Doctor...to Duchess? (14 page)

On a recce to St. Bryar High Street, the twins had pronounced the job hunt over. Together with the clinic and her ivy-laced cottage, they’d pronounced St. Bryar home. If only Oliver could see the place through their eyes. Maybe it was just too late for all that. Oliver’s vision was well and truly stained by the past. He might never be able to see the Bryar Estate they did.

She was tempted to go have a nosy and see how work was coming on at the cottage. Surely it was ready now?

Then again, things did take forever to happen out here in the country. Perhaps that was what drove Oliver mad. He obviously preferred life to move at a high-octane pace, not the steady clip-clop of Bryar Estate.

Julia huffed out a loud breath. What was a bit of damp when the other option was staying with a man who wasn’t in love with her? She hardly wanted to be skulking around the large house with the children if Oliver was going to be itching to slap for sale signs up the whole time.

Julia opened up the room’s French windows and took a step out onto the small balcony overlooking the gardens. She took a restorative breath of the cooling early evening air. They were properly into spring now, but the light still held that faintly watery quality of winter sun, glazing the gardens in the ephemeral sheen of the golden hour.

Her heart skipped a beat as first Barney then Oliver and his father appeared from the thick foliage of the small maze at the far end of the garden.

How could one man have made such an imprint on her life in such a short time?

Matt had been a steady Eddie—he’d always been there—and, except her surprise pregnancy, everything about their relationship had been familiar. Like a favorite jumper. Something she could rely on.

The most she could rely on Oliver for was to be
un
reliable.

That wasn’t fair. She shook her head, unable to stop watching as Oliver and his father held what looked to be an intense conversation. No. Oliver wasn’t unreliable. He was hurting. He blamed himself for his brother’s death and seemed to be serving a never-ending penance in the form of his work overseas. It was as if he really did believe that turning his back on everything here would make it better. A classic British response to gut-wrenching sorrow: just close the doors and leave it all behind as if nothing had happened.

Except a lot had happened. Too much to ignore. He had turned her world on its head and now her cozy little hideaway from the big, bad world was not so safe.

She walked back into the bedroom, firmly closing the doors behind her. You had to laugh, didn’t you?

She lifted her arms up and turned in a circle as she tried to stretch away the worry. The warm yellow wallpaper flecked with miniature poppies smiled out at her. She grinned back. It was good for the soul. Especially when dark and brooding distractions were wandering round the garden outside her bedroom window.

Who knew? Maybe a brief encounter with Oliver was what she had needed to bring some clarity to her life—make her really think about what she was doing here. Was she hiding or living the life she’d always dreamed of?

Right. Get a grip, girl. Your children are due in half an hour. Tear-stained and hangdog was never your look. Time to focus.

Julia pulled out the stool to the art deco dressing table and stared at herself in the mirror. First and foremost, she was a single parent. A fierce, loving mama bear. She’d do everything in her power to protect her children. That was what really mattered. Not Bryar Hall, not Oliver.

Her heart seized for a moment. Okay. Not really a lie that would fly, but whatever. She needed to brainwash herself and fast.

Julia tipped her head toward the fading rays of sunlight, pulled the hairband away from her ponytail and watched her hair fall across her shoulders.

Yeah. Why not admit it? She was pretty. Not in a supermodel way but she would do in a pinch. She grinned at her reflection, giving a little prayer of thanks for her parents’ good genes. If she wanted to meet someone again, have a relationship on equal terms, she was hardly past her prime.

A sigh huffed out of her chest and made a small cloud on the mirror. Ha! Was this the part where the thought process got a bit murky?

So. She’d had sex with Oliver. It wasn’t the worst thing to have done, was it? She squeezed her eyes shut as a series of flame-lit images of his body moving in fluid synchronicity with her own flickered past her closed lids.

Had it been great? Her stomach flipped at the thought.
Okay. That’s that answered, then.
Better than great. Their bodies were made for each other.

Had it been a one-off? Her belly tightened. Maybe so, but falling in love with him was going to be a lot harder to shake off than one steamy night by the fire. The prickly heat of tears teased at her eyes again. She’d have to find a way to make nice for the next few weeks and then chances were he’d be gone again.

She glanced at her watch. Eek! She needed a fast and refreshing shower before she picked up the children.

Ella and Henry. They were her true north, what had gotten her up every morning after Matt had been killed. They would keep the “almost had a shot at love” blues at bay. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to picture the twins coming off the train and running toward her for a huge family hug. Just the three of them. That was real. That was lasting. Even a bit of heartbreak over Lord Oliver Wyatt wouldn’t take that away.

CHAPTER NINE

“
T
AKE
A
RIGHT
HERE
,
SON
. I’ve been giving the stables a miss these days.”

“What about Star? Surely it’s snack time?” Oliver gave his father a knowing smile. The duke’s “tour of duty” round the estate had always finished at the stables where he would give his favorite horse the carrot or two always tucked away in the deep pockets of his waxed jacket.

“Ah, I’m afraid Star is no longer. We lost him in February.”

“I can’t believe it! Why didn’t you tell me?” Oliver felt the hollowness of shock obliterate anything else he’d been feeling. Star had been around since he’d been a gangly teenager. He and Alexander had always begged their father to let them race him round the fields. If ever you couldn’t find the duke, you looked for the chestnut stallion. It had always been that easy.

“I didn’t want to burden you with my troubles, son. It’s been a couple of months now. I’m getting used to the change.”

It sickened him to think his father hadn’t felt comfortable telling him about this. Or the funding for Dr. Carney’s treatment. Realistically? The list could go on.

He pulled a hand through his hair and shook his head. Had he made himself that inaccessible? Here was a wonderfully, loving and aging father still looking after him when it was high time to turn the tables. Particularly now that it was just the two of them.

“Are you thinking of getting a replacement, Dad?”

“Oh, I’ve toyed with hiring out the stables or bringing back in one of his progeny and starting a new line, but...” He stopped to admire a broad wash of cherry blossom running along the edge of the orchard. “Those sorts of decisions are largely up to you now, son.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Father. I’ve never known you not to ride.”

“You haven’t seen me riding these past few weeks and haven’t said a word.” The words weren’t unkind, just observant—and Oliver felt a torrent of guilt pour through him.

In his frustration and sorrow over Alexander’s death and his mother’s everlasting grief he’d put too much focus on putting everything behind him. To the extent he hadn’t been able to see what was right in front of his face. A living, breathing, caring parent. Options. Possibilities. Love. All of the things Julia saw. His eyes flicked up to the room where she was staying. The lights were out. She must’ve left already. Little wonder, considering his anticharm offensive.

His eyes moved across to his father. A light smile was playing across his lips as he bent over to examine a spring rose. How could he be so forgiving of his son when Oliver had been so—absent?

Resolve charged through him. He might not have an inbuilt sense of duty to the landed gentry, but Oliver would do anything for his father, and it hurt to the core that he could have been there for him and hadn’t been.

In closing his heart to the estate, he had cut himself off from the people he loved. And had begun to love. Was that what Julia was trying to get him to see? He had a lot of work to do—emotional hurdles he didn’t know if he could leap but he’d be a fool not to try.

* * *

“An entire lemon drizzle cake?” Elsie blinked at Julia and stared as if she was asking her for forty cakes instead of just the one.

“Yes, please, Elsie.”

“Are you sure you and the children wouldn’t just like to share a slice now? I’ve got one left here.”

Julia could feel her children move in closer, interest rising. Immediate satisfaction? That was a kid’s dream come true.

“No thanks, Elsie. Just the one cake to take away, please.”

“Are you sure I couldn’t interest you in another? The carrot cake is always lovely.”

Oliver hated carrot cake and this was a peace offering. Carrot cake would definitely send the wrong message. Her brow furrowed as she looked at Elsie. If Julia wasn’t mistaken, there was a hint of panic in the poor woman’s eyes. What on earth was going on?

The bell above the door tinkled. Julia watched wide-eyed as Elsie snatched up the lemon drizzle cake she’d been trying to buy and held it out as if it was the Hope Diamond. She might as well have been invisible for all the notice Elsie was taking of her now.

“Will this one do, m’lord?”

“Gorgeous.”

Julia stiffened. She knew that voice and was already feeling her body’s response to the person attached to it as he approached. His tone was all warm and chummy. What a sea change from just an hour ago. She watched, openmouthed, as he lavished his natural charisma on Elsie.

“When will I be able to convince you to call me Oliver?”

“Probably never, your lordship.” Elsie barely stifled a schoolgirlish giggle. “I’m too stuck in my ways.” Elsie sent an apologetic wince in Julia’s direction as she expertly packed up the cake in a white box and wrapped it with the shop’s telltale green ribbon.

Julia had had just about enough. Stealing cake from children? Was that what he’d been reduced to? Particularly after she and the children had devised a plan to surprise him with it as a peace offering for their unexpected arrival. Any goodwill Julia had planned to extend to him was now out of the question. Suave, debonair and a cake thief? The outrage!

“Madam, may I be so bold?”

Julia looked up at Oliver, not comprehending why he was standing with the cake outstretched toward her.

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“Mum.” Henry was tugging at her sleeve. “The man’s giving you the cake!”
Humph! It takes a thirteen-year-old, does it?

“Henry, hush.” Julia jutted out her chin proudly and looked back toward the cake display feeling anything but calm inside. Here she was again—back on Oliver’s emotional yo-yo ride. Well, no thank you very much indeed. She’d had enough swinging to and fro.

“What was it you were saying about the carrot cake, Elsie?” He could take that for his ruddy peace offering.

“Julia, I was hoping to surprise you at home. You’re making a scene out of nothing.” Oliver’s voice was low and moving from charmingly persuasive to peeved. Or was that just her imagination? She refused to make eye contact with the green knee-weakeners and could only just see him holding out the box from the corner of her eye.

No way. She simply wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of winning this one, particularly with her children in tow. It was time to set an example.

“Ella? It’s Ella, isn’t it? And Henry?” Her children nodded as Oliver solemnly shook hands with them. “I’m Oliver, from up at Bryar Estate. I understand your mum is an awfully big fan of lemon drizzle.”

“Yes, it’s her favorite. Yours, too! She told us!”

Julia shot her children a horrified look. Hadn’t she spoken to them about speaking to strangers? Sure, it wasn’t strictly accurate that Oliver was a total stranger...

She knew him.

Her insides did a melting, fluttery thing, reminding her just how well she knew him. But her children didn’t know him from Adam and that was the point. She shot Oliver a look she hoped said
steer clear, Mama Bear is in the house and someone has just stolen her...his... lemon drizzle cake
.

She jutted out her chin, prepared to stare him down, just in time to see her internal monologue was having zero effect on her children who were quite merrily chatting away with Oliver. It was hardly a Shakespearean betrayal, but honestly! Oliver should know better than to try to get to her through her children. On the other hand, was he being sneaky smart? Whose good opinion would he have to gain to win her over?

She looked down at her kids, beaming away as they carried on with Oliver.

The man was good. She felt her heart soften—a little bit. A crumb-sized bit.

“Well, after your mum left to collect you at the train station, I decided you all deserved a nice welcome treat. You’ve probably heard the cottage is a bit damp and your mum’s been staying with me at Bryar Hall?”

He gave Julia a pointed look.
Danger! Green Eyes Alert!

“So,” he continued, oblivious to the tummy fairies doing the two-step inside her, “I rang ahead and asked Elsie to set a cake aside for me because I wanted to surprise your mummy with something she loved.”

Julia stared openmouthed as her children laughed along with Oliver at the mix-up. Oh, ha-bloody-ha! So they’d all been trying to do a good deed for the other. So what? It wasn’t like it meant Oliver had suddenly realized he was madly in love with her and planned to stay at Bryar Hall so they could all live happily ever after.

Did it?

Something she loved?

That something was a someone and he was standing right in front of her, pulling open a corner of the cake box for the children to take a peek.

“Do you think we should just eat it right now?”

She ground her teeth together and forced a stiff grin onto her lips at his suggestion. She’d fallen for his sweet talk before. Cake right before supper? Ridiculous suggestion.

Her children looked up at her, clearly delighted with the idea, Ella clasping her hands together in a “pretty please” formation for added emphasis while Henry gave a little jumpy “can we can we?” jig. She felt herself give a little. It had been too long since she’d seen them last. Surely a little treat wouldn’t go amiss?

No. She couldn’t give in this easily. Oliver needed to know she wasn’t a pushover, didn’t he? Buying her children’s affections with cake?
Shameless.

“Shall I get some plates, then?” Elsie began to move from the counter, her eyes anxiously trained on Julia.

“Oh, go on, then.” Julia threw up her hands in surrender as her children cheered and made a beeline for the table Elsie was already setting.

“Thank you.” Oliver’s voice stopped her before she went to the table.

“For what, exactly?” Julia couldn’t keep the wary edge out of her voice. She loved him, and a life together was the stuff dreams were made of—impossible dreams. Why did he have to make coming to terms with it so difficult?

“For giving me a chance.”

Her heart quickened. “A chance to what?”

“Be a more gracious host.” He took her hand in his, unleashing a spray of goose bumps up her arm. “You know your children are welcome. Very welcome.”

“Are they?” She knew her voice was sharp and she didn’t care. The she-bear in her needed assurance. She could sort out her own mashed up heart later, but her children? No one was going to toy with their emotions.

“Of course,” he said with a rueful shrug. “It will be lovely to have children in the house—along with their mother, of course.”

She glanced over her shoulder at her children, a swell of motherly pride overriding the sensations accompanying Oliver’s close proximity. Wait a minute! Did that mean...? Julia gave herself a mental shake.
Get a grip. He’s not proposing or starting a family with you, he just likes children. And you?

“They seem like great kids.”

See?

“They are.” She retrieved her hand and fixed him with a steely eye. “You best be careful, Oliver. They have fragile hearts and need to be treated carefully.”

Just like me.

“Don’t worry.” He let go of her hand, and she felt its absence instantly. “I can do careful.” He gave her an unreadable wink. “Piece of cake.”

* * *

Oliver closed the door to his room, feeling a bit like a character in an episode of
The
Waltons
. The halls were echoing with “good nights” and “sleep tights.” Sweet dreams were probably the last thing that would come to him as he wasn’t the tiniest bit sleepy.

Julia hadn’t seen the least bit taken with his attempts to win her over with Elsie’s finest, nor had she taken up his invitation to share a quiet drink by the fire. He wasn’t expecting an immediate repeat of the unforgettable love-making they had shared—but surely she knew it wasn’t something he had done casually? Far from it. How could he tell her he’d fallen for her but that he needed some time to sort out his head?

He’d already been processing a lot as he’d gone through the estate’s accounts. They’d unveiled a lot of surprises. Black inky-type surprises he hadn’t had a chance to wrap his head around. And, when she’d thrown the children’s arrival into the fray, well; it wasn’t his proudest moment.

He sank into a chair and let the cold, hard truth sink in. He and Julia weren’t meant to be together. It was as simple as that. One plus one equaled zero.

* * *

“Mummy, look what I found.”

Julia swiveled round in her office chair as Ella carefully laid a large scrapbook stuffed to the hilt with photos and clippings, complete with a family crest, onto her desk. A twist of anxiety went through her. The fortnight had been going so smoothly, she didn’t want to rock the boat so close to the children going back to school.

She put on her best warning voice. “You’ve not been snooping, have you?”

“No, not at all.” Ella looked shocked her mother would even have thought such a thing and hurriedly explained. “His Grace said I could go into Her Grace’s dressing room and look at her ballgowns, and when I opened one of the cupboards I found this.”

“Why did you take it out of the dressing room?”

“It’s all about Oliver, and I thought you’d like to see it.”

Julia gave a mortified laugh. “Why would I want to see it?” Was she that transparent?

Ella rolled her eyes as if it were a no-brainer.

Guess so.

“Mu-um...” her daughter continued as if speaking to a five-year-old. “You’ve only been making googly eyes at him ever since we arrived.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Julia closed the book shut without looking at the contents. “I’ve been doing no such thing. Now, you’d best put that back where you found it.”

“Whatever you say, Mum.” Ella drew the book along the desk then picked it up. “I just wanted you to know, Henry and I wouldn’t mind if you—you know...”

“What?” She asked the question but knew instantly what her daughter was saying. She was giving her permission to love again.

“If you want to get married again, Henry and I are cool with that. We just love it here!”

This was definitely not a topic she wanted to discuss. Marriage was the last thing on Oliver’s mind and should most definitely be well out of her own. A picture of her in a wedding dress walking through the rose garden popped up in her head.
No!
Not allowed.