Australia: Outback Fantasies: Outback Heiress, Surprise Proposal / Adopted: Outback Baby / Outback Doctor, English Bride

‘Carina may not have got what she confidently expected, but she’s been left a very rich woman in her own right. Boy, wasn’t she a shocker, telling poor old Douglas off? Once or twice she even made me laugh. All those war whoops she kept giving. When she was a kid her grandfather gave her full permission to disregard her mother’s efforts to mould her. Your grandfather was very pleased she was showing some “spirit”, as he thought of it. Showed she took after him and not her father. Whatever you remember, you must realise Carina was a very spoilt little girl? Now she’s a spoilt young woman, determined on running amok. Did you notice Ruth’s husband, a distinguished medical scientist? He spent the time trying to look like he wasn’t there at all. And Regina’s very agreeable husband—I like him—was afraid to speak in case he got told to stay out of it. I don’t think any one of them smiled, even when they found out they were leaving considerably better off than when they’d arrived. None of them is going begging in the first place; in fact, there’s quite a few hundred million between them.’

‘They were all looking very warily at me, I noticed,’ Francesca commented wryly. ‘Even James—and I thought he liked me.’

‘He more than likes you,’ Bryn pointed out dryly, amused when she didn’t appear to hear, or care if she did. Poor old James!

‘No one had the faintest idea what Grandfather intended.’

‘Charles knew,’ Bryn said. ‘He sat to one side, knowing he wouldn’t be named as his father’s heir as everyone expected. As for the rest of us! Nobody knows what tomorrow might bring.’

‘Did you know?’ she found herself asking, realising how desperately she needed that vital piece of information.

His dark head shot up, a flash of anger like summer lightning in his eyes. ‘Francey, you can’t be suggesting I knew in advance about the will and what your grandfather intended for you?’

‘Just a question,’ she said lamely, and then looked away, unable to sustain that concentrated gaze.

‘Not just a question at all,’ he fired back. ‘Let me put it bluntly. Do you or do you not trust me?’ He spoke as if her trust or lack of it was crucial to their friendship.

‘I wonder you should ask,’ she evaded, suddenly beset by myriad doubts.

‘But you asked, and I want to know.’ He wasn’t letting her off the hook. ‘Did you consider even for a single moment that I knew the contents of your grandfather’s will and didn’t tell you?’

She could feel her whole body going enormously weak. At that moment she lacked the capacity to deny it. ‘I won’t lie to you, Bryn. I don’t want any lies or evasions between us. It did cross my mind, but for less than a moment. You are a Macallan.’

‘Is that it?’ he asked ironically. ‘I’m a Macallan, and therefore not to be trusted?’

She paused before speaking. ‘Bryn, I would trust you with my life. I owe you my life. But I also know of the conflicts that lie at your heart. You won’t discuss them with me, even when I ask what’s at the root of the enmity I’ve so easily divined. You, Lady Macallan and Annette, your mother, both of whom I love and respect, all considered my grandfather to have been a scoundrel.’

Bryn tossed back the rest of his drink, then moved back to the drinks trolley for a refill. ‘God, what a day! Most people thought Frank a great rogue, Francey.’ He expelled a long breath. ‘For all the things he did to anyone who opposed him, and to competitors in business, be they so-called friends or colleagues. He could have been condemned a thousand times over.’

‘But it’s far more than that with you. It’s deeply personal. I know you won’t rest until you’re CEO of Titan.’

He turned back to her, his whole persona on high alert. He had such a range of expressions, she thought. One minute daunting, the next the most beautiful smile in the world, and then, when he was engrossed in something he found interesting or beautiful, his striking face turned vividly expressive. At certain times too, like now, he had a look of what the French would call hauteur. It wasn’t arrogance. Bryn wasn’t arrogant—unless it was the unconscious arrogance of achievement.

‘Well, now, that’s up to the board, Francey,’ he said. ‘Naturally you will have to take your place there now. We’ll be able to vote for one another,’ he tacked on suavely.

She flushed. ‘It’s no joke, Bryn.’ She waited until he had resumed his seat and did not tower over her. ‘It would be a further whiplash in Carina’s face not to offer her a place. I don’t know if it will ever sink in that Grandfather chose me over her.’

Bryn groaned. ‘That’s an easy one to answer. You’re one hell of a lot brighter than Carina. She was never academically minded. She had no use for further education. She preferred the Grand Tour—swanning around Europe. No, Francey. Carina’s beauty might dazzle, but not her brain power.’

‘Her beauty dazzles you. ’

‘It did. I’ve admitted that. But only for a while. I don’t deny I’ve made my mistakes, Francey, but I managed not to get too carried away. I hate to say it, but there’s something a bit off about Carina. The twists in her personality have notched up a few gears since we were together. You saw what she was like today.’

‘She had every reason to be shocked,’ Francesca said, programmed to be loyal. ‘A massive disappointment was at the bottom of her grievances.’ Despite the way Carina had acted, Francesca was still moved to defend her cousin. ‘She felt betrayed—not only for herself, but for her father.’

‘Oh, come off it, Francey.’ Bryn spoke impatiently. ‘Carina has a total disregard for others. She uses people. It’s an inherited trait. You heard the way she went for her father—and in front of the rest of the family. He didn’t deserve that, even if he has to take some responsibility for turning her into what she has become. Had you been her handsome, clever, male cousin, instead of another woman, she would have taken it a whole lot better. Don’t you see the last thing Carina wants is to be burdened with heavy responsibilities? She wants to be perfectly free to enjoy herself, to live a life of endless self-indulgence. Frank knew that. Her father knows that. It’s the way she was reared, after all. What you have to grasp is this: it’s all about you. And her. Had it been up to Carina, she would have stripped you of your last penny.’

‘And would that have been such a great disaster?’ Francesca asked ironically. ‘I don’t want any of this. I can make my own way—and I am.’

Bryn came to sit again, not in the splendid walnut chair but close beside her, bringing with him his immense sexual aura. Oh, this man! What influence he had over her. And there didn’t seem to be a thing she could do to lessen its effect. Rather, it was expanding with every passing moment.

‘Listen, Francey,’ he said, leaning close, so the fine cotton of his shirt brushed against the skin of her arm. ‘I know you’re a very private person. You like to live out of the limelight. And you’ve succeeded to an extent. But you’re no more entitled to a normal life than I am. That’s one of the burdens of being who we are. Privacy goes out the door. Carina revels in attention. She’s fortunate in that way. She adores being chased by the paparazzi and being endlessly photographed. That’s her life. It gives her enormous satisfaction, even if she does like to lodge the odd complaint. You’re not like that. But you’ll have to concentrate on the main game. You are now in a position to do a great deal for others. There’s your saviour.

‘There’s so much the Foundation can do. Grants to medical science can play a much bigger part than they have in the past. Finding cures for killer diseases, saving lives. It all takes a colossal amount of money. There are so many projects that should have been taken up that the Foundation ignored. It came to the point where the Foundation was simply throwing money at organisations that should have been way down the list. You can change all that. Look what you’ve already achieved in the area of indigenous art. What about a museum, solely to house aboriginal art, bark paintings and other art forms? You could consider that down the track. Make it self-supporting through a series of initiatives. There are many programmes, crying out for funding. You know my own family’s main interest is centred on saving children. You’ve been to the big charity dinners my grandmother regularly holds. She has carried on my grandfather’s work.’

‘And she’s worshipped,’ Francesca said, knowing that for a fact. ‘I don’t know that I can ever become another Lady Macallan.’

He leaned a little further towards her, surprising her by kissing her cheek. Just an affectionate gesture—one of countless she had received from him over the long years—yet it was more meaningful than the most ardent kiss any other man had ever given her.

‘All it’s going to take is a little time and experience. You’ve got everything else. And you’ve got my support. Any future ideas you might have that you want to discuss or thrash out you’ll have my attention.’

‘Thank you. I’m really going to need you.’ She felt as if she had been launched upon a big, cold and demanding world where power was everything. And now it had been handed to her, an unwilling and unprepared recipient.

‘We’re going to need one another.’ Bryn frowned at some passing thought.

‘What if Carina wants to contest the will, as she threatened?’ Francesca asked. ‘Wouldn’t she be justified? She is senior to me, and she’s Uncle Charles’s only child. Besides, she has always known how to get her father on side. The rest of the family will support her.’

Bryn gave a short laugh. ‘No, they won’t.’

‘You sound so sure?’ She turned her attention to examining his dynamic face. If only she could peel away all pretence, all the complex layers that lay between them.

‘The rest of the family are cool-headed,’ Bryn explained briskly. ‘Whereas Carina is a hothead. None of them actually trust her. I don’t even think they like her. They all know Charles is not right for the job. We’ve all known it for years. My grandfather spent a great deal of his time priming me. Ultimately for control. I won’t deny it. Francis Forsyth didn’t make Titan everything it is. My grandfather was the prime mover. Frank became something of an enforcer. Anyway, I knew what my grandfather wanted. I want it. Charles doesn’t. Carina can’t pretend she has the necessary qualifications—’

‘That’s why Grandfather wanted her to marry you,’ Francesca broke in. ‘The subject can’t be avoided, Bryn. He planned it all. A marriage between you and Carrie would have united the two families. Ended the war. Carina would have been happy, and well suited to playing the role of beautiful high society wife.’

‘It was a scheme thought up without considering me or my wishes,’ Bryn told her with heavy bluntness.

‘What are your wishes?’ She was terribly confused. Carina had taken every opportunity to let her know Bryn belonged to her. And there was no getting away from the fact she and Bryn had sustained an intimate relationship, even if Bryn claimed it was over.

‘Maybe you would suit me a whole lot better. What if I wanted to marry you?’ he asked, sounding as if he might be serious. ‘Let’s face it. You’re a very classy lady. Super-smart.’ His eyes were brilliant with mockery, flattery—what? Was it possible that Bryn, the quintessential businessman, had simply vaulted to the best possible option now that she was the Forsyth heiress?

Though her heart was racing, it was high time she got herself together. ‘I’ve never for a moment considered it,’ she said, amazed she could sound so composed. She had been raised to accept Bryn was for Carina. It was like an alliance, a tradition drawn from the Middle Ages. The knowledge had hung over her head like a sword.

‘I think you have, but you’ve covered it up.’ There was real gravity in his voice.

‘It’s not as if you don’t know why.’ She felt driven to spring up, away from him. It wasn’t easy to think when Bryn’s power over her was so strong. Those wild moments between them had not only compounded his power a thousandfold, but made it irreversible. It wasn’t easy living with a blazing obsession. It was the best and the worst kind of love. From childhood—hadn’t she survived because of him?—she had felt so close to him he might have been a kind of twin; a twin she had created lacking a sibling to love. Even as a child she’d had a remarkable insight into Carina’s nature. She had always known her cousin didn’t love her, never would. She had also known Bryn would forever stand between them.

Bryn, who was desperate to push the issue, had to relent. ‘You look played out.’ He spoke quietly. ‘Why don’t I go? You need time on your own. Time to recover and absorb everything that has happened. It’s been one long and gut-wrenching day. Death has its own contagion. I know you ached for your grandfather’s love and didn’t get it, but he must have loved you, Francey, in his own strange way. Take comfort from that. Perhaps he felt enormous guilt about his estrangement from your father? Especially in the light of what happened. Perhaps he thought you were judging him in some way? You were such a serious, thinking child, and you had a way of turning those beautiful light-filled eyes on one.’

She was taken aback. Hadn’t Carrie said much the same thing? ‘Did I? In what way?’

He gave her a faintly twisted smile. ‘Oh, you always looked as though you were trying to read one’s soul. Maybe Frank found that difficult to face. There were dark places in his soul he wouldn’t have wanted you to see. Anyway, Douglas confirmed he was proud of you. That should mean something. He loved Carrie, but he even asked me from time to time why she wasn’t getting out there and doing something. He would have liked Carrie to carve out some sort of a career—even getting into the world of fashion, opening boutiques or whatever. She lived for clothes. Neither of us has ever seen her in the same outfit twice.’

‘You’re not saying he was disappointed in her?’ Francesca asked, trying to piece all this together. She’d had no idea.

Bryn shook his head. ‘That’s a difficult one to answer. It’s hard, when you’re possessed of a manic energy like Sir Frank was, to view pointless pursuits with a totally tolerant eye. I think he was always going to leave you Daramba.’ Abruptly he changed the subject, his dark eyes steadily on her. ‘Apart from anything else, he knew how much you loved it.’

‘He didn’t love it,’ Francesca said, a catch in her voice. ‘He wouldn’t go there.’

‘Perhaps he had a reason.’ Bryn’s answer sounded grim. ‘He wasn’t liked, either as the big boss or a man.’ The tribal people had regarded Francis Forsyth as a trespasser on sacred ground. And perhaps a lot more. ‘How do you feel about his leaving me a half-share?’ He captured her gaze. ‘I want you to tell me the truth. I can stand it.’

She gave a laugh that held the faintest sob. ‘I want you more than anyone by my side, Bryn. You already know that. We both love Daramba.’

‘That apart,’ he said, brushing their mutual love for the great Outback station aside, ‘what about my taking control of the business side of the entire operation?’

‘You’re welcome,’ she said wryly.

‘I’m going to want to make a lot of changes,’ he said, trying to prepare her, reaching for his jacket, then shouldering into it.

How handsome he was. How masculine. She loved the breadth of his shoulders that made his clothes sit so well; the sharp taper that emphasised his lean, narrow waist and hips, and his long, athletic legs. ‘Go for it,’ she said, trying for lightness on this bleakest of days. ‘I have a few ideas of my own you might be interested to hear.’

His brows knotted. ‘Of course. I have no intention of going ahead with anything without discussion. We’re partners, Francey.’

She nodded, taking enormous comfort from that. ‘Partners. I do have a good business head.’

‘I know.’ He moved towards her with the easy male grace that so characterised him. ‘Clever girl! You’ll have countless opportunities to bring your expertise to bear.’

‘That’s if I accept my inheritance,’ she replied, her expression grave. ‘I want time to think about it. My life would revolve around the Foundation. What time would there be for me? I’m serious about my art. I’m serious about helping other artists.’ She paused, feeling a jolt of non-acceptance she had to stifle. ‘But I fully expect to take my seat on the board of Titan.’

There was a glitter of admiration in his brilliant eyes. ‘Sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.’

She stood there looking at him, in such an agony of need it made her press her hands to her sides. ‘It’s important for me to know how you think and feel.’

‘But you do know, Francey.’ He could read the huge uncertainties that were in her. It was so easy to understand. What she had been offered was almost too big to grasp. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you have the brains, the guts and the nerve to carry this off. Do it for everyone’s sake. You have the power to change lives for the good. I understand your fears and doubts. But don’t get bogged down, thinking your grandfather’s will was unfair to Charles and Carina. They’ve been very handsomely provided for. Your grandfather knew what he was doing.’

For once let Forsyth and Macallan be on the same side, he prayed. Only with Francesca at the helm was that possible. ‘Now, I’m off,’ he said briskly, before his control snapped and he pulled her into his arms. God knows he wanted to, but he knew what would happen next. Carina had convinced Francesca of her lies, and her bullying had made it nearly impossible for Francesca to accept that someone might want her instead of her cousin. Whatever she said, whatever barriers she threw up, he knew she was very vulnerable to him. His role, however, was to shield and protect her.

At his imminent departure Francesca knew a moment of pure panic. ‘I don’t want you to go.’ Her need for him rose to overwhelm her.

‘Yes, you do,’ he said. ‘I don’t want you weighed down with emotion, Francey. Some things have to stay on hold.’

That sobered her. She made a huge effort to pull herself together, walking with him to the door. ‘So much to do, Bryn,’ she said, determined not to crumble under the weight of it all. ‘So many meetings. So many people to get to know. So much information I’ll have to read and try to absorb.’

‘One day at a time, Francey,’ he advised, moving further away. Her aura was more intense than he had ever known. ‘Don’t let it crowd you. All you have to do is remember you’re not alone.’ He didn’t bend to kiss her cheek. He wasn’t that much of a knight in shining armour. ‘What do you say we fly out to Daramba the weekend after next?’ he asked. ‘Both of us will definitely be needing a break by then.’

Her face lit up from within, its illumination filling him with surging desire. ‘That sounds wonderful!’

Resolutely he opened the door, keeping his hand fixed firmly to the handsome brass knob. ‘Good. I’ll arrange it. You can bring a chaperon if you want,’ he added, only half in jest. ‘Ring you tomorrow. I’m off now to see my girls.’

She knew he was referring to Lady Macallan and his mother, Annette, who shared the beautiful historic Macallan mansion. It was a far cry from the Forsyth mausoleum. After the tragic death of her husband, Annette Macallan had suffered a long period of depression that had ended in a breakdown. Sir Theo and Lady Macallan had looked after her like a beloved daughter.

‘Give them my love,’ she said. ‘Tell them I’ll speak to them soon. I need to speak to Elizabeth as well. Grandfather didn’t find it in his heart to leave her even a small memento.’

‘What heart?’ Bryn asked with a brief, discordant laugh. If Francis Forsyth had thought he would win the Macallans over by leaving him a half-share in the Forsyth pastoral empire he had thought wrong. Frank Forsyth’s treachery had been like a knife in the back to his grandfather. Sir Theo had died knowing what a deadly serpent he’d had for a lifelong friend.

The days that followed gave Francesca her first real understanding of the power and far-reaching influence of great wealth. There was an endless list of concerns she had to address, and then, when she had given them her full attention, endeavour to prioritise.

She had a model to go on. The Macallan Foundation, among other things, funded medical research into childhood diseases. That was their main focus. The Macallan Foundation built research centres and hospitals, and awarded endowments and scholarships to educate doctors not only for the home front but for third world countries as well. The Macallan name was enormously respected. She wanted the same respect for the Forsyth Foundation. She wanted to be assured that the Forsyth Foundation would be doing the work it was meant to do, much in the way of the Macallan Foundation—which Bryn administered.

If she needed advice—and she desperately did—he was the best person to turn to. Lord knew he was approachable enough, for all the burden of responsibilities placed upon him. But even knowing this Francesca felt she had to spare him and bring her own perfectly good mind to bear on it all. She refused to be the figurehead her grandfather had been. She had to start building a new life for herself. Not one she had wanted, but one she realised offered her the greatest opportunity for doing good. She had to start learning from everyone who was in a position to help her. When she was ready she was going to make changes—she had all but decided already on a glaring few—but for now she needed a tremendous amount of help.

The paperwork alone was staggering. Her routine had entirely changed as her life had speeded up dramatically. She woke at five instead of seven. Leapt out of bed. She went to bed very late. Yet even with that timetable she felt energised. There was so much to be done. A big plus was that she met daily with people who were not only in a position to help her, but were going out of their way to do so, seemingly delighted to be called on. That gave her a great confidence boost. Bryn left messages for her constantly, to tell her to get in touch with this one or that. All whiz kids who could run things for her as she wanted and then report back. She had to learn early how to delegate or go under, he told her, speaking from experience and the benefit of his own heavy workload.

She needed secretaries—all kinds of secretaries. Even press secretaries to front for her. She had endured a very scary onslaught of attention from the media almost from the minute the news of her elevation within the Forsyth family had broken. She needed people around her she could trust. Really trust. Loyalty was top of her agenda. Valerie Scott, a senior foundation secretary, was working for her now.

Valerie was a very attractive, highly competent divorcee in her late forties, tall and svelte, with snapping dark eyes and improbably rich dark red hair. She dressed well, with discreet good jewellery and accessories. As a Hartford—her maiden name—she was a member of an old Establishment family that had not only fallen on bad times but gone bust. A string of dodgy investments had figured somewhere along the way, Francesca seemed to recall. After Valerie’s marriage break-up from a successful stockbroker, who had left her for a look-alike twenty years younger, Sir Francis had given Valerie a job. Her ‘office’ was an open area right outside his door, with Valerie seated behind an antique desk of very fine rosewood with more of the ormolu, lions’ masks and feet her grandfather had favoured.

It wouldn’t have surprised Francesca in the least to learn that Valerie had become more than a secretary to her grandfather. He’d had countless affairs, yet still been a man incapable of true love. Still, Francesca found her new secretary courteous and obliging, with an air of having everything fully under control. Time would tell. At the moment Valerie was proving extremely useful. She had no mind to replace her. She certainly didn’t want to put any woman out of a well-paid job—especially one who had to fend for herself. For the time being things could continue as they were. She didn’t want to become a suspicious person—it wasn’t her nature—but sadly she had entered a very suspicious world.