The Accidental Bride (12 page)

‘I did not!’ It might have been a lie, though, albeit subconsciously.

‘That’s as maybe.’ John’s expression grew wolfish and twinkling. ‘How about a quick blowjob instead? To deal with my little difficulty.’ He nodded towards his crotch.

Oh, lordy, what a temptation. Lizzie was a hair away from unclipping her seatbelt, inclining over him and prising out that beloved monster to do the deed.

But only a moment ago, she’d glanced towards the house. Windows were open to air various rooms, and she’d no doubt that Mrs Thursgood and possibly Mary, too, were busy with dusters and polish. But not so busy that they couldn’t glance outside and catch sight of the master of the house being given head!

‘I know … I know …’ He reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘I wouldn’t embarrass you, my darling. I was
a wicked pig in the orangery yesterday. I’ll not put you at risk of compromise again.’ He kissed her fingers gently, then furled them around the wheel. ‘Now, go on, check in with your friends, and just try to ignore the fact that you live with a horny old goat for a few hours.’ Popping open the door, he stepped out, walked around to the passenger window, and when she wound it down, he leaned in to give her one more kiss.

Lizzie fired the ignition, and just before John stepped back to let her pull away, she said, ‘Don’t worry, Mr Goat, I’ll give you that blowjob tonight. Now make with the biofeedback or you’ll give Mrs Thursgood and Mary a fit of the vapours.’

With that, she was on her way, watching John laughing in the rear-view mirror as she went.

The coffee in the workroom at New Again wasn’t as delicious as that at Dalethwaite Manor, but Lizzie still enjoyed it while she and Marie chatted and caught up. As she’d suspected, her friend had quickly figured out how the new premises had fallen so easily into their laps.

‘It was the luckiest day of my life when you walked in asking for sewing work, Lizzie,’ Marie said, a happy grin on her face. ‘Not only did I get the services of a first-rate seamstress, I also got one hell of a fairy godfather into the bargain!’

Lizzie took a sip of her coffee, not quite sure what to say. It felt weird, still, when people expressed their gratitude to her for John’s generosity. Much as she loved to help anyone out, he was the giver.

‘He’s a very generous man, Marie. He … well, he just doesn’t think twice. If it’s something that’ll make my life
easier, or even make the lives of people I know easier, it’s a case of money no object.’ She reached for her coffee and swigged down a sip. ‘It’s wonderful, but it’s a bit terrifying too. The only thing I have to give in return is myself.’ She blushed furiously, realising what she’d said, and put her coffee cup down with a rattle.

Marie laughed, and Lizzie joined her.

‘You’re a sweetie, Lizzie, and a smart girl too. I’m not surprised he adores you. And I feel very lucky that he’s a generous guy with pots of money. If I didn’t love my Eddie to pieces, I’d be putting my name forward for John’s little black book, just in case you two ever split up.’

Lizzie shivered.

‘Not that you will! Not that you will!’ added Marie quickly. ‘From what I can see … Well … I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you don’t accidentally become one of your own bridal clients before long.’

‘Oh … I don’t think so. I’m not sure if he ever wants to get married again. And even if he did, it’s … well, it’s very complicated.’ She sighed, feeling the weight of titles and expectations suddenly bearing down on her. One didn’t just marry ‘John Smith’. The groom in question was Lord Jonathan Llewellyn Wyngarde Smith, second son of the Marquess of Welbeck, and on his broad shoulders and lusty loins rested the last hope of continuing the family line. Not to mention the eventual stewardship of a famous stately home.

‘How complicated? He isn’t married already, is he?’

Lizzie had never really told Marie the whole story before, beyond the fact that John was unbelievably wealthy, but now she revealed a little more. Her friend’s eyes popped wide at the mention of Montcalm and the title and the
somewhat tortuous relationship John had with his family, especially his father.

‘Golly, I never realised he was aristocratic too,’ said the older woman, ‘although it doesn’t surprise me. He has that bearing, you know? Like a prince … the lord of all he surveys … well, quite literally, I suppose.’

‘He’s not a snob! He doesn’t act in the slightest bit posh,’ said Lizzie, defending him.

‘Oh no, he’s lovely, but he definitely has a very classy air about him.’ Marie grinned. ‘Look, if you do get married, please tell me you won’t give up work straight away, and that you’ll hang out here with us plebs for a while, eh? Can you imagine the cachet that having a bona fide “lady” working in the shop will give us? And exclusively designing for us. The Kissley Magna Mafia will be wetting themselves to give us more business, I tell you! The sky’s the limit!’

‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?’

Lizzie had been dancing around the implications of being involved with John in the longer term. Pretending they didn’t exist. Because they scared her. She loved him, but marrying John and becoming his bride meant a different life altogether, in the future. His older brother would be the Marquess before him, but George and his wife, much as they loved their daughter Helen, hadn’t been able to produce a son and heir for the title. Which meant that at some time in the future John would accede to the title … and whoever was married to him would eventually become the Marchioness.

Bloody hell! I love you, John Smith, I really do. But I can’t be a marchioness, I just can’t! It’s … mad!

Making a concerted effort to shove that particular piece of insanity into a securely locked mental box, Lizzie smartly
changed the subject. It wasn’t difficult, because there was masses of stuff to discuss with Marie about the shop, their new projects, and the rather daunting list of appointments for alteration fittings that had accrued during Lizzie’s holiday. There were several new bridal enquiries that had come in to New Again while she’d been away too. Marie hadn’t even advertised; word of mouth alone was working like a charm.

From being one of the laziest women in the universe, I’m going to have to turn myself into at least as much of a workaholic as you are, John! It’ll be a bloody sight easier than trying to become a toff, though.

For all it meant lots of hard work, Lizzie relished the thought of being busy and challenged. At last, she had a solid purpose and direction in her life, something that had once been lacking. She might be unsure of some aspects of her future, but in the moment, she was Elizabeth Aitchison, with a viable career and real self-belief in it. Would this have happened without John? Had he directed her towards this new potential? Or might she still have got there on her own? Either/or, she suspected, but John had probably speeded up the process, and that was just another reason to love him.

‘We’re going to need more staff, too, when we expand,’ pointed out Marie, as they considered the way ahead, with two shops. ‘At the very least, we should have a couple, probably more, because at this rate you’re going to need help with all the sewing. We need to look in trade journals … see who’s looking for work, and who’s good! Ideally we need a couple more Lizzie Aitchisons …’ She grinned and shrugged. ‘But I think you’re a one-off, kid. For the shop, though, I have a cousin who’s looking to get
back to work, and I think she might do well. She’s a sensible lass and always looks beautifully put together.’

Lizzie had an idea too. ‘There’s my house-mate … well, ex-house-mate, Shelley. She’s bored to death with temping and she’d love something with more job satisfaction. Shall I sound her out? She’s smart and clever, and good with people, and she loves fashion, so she’d be great for the shop.’ There was someone else too … ‘One of the women that works part time at Dalethwaite does quite a bit of sewing. She’s good, too. I’ll have a word.’ One day she and Mary had chatted for ages about sewing, as Mary made a lot of clothes for her family, and Lizzie had offered her use of the sewing room and its equipment at Dalethwaite, if she ever needed a bit of space to work.

Lizzie was glad that traffic was unexpectedly light as she drove away from New Again. Her head was buzzing. Full of thoughts and hopes and plans … and concerns. Marie’s talk of marriage, and what would come with it, had shaken her.

Don’t scare yourself, Lizzie. Just keep your mind on the short term. The shop. The bridal commissions. Concentrate on being happy with John in the now, and not brooding and pondering on the future. He might never marry again, even if he does reconcile with his father.

So, no use torturing her head with the dark-looming question of whether he should really marry someone else. Someone more ‘suitable’. Someone who was probably still young enough to give him an heir … and who had the perfect shade of blue blood for the job description.

Someone called Clara.

It was weird to be knocking on the door at St Patrick’s Road instead of just letting herself in. Lizzie still had her key, but this was Brent and Shelley’s personal space now. Hers was at Dalethwaite Manor with John.

‘Lizzie! Oh, love, I’ve missed you so much! What the hell are you standing around out here for?’ Before she’d even crossed the threshold, Lizzie was bear-hugged, then hauled inside by Shelley.

‘I’ve missed you too, mate. Really I have.’

She hadn’t realised quite how much, though, until she followed her friend into the familiar old kitchen, rubbing cautiously at her eyes while trying not to smudge her eyeliner.

‘Let’s have a cuppa first, then I’ll make some lunch,’ said Shelley, already filling the kettle. ‘It’ll be an inedible nightmare, of course, but at least it’ll be a change from the gourmet nosh at your new gaff, eh?’

‘A sandwich will be fine, or maybe we could nip out for something.’ Shelley’s cooking owed more to slapdash enthusiasm than culinary skill, but Lizzie would’ve been glad to eat bread and jam with her friend.

‘You look fantastic. Not quite as tanned as I would have expected, but I guess the sun doesn’t shine inside a bedroom, even in Provence,’ said Shelley with a wink as they settled down at the table, where Mulder the cat was curled up at the other end. Lizzie wondered what John would say if she let Alice do that; although she had seen him sneaking titbits to the little tortoiseshell on a few occasions.

‘Why, thanks, Shell. And you don’t look so bad yourself.’

Shelley had lost a bit of weight, but looked well on it, and her short blonde hair was even shorter now, cut in a cute gamine style. And in her eyes there was something mysterious, a bit knowing.

‘Well, that’s what having a regular chap will do for you, especially a kinky one. You should know.’

Sholto Kraft, obviously.

‘So, how’s it going with Sholto? Are you … are you still paying him?’

Shelley swirled the tea in her cup. ‘No, not any more. After the first couple of “dates” he refused to take money, and he even tried to give me back the dosh I’d already paid.’ She looked up, her eyes bright, half excited, half fearful. ‘Bit of an argument about that … but we resolved it.’ She bit her lip. ‘Oh Lizzie, I really, really like him. It’s not just the wild sex. I like him as a person. I like just being with him. He’s strong and down to earth and he’s quite a laugh when you get to know him. Even though he’s had the most shit life lately. The most awful luck you could imagine.’

‘I’m glad you’ve found someone, sweetie. He sounds wonderful. As if he’s come through the fire, so to speak, and come out a stronger person.’ She thought of John, and what had happened in his life. It wasn’t quite the same. The two
men’s lives had been radically different. But the quality of ‘tempering’ was probably very similar.

‘Yes, exactly. I mean, obviously, he’s not a fairy-tale prince like your John. In fact, he’s pretty much the opposite in some ways. He’s got no money whatsoever, especially now he’s given up the escorting and he’s just doing bar work and stuff. He lost his house, his business … everything really … but he’s tough and he’s making the best of things, and I guess that’s what your John does too.’

‘He does … He does … I mean, he’s mega rich and all that, but he’s had plenty of crap in his life. Being in prison … and … well … someone who he loved betrayed him and hurt him very much.’

For a moment, the old, endearingly nosy Shelley leant in for the juicy details, but then she shrugged. ‘I won’t pry.’ The new, wiser Shelley reached out and laid her hand over Lizzie’s. ‘But whatever it is, you can work it out with him. I know you can. Now, tell me all about your hols … all the bits you can disclose, that is.’ She grinned.

Over tuna sandwiches, the two women chattered and giggled and Lizzie regaled Shelley with tales of the private plane, and the villa and the pleasures of Provence. She didn’t expound in too much detail in certain areas, but the glint in Shelley’s eye said that she could easily fill in the blanks.

After all, as you say, Shell, you’ve got your own kinky guy now.

When Shelley was flinging dollops of ‘value’ Neapolitan ice-cream into cereal dishes, Lizzie raised the issue of her possibly working for Marie, at either the old New Again, or the new shop.

‘Not sure if it’d be full-time or part-time, but it’d be better than some poxy office, eh?’

Her friend looked thoughtful. ‘Yeah, I’d definitely be interested,’ said Shelley as they dug into their dessert. ‘Part-time would probably be best. I’ve picked up some work at the Waverley Metro in town. The Guidettis must’ve been pleased with Sholto’s work at the hotel, because he’s been appointed part-time manager at the new place, and he’s got me some bar work and admin there too.’ She licked her spoon. ‘But I don’t really think it’s a good idea to work all the time with him. We each need our own space, and our own thing, you know?’

Lizzie did. She couldn’t just be John’s satellite, either. ‘Totally agree, mate. Which is why I’m so glad the sewing and New Again and everything is taking off. I might not be a millionaire, but at least I’ve got a career of sorts, something of my own. I don’t want to just be a rich man’s WAG.’ She stirred her ice-cream, muddying the colours. ‘It would be so easy to let that happen with John. I mean, he’s not a tyrant or anything, far from it. But he’s so used to being at the helm, and he has so much money. If I don’t stick up for myself, I could end up as a bird in a gilded cage. Making no decisions … stifled by his sheer generosity.’