The English Bride

The English Bride
Margaret Way

A life of luxury on an English country estate or the hazards of the Australian Outback?For Lady Francesca de Lyle there is no doubt. She's in love with rugged Grant Cameron and knows the Outback holds everything she's come to need and desire.Grant is emotionally torn. He wants Francesca, but the pampered rich girl could dash back to the safety of her privileged world at any time. Should he take the risk and ask Francesca to become his English bride?

“You were born to grandeur.”

Grant’s voice deepened. “The daughter of an earl. Journeying to the Outback is an escape for you. I could fall in love with you then you’d go off home to Daddy, back to your own world.”

“So what’s the solution?” Francesca was compelled to clutch him for support.

“Neither of us allows ourselves to get carried away,” he said brusquely. “You’re so beautiful. But I don’t think your father would get a big kick out of knowing you were dallying with a rough-around-the-edges man from the Outback.”

It in no way described him. “Rugged, Grant. Never rough. I like you. Temper and all. I like the way you hit on an idea and go for it. What I don’t like is the way you see me as a threat.”

He could see the hurt in her eyes but he was compelled to speak. “Because you are a threat, Francesca. A real threat. To us both.”

Dear Reader,

Ever since I can remember, our legendary Outback has had an almost mystical grip on me. The cattlemen have become cultural heroes, figures of romance, excitement and adventure. These tough, dynamic, sometimes dangerous men carved out their destinies in this new world of Australia as they drove deeper and deeper into the uncompromising Wild Heart with its extremes of stark grandeur and bleached cruelty.

The type of man I like to write about is a unique and definable breed—rugged, masculine and full of vigor. This Outback man is strong yet sensitive, courageous enough to battle all the odds in order to claim the woman of his dreams.

The English Bride is the third of three linked books in which I explore the friendships, loves, rivalries and reconciliations between two great Australian pioneering families. They are truly LEGENDS OF THE OUTBACK.

The English Bride

Margaret Way

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS getting on towards late afternoon when Grant Cameron set the chopper down on the rear lawn of Kimbara as sweetly as a pelican setting down on a lagoon. Winds created by the whirling fanlike rotor stirred up a mini dust storm mixed with grass clippings and a sea of spent blossom from the nearby bauhinias but that quickly abated as the long blades wound to a standstill. Grant completed his interior checks and took off his headset, preparatory to jumping down onto the grass.

This was historic Kimbara Station, desert stronghold of the Kinross family since the early days of settlement; the nearest neighbour to his own family station, Opal Downs, some hundred miles to the north-east.

His older brother, Rafe, much loved and much respected, was currently on honeymoon in the United States with his new bride and love of his life, Alison Cameron, nee Kinross. Rafe ran the station. He, Grant, was making a very successful business out of his own aerial mustering service, operating out of Opal. It had suited both brothers well. Rafe was the cattleman. He was the pilot.

He’d always been mad about aircraft even since he’d been a kid. Even the inconsolable grief of losing their beloved parents to a light aircraft crash hadn’t killed his love of flying. With an outback so vast flying was a way of life in Australia. The tragedy had to be survived.

Grant reached for his akubra and slung it on at an unconsciously rakish angle. The sun still had a powerful kick in it and he couldn’t altogether forget his tawny colouring, a Cameron trademark. “A pride of lions” was the way people used to describe his dad, Douglas Cameron, and his two sons, Rafe and Grant.

A pride of lions!

For a moment a terrible sadness constricted his chest. He wished with all his heart his dad was still alive. Mum and Dad. They never got to see him make such a success of himself. They would have been proud. He had always been the younger brother, a bit of a wildcat trying to develop in his brother’s shadow. Rafe was born responsible, ready to take over from their father.

Out of the helicopter Grant made a quick circuit of the aircraft, his eyes always checking for the slightest sign of possible trouble though the fleet was scrupulously maintained. The yellow fuselage with its broad blue stripe and company logo in blue and gold gave off a crackle as the metal cooled down. He patted the insignia with satisfaction and made off for the house.

It had been an exhausting day driving a whole heap of cantankerous, overheated cattle in from the isolated Sixty Mile out near Jarajara, a single huge sentinel granite dome that marked Kimbara’s western border to the camp Brod’s men had set up out near Mareeba Waters with its winding water courses. Camp would be shifted as the muster went on. The men were expected to be out for the best past of three weeks. What he needed now was a long cold beer and to feast his tired eyes on a beautiful woman.

Francesca

Not necessarily in that order he thought dryly. Francesca was occupying far too many of his thoughts these days. Lady Francesca de Lyle, first cousin to Brod Kinross, master of Kimbara and brother to Ally, his new sister-in-law. Cameron and Kinross were legendary names in this part of the world, pioneering giants.

Now with the marriage of Rafe and Alison the two families were finally united to everyone’s great satisfaction except maybe Lainie Rhodes of Victoria Springs who had nurtured an outsize crush on Rafe since puberty struck her. Not that Lainie wasn’t good marriage material but there had never been anyone else for Rafe but his Ally.

The unbreakable bond between them had been forged in their childhood out of tempered steel. Now they were man and wife, deliriously happy from all accounts but Grant realised full well he had better start making plans.

Big as Opal’s homestead was he had no intention of intruding on his brother’s and Ally’s privacy. They would want the homestead to themselves no matter how much they tried to reassure him Opal was as much his home as theirs. A big share of Opal Station maybe, which had financed his aerial muster business, but the homestead was for the newlyweds. He was determined on that. Besides Ally had lots of plans for doing the place up and he guessed it needed it.

What would it be like to be married? Grant mused as he strode past the original old kitchens and servants’ quarters. Long out-of-date they were perfectly maintained for their historic value. Shrubs surrounded these outbuildings, light filtering trees, the whole linked to the Big House by the long covered walkway he now took.

What would it be like to come home each night to a woman he could take to his heart, to his bed? A woman to share his hopes and dreams, his profoundest inner expectations. A woman he belonged with as surely as she belonged with him.

The first time he met Francesca de Lyle when he was in his teens he had felt an instant click, a deep rapport, now years later he was well into fantasising about her. Why then was he so persuaded an intimate relationship with Francesca could only bring danger to them both? Maybe he wasn’t ready for any deep relationship after all. Hell, wasn’t he too damned busy to commit. Nothing should be on his mind but work. Building up the business. He had such ideas.

A branch of Cameron Airways was now carrying mail and freight but he’d had recent discussions in Brisbane the state capital a good thousand miles away, with Drew Forsythe of Trans Continental Resources regarding building a helicopter fleet for use in minerals, oil and natural gas exploration.

He’d met the very high profile Forsythe and his beautiful wife, Eve, on several occasions but that was the first time they’d ever got into really talking business. And he had Francesca of all people to thank for that.

Never one, apparently, to let a good public relations opportunity go by, Francesca who had struck an immediate chord with the Forsythes when they had all been seated together at a charity banquet had brought up the idea in the course of an enjoyable evening.

Beautiful blue eyes sparkling she put it to Forsythe: “Doesn’t this make good sense to you? Grant knows the Interior like the back of his hand and he’s absolutely committed to the big picture, isn’t that right, Grant?” She had leaned back towards him then, so heart stoppingly graceful in her strapless satin gown, her lovely cool, clear English voice, full of support and encouragement. Ah, the bright aura of breeding and privilege!

And she was clever. If some sort of a deal ever came off, and he was working on it right now, he owed her. A glorious romantic weekend away together, he fantasised. One of those jewel-like Barrier Reef islands that had those luxurious little self-contained bungalows down near the beach. Though he would have to watch her in the hot Queensland sun. She had the flawless porcelain complexion that so often set off Titian hair. How strange she should want to fit into his background on the fringe of the great desert heart. It was almost like trying to grow an exquisite pink rosebush on the banks of a dried-up clay pan. For all his deep and immediate attraction to her they were an impossible match. And he better not lose sight of it.

He lost sight of it less than two minutes later when Francesca herself appeared, running down the side verandah and leaning over the white wrought-iron balustrade wreathed with a prolific lilac trumpeted vine that gave off a seductive fragrance in the golden heat.

“Grant!” she called, waving happily. “How lovely to see you. Of course I heard the chopper.” A singing sweetness showed in every line of her body. Sweetness and excitement.

“Come here,” he ordered very gently as he came alongside, reaching up a long arm to pull her lovely head down to him. Despite all the little lectures he gave himself, despite all natural caution, every atom of his being was focused on kissing her. He even murmured her name unknowingly as he put his mouth over hers, sensation beating through him like the powerful whoosh of a rotor. What in hell made him do it? But he was a man and keenly physical.

When he let her go she was breathless, trying not to tremble, a deep pink colour running across the fine skin of her cheeks, sparkling lights in the depths of her eyes. Her beautiful flame-coloured hair had come loose from its clasp and spilled around her face and over her shoulders. “That’s some greeting!” Her voice was little more than a soft tremble.