The Millionaire's Chosen Bride

For once, Melody felt lost for words. She could see the point he was making—in no uncertain terms! But she could see her own, too. It had seemed so right that the place was for sale at the very time she was in the area on holiday. Was fate trying to tell her something, giving her the chance to find out what she’d always wanted to know? A chance to unwrap something of herself that had lain hidden for so long?

Neither spoke for the next few moments as they trod easily over the soft, dry grass of the meadow. Then Melody said, ‘I’m amazed that I was invited to share that fantastic meal…to be their guest. They must hate me—or at least bitterly resent me,’ she added.

‘Oh, Callum and Fee aren’t like that,’ Adam said at once. ‘They don’t bear grudges.’ He shrugged. ‘They knew all along that it was more than probable that someone else would beat them. They’ve accepted it gracefully.’

He didn’t look at her as he spoke, nor mention the fact that it had been his suggestion that she should be included in their supper arrangements. For one thing, he’d thought it would be useful to have some idea what this woman’s plans were for when she came to the village, and for another—and a more pressing one—he wanted to know what she was really like. He readily admitted that she fascinated him, and not only because of her outward appearance. There was something about her, some inner thing that intrigued him. And if he wanted to get to know her, there was no time like the present!

‘Callum and Fee…they don’t have children?’ she asked—and the question made Melody think briefly of her own life plan. She and Crispin had met at work, and both had been equally ambitious. She’d had vague notions of motherhood, maybe in ten years’ time, but their careers had always taken first place. A family had definitely been a back burner issue.

‘No,’ Adam replied shortly, in answer to her question. ‘They don’t.’

They walked on slowly, neither wanting the evening to end, because it was one of those rare warm summer nights with hardly any breeze, and a pale moon to give them just enough light to see their way.

‘This is so heavenly,’ Melody murmured. ‘Like a dream.’

‘What happened to your marriage?’ Adam said suddenly, without the slightest embarrassment at asking the question.

‘My husband—Crispin—was killed in a climbing accident last year in the Himalayas,’ Melody said quietly.

Adam looked at her sharply. ‘Oh—I’m sorry—really. I shouldn’t have asked,’ he said.

‘We’d been married for just a few months.’

‘That was bad. I’m sorry,’ he repeated.

She looked so small and defenceless as he glanced down at her that for a mad moment he wanted to pull her towards him and hold her tightly. But he resisted the temptation.

‘And you?’ she enquired. ‘You’re not married?’

‘No, thanks,’ he said cheerfully.

Well, Melody thought, that was a fairly unequivocal reply! Anyway, something about this man told her he wasn’t the marrying kind. He’d be the sort who enjoyed women’s company for the obvious reason, but would never be happy to settle down, commit to one person. She frowned to herself, not knowing what had given her that impression. But something about his attitude made her think that he was of a restless nature.

Suddenly she said, ‘I did get lost this afternoon—trying to find my way to the Red House—as Fee informed everyone.’

He smiled faintly in the darkness. ‘We all get lost sometimes,’ he said.

‘You knew I’d have difficulty, didn’t you?’

‘Yes. Especially as you roared off in the wrong direction,’ he replied. ‘But I knew you’d succeed eventually. And everyone speaks English here!’

Their walk came to an end, and they let themselves in quietly.

‘For your future reference,’ Adam said softly, ‘they lock up at midnight.’

‘I’ll remember,’ Melody said. She turned to go towards the stairs. ‘Thanks for the stroll, Adam. I’m sure I’ll be repeating that many times.’

‘I’m sure you will,’ he murmured. Then, ‘D’you think you can find your way to your room?’ he enquired innocently.

Melody smiled ruefully. ‘I deserved that,’ she said. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Mel.’

Melody undressed quickly, washing and cleaning her teeth rapidly, before pulling back the duvet and collapsing into the feather-soft bed. It was heaven to lie down, and she was exhausted. What a day! Her head was so packed with thoughts and emotions that it felt as if thousands of insects were racing around, trying to find space. Almost at once her eyelids began to droop, and in her semi-doze Adam’s handsome features, with the stern, uncompromising mouth, loomed large. She didn’t know what to make of him, she thought. He didn’t like her much; she was certain of that. Although he was perfectly polite—even charming at certain moments—there was a coolness between them which she’d felt from the first moment.

Of course he was cross that she’d upset his friends’ plans…but what about her plans? This village was where she’d started life, and Poplars had been her mother Frances’s sole means of employment until she’d had Melody at the age of forty, when she’d promptly moved with her newborn child to the east end of London to live with a cousin. Melody had been twenty-two, in the middle of her Finals at university, when Frances had died suddenly. And in all those years Frances had never revealed who the father of her child was—had been so secretive about that part of her life that discussion on the matter had become almost a taboo subject. All she would ever tell her daughter was that she had loved deeply, only the once, and that certain things could not be spoken of, that some words were better left unsaid.

Melody had had to be content with that. But somewhere in this village there was a living part of her, part of her mother and the father she would never know, and somehow she knew that just by being here, breathing this air, she was completing her family circle so that she almost felt as if she was being embraced. So didn’t she, Melody, have her own very personal reasons for wanting to live here again, even on a part-time basis? Wasn’t she entitled to return to the family nest, to the village where her mother, too, had been born? How much more right did anyone need to belong here?

She turned over, flinging her arm across the pillow.

She opened her eyes and stared around the room for a moment. Her mother must have cleaned this place hundreds of times when she was housekeeper here, she thought. Servicing all these rooms and cooking for the Carlisle family, who’d owned Poplars for three generations, must have been desperately hard work. Melody’s eyes misted for a moment, thinking of Frances’s determination that her daughter should be qualified and independent. That education was the way up and the way out. So whatever life threw at her, her girl would always be able to stand on her own feet and follow her dreams. And that was what she was doing now!

In his own room on the ground floor, Adam slumped in an armchair by the window, feeling wide awake and knowing that he wasn’t likely to get to sleep easily. He knew he was still upset at letting the cottage slip through his fingers—and especially upset to lose it to a woman—a stranger to the village—who’d bought the place on a whim.

He clicked his tongue in annoyance at the thought that if he’d bid just once more he’d have won. But he’d already exceeded the stake he’d put in of his own money, to help his friends out, and hadn’t wanted to undermine Callum’s confidence by upping and upping the price unreasonably. Callum was such a straightforward, honest man, and he and Fee had already repaid every penny that Adam had lent them way back, when they’d first purchased Poplars. They’d worked so incredibly hard to be able to do that. Now this woman had sauntered in and stolen the cottage from under their noses.

After a few moments, his mind took another turn. He had to admit that Mel seemed much nicer than she’d appeared at first…not so damned sure of herself. His lip curled faintly. She’d jumped nearly a foot into the air when Tam had licked her leg, and he’d sensed her edginess a mile off! He paused in his thoughts. It must have been a terrible blow to be widowed so soon after her marriage—though she obviously had no financial worries, he mused. His eyes narrowed briefly. Maybe all was not lost, after all…

Was it just possible that he might be able to change the course of things, make her change her mind and sell it to his friends after all? It was a long shot—he knew that—but it was worth a try. Another place would come up sooner or later, if buying a country retreat was really what she wanted. He stood up restlessly. She was going to be here for a few weeks yet, so she’d said. That should be long enough for him, Adam Carlisle, to demonstrate his masculine powers of persuasion. But he’d have to be clever about it. This woman was worldly-wise, unlikely to be a push-over, in any circumstances—and she was intelligent and perceptive. She’d spot his motives a mile off if he went blundering in. No—softly, softly, with a dose of gentle cunning, might work. He unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging it off. Something told him he was going to enjoy this!

CHAPTER THREE

TWO days later Melody stood once more outside her cottage, this time with a set of keys in her hand. Everything had been signed, sealed and delivered, and now the only person who had a legal right to enter the place was her! Melody Forester!

She waited a moment before opening the door, realising for the first time just what lay ahead of her. Before she was due to return to London in a couple of weeks there was a lot of work to be done! But she’d get things moving straight away, she thought decisively. First of all she’d hire someone to help her clean the place right through, and then she’d go shopping for curtains and floor coverings. The cottage was absolutely devoid of anything, except some ancient lino in the kitchen, so at least she had a clean sheet and could start from scratch. Of course she couldn’t do everything at once, but she’d make a jolly good start, and then focus her mind on the kind of furniture she wanted. It would be simple, but comfortable.

She smiled to herself. She was supposed to be here on holiday, to rest and recharge her batteries after the heavy but very successful year which her team had had—and here she was, giving herself another set of problems with decisions to be made. Holiday? What holiday!

She unlocked the front door and stepped into a small hallway which led almost at once into the sitting room—which had windows at either end, making it light and airy. She stood quite still for a moment. In a strange way she almost expected her mother to appear, for this had been Frances’s home for more than twenty years—all the time she’d been employed at Poplars—and in spite of the total nakedness of the place, the atmosphere felt warm and welcoming to Melody. She felt oddly connected here. It felt like home, and that was what she would make it. Even if Adam Wotsisname didn’t approve, she’d come here time and time again—make it a home from home!

She bit her lip thoughtfully. She hadn’t seen Adam since that first evening—for which she was thankful. She didn’t want any hindrances, any bothersome ties here, and something about him suggested that he could be somewhat over-helpful if she gave him the slightest encouragement. Then she felt guilty—what had he done except buy her lunch and take her for a moonlit walk? In his way, he was sort of charming—and annoyingly handsome, it had to be admitted—but his attitude had rankled from the start. He patently considered her an outsider, and had no problem declaring the fact.

There was only one other room downstairs. It was small, but would be useful as a study if she needed one—or it could even be used as an occasional third bedroom. She didn’t doubt that she’d have plenty of takers among her colleagues for the chance of a short holiday here now and then!

With her feet echoing on the wooden floors, she went up the narrow stairway and into the back bedroom where, apparently, she’d first seen the light of day. From its window she not only had a full view of her garden, but in the near distance over the tops of the trees she could just see the roof of Poplars. She stood quite still for a moment, a frown crossing her features. Why was it that her mother had never wanted to come back to the area—even for a short visit? Melody had been told so much about the way of life in the village—the wonderful walks and peaceful atmosphere which Frances had loved—yet her mother had always made some excuse or other not to return. No—it had been beyond excuses. It had been a firm decision that that part of her life was over. For ever.

Melody shrugged, kneeling forward on the shabby cushioned window seat as she continued to gaze at the scene below. Suddenly there was a light tap on her front door, and Adam’s voice calling from below halted her in her reverie. She tutted to herself—he hadn’t wasted any time, she thought. She’d only taken possession of the cottage half an hour ago!

She heard him run swiftly up the stairs, his strong footsteps echoing through the place, and he came straight in to stand next to her. She turned to look up at him, trying to look pleased at his unexpected entrance. He was wearing jeans and a fine grey T-shirt, and his dark hair shone with healthy vigour…though he did tend to wear it rather long. Not that it didn’t suit his persona, she admitted—it was just that the men she usually mixed with all seemed to favour neat and formal hairstyles.

He was holding a huge bouquet of roses and lilies, and he thrust them forward. ‘Morning, Mel,’ he said easily, smiling down at her. ‘Just a small welcome gift for your first day.’

Melody was genuinely touched. ‘Oh…how lovely! And how unexpected!’ She took the bouquet from him, examining it appreciatively. ‘You must have known that these are my all-time favourites! But—thank you…you shouldn’t have!’

‘Oh, I think I should,’ he said, going over to the window, his hands in his pockets. ‘Buying houses isn’t an everyday occurrence, is it? At least, not for most people,’ he added. ‘I’ve brought a vase down from Poplars, by the way.’

‘Yes…I’ve just been thinking about all the stuff I’m going to have to buy,’ Melody said. ‘I hadn’t got around to the question of vases yet! But I shall certainly need some, because flowers always light up a house, don’t they?’

He glanced down at her, thinking how exquisite she looked in a fresh, simple green cotton sundress which showed off the lightly tanned, smooth skin of her neck and shoulders to perfection. Her long pale hair was pulled back casually and held with a tortoiseshell clip. He’d noticed at their first meeting that she wore very little make-up, but what she did use certainly suited her, because from her appearance she might have stepped from the pages of a glossy magazine. This place didn’t need flowers to light it up, he thought. She did that all by herself!

He pulled his thoughts up sharply. He didn’t want to admire this woman to the point where he started to feel anything for her, he told himself. If it hadn’t been for her, the cottage’s ownership would have been in very different hands, and it still peeved him beyond words that he hadn’t gone the extra mile. But how could he have known that he was so close? He’d only seen her, the other bidder, from the back during the auction, but there’d been something about the way she’d sat there that morning—the angle of her head, the slim, determined hand that had kept raising her card—depicting a businesswoman who was used to getting what she wanted.

He turned away briefly. What was done was done—for the moment. He knew it was a long shot, but he did have a little time to perhaps change things, to make her see just what she had taken on and maybe convince her that this wasn’t what she really wanted. That it could become more of a burden than a bonus if it turned out that she simply did not have enough time away from her London life and job to justify the financial outlay and upkeep. He also felt instinctively that a town was where she fitted in—where everything you needed was on tap at all hours of the day. In this village tomorrow was always deemed soon enough for most people!

Allowing her to go first, they went downstairs, and Melody turned on the kitchen tap and filled the large glass jug which Adam had brought with him. Pausing for a moment, she said lightly, ‘I really don’t know where to start. I mean…this kitchen could do with some work, though it seems to have been refitted at some point in the past.’ She looked around her doubtfully, then opened the fridge door and peered inside. ‘This is clean enough—and I suppose I won’t need anything any bigger.’ She stood back. ‘But there’s no washing machine, and I’ll certainly need one of those…’

‘The last owner died,’ Adam said matter-of-factly. ‘That’s why the place came on the market. And I think the washing machine was in a bad way, so it was chucked.’

‘I wonder if there’s room for a dishwasher—’ Melody began, and he interrupted.

‘Oh, I don’t think this kitchen has ever sported one of those. I’m afraid you’ll have to do everything by hand, Mel!’

Melody said nothing as they wandered into the sitting room, where the sun was streaming in through the windows, lighting up all the dusty corners.

‘What are those two boxes on the floor doing there?’ Melody said, frowning.

‘Oh, I brought them with me—for us to sit down on,’ Adam said, promptly kicking one to one side and taking up position. ‘It’s quite comfy, actually—who needs expensive chairs? Now, then—’ he rubbed his hands together briskly ‘—I’ve come to help!’

Melody looked at him, a faint feeling of hopelessness sweeping over her. This man was here to stay! Her worst fears were being realised! She was not going to be allowed to be anonymous, to be by herself and work things out quietly and in her own time.

She placed the flowers carefully on the windowsill, and turned to look down at him.

‘I really don’t want to take up your time, Adam, or for you to use up your holiday on my behalf,’ she said evenly. ‘I’m sure you’ve other far more interesting things to think about than me and my cottage.’

‘Oh, not true,’ he said at once. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve already been here a number of weeks, and I was beginning to get quite bored. Your current project might prove to be an interesting diversion for me—and, well, you know, a pair of brawny arms can be useful at times.’

He looked pointedly at her own slender frame in a way which made Melody’s colour rise, and she shrugged resignedly. The fact was that being here now, in the revealing light of day, had made her feel less sure of herself. When they’d bought and furnished their flat in London, Crispin had been there, and they’d worked as a team and had lots of interested friends all helping out. But now she was here, alone, in virtually unknown territory—even though her mother had spoken many thousands of words about the place, which had made it seem familiar.

Melody’s earlier euphoria was threatening to give way to a feeling of doubt. Had purchasing the cottage been something that she was going to regret? she wondered. Then she scolded herself! What was the matter with her? This wasn’t like her. Of course she’d cope alone—hadn’t her mother had to do that, all her life?

‘I vote that we first of all go to the Rose & Crown for coffee,’ Adam said brightly, ‘and then decide on a plan of action.’

‘It can’t be that time already, surely?’ Melody said, glancing at her watch. ‘Anyway, Fee’s breakfasts are so generous, coffee will seem an unnecessary indulgence.’

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed lazily eating bacon, eggs, sausages and mushrooms, followed by lovely warm, crunchy toast and fresh farmhouse butter. Not to mention home-made marmalade!

‘Well, holidays are a time for indulging ourselves,’ Adam said firmly.

Melody looked at him shrewdly. There was a distinct change in his attitude from when they’d first met, she thought—the animosity he’d demonstrated seemed to have disappeared. Her eyes narrowed briefly. If he thought that he’d met someone who’d be good for a holiday fling, he was going to be disappointed. She was not on the market for such things, thanks very much.

Patting the other box for her to sit down, Adam leaned back nonchalantly. ‘See—this feels cosy already,’ he said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

‘Um, well…not as cosy as it will do—in time,’ Melody retorted as she sat down as well.

‘Talking of which,’ he went on, ‘how much time do you have?’

‘Just under two weeks—’ she began, and he cut in.

‘Your employers are very generous,’ he said. ‘From what you’ve told me, you’ll have had about six weeks off, won’t you? Do all the staff enjoy such annual freedom?’

‘Some do—sometimes,’ she replied shortly. ‘We’ve had an exceptionally tough time this last year. We—me and the rest of the team—often don’t leave the office until ten o’clock or after, and we always start early. They are very long days,’ she added, trying to hide the irritation she felt at having to defend herself. What did he know?

‘Mmm… You’re a fund manager, you said?’ he went on. ‘It must be fun, playing around with other people’s money.’ He’d only made the remark to annoy her. He realised only too well what a highly skilled and specialised job it was.

‘Oh, it’s great fun. A real laugh,’ Melody said dryly. ‘We all sit there, playing Monopoly with millions and millions of pounds which don’t belong to us.’ She paused. ‘For your information, we spend hundreds of hours researching the companies we invest in on behalf of others, going over and over it until we’re satisfied. Being in charge of pension schemes, where we’re fully aware how we affect people’s future well-being, is a nail-biting process which is taken very seriously.’ Her eyes flashed as she spoke, as she relived just how much effort everyone had put in during the year to keep pace with the country’s fluctuating economy and prospects.

After a few moments she calmed down. He’d made a flippant remark which she’d taken too seriously, she reasoned. She had the distinct impression that he’d only said it to get her going—and she’d taken the bait!

Adam had been watching her closely as she’d been speaking. ‘Do you like what you do? Do you enjoy it?’ he asked casually.

‘Yes, of course! I wouldn’t do it otherwise. I can’t see myself doing anything else, ever.’

Well, he’d known she was a career woman. She was not going to tear herself away and come all the way down here just for a few days now and then. It was a total waste for her to own this cottage, he thought. It was like a spoilt child, seeing something in a shop window that he thought he wanted but which would never leave the toy cupboard.

‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to think about work—there are other things on my mind! I need to hire someone to clean the cottage from top to bottom. I expect there are locals who might be glad of some work?’

‘Oh, don’t count on that,’ he said bluntly. ‘Casual labour isn’t that easy to come by—just ask Fee! All the guesthouses use up most of what’s on offer.’ He paused. ‘And I’m afraid we don’t run to agencies here, to cope with such demands.’ He grinned. ‘I’d hazard a guess that it’s going to be just you and me, Mel!’ Looking at her soft hands and beautifully manicured nails, he smiled inwardly. She might be a whiz-kid at what she did for a living, but he somehow couldn’t imagine the woman down on her knees with a scrubbing brush!

Melody shrugged. ‘Well, in that case the first thing will be to buy cleaning materials,’ she said, fielding his remark briskly. She knew very well what he was thinking: that she wasn’t used to domestic labour. Well, he’d got another thing wrong, she thought. Even though her mother had always put education at the top of the list for her daughter, Frances had also encouraged Melody to help with everything in the house—and she had. And when Frances had been unwell, which had been the case often in the years before the woman’s untimely death six years ago, Melody had taken over. Shopping, cooking a nourishing meal and baking a cake were no problem!