Bluebell Castle

Fingers freezing a couple of inches from his, the woman’s head jerked up, giving him a first full glimpse of her face. And what a face, it was. Like one of the carved marble statues in the long gallery, her alabaster skin was smooth and flawless. Those deep-set green eyes were nothing like the dead stares of those goddesses and nymphs though. Nor the mane of glorious russet red hair, a shade or two deeper than a fox’s pelt, that spilled down her back now she’d tugged off that ugly hat. ‘A…Arthur Ludworth? As in Sir Arthur Ludworth?’

‘That’s right.’ From the startled expression on her face she’d clearly been expecting someone else. ‘I’m sorry, you have me at an advantage.’

‘Oh, yes, I’m Lucinda Kennington, you’re expecting me…’

Ah. The art expert. Bloody Tristan and his stupid idea to post an ad in the paper. Of the dozens of responses to his advert, she’d been one of the few who hadn’t been either a crank or a blatant charlatan. By the time he’d reached Miss Kennington’s email, he’d been about ready to throw his laptop out the window in disgust over so much of his morning wasted.

Her ability to use the correct grammar had been cause enough for celebration even before he’d glanced over the CV she’d attached. Arthur had fired back an immediate response and consigned the remainder of the unread applications to his electronic trash bin. She’d acknowledged his job offer and promised to confirm her arrival date and then he’d heard nothing further. ‘I didn’t know you were arriving today, Miss Kennington, forgive my confusion.’ Mind racing, Arthur wondered how long it would take Mrs W to get a room ready. From the looks of her, their unexpected arrival looked in dire need of a hot shower and a change of clothes.

Russet lashes flickered in surprise. ‘I sent you an email confirming I would be travelling today.’ A warm blush brought colour to her creamy skin, highlighting the delicate arc of her cheekbones, the deep hollows around her vivid eyes. God, she really was quite lovely. The punch of attraction which followed that thought took him by surprise. Delicate porcelain beauties weren’t normally his type. He liked robust girls with laughs as big as their…personalities. He watched, fascinated, as Miss Kennington raised a hand to sweep a stray lock of hair from her forehead. Her wrist was so tiny he found himself wondering if he could span it with his thumb and forefinger. A man his size would have to be gentle around a woman like this. He found the idea oddly appealing.

Giving himself a shake, Arthur pulled his phone from his pocket and stared at the blank space in the top left corner where the signal icon should have been and then rubbed his forehead in frustration. ‘We’ve been having problems with our internet the past couple of days, I didn’t think…’ Problems was putting it mildly. After months of double-billing them because they’d refused to close the old account in his father’s name without a copy of the certificate of probate, their provider had closed off both accounts without warning and was refusing to reinstate the new one Arthur had set up. Unable to get a decent mobile signal for more than a few minutes at a time had resulted in endless dropped calls leaving Arthur ready to scream as he was forced to renegotiate the endless ‘press one for new accounts, press four if you have lost the will to live’ automated menus that served no purpose he could see other than to thwart attempts to speak to an actual human being. Tristan had headed down to the village pub a couple of hours ago to try and use their pay phone in a last-ditch attempt to get the problem resolved.

Miss Kennington visibly shivered, dragging Arthur away from his reverie. Really, he was being the most terrible host, what must she think of him? ‘Here, let me help you with your coat.’ He tugged her to her feet, an action that took almost no effort as she barely seemed to weigh anything, then tried to help her separate the wet wool from the suit jacket beneath it. The material didn’t yield easily resulting in a somewhat undignified tug of war as he pulled her coat one way whilst Miss Kennington wriggled in the other. Thinking it was some kind of game, Nimrod, Bella and a few of the other dogs who’d stayed at his side rather than wander over to bask before the fireplace tried to join in. ‘Get down, Nimrod! You too, Bertie. Bloody hounds, I’ll stick you all out in the stables if you don’t behave.’

‘I’m fine, it’s fine, I can manage,’ Miss Kennington was muttering, her attempts to avoid the dogs and escape her coat more hindrance than help.

‘Just hold still,’ Arthur found himself snapping with more force than he’d intended. Her cheeks flushed red, but at least she stopped faffing around long enough for him to get the soggy coat free. Holding the dripping coat away from himself, Arthur cast a mock-glare over the panting, prancing dogs who seemed delighted he’d won the game and were waiting to see what excitement lay in store for them next. ‘On your beds, go on!’

With expressions that might have broken a softer heart, the mini pack retreated, all apart from Bella who’d taken up station in front of Miss Kennington, seemingly determined to protect her from the others. ‘You’ve won a friend there,’ Arthur said with a grin. When Miss Kennington didn’t return his smile, a terrible thought occurred to him. ‘Unless you don’t like dogs?’