Australia: In Bed with Her Groom

‘He insists that he needs me at the Manor,’ Harry stated in a tone that made it an inevitable reality.

Ashley frantically sought a delaying tactic. ‘What about your mission?’ she pleaded.

‘Yes,’ William instantly backed her up. ‘You haven’t learnt nearly enough about us yet, Mr. Cliffton. I haven’t told you any of the stuff Mum doesn’t know about.’

‘William!’ Ashley was distracted by the horrors of misbehaviour this confession implied.

‘It was for your own good, Mum, so as not to worry you,’ he hastily and piously explained.

‘As it happens,’ Harry drawled, capturing their attention again, ‘Mr. Fotheringham has come up with a solution that he hopes will prove satisfactory to both of you.’

‘What?’ William asked eagerly.

Ashley held her breath. Her eyes clung helplessly to Harry’s. Was he about to reveal the truth about William’s position?

His smile had a winning appeal. ‘That you accompany me to England for a month’s visit at Springfield Manor. All expenses paid, of course.’

‘You mean we get to fly on a jumbo jet and…’ William raved on, delirious with excitement at the prospect of the great adventure being held out to him. ‘Every night ghost hunting…’

A month, Ashley thought dazedly. A month of learning what Harry’s life was like. She could put up with any amount of condescension and feeling like a fish out of water as long she could be with Harry whenever he was free. And if she could never feel comfortable with the life over there, the option was open for her to return home. It was like a miracle, handing her what she needed but not locking her into an irrevocable position.

‘Ashley?’ Harry asked quietly.

‘You can’t say no, Mum,’ William expostulated, his eyes as big as saucers and his mind whirling with visions of plenty.

No doubt George Fotheringham would be subjected to her son’s entrepreneurial skills for the entire month. And since William was his heir…Was this offer a trap to keep them there? She looked uncertainly at Harry.

It was as though he read her mind. ‘You retain all authority where William is concerned, Ashley,’ he stated unequivocally.

His word was good enough for her. Harry had never done her any wrong. She trusted him. Implicitly.

‘Please, Mum. Please, please, please…’

Her relief and joy broke into a happy smile. ‘We’d be delighted to accompany you, Harry.’

‘Yippee!’ William cried in an ecstasy of anticipation. ‘I forgive you for all your other wrongs, Mum.’

Done, thought Harry, his answering smile widening to an irrepressible grin. The gamble had paid off. Of course, he’d loaded the odds on his side. The timing and execution of the critical telephone call had been perfect, the outcome reasonably assured with William as dependable an ally as Harry had ever had. Not that the boy was aware of it. He was simply a natural at going after what he wanted with whatever means was available to him. As Harry was.

Good and faithful George could protest and scold as much as he liked, but he would carry out Harry’s will. George’s sense of service and duty would always prevail, no matter how disapproving he was of the scheme in hand. Not that he should be disapproving. After all, if Harry made everything turn out right, George would have the very result he desired when he had so purposefully reminded Harry of his duty.

It was up to Harry to pursue his chosen course with vigour. ‘Do you have current passports?’

‘You bet we do,’ William supplied. ‘Mum got them last year when we were booked to go to Fiji, only I came down with the chicken pox and we couldn’t go. But just about everyone’s gone to Fiji. England will be heaps better.’

William wouldn’t have time for much bragging. Harry moved into step two of his new mission, focusing his attention on Ashley. ‘I’ll see to your visas on Monday and book a flight to London for Tuesday if there are seats available.’

‘So soon!’ She looked stunned.

‘Those are my instructions.’

‘But what about my business?’

‘We’ll attend to whatever is necessary. Everything will be looked after.’

He could see she instinctively recoiled from being rushed, her cautious nature wanting to think it all through. That could invite trouble he’d rather avoid.

‘You’ll be late arriving at Olivia Stanton’s party if we don’t move now,’ he reminded her, stepping forward to usher her to the front door. ‘I’ll be back shortly, William.’

Ashley felt her mind was split into at least a dozen pieces, zigzagging off in all directions. As she reached the hallway she gathered enough wits to admonish her precocious son. ‘You behave yourself, William,’ she said sternly. ‘And you are not to ask for anything. Do you hear me?’

‘Loud and clear, Mum. I promise I’ll be as good as gold. Cross my heart.’ He grinned. ‘I wouldn’t risk not going to England with Mr. Cliffton.’

And that was the crux of it, Ashley thought wryly as she accompanied Harry to the Rolls Royce. William was getting totally out of hand. He needed a father. But was Harry any different to her son? Everything seemed to be suddenly out of hand. She didn’t feel in control of anything any more.

Harry saw her settled in the front passenger seat, wanting her beside him. As he rounded the bonnet to the driver’s side he felt the exhilaration of having crossed another critical line. Not only had becoming lovers exceeded all his hopes and expectations, he had successfully put in place the process of moving Ashley to his home ground.

It had niggled at him all week that not once had Ashley questioned him in any practical sense about his life. A woman who was considering him as a husband surely would. It had seemed to him she was satisfied with collecting beautiful memories while Harry had progressed to absolute certainty about what he wanted.

It was possible that she saw a visit to Springfield Manor as a chance to fill a treasure chest of memories, but it was a step towards him, a step towards the future he could give her. Surely she would see that what he offered was entirely different from the life she had suffered with Roger. He couldn’t lose now. No way. She wanted him. And they were great together. No doubt about that.

Ashley didn’t look at him as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She appeared deep in private thought. Not worrying, he hoped. He drove slowly, considering how best to make his next move.

‘Do you always do what Mr. Fotheringham tells you to?’ she asked.

It was a tricky question. Harry didn’t want to lie to her. Soon, very soon, he would have to lay out the truth, but that was better done in England when she was under his roof. He could more easily counter a negative reaction there. He chose his words with as much care as he had in explaining George’s telephone call.

‘We tend to come to an agreement, Ashley. I did tell you that George Fotheringham’s family and mine have been connected for centuries. Since the Battle of Flodden in 1513. There is a line of respect kept by both sides and an affection and indulgence that comes from long familiarity.’

‘A sense of belonging,’ she murmured.

‘Yes.’

‘That must be…comforting.’

‘You can share it, too, Ashley. You and William.’

She made no reply to that. She pointed ahead. ‘There’s the house. The one where people are out on the front balcony.’

The Rolls Royce was definitely on show, Harry thought with a flash of irony, but status symbols were totally irrelevant to what was on his mind. The driveway to the Stantons’ double garage had been left clear, and he drove the Rolls into it for Ashley’s convenience. He switched off the engine and turned to her, reaching over to take her right hand and hold it.

She looked at him, her eyes mirroring a fearful uncertainty, but she left her hand in his, perhaps needing the comfort of the contact. Without hesitation, Harry gave her one rock-solid certainty to hang onto.

‘I want to marry you, Ashley. Will you think about that while you mix with your friends tonight?’

‘Harry…’ It was a breathless little gasp as though he’d punched the air out of her lungs. Her eyes widened wonderingly.

‘Don’t answer me now. I just want you to know,’ he said with quiet seriousness. To imprint it firmly on her mind, he repeated, ‘I want to marry you.’

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