Mansfield Lark

Dominic imagined himself racing across the finish line at Le Mans to waving flags and cheering crowds. He saw the adulation on the faces of the onlookers. He saw a couple of gorgeous, busty models waiting to drape the winner’s ribbon around him. He saw…

… an ancient estate wagon coming straight at him from the opposite direction. He cursed and wrenched the steering wheel sideways to avoid a collision; as he slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt, the estate wagon skidded and veered off into the ditch in a cloud of dust.

Furious, the driver flung open his door. ‘You young idiot!’ he raged. ‘You nearly killed us. What the devil do you mean, flying through here at such a high rate of speed? This is a private drive! Are you quite mad?’

Dominic emerged from his car and met the man’s irate glare. He was glad for the half bottle of Pouilly he’d just consumed. ‘No harm done, there’s not even a scratch on your fender.’

‘That’s scarcely the point, is it? You might have killed us!’

‘But I didn’t.’

‘You…what do you mean by this?’ the man sputtered. ‘Who the devil are you?’

‘You don’t know who I am? Really? I know it’s been a few years, but still.’ Dominic removed his sunglasses and said evenly, ‘Not much of a welcome home, is it, Dad?’

Chapter 4

‘Rupert?’

His father stared at him, rendered momentarily speechless.

‘Hello, Dad.’

‘What in God’s name are you doing here?’

‘Mum asked me to come. She said Mansfield’s in a bad way.’

His father snorted. ‘Indeed? She told you I meant to disinherit you, more likely, and so you thought to run me over before I changed the will.’

Dominic counted, slowly, to five. ‘Sorry, no. By the way, I’m fine, thank you for asking. Oh, wait, that’s right – you didn’t ask.’

‘Why should I? I already know how you are,’ Lord Locksley shot back. ‘All I need do is flick through the tabloids to fully acquaint myself with your latest exploits.’

Liam Locksley got out of the car and came round to stand next to his father. His scowl lifted for a moment as he took in the Maserati. ‘Wow. Nice wheels.’

‘Thanks. Take you for a spin in it if you like.’

‘So you can wrap your brother and that ridiculous vehicle around a tree?’ the earl retorted. ‘Certainly not.’ He turned to his youngest son. ‘Help me push the car out of the ditch.’

‘Let me help,’ Dominic offered. ‘After all, it’s my fault. I ran you off the road.’

‘Thank you, no. We’ll manage.’ His father turned away and returned to the car. With Liam’s help, they rolled the estate wagon out of the ditch, climbed back inside with two slams of the door, and drove away up the drive without a backward glance.

‘What a dreadful young man.’

So saying, Mrs Norris sailed into the entry hall of Barnsley Manor – regrettably, the house was a recent purchase, not an inherited pile – and tossed her handbag aside.

‘He was unquestionably awful,’ Bibi agreed thoughtfully.

‘He was vile,’ her mother went on. ‘Ghastly.’

‘Outrageous,’ Bibi murmured.

Mrs Norris sniffed. ‘I’m glad we’re of like minds on the subject. A pity that he’ll inherit, now that he’s back.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t count on it. According to Liam, his lordship plans to disinherit Rupert,’ Bibi reminded her, and yawned. She really was awfully tired. Spending money at the shops took such a lot out of one.

‘Well, continue to focus your efforts on Liam, darling. I forbid you to have anything to do with Rupert Locksley.’

Bibi smiled non-committally and said goodnight, then went upstairs, her thoughts churning.

Despite herself, she couldn’t get Rupert – or, more to the point, Dominic Heath – out of her head.

He was indeed awful. According to the tabloids, he liked fast cars and faster women. He was inappropriate and oversexed. He was absolutely everything mummy and daddy had ever warned her about.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

More to the point, she couldn’t stop imagining his… Well, what he’d got in those Cavalli trousers of his. What must it be like, she mused, to sleep with a man like that…

One wouldn’t get much sleep; that much was certain.

She paused outside her younger sister’s bedroom door and glanced in. Leigh wasn’t in evidence; the bolshie little shit was spending the weekend with one of her school friends, thank God. Her room, as always, was a tip.

Bibi was just turning away when she spotted an assortment of tabloids and NME magazines strewn atop her sister’s bed. Curious, she went inside, stepping over a pile of discarded clothes littering the floor and nearly tripping over a stack of Bliss and BritTEEN magazines.

She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the Sun, her attention caught by a photo of Dominic Heath and his current girlfriend, Gemma Astley. Bibi wrinkled her nose disdainfully. Gemma was a pretty, pneumatic redhead from Essex whose IQ probably matched her bra size.

To think that Liam’s brother Rupert had led a double life all this time as Dominic – a truly appalling rock star, if these publications were anything to go by – well, it was scarcely to be believed.

As someone who despised rock music – she preferred Glyndebourne to Glastonbury – Bibi knew very little of Rupert’s alter ego, Dominic. Apparently, his favourite pastimes included chasing women, drinking Chivas Regal…and wearing outrageous clothes – snakeskin trousers, fringed scarves, leopard-print ascots and tinted aviator sunglasses.

‘I forbid you to have anything to do with Rupert Locksley.’

Her mother’s words came back to her, and Bibi chewed her lush lower lip thoughtfully. She hated to be told she couldn’t do something.

She was beyond tired of the ‘suitable’ men her social-climbing mother kept pushing at her. Most of them were young, with wealth and titles but nary a brain in their heads. Or they were boring. Or eccentric. Or – even worse – they were old.

Although Dominic was certainly dreadful, and although she suspected he thought her a proper bore, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Dominic was fun, irreverent, and sexy.

And that, Bibi decided as she stood up, was exactly what she wanted.

He was a challenge; there was no question of that. But she loved a challenge. She’d make him over into the perfect English country gentleman – one with the proper clothes and the proper pastimes – hunting, racing, polo. She would turn him back into Rupert, the well-born aristocrat he was meant to be…not the dreadful rock star he’d become.

She stood and eyed the music magazines thoughtfully. With Rupert back, there was no need to chase after Liam. She’d break it off with him first thing tomorrow. Besides, everyone knew he only had eyes for Julia Allchurch… Pretty girl, and wealthy, but her parents worked for a living, for God’s sake.

No, she’d set her sights on Rupert instead, convince him to marry her, and gain herself a title. It’s what Mummy wanted for her, after all. For what good were pots of money without a proper title? And with her generous dowry, Rupert would have the financial resources to restore Mansfield Hall to its former glory. Together they’d host sumptuous hunt balls, races, and shooting parties; and on the weekends, their friends would come and stay at the Hall.

And as for what she would gain from the marriage…

Bibi’s lips curved upwards. She would be the prim and proper Lady Locksley by day… and she’d share Dominic Heath’s bed every night. It was the best of both worlds.

Sex and suitability…

What could be a more deliciously perfect combination than that?

Gemma threw aside the latest issue of Heat as Dominic returned to the hotel room. ‘At last! Did you see your father? How did it go?’

‘Yeah, I saw him.’ Dominic tossed his keys aside. ‘I nearly ran him over with my car, in fact – so I think it’s fair to say that it didn’t go well.’

‘Is he all right?’

‘Oh, yeah, he’s fine. Not a scratch on him.’

‘Did you talk to him?’

‘In a manner of speaking,’ Dom replied. ‘I talked at him. I don’t think he heard a word I said.’ He flung himself down on the sofa next to her and slumped back against the cushions. ‘And he still hates me.’

Gemma linked her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t hate you. You’re his son, after all. It must’ve been a shock, seeing you after so many years. You can’t expect him to just throw his arms wide and welcome you back.’

‘No. I suppose I’m lucky he didn’t set the hounds on me, or shoot out my tyres with his hunting rifle.’

‘What about your mum? Did you see her? Or your brother?’

‘Yeah. Liam was in the car with my father. He didn’t say much, except “nice wheels” – and that was said very grudgingly. Mum was the only one who made me feel remotely welcome. And the housekeeper, Mrs S,’ he added. ‘She was more chuffed than anyone.’

‘Well, tomorrow’s another day,’ Gemma comforted him. ‘You’ll feel better after a bit of sleep.’

‘Yes, tomorrow… that reminds me,’ Dominic said, choosing his words carefully as he sat up. ‘Mum wants to meet you.’

Gemma’s face brightened. ‘Does she? That’s good, then.’

‘She’s coming here tomorrow, so we can all have lunch in the tearoom together.’

There was an infinitesimal pause. ‘Here? At the hotel? But I thought the plan was to take me along with you to Mansfield Hall so I could meet your family properly.’

‘Well, yeah, that was the plan,’ Dominic hedged, ‘but plans change, you know?’

‘You mean your mother doesn’t want you bringing me round to Mansfield.’ Gemma eyed him narrowly. ‘Does she?’

‘That’s not true! She’s dying to meet you.’ He paused. ‘She thinks – and I agree – that my father’s got enough to cope with, what with me back home again, to deal with anything else.’

‘Oh. Well, that makes sense, I suppose.’ Mollified, Gemma stood. ‘I’d best choose an outfit, then. I think I’ll wear the pink suit.’

The pink suit, Dominic knew, consisted of a short jacket and shorter skirt and had come from a high street shop. She usually wore it with strappy black booties that looked like something a dominatrix would wear.

His mum would hate it.

‘Why don’t you wear that nice Chanel suit instead?’ he suggested. ‘The one Nat’s mum gave you. It’s pink.’

‘You mean the one,’ Gemma said with disdain, ‘that looks like something the Queen Mother might have worn?’

‘That’s it. Throw on some pearls and a nice pair of brogues, and you’re there.’

‘And a couple of Yorkies and a walking stick, as well?’ Gemma glared at him. ‘What’s wrong with the way I dress?’ she demanded. ‘Are you saying I look like a tart? You’re ashamed of me, aren’t you? Not posh enough, am I?’

‘No, of course not! I mean – yes, you’re plenty posh!’ Dominic felt as if his head might explode. ‘Look, babes, I love your look. But mum’s another story. You want to make a good impression, that’s all I’m saying.’

Gemma hesitated. ‘You’re right. Sorry. I just feel so…lacking, when I think of meeting your family. My dad’s a plumber, and I barely made it through the local comprehensive. I’m sure your parents want better for you. Someone…educated. Someone posh.’

Dominic’s thoughts flashed to Bibi, with her long legs and imperious manner, and he felt a flare of sympathy for his poor brother Liam.

‘Screw all that.’ He stood as well and took her in his arms ‘You’re what I want, babes, and that’s all that matters. We don’t have to meet my family at all, if you don’t want to.’

‘No, I want to meet them.’ She looked at him, her green eyes determined. ‘I’ll make them like me. You’ll see.’

Dominic grinned. ‘I believe you will.’ He kissed her. ‘Now let’s turn in, it’s been a long day and I’m for bed.’

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

‘Can you get it, Dominic? I need to run our bath.’ Gemma wound her arms round his neck and added huskily, ‘I brought lots of bubbles – as in soap, and champagne. And there’s room for both of us in that enormous whirlpool tub. So don’t be long.’

Dominic groaned. ‘How about we don’t bother with the door, and go straight on to the bubble bath bit?’

The knock came again, louder this time.

‘You’d better get it.’ Gemma backed away and began, slowly, to unbutton her shirt, revealing a lacy blue bra. ‘So you can get this…’

‘Hold that thought,’ he growled as he tore himself away to answer the door.

Dominic flung it open with a scowl. ‘Yeah, what is it—?’

His brother Liam stood there.

Liam scowled back at him. He sported a dark mop of hair and his face resembled Dominic’s (although Liam was, if Dominic were completely honest, much better looking).

‘Well, don’t just stand there in the hallway,’ Dominic said, and opened the door wider. ‘Come in. What brings you here?’

‘This.’ And without another word, Liam drew back his fist and punched Dominic in the jaw as hard as he could.

Chapter 5

Dominic staggered back, stunned. Blood spurted from the corner of his mouth. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ he demanded. ‘Are you fucking mental?’

‘What’s going on?’ Gemma, alerted by the commotion, rushed into the sitting room with a towel clutched round her.

‘Is this one of your birds?’ Liam enquired. His eyes roved insolently over Gemma’s curves. ‘Nice.’

‘Shut up, you rude little twit,’ Gemma snapped. ‘Who are you, anyway? And what’ve you done to Dominic?’

‘Liam, this is Gemma,’ Dominic said through the discarded T-shirt he held against his mouth. ‘Gemma, meet my brother Liam, who just punched me…for no apparent reason.’

‘Oh, I have a reason.’ He regarded Dominic resentfully. ‘You can’t just swan in here and take over. You left. You turned your back on Mansfield, on us. So you can just piss off back to London.’

‘Listen to me, you little wank.’ Anger darkened Dominic’s expression. ‘I left, but I had good reason. And what makes you think I don’t care about Mansfield? It was dad I left behind, not you. Besides – I’m still the oldest. Like it or not, there’s this pesky little thing called primogeniture—’

‘That doesn’t mean shit,’ Liam snapped, ‘if dad disinherits you. And he will do. He’s right – you’re a disgrace to the family! What with your women and drinking and fast cars—’

Dominic flung the bloodied shirt aside. ‘Women, cars, drinking-? You’ve just described most of the toffs hereabouts. Married, all of ’em, too,’ he added. ‘At least I’m single. So you can take your judgment and stuff it up your arse.’

They glared at one another.

‘Why don’t you fix Liam a drink, Dominic?’ Gemma suggested. ‘Talk to each other. That’s the only way to settle this.’

Liam glanced at her. ‘Sorry. Not for hitting Rupert…but for being rude earlier.’

‘Never mind.’ Gemma shrugged. ‘You’ve got a temper, like your brother. Just promise you won’t hit him again.’

Liam snorted. ‘No promises. But I’ll try.’

‘So what have you been doing since I left?’ Dominic asked Liam as Gemma returned to the bedroom and shut the door. He poured them each a whisky. ‘When you’re not punching people in the face.’

Liam took the glass his brother handed him. ‘I finished at St Andrews last year. And Dad’s grooming me to run the estate.’

‘Oh? And how’s that going?’

He scowled. ‘The boiler won’t last through the winter. As it is, we can see our breath at dinner. And when it rains, it takes every pot, bowl, and soup tureen we’ve got to catch all the leaks. The estimate to fix the roof is £18,000. The floorboards in the library are rotting, and the crumbling plasterwork in the drawing room ceiling can only be restored by an expert—’

‘Shit,’ Dominic muttered.

‘–that’s why dad wants me to marry Bibi. She’s very rich.’ He said this last with scorn, as if being rich were a disease, something to be avoided at all costs.

‘Ah yes, I met her in the garden at Mansfield this afternoon.’ Dominic didn’t elaborate on the circumstances of their meeting; he had no desire to exchange further blows with his brother. ‘Mum says you don’t want to marry her.’

‘No, I don’t.’ Liam knocked back the rest of his whisky. ‘I have someone else in mind altogether.’ He thought of Julia Allchurch, so beautiful and well bred, and felt a familiar, painful squeeze of his heart.

Too bad she didn’t return his feelings.

Liam set his glass down on the coffee table. ‘Look, why don’t you marry Bibi? It’s the perfect solution. You’ll get a rich wife, Mansfield Hall can stay in the family, and I’ll get dad off my back.’

‘Sorry, but I have a girlfriend already, mate. Gemma’s the only one for me. I’ve had my fill of high-maintenance birds. Besides, I’ve dosh enough of my own to save Mansfield. That’s why I came back – to offer my finances to fix the place up. So there’s really no need for either of us to marry Bibi.’

Liam stood up. ‘Good luck. Dad will throw your offer straight back in your face. Mansfield might be falling down around his ears, but he has his pride.’

‘Pride won’t pay the bills, will it? I’ll talk him round. I can be quite persuasive.’

Liam’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t know what happened between you two, but whatever it was…he hasn’t forgotten.’ He paused. ‘If you want my advice, you’ll forget about trying to buy our father’s forgiveness, and go straight back to London as fast as that fancy car of yours will take you.’

‘I’m not feeling the love, brother.’ Dominic stood as well. ‘My issue’s with him, not you.’

Liam shrugged. ‘Either way, he doesn’t need your help – or your money. And don’t think you’ll get your greedy mitts on Mansfield Hall…because you won’t. You gave all of that up when you walked away.’

And with that, Liam stalked to the door, and slammed out of the room.

Holly James opened the cartons of Chinese takeaway and took down plates from the cupboard. As she dumped the Szechuan green beans, brown rice, and crispy beef into bowls and yanked the silverware drawer open in search of serving spoons, she wondered if there was any diet soda in Alex’s fridge.

But a quick hunt unearthed only a half-open bottle of flat champagne and two bottles of stout. Good thing she’d ordered a couple of bottles of ginger beer along with their meals.

‘Dinner’s ready,’ she called out. The sound of explosions and gun blasts in the sitting room stopped abruptly as Alex switched off the TV and wandered, barefoot, into the kitchen.

‘Yen Ho’s,’ he said as he picked up a spring roll and bit into it, ‘or Dim Sum Palace?’

‘Neither. It’s Buddha Garden.’

As Alex sat down and dished out rice and crispy beef, he glanced over at Holly. ‘Remember when we were dating, and you actually used to cook for me?’

‘Remember when we were dating, and you actually used to spend time with me?’ she shot back. ‘We’d spend an entire evening together, just the two of us.’ She pushed some green beans and a tiny bit of rice onto her plate. ‘Imagine that.’

‘We spend time together,’ Alex said, defensive. ‘In fact, we could’ve spent Friday evening together at the club, but you begged off at the last minute. Again. That’s hardly my fault.’

‘I had a long day, Alex. I was tired. And I didn’t feel like listening to you and your friends drone on about due diligence and compos mentis, okay?’

‘On the contrary, I do understand. Because that’s exactly the way I feel about spending time around your friends.’ He speared a piece of crispy beef and thrust it in his mouth.

‘What’s wrong with my friends?’ Holly demanded. ‘They’re fun. Certainly more so than yours.’

‘Fun?’ Alex laid his fork aside and raised his brow. ‘Well, if you consider conversations about BB Cream and shooties and Gok Wan to be the apex of intelligent discussion, then yes, your fashion friends are quite scintillating.’

She dropped her own fork with a clink and glared at him. ‘Fashion is my life.’

‘And the law is mine,’ he returned tightly. ‘I’m sorry if you find my interests – and my friends – so tedious.’

Holly reined in her temper. ‘It’s not that I don’t like them, Alex. I do. Well enough,’ she amended. ‘But your friends and I have nothing in common. We’re chalk and cheese.’ She took a sip of her ginger beer. ‘And then there’s Camilla.’

‘What about her? She’s made every effort to be friendly.’

Holly said carefully, ‘I’m sure she has. But when you and she start talking about constituents and surgeries and by-elections, I feel completely left out. And I hate it.’

‘Oh.’ Alex was taken aback. ‘I hadn’t realized. I suppose it is a bit dull for you. All right – I promise to curb the legal talk when you’re around, fair enough?’

‘Thanks. More rice?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll skip the Groucho on Friday, and we’ll go out to dinner instead. Just the two of us, like we used to do.’

‘I’d love that.’

‘You decide where you’d like to go, and I’ll make the arrangements,’ he promised, then added, ‘On one condition.’

Holly paused, a forkful of rice halfway to her mouth. ‘Oh? What’s that?’

‘No fashion talk allowed,’ he said firmly. ‘Not a word about Gok Wan, or quilted handbags, or platform sneakers.’

‘I promise,’ Holly said. ‘Oh, Alex – time alone is exactly what we need.’ She leaned forward and took his hand. ‘I’ve missed you. I’ve missed us.’

He lifted her hand to his lips. ‘And I’ve missed you.’ He kissed the back of her palm and released her hand, then reached for his ginger beer and lifted it up. ‘Here’s to an entire evening without a single mention of Jil Sander.’

‘Or the PM,’ Holly added, lifting her own bottle and clinking it to his.

‘No Magic Lifting Creams.’

‘No by-elections.’

‘No spring collections.’

‘No Camilla Shawcross,’ Holly finished, and stood. ‘Now help me clear up.’

‘Leave it,’ Alex ordered, and pulled her into his arms. ‘I’ve just proposed an amendment to the bench that states we should make wild, passionate love, right here, right now. And the dishes be damned.’

‘Hear, hear,’ Holly murmured.

‘Let’s adjourn to the bedroom, shall we?’ So saying, Alex swung her up into his arms and carried her off, giggling, to his bed, where he threw her down and did exactly as he had promised.

And Holly thought that perhaps the law wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Chapter 6

The Jaguar’s engine juddered, heaved a sigh of profound regret, and died.

Natalie Dashwood clutched the steering wheel and stared in consternation at the various instruments on the Jag’s dashboard. Although the car was new and meticulously maintained, it made the odd noise now and again. And it was doing it now…again!

She’d told Rhys, her fiancé, about it; but of course the bloody car didn’t make the bloody noise whenever he drove it.

She eased the Jag off the road. Not only was the engine making odd ticking sounds; it refused to take her any further. She stared at the instrument cluster in dismay. This couldn’t be happening.

But of course it was happening, and of course it would do when she was smack in the middle of nowhere in sodding south Warwickshire. The sun was a rapidly sinking, orangey-red ball on the horizon. Mum’s house was an hour behind her, and there was nothing around for miles but the ribbon of roadway, and fields dotted with cow parsley and sheep.

Bad enough she’d been unable to land the wedding reception venue she’d wanted. She’d left it too late, and now every decent venue in London was booked up. Now, this.

Oh, well…there was nothing for it but to call Rhys to come and fetch her. She chewed her bottom lip. It was Sunday night and he worked tomorrow, plus she’d interrupt the football on TV, so he’d be put out, to say the least. Natalie rummaged in her handbag until she unearthed her mobile to ring Rhys.

No service.