Mansfield Lark

A present day Mr Darcy in Disguise?

Gemma Astley has succeeded where so many others have failed. She has somehow managed to tame tearaway rock star Dominic Heath and stop his womanising ways for good. But just as they find happiness, Dominic’s secret aristocratic past becomes public knowledge, and everything changes…not necessarily for the better.

Dominic is actually Rupert Locksley, heir of Mansfield Hall, a crumbling stately home that needs major financial investment to save it from ruin. Dominic’s mother pleads for his help, but his father, the earl, is on the verge of disinheriting him. Meanwhile, Dominic’s new status as Mansfield’s long-lost heir attracts the attention of cut-throat golddiger, socialite Bibi Matchington-Alcester, who means to make him hers at any cost.

Gemma and Dominic will need to test the strength of their foundations – as well as those of Mansfield Hall – if either are to remain standing.

Book 3 in Katie Oliver’s Dating Mr Darcy series

Also available by Katie Oliver

Prada and Prejudice

Love and Liability

Mansfield Lark

Katie Oliver

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014

Copyright © Katie Oliver 2014

Katie Oliver asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2014 ISBN: 9781472084026

Version date: 2018-07-23

KATIE OLIVER

loves romantic comedies, characters who ‘meet cute’, Richard Curtis films and Prosecco (not necessarily in that order). She currently resides in northern Virginia with her husband and three parakeets, in a rambling old house with uneven floors and a dining room that leaks when it rains.

Katie has been writing since she was eight, and has a box crammed with (mostly unfinished) novels to prove it. With her sons grown and gone, she decided to get serious and write more (and hopefully, better) stories. She even finishes most of them.

So if you like a bit of comedy with your romance, please visit Katie’s website, www.katieoliver.com, and have a look.

Here’s to love and all its complications…

A big thank you to all of the bloggers, reviewers, Twitter followers, Facebook page fans, friends, and fellow UK HQ Digital authors for your ongoing support. Special thanks to Rebecca Raisin for her unstinting encouragement and help.

And, as always, huge thanks to my agent, Nikki Terpilowski, and my husband, Mark.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Epilogue

Extract

Endpages

About the Publisher

Prologue

‘Great show, Dominic!’

‘You kicked arse, mate!’

‘Is it true you and the Destroyers are breaking up?’

‘Give us an autograph, Dominic? It’s not for me – it’s for my daughter.’

Dominic Heath paused long enough to scrawl a few undecipherable signatures on some out-thrust concert programs and ticket stubs. Acknowledging their thanks with a tired nod, he grabbed the towel his manager handed him and worked his way through the crowd of magazine writers, newspaper stringers, photographers, groupies and assorted backstage hangers-on, mopping at the sweat on his face as he made his way to the dressing room. He stopped a couple of times to shake a hand or field a few quick questions.

When at last they reached the dressing room and Max shut the door behind them, Dominic flung himself into a chair.

‘I’m fucking exhausted,’ he grumbled as the older man tossed him a bottle of Evian. He drank it in one go and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I’m not nineteen any more, Max. I can’t keep on leaping around and smashing up guitars forever. You’ve booked us into so many venues on this tour, I’ve barely had time to scratch my balls. And some of the venues are pretty crappy, too.’

Unperturbed, Max tapped out a number on his mobile phone. ‘Are you done complaining? Playing all these venues is what keeps you in Bentleys and blow, mind.’

‘Oh, please. I gave up the nose candy a long time ago.’ Dominic leaned forward and regarded himself critically in the dressing room mirror. ‘I like my nose. I won’t end up looking like that Lord Voldemort bloke.’

It wasn’t a bad face, he decided as he studied his reflection. Nose was a bit long, but straight; dark eyes and hair; recently whitened teeth, and a strong (one might even say, a chiselled) jawline.

‘Speaking of venues,’ Max began, ‘that’s something we need to talk about, you and I—’

‘Where’re the boys?’ Dominic asked suddenly. He hadn’t seen his band mates since they took their final encore.

‘Didn’t they tell you? They went to the after party at Annabel’s with Pammy and Lara and a couple of chaps from NME.’

‘No, they didn’t tell me.’ Dominic scowled and pulled off his sweat-soaked T-shirt and threw it in the corner, followed in rapid succession by his skin-tight trousers. ‘Typical – they skive off and leave me to deal with the journos, paps and contest winners. Fucking bastards.’

‘Gemma said she’ll see you there.’

Dominic headed, naked, to the shower. The last place he wanted to go tonight was a heaving, thumping, celebrity-and-aristo-infested nightclub, but it looked once again as though he had no choice. Gem liked that sort of thing. And it wasn’t often she got a chance to rub elbows with celebs.

Nevertheless, the novelty of rubbing shoulders (or any other body parts) with A- and B-list celebrities had long since lost its allure for Dominic. Celebrities, he knew all too well, were just as fucked up and dysfunctional as anyone else.

They just did a better job of hiding it. And why not? he thought darkly as he lathered himself up under the pounding spray of the shower head. They had plenty of help, what with handlers, trainers, personal chefs, nannies, accountants, makeup artists, stylists, and publicists…

… not to mention an entire team of minders, assistants, and professional arse-lickers always ready to cover up, manage, or explain away whatever fix their famous employer had got into.

He ought to know. He had his own team – except for a nanny, because there was no need for that yet, thank God – and they’d managed his every waking moment for the last ten years.

As he emerged from the shower, Dominic heard a commotion just outside the dressing-room door. ‘But I’m desperate to see him!’ a young woman demanded. ‘He’ll want to see me. I’ll make Dominic very, very happy—’

‘I’m sure you would,’ Max told her, ‘if he was the least bit interested…which he’s not. Now run along before I have one of those nasty bouncers throw you out on your pretty little arse.’

He slammed the door and turned to face Dominic. ‘Get dressed. You’ve three more interviews to do before you leave. But before I let them in–’ he paused ‘–you have a visitor.’

As he stepped into a pair of jeans and zipped up the fly, Dominic let out an exasperated breath. ‘Unless it’s Gem, or Kate Middleton, or the bloody queen herself, I’m not seeing anyone tonight. And that’s final.’

‘She said you’d say that. And she said I was to tell you “bollocks”. Now, if you’re decent, I’ll let her in.’

‘Damn it, Max, I told you, no visitors tonight—’

But his manager was already opening the door and ushering someone inside. Dominic looked up with a glare, ready to blast whatever journo or B-list celebrity had blagged their way into his precious inner sanctum; but upon seeing the slim, dark-haired woman in the Chanel suit and kitten heels standing there, the words dried up in his throat.

‘Hello, darling,’ she said, and arched an eyebrow. ‘Haven’t you anything to say to me?’

Dominic blinked, unsure if he could trust his own eyes. ‘Mum!’ He reached out to take his mother in his arms, crushing her against him in a fierce hug. She smelled exactly as he remembered, like L’Heure Bleue and the almondy-sweet scent of marzipan. ‘I can’t believe you’re really here. God, it’s been too long.’

‘Two years, to be exact,’ she informed him tartly as she drew back. ‘Don’t you remember? You invited me to spend Christmas at that draughty Scottish estate of yours. Charles was down with the flu. We had dinner at that enormous table with your band and a couple of groupies. It was the strangest dinner, your father would’ve certainly disapproved, but I adored every minute.’ She raised a brow. ‘Do you ever go up there?’

‘No. Too busy. I let it out for grouse-hunting and weddings.’

‘Let me look at you.’ Her gaze swept from his bare feet to the top of his trendily cut hair. ‘You’re looking quite handsome,’ she allowed, ‘but you’re too thin. Not doing the drugs, are you?’

‘No,’ he grumbled. ‘I don’t do drugs, only coffee, and a smoke now and then. Cigarettes,’ he added pointedly. ‘Come and sit down.’ He led her to a rump-sprung sofa in the corner and cleared a space for her to sit. ‘What brings you here? Is everything all right?’ His face clouded. ‘You’re not ill, or anything, are you?’

She waved a manicured hand in dismissal. ‘No, darling, nothing like that,’ she said as she sat down.

‘What, then?’

She fiddled with the clasp of the clutch on her lap. ‘It’s Mansfield Hall. It’s literally falling down around our ears,’ she added, her expression troubled, ‘and your father refuses to swallow his pride and ask for your help.’

Dominic stared at her, perplexed. ‘My help? But what can I do? You know he and I don’t get along. We haven’t spoken in eleven years.’

‘Yes, and that’s eleven years too long, in my opinion.’ Her words were firm. ‘It’s time you and your father ended this ridiculous quarrel.’

‘Mum,’ Dominic said carefully as he settled himself next to her, ‘this thing between me and him is a bit more than a quarrel. A quarrel’s an argument over who left muddy footprints on the carpet, or who ate the last piece of cake. Our…disagreement runs much deeper than that.’

‘What happened? I never understood why you left so suddenly, without even telling me goodbye.’

He stared down at his hands, clasped loosely between his legs, and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Dominic stood up. ‘How about some Cristal, or something to eat? I’ll have Max fetch you a plate of whatever you fancy.’

‘No, thank you. What I’d like,’ she pressed on, ‘is for you to come back to Mansfield. Perhaps if you reached out to Charles—’

‘No. I’m not going back there,’ he said, his voice low but determined. ‘I love you, Mum, you know that; I’ve kept in touch with you all these years, and I always will. I’d do anything for you. Anything,’ he added firmly, ‘but go back home to him. I swore I’d never set foot in Mansfield Hall again, and I won’t change my mind. And there’s an end to it.’

Chapter 1

Holly James finished marking up the feature for the April issue of BritTEEN and tossed her pen aside. The new editorial assistant wrote with real flair, but she had a lot to learn about dangling participles.

Holly leaned back in her chair and glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine p.m.; she’d worked yet another twelve-hour day. So much for my plans to meet Alex tonight, she reflected grumpily. She’d never make it to the Groucho club in time.

But as she picked up the phone to call Alex and tell him she couldn’t make it, she was secretly relieved. Because the truth was, she didn’t much like Alex Barrington’s friends.

Oh, they were polite, and polished, and they were all that was agreeable, as Jane Austen might have said, but what had Holly in common with a bunch of barristers and solicitors and back-benchers in Parliament?

Absolutely nothing, that much was painfully clear.

With their endless discussions of legal precedents and Inner Temple gossip, Holly always felt hopelessly out of her depth. And Camilla Shawcross, former barrister and MP for Putney, and thus one of Alex’s associates on the bench, had a real talent for making Holly feel like an empty-headed idiot.

With her stylish blonde hair, jewel-toned suits, and a double first from Cambridge, Camilla was everything Holly wasn’t.

Holly had no doubt that Ms Shawcross was sitting next to Alex at the club this very moment, one slim arm resting on the table alongside his as she talked earnestly of constituents and the home secretary and the goals of the latest Standing Committee.

She shuddered at the thought. What she really wanted was a long, hot bath, some Milk Tray, and a mindless reality program to watch.

But as she stood up to leave, Holly hesitated. It was Friday, quiz night at the pub where she and Kate and Natalie had gone a few times. They’d always had a laugh.

On impulse, she picked up her mobile and dialled Nat. ‘Nat? It’s Holly. What’re you doing?’

‘I’m looking at bridal magazines. Poor Rhys nearly threw his back out bringing a stack of them home.’

‘Have you chosen a dress yet?’

‘Yes! Wait till you see it, it’s gorgeous.’

Weddings, Holly thought with a pang. ‘That’s great,’ she said brightly, ‘really, really great!’

‘Are you okay, Hols?’ Natalie asked. ‘You sound a bit off.’

‘Fine,’ Holly assured her. ‘I’m leaving work, and thought we might go to the pub for quiz night. Have a laugh.’

‘I’d love that! But Rhys just started making dinner.’ She paused and added, ‘Why don’t you come here? We can have a nice long chin-wag, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to.’

‘Thanks, Nat, but I don’t want to intrude. I’m tired, anyway; I’ll probably just go home and go to bed.’

‘Ooh, with that gorgeous new man of yours? That’s a much better prospect than spag bol and a bottle of Valpolicella.’

Holly sighed. ‘No, I’m on my own tonight. Alex is with his friends at the Groucho. Again.’

‘And you don’t want to listen to all that boring legal talk,’ Natalie observed. ‘I completely understand! Well, go home and get some sleep. At least tomorrow’s Saturday; you can sleep in.’

‘I can, but Alex can’t. He’s scheduled a surgery first thing in the morning with his constituents.’

When she first heard Alex say he’d scheduled a ‘surgery’, Holly thought he was having his appendix out. Amused, Camilla had set her straight. ‘A surgery is an advice meeting a MP holds once a month for his constituents, Holly,’ she’d chided. ‘You’re so amusing!’

‘Poor man,’ Nat clucked sympathetically. ‘He works very hard, doesn’t he? At least make him take you out to lunch afterwards.’

Holly promised she would, and rang off. As she slid the strap of her handbag over her shoulder and left the office, she decided that Natalie was probably right.

She and Alex just needed some time alone together. They’d both been so busy, what with her work at the magazine and Alex’s constituents, that they scarcely saw one another.

On a whim she retrieved her mobile and called Alex.

‘Hello, Alex Barrington here. Please leave a message.’

‘It’s me,’ Holly said. ‘Let’s do something tomorrow, after your clinic’s done, okay? Let’s spend the afternoon together. I’m on my way home. Call me when you get this, even if it’s late. I’ll wait up. Love you. Bye.’

But although she left her phone on from the time she left BritTEEN until she’d taken a bath and crawled into bed with a book, and although it remained on the bedside table when she finally laid her book aside and turned off the light just after midnight, Alex never returned her call.

‘Where’s Dominic, Gem? Isn’t he coming?’

Gemma Astley scowled into her Mojito. Bloody hell, but she was tired of waiting for Dominic Heath.

She was always waiting – waiting for him to show up, waiting for him to ask her to marry him…waiting for him to say he wanted to start a family together. A girl like her could wait only so long.

Her biological clock was ticking, after all. And it was getting louder by the day.

Not that she could hear it over the rumble of house music and the shouted conversations going on all around her, mind. Ordinarily, she’d be thrilled to hang out here at Annabel’s, rubbing elbows with Mick and Bryan and Pippa.

But Dominic had yet to show up, and her excitement had rapidly curdled into anger.

‘He said he’d be here.’ Gemma looked up as Mick, the blue-haired bass player for the Destroyers, sat down next to her. ‘But once again, he lied.’

‘He had a couple of interviews to do. He’ll be along soon,’ Mick reassured her, and drained his bottle of Stella. ‘Besides, who cares? Let’s have a laugh. Come on.’

Gemma took his hand and together they gyrated on the crowded dance floor until they were breathless and giddy with champagne and laughter. Mick bobbed and weaved on the floor like a blue-mohawked chicken, prancing and twirling like a dervish.

As they made their way back to the table, both of them gasping for breath and snorting with laughter, Gemma caught sight of Dominic, leaning back in his chair with a beer in his hand and a black look on his face.

‘So you finally decided to show, did you?’ she observed as she dropped back into her seat.

‘Don’t start, Gem. I’m tired, and I’m not in the mood.’ He looked over at her, and his face darkened. ‘At any rate, it looks like you’re having a good enough time without me.’

‘I am.’ She shrugged as Mick left and headed for the bar. ‘It was either go and dance, or sit here and wait for you.’

He shoved a hand through his hair. ‘Sorry, babes, but I had an interview with Kerrang! and NME, and it took longer than I expected.’ He laid his hand atop hers. ‘Let’s get out of here and go home, what do you say?’

Gemma wavered. He really did look tired, with shadows under his eyes and his hair sticking up like a coxcomb. She squeezed his hand. ‘That’s the best idea I’ve heard all night.’

Maybe they could get started on that baby after all.

‘Mum wants me to come back to Mansfield,’ Dominic told Gemma as he drove them to his townhouse in Primrose Hill.

‘Will you go?’

He pulled into the underground parking garage and shut off the engine. ‘I don’t know. She says the place is falling apart. The old man needs my help – but he won’t ask for it.’

‘He needs your money, you mean.’

‘Well, yeah, of course.’ He snorted. ‘Ironic, since the last thing he said when I left home was that I’d never amount to anything. ‘A great disappointment,’ that’s what he called me.’

‘That was an awful thing to say,’ Gemma said indignantly, and leaned across the console to kiss him. ‘But I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Besides, you’ve had the last laugh – you’re a massive success, and he’s had to come to you for help.’

‘Oh, no, he meant every word,’ Dominic assured her grimly as he got out of the car. ‘And he won’t want my help. Even if he did,’ he added, ‘I’d tell him to go and stuff it up his arse.’

‘But it’s your mum who asked for your help,’ she reminded him.

‘That’s the only reason I’m even considering it.’

‘I think you should go. It’s past time you two patched things up. How long’s it been since you spoke to your dad?’

‘Eleven years,’ he answered as they entered the ground floor of his townhouse. He tossed his keys on the hall table.

‘That’s far too long to be on the outs with your father.’

‘You haven’t spoken to yours since you were a kid,’ he pointed out.

‘That’s different! Dad ran out on us and never looked back.’ She kicked off her shoes and followed Dominic into the kitchen. ‘Besides, he’s an alcoholic, lay-about plumber, not an earl. One day, you’ll inherit Mansfield Hall…and the title that goes with it.’

‘I don’t want it,’ Dominic said. ‘I’ve never wanted it. I’m no toff, Gem. I hate all that stuff, riding to hounds, and attending charity balls, and belonging to all the proper clubs. It’s not for me. It never was.’

‘But it’s a part of who you are, Dominic, whether you like it or not.’

He dragged a chair out from the table and sat down as Gemma switched on the kettle. ‘Maybe. But the fact remains that the old man hates me, Gem. He always has.’ He looked up at her, his eyes troubled. ‘I don’t want to go back there and dredge it all up again.’

‘But your mum needs you,’ she reminded him. ‘She asked you to come home and help her. And she’s never asked you for anything before.’

Dominic groaned. ‘I know. And you’re right. Bloody hell, but you’re always right, Gem. What would I do without you?’ He stood up and pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

Gemma’s arms slid around his neck as she opened her mouth under his. His kiss left her lips swollen and her thoughts scattered. ‘The only reason I put up with you,’ she murmured against his mouth few minutes later, ‘is because of this.’