everything has to be reconciled for our finance meeting on Monday. I’m just as disappointed as you.”

“I doubt that,” Cherie said acidly.

“Look, why don’t you go, and take Hannah,” Alastair suggested. “Don’t let the reservation go to waste.”

“Hannah wants nothing to do with me at the moment.” She laid the earring aside. “Which you’d know, if you were ever here. And the whole point of this evening was to have dinner with my husband. Not my daughter.”

“I know. I’ve let you down. Again.” He sounded tired, and defeated. “Rhys is letting Henry go, did I tell you? Poor old chap.”

“Henry? How awful,” Cherie echoed, her disappointment forgotten. “He must be devastated. Mr. Gordon is heartless.”

“He’s only doing what Sir Richard and I should have done already. Henry should’ve retired years ago. It’s madness right now, with Rhys making so many changes. It won’t always be this way.”

“No.” Cherie sighed. “I suppose not. Well, there’s no point letting the reservation go. I’ll ring Sarah and ask her.”

“Duncan’s mum? Good idea,” Alastair agreed. “I’m sure she’d welcome a night out. Going through a divorce isn’t easy.”

“No. I’ll talk to you later, then. Goodnight.”

Cherie rang off and called Sarah. She hesitated when Neil answered. “Hullo,” she said. “Cherie here.”

“Cherie! How are you?”

“Fine,” she said. “Alastair’s just backed out of our dinner reservation. I thought Sarah might like to go instead.”

He paused. “I’m sure she would…but she’s gone to Bath for the weekend. I’m staying with Duncan until she returns next week. So Alastair backed out tonight, did he?”

“Yes, he’s working late again. Things are chaotic at the store at the moment.” She glanced at the clock. “If I’m to keep our reservation, I need to go. I won’t keep you.”

“You’re not keeping me from anything but an evening in front of the TV. Where are you off to?”

“Chez Rouge, a new French restaurant in Soho.” She paused and added, “Have you had dinner yet?”

“No. On the menu tonight at Chez Hadley is leftover roast and frozen Yorkshire pudding.”

“Why don’t you come along?” she said impulsively. “I’ve never liked sitting alone in a restaurant. I feel as though everyone’s staring at me, wondering who that sad woman is.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I’m sure they find you intriguing…a woman of mystery.” He paused. “Of course you know that if we dine together, tomorrow it’ll be all over Cavendish Avenue that we’re an item. Sure you want to risk it?”

Cherie didn’t hesitate. “I’m quite sure,” she said, and added, “Shall I meet you there?”

“No need. I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes.”

“OK. See you then.” With a smile, Cherie hung up the phone and retrieved the pearl eardrop once again.

Perhaps this evening wouldn’t be a total waste after all.

The bill arrived on Wednesday, innocuously enough, in a thick cream envelope. Gemma Astley slit the flap, ready to add it to the pile of invoices for Rhys’s approval. As she scanned the page, her eyes widened. She hurried in to Rhys’s office.

He didn’t look up from his ledgers and spreadsheets. Gemma noticed that the black-framed eyeglasses he wore, hideous on anyone else, looked downright sexy. “Yes, Gemma, what is it?”

“You’d better have a look at this.”

He glanced briefly at the invoice she held out to him. “Yes, it’s a bill. Add it to the pile and send it to accounts payable.”

“Look at the amount.”

He frowned and looked at it more closely. The invoice listed one Missoni tank dress, £919.27; one Roberto Cavalli sheath dress, £372.32; and one Waterford Regency crystal chandelier, shipped to Draemar Castle, County Clare, Scotland, net cost—

Rhys paused, and dropped his pen. “Good God. Eleven thousand pounds…for a chandelier?” He closed his eyes.

Natalie. This had to be her doing. No wonder she hadn’t shown up on Saturday afternoon to look at the store’s financial spreadsheets; she’d been too busy shopping for designer dresses and overpriced chandeliers.

“Gemma,” he called out grimly, “get me Sir Richard on the phone. I need to speak with him straight away.”

Chapter 12

Who would’ve thought London had so many bridal salons?

Caroline Dashwood stopped to slip off her shoe and rub her foot. She’d tried on and rejected a dozen wedding dresses. She was hungry and discouraged, and her feet hurt. “I’ll just elope,” she grumbled. “It’s so much easier that way.”

“Don’t give up yet,” Natalie scolded her older sister. “After all, it’s only our first day shopping. We’ll find something.”

“Right now, I’d settle for a white dress from Oxfam and a glass of Chardonnay.”

“Vera Wang,” Natalie said suddenly. “Something simple but elegant, in cream satin—”

“We can’t afford designer things any longer, Natalie,” Caro reminded her. “We need to practise economy.”

Natalie ignored this totally unwelcome (but unfortunately true) assessment of the family finances. “I’ve just had the most fabulous idea!” she exclaimed. “I’ll buy your gown. It’ll be my wedding gift to you.”

“Nat, it’s Saturday, and your new job doesn’t start until next week, so you won’t get paid until the end of the month. You can’t afford a knock-off from Marks and Sparks right now, much less a designer gown.”

“No, but with this—” Natalie held up a credit card “—I can afford anything. Besides, I want to do something for you. You’ve done lots for me, over the years.”

And it was true. When thirteen-year-old Nat snuck off to Glastonbury with a friend and nearly got arrested, Caro brought her home, and didn’t tell mum. She’d given Nat lifts, turned a blind eye when Nat borrowed her Barbour (until Nat ripped the lining and Caro slapped her, hard), and offered advice (most of it rubbish) and a shoulder to cry on.

Her sister deserved to have the wedding of her dreams, just as Tarquin and Wren deserved a truly fabulous wedding gift. And so Natalie would buy Caro the perfect dress.

She found it, as she’d hoped, at the Vera Wang atelier. A slim column of cream silk with a low, draped back, the dress was simple but stunning.

“Oh, Caro, it’s beautiful!” Natalie breathed. She turned to the bridal assistant. “We’ll take it.”

Doubtfully her sister demurred. “It’s far too expensive,” she murmured. “I can get a perfectly nice dress off the rack.”

Natalie shrugged. “It’s pricey, but you only get married once.” She smirked. “Well – let’s hope so, anyway.”

As Caro tried on the dress and a fitter made adjustments, Natalie followed the bridal assistant to the front desk and handed over her card. A minute later the assistant returned, her face looking like the back end of a horse.

“I’m sorry, Miss Dashwood, but your purchase was not approved. Your credit has been declined.”

Rhys wiped his face with a towel and draped it around his neck. “I win again. Better luck next time, mate.”

Ben Harris thrust his squash racket into its case and tossed Rhys a bottle of water. “Not bad for an old guy,” he conceded.

“This old guy just kicked your arse.” Rhys drank his water down in one go and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Are we on for a re-match next Saturday?”

Ben followed him off the squash court and into the changing room. “Can’t. Sophie needs help choosing wedding napkins.”

“Wedding napkins?” Rhys raised his brow. “A napkin’s a napkin, or so I thought. You wipe your mouth with it.”

“They’re to have our initials. And she wants them folded into flower shapes.”

“Origami napkins…bloody hell.” Rhys stripped off his sweat-drenched T-shirt and shorts and stepped into the shower. “Better you than me, mate.”

Ben towelled himself off. “What can I say? It makes Sophie happy. You’re coming to the wedding, aren’t you?” he called out over the rush of water.

“Of course…sorry I couldn’t be your best man. I just can’t fit it in right now.”

“Yeah, saving Dashwood and James’s arse must keep you busy. How’s that going, by the way?”

Rhys emerged from the shower. “With the exception of Sir Richard’s granddaughter, Natalie – who thinks it’s her mission in life to bankrupt the company – it’s going OK, I suppose. No one likes change.”

“Least of all you,” Ben observed dryly. He glanced at Rhys. “Sorry it didn’t work out with you and Cat.”

Rhys threw his locker door open and began to get dressed. “I was a fucking idiot for ever getting involved with her.” Rhys slammed his locker shut. “Have time for a coffee before I go to work?”

“Sure.” Ben dropped the subject of Caterina. He and Rhys had known each other a long time, but even best mates didn’t talk much about their relationships. They shared a drunken regret or two over a pint, and never spoke of it again.

As they left the squash courts and emerged onto the street, they passed a newsstand. Photos of Rhys and Natalie Dashwood featured prominently on most of them.

“Well, you and Natalie Dashwood are certainly popular with the paparazzi these days,” Ben remarked, and smirked. “Sorry, but I have to ask. Are you two really—”

“Sleeping together?” Rhys finished tersely. “No.” He thought of Natalie, wearing a T-shirt that barely covered her bum, and shoved the image resolutely aside. “Sir Richard and Natalie are clients. And I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

Ben grinned. “Maybe you should. You know what they say…all work and no play—”

“—makes Ben a dead man, if he doesn’t shut the hell up,” Rhys retorted.

Ben followed Rhys into the coffee shop. “Are you bringing a plus one to the wedding?” he asked as they took their cups and sat down.

“No.”

“Why not bring Natalie?”

“And give the tabloids more fodder for speculation?” Rhys said, and sipped his espresso. “No, thanks.”

“Isn’t that what you want? It’s more publicity for the store. Besides, you like her, I know you do—”

“Miss Dashwood is spoilt and selfish and has no concept of what it’s like to do without. I’m sure she thinks ‘austerity’ is a clothing label. And even if I were – hypothetically speaking – attracted to her, a relationship between us simply can’t happen. Natalie works for me, or will do soon, and Sir Richard – her grandfather – is a client.”

“So? Plenty of girls marry their bosses.”

“Fuck me! Who said anything about marriage?” Rhys glared at him. “Drop it, Ben, or I won’t come to your bloody wedding at all.”

“Just think about it,” Ben said, unfazed by Rhys’s outburst. “That’s all. You’re only inviting her to a wedding, not proposing. Now – more importantly,” he added, and leaned forward, “when can we schedule a rematch? Because I’m wiping the floor with your arse next time.”

Natalie plunked her bag on the counter and frowned. “Declined? That’s impossible. Run it through again. Must be some sort of a-a credit glitch thingy.”

The clerk handed her card back. “There’s no mistake, madam. Your credit has not only been declined, the account’s closed out.”

“Closed out?” Natalie knew she sounded like a demented parrot, but what was going on? “That’s impossible! I’m Natalie Dashwood. My family own Dashwood and James department stores.”

“I’m sorry,” the clerk said firmly. “Now if you’ll excuse me—” she reached out to take the cocktail dress Natalie held, ready to whisk it behind the counter “—I’ll return this to the floor.”

Natalie clutched the hanger more tightly. She’d searched everywhere for the perfect dress to wear to Caro’s wedding; the violet silk dress was divine, and she wasn’t about to let it go. “Wait! Here—” she reached in her purse and scrabbled until she found another card “—try this one.”

The clerk took it, her patience rapidly diminishing, and swiped it through the machine. She looked at Natalie with a chilly smile and handed the card back. “Declined. And closed. Sorry.” She snatched the dress.

Natalie knew she wasn’t sorry, not one bit. The rude cow.

Caroline reappeared next to her, a look of concern etched on her face. “Is there a problem, Nat?”

“My cards have all been declined!”

“Is your credit maxed out?”

“No!” Natalie fumed. “At least…I don’t think so. Well, perhaps,” she admitted, remembering the designer dresses she’d bought for Tark’s wedding. Not to mention that Waterford chandelier… “But that’s not the problem – the accounts have been closed! On all of my cards.”

The ladies behind them in line edged away from Natalie as though she had a rare – and highly contagious – retail disease.

“Oh, Caro – this means I can’t buy your gown!” Natalie’s eyes welled with tears. “Your beautiful, perfect wedding gown—”

Caroline slipped an arm around her shoulders. “It’s OK, Natty, it’s only a dress,” she soothed. “I’ll find something off the rack, don’t worry.” She glared at the clerk. “Probably cost much less, too.”

“I’m such a numpty,” Natalie mumbled, and turned away to hide the tears spilling down her cheeks. “Everything I do turns into a disaster.”

“Nat, that’s not true!” Caroline looked at her in surprise and pulled her aside. “What makes you say such a thing?”

“It is true! Look at my relationship with Dominic – he cheated on me with his ex-wife, and he’s marrying her again – today! Not that I give a toss, honestly – but I hate being the object of everyone’s pity. My credit’s a disaster. I have no career, I can’t remember to put petrol in my car, and it’s all over the tabloids that I’m having an affair with R-Rhys Gordon—”

“Yes, I saw the article in the Daily Mail.”

“Even grandfather had a go at me,” Natalie went on. “He ordered me to find a job, and a ‘more suitable young man.’ Of course he meant I should get married, to some doddering old viscount, no doubt. He disapproves of my ‘bohemian lifestyle’.”

“Well, Nat, he has a point. You haven’t done much of anything since you took up with Dominic. Why is that?”

“I thought we’d get married, eventually,” Natalie said defensively. “And I liked touring with him and the boys. It was a lark! I couldn’t have done that if I’d had a job.”

“Right, so you put your life on hold for two years for that half-baked rocker,” Caro said, disapproval plain in her voice. “Oh, well, Dominic is about to become Keeley’s problem now, till death do them part.”

“I wasn’t invited to the wedding.”

Caroline took her arm and drew her out of the shop. “Why would you even want to go? You’re well shed of him, Natty.”

“I know that. And I don’t want to go. It just hurts a bit to be excluded, that’s all. We were together for longer than two years, you know.”

It was true. They’d practically grown up together in Warwickshire. But of course, Dom was a different person then…

…a very different person.

Natalie followed her sister out the door. “I start work at Dashwood and James on Monday. I’ll be assisting Rhys.”

“Doesn’t he have a PA? That terrifying redheaded girl?”

“Yes, her name is Gemma. I’ll be helping with marketing, and things.” She bit her lip. “I’ll probably make a mess of it, like I do everything else.”

“None of that, now,” Caroline said firmly, and grabbed her hand. “What you need is an ice cream. Come on.”

When they were settled at a marble-topped table with dishes of ice cream, Natalie dug her spoon in. “Dad used to bring us here, remember?”

Caro nodded. “I was always planning my wedding. I was determined to get married in Windsor Castle, on a pink pony.”

“No, I’m sure it was a pink unicorn.” Natalie smiled. As she thought of the gown they’d just left behind at Vera Wang, her smile faded. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get your dress, Caro.”

Caroline squeezed her hand. “Wanting to get that dress was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me…even if you couldn’t actually buy it.”

The sting of having her credit declined filled Natalie with renewed anger. She’d never been so embarrassed in all her life. Well, except for the humiliation she’d endured when Dominic announced his engagement to Keeley.

Nat scowled. She knew how Cinderella must’ve felt when her gown changed back into rags and nothing waited to take her home but a useless old pumpkin.

And she’d bet her granny’s knickers that Rhys Gordon was to blame.

Her mobile rang. She dug it out and glanced at the screen with a frown. Why was Rhys’s personal assistant calling her, and on a Saturday? She pressed the answer button. “Gemma?”

“Natalie? Good morning. Rhys would like a word with you in his office, right away.”

“But I’m shopping. And it’s Saturday.” Natalie paused, listening. “Indeed? Well, we’ll just see about that.” She tossed her mobile in her handbag and stood up. “Sorry, I’ve got to run. His lordship, Rhys Gordon, has summoned me to his office.”

“But we’re still shopping!” Caro protested. “Besides, he can’t just snap his fingers and expect you to drop everything—”

“You obviously don’t know Rhys.” Nat pressed her lips together. “I’ve no doubt he’s the one who’s closed out my accounts, the backstabbing, number-crunching prat. I can’t believe it, especially after we practically spent last Friday night together!” she finished, indignant.

Caro regarded her in alarm. “Oh, Natalie – you aren’t sleeping with him, are you? I saw those photos in the Mail—”

“No! We’re not sleeping together! Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Exasperated, Natalie grabbed up her bag, waved goodbye, and stormed off.

Chapter 13

Rhys pressed the intercom and scowled at his laptop screen. Losses for the past quarter were worse than he’d anticipated. Drastic measures were needed – reduced operating hours, pay freezes…and job cuts, something he’d wished to avoid.

And the fact that Natalie Dashwood was spending for England didn’t help matters.

“Gemma, send Alastair in.” He sat back in his chair and waited, tapping his pen impatiently against his thigh. When Mr. James arrived five minutes later, Rhys said without preamble, “The markdown budget figures are worse than you originally forecast. Come and look, please.”

Wordlessly Alastair came around his desk to peer at the computer screen.

“We’re losing money at a higher rate than projected. If the numbers you give me aren’t good, Mr. James,” Rhys said tightly as he tossed his pen down, “how can my decisions based on those numbers be of any bloody use?”

“It appears the planning budget was underestimated,” Alastair agreed, his heart heavy. He knew what this meant – more hours lost to number crunching, another round of apologies to Cherie, more tension between them.

“You need to update the budget, Mr. James.”

“I’ll get on it immediately.” Alastair added, “However, I’ve made plans to spend tomorrow with my wife.”

“Well, you’ll just have to cancel them, won’t you?”

Alastair’s expression hardened. “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Mr. Gordon. What’s really going on here?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You seem determined to take issue with me.”

“I take issue with a good company going in the crapper. You and Sir Richard haven’t done a proper job keeping costs down and revenues up. I can’t do this alone.”

“I understand.” Alastair’s gaze was steely. “But responsibility for the state of the company’s finances doesn’t rest solely with me. This tension between us is personal on your part, Mr. Gordon.”

“Yes, it’s personal, because this is your bloody company. While you may not be the only one responsible for the years of mismanagement, you’re accountable all the same – just as I’m accountable for somehow turning this fucking mess around.”

“Let me remind you, I managed accounts worth millions of pounds when you were still in nappies, Mr. Gordon,” Alastair said icily. “I’m also a partner. As such, I demand respect. Remember – Sir Richard and I hired you. Not the other way round.”

Rhys leaned forward. “You hired me, yes. And in order to do my job, Mr. James, you bloody well need to do yours.”

“And so I shall,” Alastair returned, and tightened his jaw, “on Monday morning. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” he gave Rhys a curt nod “—I’m leaving for the day. I’ll see you on Monday.”

Before Rhys could form a reply, Alastair turned on his heel and left.

Rhys became aware of a disturbance just outside his office. He glanced up with a scowl to see Gemma blocking the door. No one got past her. “Just a moment, Miss Dashwood,” she protested, “you can’t just barge in—”

There was a minor tussle at the door. Natalie shoved past and stormed into his office, Gemma on her heels, both of them quivering with righteous indignation.

“I’m sorry, Rhys,” Gemma apologised. “I tried to stop her—”

He thrust his chair back and stood up. “It’s all right. Close the door on your way out, please.”

“Of course.” Gemma shot Natalie a scalding glare and left, shutting the door smartly behind her.

Natalie advanced on him. “How…dare…you.” She threw her handbag on his desk. Spreadsheets and marketing reports flew up and fluttered down to the carpet.

“How dare I?” Rhys demanded. “You dare to take an attitude with me, after running up bills the size of the national debt and using company credit to do it?”

“You closed my personal credit lines,” she fired back. “All of them. You can’t do that!”

“I can. I did.” Rhys leaned forward and planted his hands flat on the desk. His face was inches from hers. “It’s my job to cut costs and turn this sinking ship around. And the first step is to stop unnecessary spending. Yours, in particular. It stops here, and it stops now.”

“I’ve always had a line of company credit, and so have mum and Caro! You can’t take it away just to save a few pounds.”

“We’re talking more than a few pounds. And Lady Dashwood’s line of credit remains open, as does your sister’s. They manage their finances with restraint. You, however, do not.”

“Grandfather will hear about this!” Natalie snatched up her handbag from between Rhys’s outspread hands. “You’ll find yourself out of a job before the day is over, Mr. Gordon.”

“Go ahead.” He eyed her with contempt. “Run to Sir Richard, because you know he has a soft spot for you, and you take full advantage of it.”

She gasped, outraged. “That’s not true—”

“But this time, it won’t work. Because your grandfather not only agreed to cut off your credit—” Rhys bent down to retrieve a wayward spreadsheet from the carpet and threw it back on his desk “—it was his idea. Now, if you’ll excuse me—” he came around the desk, took her firmly by the arm, and propelled her towards the door “—I’ve work to do. Why don’t you run along and christen a ship?”

Natalie jerked her arm free and turned to face him. “Don’t you dare to patronise me! This isn’t over!”

“No, it isn’t.” His jaw tightened. “You’re on a budget, effective immediately. You can’t buy a box of Weetabix without my approval.”

“What? You can’t put me on a budget!” Natalie sputtered. “You’re not my bloody husband!”