Save The Date!: The Rebel and the Heiress / Not Just a Convenient Marriage / Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride

With a sound of disgust she thrust it at him. ‘I don’t like these games.’

Rick read it.

Dear Miss Nell,

If you think he’s worth the effort, would you please pass these details on to him?

Yours sincerely,

John Cox.

She leapt up and snatched the letter back. ‘He calls you “him” and “he’s”.’ She slapped the sheet of paper with the back of her hand. ‘He doesn’t even have the courtesy to name you. It’s...it’s...’

‘It’s okay.’

She stared at him. She gave him back the letter. ‘No, it’s not.’ She took her seat again and sipped her wine. She didn’t grimace at its taste as he thought she would. In fact, she looked quite at home with her cheap wine. He’d have smiled except his letter burned a hole in his palm.

‘And just so you know,’ she added, ‘the details there are for his solicitor.’

Rick didn’t think for a moment that John had left him any money. It’d just be another hoop to jump through. Gritting his teeth, he slid a finger beneath the flap of the envelope addressed to him and pulled the letter free.

At least it was addressed to him.

Rick

If you’ve got this far then you have the approval of the only woman I’ve ever trusted and the only woman I have any time for. If you haven’t blown it, she’ll provide you with the information you’ll need for the next step of the journey.

It was simply signed John Cox.

He handed the letter to Nell so she could read it too. It seemed mean-spirited not to. She read it and handed it back. ‘Loquacious, isn’t he?’

Rick sank down into his chair.

‘The solicitor, Clinton Garside, is wily and unpleasant.’

‘Just like John Cox.’

She shook her head and then seemed to realise she was contradicting him. Based on all the evidence Rick had so far, ‘wily and unpleasant’ described John to a T. ‘I never knew this side of him. He was quiet, didn’t talk much and certainly wasn’t affectionate, but he was kind to me.’

Maybe so, but he still hadn’t let her plant marigolds.

* * *

Nell glanced at Rick and it suddenly hit her that he was only a step or two away from abandoning this entire endeavour.

She didn’t know why, but instinct warned her that would be a bad thing—not bad evil, but bad detrimental. That it would hurt him in some fundamental way. As the messenger of the tidings she couldn’t help feeling partly responsible.

You have enough troubles of your own.

Be that as it may. She owed Rick. She owed him for what had happened fifteen years ago. She owed him for letting herself be browbeaten, for not being strong enough to have defended him when that had been the right thing to do. She might only have been ten years old, but she’d known right from wrong. She had no intention of making the same mistake now.

She straightened. ‘Clint will give you the runaround. He’ll tell you he won’t be able to see you for weeks, and that’s not acceptable.’

‘Nell, I—’

‘If you have a sibling out there who needs you—’ she fixed him with a glare ‘—then it’s unacceptable.’

His lips pressed together in a tight line. He slumped back in his seat without another word.

Nell pulled her cellphone from her handbag and punched in Clint Garside’s number. ‘Hello, it’s Nell Smythe-Whittaker. I’d like to make an appointment to see Mr Garside, please. I know he’s very busy, but it’s rather important and I was hoping to meet with him as soon as possible.’

‘I’ll just check his appointment book,’ the receptionist said.

‘Thank you, I appreciate that.’ She searched her mind and came back with a name. ‘Is that you, Lynne?’

‘It is, Ms Smythe-Whittaker.’

‘Please, call me Nell. How’s your husband coming along after his football injury? Will he be right to play the first game of the season? All the fans are hoping so.’

‘We think so, fingers crossed. It’s nice of you to ask.’

Exactly. And in return...

‘There’s just been a cancellation for Wednesday afternoon at three-thirty. Would that suit you?’

‘Wednesday at three-thirty,’ she repeated, glancing at Rick. He shrugged and nodded. ‘That’s perfect! Thank you so much, Lynne. I really appreciate it.’

She rang off and stowed her phone back into her bag. ‘Three-thirty Wednesday,’ she repeated.

‘So you’re intent on holding my hand?’

An edge had crept into his voice. She sat a little straighter and lifted her chin. ‘It’ll speed things up.’

‘Why are you so intent on helping me get to the bottom of all this?’

She reached out to clasp the stem of her wine glass, twirled it around and around on the table. She lifted a shoulder. ‘There are a few different reasons. Guilt, for one. Your father has been dead for eight months and I’ve only found the time to give you his letter now.’

‘If he was my father.’

If.

‘You had no idea what that letter contained. If you did...’

‘I’d have tried to deliver it the same day! And I’d have quizzed John to within an inch of his life, but that’s beside the point. I should’ve found the time to deliver it to you sooner.’

‘You’ve had a lot on your plate these last eight months. You’ve no need to feel guilty.’

‘The locket,’ she whispered. ‘It caused you so much trouble.’