Yuletide Bride

‘You must have taken leave of your senses!’ Violet had gasped in horror, before collapsing down on to a chair. ‘To think that I should live to see my own daughter running a...a boarding-house!’

‘Oh, come on, Mother—it’s hardly the end of the world!’ Amber had retorted with exasperation. While she felt sorry for the older woman, she nevertheless knew that they both had to face up to the harsh facts of life. ‘When poor Clive died, he left us with nothing but this house and a huge pile of debts. We’ve sold everything we can, and now that Lucy is growing up, she’s going to be needing clothes and toys, and lots of other things that we simply can’t afford at the moment. The house is our only asset, which is why I’ve decided to take in paying guests. However, if you can think of an alternative plan of action—I’ll be glad to hear it!’

Not able to come up with a viable course of action, it seemed the only way Violet Grant could cope with their changed status was to completely close her mind to what she called the ‘sordid, financial aspects’ of Amber’s business. However, by insisting on treating those who came to the house as personal guests of her daughter—charmingly welcoming everyone as if they were old family friends—Violet had, in many ways, proved to be a considerable asset.

But that state of affairs was now coming to an end, Amber quickly reminded herself as she made her way to the kitchen, feeling distinctly guilty at not yet having found the courage to tell her mother about the forthcoming sale of the Hall. She was deeply ashamed of being such a coward—but dreaded having to face the hysterical scenes that were bound to follow such bad news.

All the same...she told herself some time later as she moistened the heavy, dried-fruit pudding mixture with a hefty dose of brandy, she really couldn’t put off telling her mother the truth for much longer. As for the question of Max’s return—well, the sooner she put it out of her mind, the better. After all, no one had any idea of what had happened during that long, hot summer over eight years ago. So, there was no reason why the episode shouldn’t remain firmly buried in the mists of time.

* * *

Continuing to sternly lecture herself throughout the rest of the day and most of the next, Amber had gradually managed to recover her usual good sense and equilibrium. Being busily occupied in trying to catch up with all her orders for home-made Christmas produce was proving to be a positive advantage, since she simply didn’t have time to think about anything other than the job in hand. Only abandoning the kitchen to collect Lucy and her friend, Emily Thomas, from school, she was delighted when they decided that it would be fun to explore the contents of some of her mother’s old trunks up in the attic. There was nothing that Lucy liked more than dressing up in Violet’s old clothes—a fact that Amber welcomed, since it meant that the little girls were happily occupied while she made another batch of mince pies for the freezer.

Busily absorbed by her work in the kitchen, she was startled when one of the row of old-fashioned bells began ringing high on the wall above her head.

Glancing up, she noted with surprise that there was obviously someone at the front door. Certainly Rose, on a shopping trip to Cambridge, wouldn’t be collecting Emily for another hour at least—and she couldn’t think of anyone else likely to be calling at this time of day. However, as the bell was given yet another impatient ring, she realised that she was going to have to go and answer it.

Wondering who on earth it could be, Amber didn’t bother to remove her messy apron as she hurried down the dark corridor, through the green baize door, which separated the kitchen quarters from the rest of the house, and across the stone floor of the large hall.

‘OK, OK, I’m coming!’ she muttered under her breath as someone began banging loudly on the old oak door.

‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting...’ she began as she opened the door. And then, almost reeling with shock, she found herself frantically clutching the large brass door handle for support. With the blood draining from her face, her dazed and confused mind seemed barely able to comprehend the evidence of her own eyes. Because there—standing casually on the doorstep beside Mr Glover, the house agent—was the tall dark figure of Max Warner!

CHAPTER TWO

JABBING a fork into the iron-hard frosty ground, Amber tried to ignore the bitterly cold wind gusting through the large kitchen garden. Saving money by growing their own fruits and vegetables was all very well, but having to dig up leeks and parsnips in the middle of winter wasn’t exactly one of her favourite pastimes.

On the other hand, she’d always found that there was nothing like a bout of hard digging or hoeing to put any problems she might have in their correct perspective. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working at the moment, Amber told herself gloomily, pausing for a moment to brush a lock of golden brown hair from her troubled green eyes.

What on earth was she going to do? It was a question that she had been asking herself, with increasing desperation, ever since she’d discovered Max Warner—together with the house agent, Mr Glover—standing on her front doorstep. Even now, two weeks later, there seemed nothing she could do to calm her tense, edgy body, while her brain appeared to be frozen rigid with fright. In fact, with her nerves at screaming point, she wasn’t able to think about anything, other than Max’s sudden reappearance in her life—which had to be one of the most catastrophic and potentially disastrous twists of fate she’d ever experienced!

She’d hardly been able to believe the evidence of her own eyes. Almost paralytic with shock, the breath driven from her body as if from a hard blow to the solar plexus, it had taken her some moments to realise that it truly was Max, and not an evil figment of her overheated imagination.

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Stanhope. It was very good of you to agree to see my client at such short notice,’ the estate agent had murmured pompously, his voice seeming to be coming from somewhere far away. ‘I...er...I hope you haven’t forgotten our appointment?’ he added hesitantly, gazing with apprehension at the young woman, who was staring silently at both him and Mr Warner in such a wide-eyed, unnerving manner.

‘An appointment...?’ Amber echoed helplessly, her mind in a chaotic whirl as she stared past him to where a sleek, glossy black sports car was parked beside Mr Glover’s vehicle on the gravelled drive outside the house. ‘I don’t understand. Do...do you mean you want to see over the house?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Mr Glover gave a nervous laugh, clearly wondering if the young widow was entirely ‘all there’. ‘I made the arrangement with your mother this morning, and...’

‘Oh, no!’ Amber gasped, suddenly realising that her mother was likely to appear on the scene any minute. ‘I’m sorry—you can’t possibly see around the house today. It’s absolutely out of the question!’ she babbled hysterically, glancing nervously behind her as she tried to close the door. ‘I haven’t yet told my mother, you see. She doesn’t realise...she has no idea that the Hall is for sale. You’ll just have to go away, and...and maybe come back some other time.’

Unfortunately, Max Warner had quickly taken a firm grip of the situation. Swiftly placing a well-shod foot in the door, he thanked Mr Glover for his services, smoothly informing the estate agent that he was quite capable of coping with the ‘delicate’ state of affairs at the Hall.

‘There’s no need to worry or disturb Mrs Grant. I’m quite confident that her daughter will be pleased to give me a personal conducted tour around the house.’

Oh, no, I won’t! Amber screamed silently at him as the house agent gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders, walking back down the steps as Max pushed the door open, moving calmly past her trembling figure into the wide, spacious hall.

Completely stunned, Amber could only stare at him with glazed eyes, quite certain that she must be in the midst of some awful nightmare.

‘I should have been in touch with you before now,’ Max told her quietly. ‘But I’ve been abroad and only recently heard the news.’

‘”The news”?’ she echoed blankly.

‘I merely wanted to say that I was very sorry to learn about Clive’s death.’

‘Yes...um...it was a long time ago, of course. So much seems to have happened since then,’ she muttered with a helpless shrug.

‘However, it does seem as though you’ve done very well for yourself, Amber,’ he drawled, glancing around at the old family portraits in their heavy gilt frames and the warm, comfortable effect of copper vases filled with greenery against the highly polished, old oak panelling.

The unexpectedly cynical, scathing note in his deep voice acted as a dash of freezing cold water on her shocked, numb state of mind. Her hackles rising, she was just about to demand an explanation for his sudden appearance—surely he couldn’t really be interested in buying the house?—when her mother floated into the hall.

‘How nice to see you. Have you come far?’ Violet murmured, giving the tall man a welcoming smile.

Amber nearly groaned aloud. This was definitely not the time for her mother to be putting on a performance of her ‘gracious hostess’ routine!

Max took the older woman’s outstretched hand and smiled warmly down at her. ‘It’s some time since we’ve met. However, I think that you’ll probably remember my father, the Reverend Augustus Warner. He was the vicar here at Elmbridge some years ago.’

Violet beamed up at the man towering over her slight frame. ‘Of course, I remember him. And you must be Max. The naughty boy who was always in trouble,’ she added with a twinkling smile.

‘Indeed I was!’ he agreed with a grin.

‘Well—you’ve certainly grown since those days! It looks as though you’ve done very well for yourself,’ Violet told him, casting an approving glance over his expensive, obviously hand-tailored, dark grey suit. ‘Now—I’m sure that you must have had a long drive. How about a nice cup of tea?’

‘Mother! I really don’t think...’

‘Nonsense, dear,’ Violet murmured, ignoring her daughter’s husky, strangled protest as she placed a hand on his arm, leading Max towards the large sitting room. ‘If he’s driven some distance, I’m sure the poor man must be simply dying of thirst.’

‘Mother...!’ Amber whispered urgently, but the older woman clearly had no intention of taking any notice of her desperate plea. As for the ‘poor man’—he merely turned his dark head to give her a cool, sardonic smile before accompanying the older woman into the sitting room.

Left standing alone in the hall, Amber could feel her initial shock and dismay rapidly giving way to long-suppressed feelings of rage and anger. How dare Max swan back into her life, completely out of the blue like this? Not only intimating that she’d married poor Clive for his money, but with absolutely no appearance of regret—let alone an abject apology for the way he’d treated her in the past.

However, just as she was telling herself fiercely that she’d never sell the Hall to Max—not even if he offered her a million pounds—Amber caught sight of herself in a large mirror hanging on the wall.

Nearly fainting with shock and dismay, it was all she could do not to shriek out loud in horror! The woman gazing back at her looked as though she’d been drawn through a knot-hole backwards, her face hot and flushed from the heat of the stove, and her apron covered with smears of flour and mincemeat. No wonder Max had been looking at her with such a caustic, scathing expression on his handsome face!

Realising that it was far too late to worry about his initial impression, Amber flew back along the corridor into the kitchen. Slinging the kettle on the hot plate of the ancient Aga, and practically throwing a tea tray of cups and saucers together, she ran back to the hall and up the wide curving staircase, taking the steps two at a time as she raced towards her bedroom.

Now, when it was almost too late, the shock waves of Max’s unexpected arrival were gradually clearing from her mind. And it was the sharp, sudden awareness of the fresh danger she was facing that lent wings to her feet as she hastily stripped off the grubby, sticky apron and ran into the adjoining bathroom to wash her hands and face. Dragging a brush through her tangled hair, she could feel her heart pounding like a sledgehammer, just as if she’d been doing an exhausting aerobics workout. And it looked as if she was going to need all the agility of just such an exercise, she told herself breathlessly as she desperately tried to pull herself together.

Unless she could put a gag on her mother’s garrulous tongue, there was a strong possibility that she was going to find herself in the middle of an utterly disastrous situation. The only chink of blue in an otherwise dark, ominous cloud was that she could hear the faint sounds of footsteps and movement overhead—evidence that Lucy and Emily were still playing happily together up in the attic.

Fervently praying that the little girls would stay safely out of sight, Amber quickly checked her appearance in a large, full-length mirror. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about her old navy sweater and jeans. Mostly because she couldn’t spare the time, but also because she was determined not to let Max think that his sudden, startling manifestation on her doorstep mattered a jot to her one way or another.

Who are you trying to fool? she asked herself with disgust, realising that there was little she could do to disguise the hectic flush on her pale cheeks, or the hunted, wary look in her nervous green eyes. There was nothing for it, but to face the music. Let’s hope they’re playing my tune, she thought hysterically, her stomach churning with nerves as she quickly left the room.

‘Max and I have just been reminiscing about old times,’ her mother trilled happily as Amber entered the sitting room carrying the tea tray. ‘We really do miss his dear father, don’t we?’

‘Er...yes, we do,’ Amber muttered, trying to stop her hands from shaking as she poured the tea. Carefully avoiding Max’s eyes, she chose a seat on the other side of the room, as far away from him as possible.