The Innocent's One-Night Confession. Sara Craven

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СКАЧАТЬ She went off to Paris to stay with her godmother who was buying her wedding dress, and was invited to some party at the embassy. One of the other guests was a guy called Timon Varga. A bit of a mystery man with plenty of looks and charm, but a bit short on background.

      ‘A week later, Marianne walked out of the house with her passport, and the wedding dress which had been delivered the day before, leaving a note to say she was marrying this glamorous unknown.’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘Naturally, all hell broke loose. I mean—a week for God’s sake. She must have been meeting him on the sly, but no one had suspected a thing.’

      She shook her head. ‘Grandam was raving that he was nothing but a con man and a gipsy who thought Marianne had money, and she wanted to start a police hunt, but Grandfather talked her out of it. He said Marianne was over eighteen and free to choose for herself, however mistakenly that might be.

      ‘And if Grandam was right and she did come back abandoned, destitute and pregnant, they would look after her.’

      ‘What about her fiancé?’ Alanna asked. ‘How on earth did they tell him?’

      ‘They didn’t have to. Marianne had already written to him apparently. Naturally, he was desperately upset—so much so, he closed up his house and went off to Canada. When he came back two years later he was also married—to a girl called Denise that he’d met in Montreal.’

      She gave a sudden giggle. ‘Grandam loathed her on sight, and when he got his life peerage and Denise became Lady Bradham, she was fit to be tied, muttering it should have been Marianne.’

      Alanna cleared her throat. ‘Who was not, presumably, abandoned and destitute?’

      ‘Far from it,’ said Joanne. ‘When Grandfather insisted they should be invited down to the abbey, my mother says Marianne was wearing a diamond like the Rock of Gibraltar. It turned out that her husband was absolutely loaded and that they adored each other.

      ‘Grandam, of course, wouldn’t accept that. She did her damnedest to find out where he came from and how he’d made his money, but she never did, so she told the rest of the family, he must have bad blood and was probably a criminal of some kind and Marianne would be lucky if he didn’t end up in jail with her alongside him.’

      Alanna almost choked on her coffee. ‘How could she?’

      ‘Quite easily. After Zan was born, Ma says she used to refer to him as the gipsy brat, even when he was old enough to understand.’

      ‘I...see,’ Alanna said slowly.

      ‘Anyway, that’s why Lord Bradham, who’s now a widower, has suddenly been invited. To remind Zan that, to Grandam, he’s still an outsider and that’s the man his mother should have married.’ She paused rather awkwardly. ‘Among other things.’

      So much for the smiley, white haired old lady, thought Alanna.

      She finished her drink and handed Joanne the empty mug. ‘Thank you for that.’

      ‘No problem. When Gerard brings you down here without the rest of us, shove a kettle and a jar of instant in your bag. The kitchen’s out of bounds before breakfast which is served at nine o’clock sharp.’ She winked. ‘Another company rule.’

      Alanna forced another smile. ‘I’ll remember.’

       And not just the coffee...

      She now had even more reason to ease herself out of the situation, she thought, as she took her shirt, jeans and boots from her bag. The sun was out now and most of the mist had dispersed, so presumably she and Gerard would be going riding and spending the rest of Saturday as planned.

      Maybe as Joanne had said, remembering her stay would be over in twenty-four hours might work for her too.

      And when they were back in London, she could tell Gerard that she felt things were not working out between them.

      And wished she felt more disappointed.

      * * *

      Niamh Harrington was presiding at the breakfast table, still in her riding breeches and silky polo-necked sweater, plus pink-cheeked and twinkly-eyed, even though neither her daughter-in-law nor Zandor had observed the nine o’clock deadline. For which Alanna had to be thankful.

      She had politely wished Mrs Harrington a simple ‘Many happy returns of the day’ as Gerard told her that gifts would be presented at dinner that evening, and helped herself to toast and coffee from the sideboard.

      ‘So, dear girl, you ride, do you?’ her hostess inquired briskly as Alanna sat down. ‘I wish I’d known. You could have come out with me earlier.’

      Alanna, staring down at the tablecloth, murmured that she hadn’t been on a horse for some time.

      ‘No matter.’ Niamh dismissed that with a wave of her hand. ‘We’ll put you on Dolly. She’s quiet and easy paced.

      You’ll be fine.’ She paused, her brow wrinkled. ‘And I could always call Felicity. I’m sure she’d be glad to ride over and keep you company.’

      Alanna became aware that all other conversation at the table had suddenly ceased.

      The silence was broken by Gerard. He said evenly, ‘There’s no need for that, Grandam. I expect Felicity has plenty to do. Anyway, I’m taking Alanna riding.’

      ‘But not this morning, darling.’ She gave him a tranquil smile. ‘Didn’t I say I wanted you to ride over to the Home Farm for a chat with Mr Hodson? It must have slipped my mind, but he’ll be expecting you.’

      She paused. ‘But you’re probably right about Felicity. After all, it’s little enough her father sees of her these days, poor man.’

      Alanna saw Joanne and her mother exchanging glances, and hurried into speech.

      ‘Gerard, I honestly don’t mind about the riding. I can explore the cloister and have a wander round the gardens instead.’

      ‘No, no,’ said Mrs Harrington. ‘A good canter in the fresh air will do you more good. Put some colour in your face instead of that pale London look.’

      She nodded. ‘I’ll tell Jacko, my groom, to go along with you and make sure you don’t get lost.’ And returned to her boiled egg.

      Alanna, her cheeks burning, decided bitterly she need no longer worry about her pallor.

      If Mrs Harrington was delivering a message that she was out of place here, it was quite unnecessary. And so she would tell Gerard as soon as the first opportunity presented itself. In fact her immediate impulse was to request him to drive her to the nearest station and a train back to London, and to hell with the party, the abbey, and everyone in it.

      Except, of course, that Zandor might draw the conclusion that this unexpected departure had some connection with him, and that was something her pride could not risk.

      No, she decided grimly, she would stick it out to the bitter end.

      Her breakfast finished, she excused herself politely and left the dining room. Gerard, tight-lipped and his СКАЧАТЬ