Emma Darcy - Australia - In Bed with Her Groom

‘I bet you could persuade him to stay if you worked at it, Mum,’ William said with confident calculation. ‘Even if he isn’t rich, I’d still like to have him as an uncle.’

Harry’s blunt declaration rang in her ears. I won’t be an uncle for William . Nor for her, either. It would be total commitment—his way—or goodbye and nothing more.

It was all very well for him to make decisions like that. He had had a beautiful relationship with Pen. He couldn’t imagine how marriage to Roger made marriage such a fearful step for her.

Why did it have to be marriage or nothing? He hadn’t married Pen. At least he hadn’t mentioned it. But Pen had been dying. There was a foreseeable end to it, no promise of a future together. No children.

Instinctively she lifted a hand to her stomach. What if she did conceive? Stupid to take risks when the outcome might not be what she wanted. She must do something about that. She had to be sensible.

She caught William’s hopeful look and knew she had to dash it. Harry would not be persuaded into being an uncle. He had made that issue decisively black and white. No greys.

‘I’m sorry, William. I’m afraid that’s impossible. You misunderstood Mr. Cliffton earlier. When he said he’d fight for me, he meant he would protect me from any harm. That’s what good butlers do.’

‘Oh!’ It was a sigh of disappointment. He reconsidered the situation then gave a resigned shrug. ‘I guess we’d better make the most of it while we can, Mum, but it’s an awful pity it can’t last. It would have been good having Mr. Cliffton in the family. He makes it better, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes. Yes, he does.’

Harry painted brighter colour into their lives, excitement and interest and wonderful surprises. Would it always be like that if they shared his world? Could it last? Or would the shining newness of it wear off? And after it did, would she be left toeing Harry’s line, or the line the master of Springfield Manor insisted upon, with submission to others’ will expected and taken for granted?

She had sworn never to marry again. But was she condemning herself to half a life? What she had felt with Harry just now…Would it always feel so incredibly special with him, so exalting and…She felt her muscles spasm in an exquisite reminder of the sensations she had experienced.

Harry could make a great father for William. They certainly seemed to have struck up a happy rapport. But the commitment, the complete change of lifestyle would have long-range effects that were incalculable to her at the moment. Would she and William ever achieve a sense of belonging at Springfield Manor, as Harry clearly had? Deeply and irrevocably.

‘Do you miss not having a father, William?’ she asked, concerned that he was feeling the lack of a man to relate to.

He grimaced. ‘Yes and no. It kind of depends.’

‘On what?’

‘Well, it’s like mothers. I wouldn’t want one like Mrs. Stanton.’ He screwed up his nose to express his opinion of her motherly attributes. ‘And some of the kids have got fathers who just yell at them, picking on them because they haven’t done this right or that right. I figure I’ve got it pretty good, really. I mean, as far as mums go, you’re definitely the best.’

Ashley couldn’t help smiling, even though she knew William wasn’t above a little flattery to sweeten her up, thereby slithering out of a deserved scolding.

‘Has Mr. Cliffton got that family tree with my father on it?’ he suddenly asked.

‘Yes. He brought it with him.’

‘Can I ask him to show it to me?’

‘If you like.’ She couldn’t deny her son his paternal line. She hoped Harry would keep his promise not to tell William he was the only surviving heir to Spring-field Manor.

‘Is it okay if I do it now?’

Harry had had ample time to get respectably dressed. She stood up. ‘Go ahead. I’m sure you’ll find it fascinating with all the stories Mr. Cliffton can tell you.’

‘Thanks, Mum.’

He scooted out of the room, his precious soldiers forgotten with the prospect of further dialogue with Harry. Whom he liked enough to have as an uncle even if he wasn’t rich.

What kind of husband would Harry make? As a lover he certainly left nothing to be desired.

She left William’s bedroom to go to her own, her son’s words echoing through her mind. We’d better make the most of it while we can .

Ashley intended to do precisely that. Other decisions could wait. As Harry had said, there was much to resolve between them. In the meantime, she would store up beautiful memories.

THE DAYS SLID by, magical summer days. Even more magical nights. Ashley was loath to bring any note of discord into the happiness of simply being with Harry. She asked no questions about his life in England. It was easy to pretend that was something far off when the immediacy of now overflowed with so many pleasures.

In many ways it was like some idealistic dream, too intoxicating to bring her head down from the clouds. Harry brought gaiety and spontaneity into her life. Inhibitions and planning flew out the window. Over and over again she found herself thinking, ‘Why not?’ and saying yes to whatever he suggested or initiated.

Their family outings were marvellous fun—a lazy afternoon at the beach, an exhilarating morning spent riding the breeze and the waves in a catamaran, a hilarious evening competing at minigolf, then eating monstrous hamburgers with the works. They picnicked by Somersby Falls and dined on fish and chips at Woy Woy wharf, watching the fishermen and the seagulls.

Both Harry and William inveigled her into sharing their interest in the test match cricket, abandoning work for the day, as she did most days except for following through on absolute-must situations like setting up Cheryn Kimball in the new job she had scouted.

They rode to Sydney in the Rolls Royce, and were ensconced in a private box in the Brewongle Grandstand with a wonderful view of the cricket ground. Drinks were readily available at any time, and a scrumptious buffet lunch was served. She enjoyed watching Harry and William enjoying the game, both of them indulgently explaining the finer points of the batting and bowling to her.

But the nights far transcended the less intimate joys of the days. If their initial coming together had lacked style, Harry more than made up for it, imbuing all that followed with romance. They danced by candlelight and feasted on suppers of strawberries and caviar and lychee nuts washed down by French champagne. Ashley learnt the pleasures of sensuality and for the first time revelled in being a woman, desired, loved, adored and cherished by a man who made her feel she was utterly perfect for him.

When it came to the night of Olivia Stanton’s party, Ashley didn’t want to go, didn’t want to waste the time away from Harry. Nevertheless, the agreement had been made, and Harry took it for granted she would keep her word. He arranged for the Rolls Royce to be standing by to take her in the style Olivia expected, and he and William had their war game all set up to play while Ashley was out.

She felt quite flat-spirited as she dressed, although not to be completely outshone by her mode of transport, she made every effort to achieve an elegant appearance. It was also a matter of personal pride to feel at least equal to Olivia Stanton, who liked to queen it over everybody. Perhaps a touch of vanity entered into it, as well, an underlying urge to show the world, at least her little corner of it, she now knew what it was to be a woman.

Ashley didn’t have a wardrobe full of party clothes to choose from. Normally she had no need of them. The only appropriate choice was a black crepe wrap dress that she’d bought for a chamber of commerce dinner.