Lindsay Armstrong - When Enemies Marry

It was Mrs Milton who broke into Lucy’s reverie. Mrs Milton came in daily and Lucy was still sitting at the kitchen table where Justin had left her, staring into space, as she arrived.

‘Morning, Miss Lucy,’ she said brightly and placed a parcel on the table. ‘There’s those sheets that needed mending.’

‘Oh!’ Lucy jumped. ‘Oh, thank you, Mrs Milton—sorry, I was miles away. How are you?’

‘Fine, love. Miles away where?’ Mrs Milton poured herself a cup of coffee.

Lucy grimaced. ‘Are you doing anything this weekend? You and your sister?’

‘No. Got a party on?’

‘Yes, and I want it to be—something special, Mrs Milton. Hang on, I’ll get a pen and paper.’

Whether by design or not, Justin stayed out of her way over those next three busy days, although they did meet for breakfast on the Wednesday morning.

‘You have a dirty mark on your chin, Lucy,’ her husband said after a more formal greeting had got him a cool look and a barely audible murmur in reply.

This time she responded with a raised eyebrow and a shrug, causing him to narrow his eyes and appear to drop the subject. But as they passed each other later, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and put his forefinger on the ‘mark’ on her chin.

‘Did I do that?’

She merely nodded.

He took his finger away and inspected the faint blue bruise. He also let his gaze wander over her mouth, innocent of any lipstick yet rose-pink and finely chiselled, the smooth lucent skin of her cheeks, the deep pansy blue of her eyes with their sweeping lashes, darker than her hair, and the escaping tendrils of wheat gold curling on her forehead. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you bruised so easily.’

‘I don’t bruise so easily. Perhaps you don’t know your own strength. Or perhaps you do.’

‘What I haven’t known,’ he said with a twist of his lips, ‘is anyone quite as stubborn as you. I suppose you’ve now added the fact that I’m a callous brute to your list of my sins.’

‘Some of your threats left me in no doubt of it at all even before this,’ she murmured coldly. ‘May I go now? I have a lot to do.’

‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s all under control.’

‘Do you need any assistance? From me,’ he said gravely.

Her look spoke volumes. ‘All you have to do is be here, Justin.’

‘I still haven’t told you who’s coming—apart from Sasha.’

Lucy shrugged. ‘I rang Sasha myself and got it all from her. She was a mine of information, in fact. Two couples, although one unmarried couple who will nevertheless share a bedroom—’

‘Unlike some married couples I know. I wonder if it’s a new trend? Go on,’ he said politely.

‘Yes, well,’ Lucy said evenly, ‘Sasha also told me that although it’s not strictly a business weekend, they will be inspecting some yearlings at Riverbend on their way here and might be interested in buying them at the upcoming yearling sales in Sydney—she said that very significantly, Justin. In other words—don’t rock the boat, Lucy, if you can help it! And, she also gave me some helpful suggestions which—’

‘You will go out of your way to ignore,’ Justin said amusedly.

‘Indeed I will.’ Lucy’s eyes flashed briefly, recalling Sasha’s helpful advice which had included the maxim that keeping things simple might be a good idea. ‘How you put up with her I’ve no idea!’

‘I’ve told you, she’s very good at her job.’

‘She’s certainly got a superiority complex. Is that why you two get along so well?’ she asked innocently, and went on impatiently, ‘Besides, being good at your job doesn’t mean you have to be treated as a friend, necessarily.’

‘Well Sasha is both actually, Lucy. And since I moved to Dalkeith, so that you might remain in your ancestral home,’ he said and held her eyes in a suddenly cool look, ‘she is more up to date on matters relating to the stud and this crop of yearlings than I am. So she will be here in what you might call an unofficial business capacity.’ He paused then added with that same cool look. ‘Don’t upset Sasha, Lucy. She may rub you up the wrong way but she has a brain like a computer when it comes to horses, and extremely good judgement.’

‘As a matter of fact I believe you, Justin. I’ve even thought she has a certain horsey look about her—nothing less than a chestnut thoroughbred with wonderful lines, of course!’ she finished with a grin. ‘As for upsetting her,’ she added, ‘I wish you would tell me how to, because it doesn’t seem possible.’

They stared at each other—rather, Lucy found it suddenly impossible to evade his gaze or to understand why it made her suddenly feel a bit small, but it did and she said at last, ‘Oh, all right! I won’t upset Sasha—so far as it’s humanly possible for me not to!’

‘Good.’ He said nothing more but moved out of her way.

‘Am I being dismissed now?’ she demanded.

‘Why not?’

‘There are times, Justin Waite, when you irritate the life out of me,’ she said precisely. ‘And what with you and Sasha telling me what I should do and what I shouldn’t do, it will be a miracle if this weekend doesn’t turn out to be a disaster—’ She broke off and made a disgusted sound.

‘And there are times, Lucy, when it’s impossible to tell you anything—I wouldn’t be too happy about this weekend turning into a disaster, so if you have any doubts tell me now.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I suppose the proof of that will be in the pudding,’ he said drily, and studied her. ‘By the way,’ he said, flicking his gaze over her denim overalls, and the two pigtails she wore her hair in, ‘Would you mind not wearing your hair like that over the weekend?’

She blinked. ‘Why not—as if I would, anyway.’

‘I could be accused of cradle-snatching, that’s all. Off you go.’

‘Perhaps you are!’

‘Now, Lucy, we both know I’m not. Don’t we?’ His grey gaze bored into hers until she reddened and turned away abruptly and angrily but without words.

Fortunately for her seething state of mind, there was enough to be done to calm her and force her to concentrate—and not only that. There was the knowledge that both Justin and Sasha had doubts about her capabilities as a hostess. In her less angry moments she recognised that it was a useful spur, in her more angry moments she told herself she would certainly show them a thing or two. And by Friday midday the fruits of her labour and Mrs Milton’s were very evident. The house was polished and shining and filled with flowers. The guest bedrooms were impeccable, with not a wrinkle in their bedspreads, and the cold room was filled with a selection of pies and pastries, cold meats, quiches, fruits and vegetables and three splendid, plump ducks hung there, ready to be roasted for Saturday night’s dinner.

It was also not long past midday when disaster struck, in the form of a distraught phone call from Mrs Milton who’d gone to pick up her sister to take up residence in the staff quarters for the weekend.

‘...Your mother? Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs Milton,’ Lucy said into the phone and a moment later, ‘Yes, of course if it’s that serious, I do understand. Um...you and your sister must be worried sick and will want to be with her... Look, if there’s anything I can do, please—’

‘You’ve got enough on your plate as it is, pet,’ Mrs Milton said down the line in tones quite unlike her normal cheerful ones. ‘I’ve been racking my brains and all I can come up with is my niece, Shirley. How would it be if I send her up, Miss Lucy? She’s a good cook, that I can guarantee, and doesn’t mind what she turns her hand to. There’s only one problem and that’s—’