Sara Craven - Wife Against Her Will

‘No,’ she said. ‘Of course not.’

Her thoughts were sober as she went up to bed. ‘Another Langton’, her father had said. Could he really be considering marrying again—spending his retirement with another woman—even starting a second family? Plenty of other men did so, of course.

But how would she feel about sharing her home with a stepmother, and having younger siblings around? Except it wouldn’t be her home any more. And what on earth would Aunt Freddie do under those circumstances?

She’d put her career as an artist on hold when her sister, Darcy’s mother, had died, and moved into Kings Whitnall, a gentle presence to run the house and care for a small, bewildered child.

As Darcy had grown older, she’d come to understand that her aunt cared far more deeply for Gavin than he seemed to realise.

He’s probably so used to having her around that he doesn’t see her any more—or not as a woman he could love, she thought sadly.

She hung her skirt in the wardrobe, and put the rest of her clothing in the laundry basket for Mrs Inman to attend to. The kind of luxury she would have to learn to do without, she told herself.

Kings Whitnall had always been her safety net. Somewhere to come home to. Safety and security under one welcoming roof. Now she might have to learn to be a guest there.

But if there was to be a new regime, at least she wouldn’t have to deal with Joel Castille, she reflected as she slipped into bed. And for that she could be truly thankful.

Even so, Darcy suddenly found herself remembering the way he’d looked at her as he was leaving. Heard again the softly voiced promise that threatened what was left of her peace of mind. And dragged the bedclothes around her body, shivering.

On the spur of the moment, she went down to Kings Whitnall the following afternoon. She needed, she thought, to talk to Freddie. To lay the cards on the table. But there was a shock in store for her.

‘Darcy, my love,’ her aunt said, pouring tea in the drawing room. ‘Please don’t worry about me. I’ve been making my own plans. I’m not needed here any longer. So, I’m ready to move on.’

‘But where will you go?’ Darcy bit her lip. ‘If I had a real job, we could find a flat, maybe. Somewhere together.’ She sighed. ‘But I haven’t got any kind of work at the moment. I was thinking of going back to that awful family in Paris, but even they managed to find someone else while I was making up my mind. So I can’t even afford a grotty bedsit right now.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t worry too much.’ There was an odd note in her aunt’s voice. ‘I’m sure your father has plans for you. And I do have somewhere to go. I went up to London to sort out the final arrangements.’

She paused. ‘You remember Barbara Lee, my great friend from school and art-college days? Well, she was appointed as headmistress of St Benedict’s last year, and she’s been looking for someone to teach art there.’

She drew a breath. ‘I didn’t say anything before, because I had to be interviewed by the board of governors. That’s where I was yesterday, and they’ve offered me the job, and asked me to start next month. I’m so thrilled about it all. It’s just the new beginning I need.’

Darcy said slowly, ‘It all sounds wonderful.’ And so it did. Her aunt sounded confident—energised. A different woman, taking her life by the throat.

I’m less than half her age, she reflected unhappily. And I feel as if everything around me has shifted by about sixty degrees and I don’t know where I am any more. Or where I can go next.

And she knew exactly who was responsible for this turmoil in her existence.

Damn you, Joel Castille, she thought savagely. Damn you to hell.

Which reminded her …

‘By the way,’ she made her voice deliberately casual, ‘I think my father intends to invite the new Werner Langton supremo down here from time to time. Can you keep me posted about this, please, so that I can avoid him?’

‘Avoid him?’ Her aunt’s expression was openly startled. ‘But I thought …’ She paused for a moment. ‘My dear, are you sure this is wise?’

Darcy raised her brows. ‘Why not?’

‘Because your father wants you and Mr Castille to—get on together. You know that.’

‘I also know it’s not going to happen,’ Darcy said defiantly. ‘As I’ve told him. I can’t stand the man.’

Aunt Freddie gave her a quizzical look. ‘I’d have thought most young women would find him seriously attractive,’ she commented.

‘You’re the artist, Freddie, dear,’ Darcy countered. ‘You always told me to look below the surface. Perhaps I don’t like what I see.’

‘Really?’ her aunt said drily, and paused. ‘Do you still insist you never met before the other night, Darcy? Because he certainly seemed to remember you.’

Darcy shrugged. ‘It’s probably his mistaken notion of a chat-up line,’ she evaded.

‘I shouldn’t think he needs one,’ said Aunt Freddie, clearly hell-bent on being irritating. ‘He’s good-looking, successful and wealthy. The average girl would generally find that enough.’

Darcy forced a smile. ‘Then I must be the exception that proves the rule,’ she said lightly. ‘But you will tip me off when he’s expected, won’t you?’

Her aunt sighed. ‘If that’s what you really want.’ She hesitated, then said reluctantly, ‘As it happens, your father telephoned just before you arrived. It seems they’ll both be down tomorrow evening.’

‘My God,’ Darcy said slowly. ‘He doesn’t waste any time.’ She shrugged. ‘Thank you, Freddie dearest. I’ll be gone in the morning.’

‘And what am I to tell your father?’ Aunt Freddie gave her a level look.

‘That history’s repeating itself, and you have another migraine, perhaps?’

There was a taut silence. Darcy bit her lip. She said in a low voice, ‘I truly wish I could tell you about that, but I can’t. One day, perhaps. Anyway,’ she added more robustly, ‘tell Dad you don’t know what I’m doing. After all, I’m free, and in six months I’ll be twenty-one. Do I have to explain how I’m spending my weekends?’

‘You’d think not,’ her aunt agreed. ‘But where Gavin’s concerned, the usual rules rarely apply. And I warn you now that he’s going to be bitterly disappointed.’

When Darcy got back to Chelsea, Mrs Inman was clearly surprised to see her.

‘Mr Langton said you’d both be away, miss, and that I could have the weekend off. I was going to visit my sister.’

‘And so you can,’ Darcy assured her. ‘I’ll hardly be here, except to sleep, and I plan to eat out as well.’

‘Well, if you’re quite sure …’ Mrs Inman shook her head, still anxious, and departed reluctantly for her own pleasant flat in the basement.

It was good, Darcy discovered, to have the house to herself, and be able to embark on a couple of days of sheer indulgence, with no one to please but herself.

She’d expected phone calls—messages on the answering machine from Kings Whitnall demanding her presence, or at least an explanation for her absence.

But there were none. Perhaps her father was being philosophical at last, accepting that she and Joel Castille would always be oil and water.

And when Gavin finally phoned on Monday morning, there were no awkward questions.

‘Are you free for lunch, Darcy?’ he asked. ‘Then why don’t I reserve a table at Haringtons for one o’clock?’

‘My favourite place,’ she told him happily. ‘I can’t wait.’

He seemed in a good mood, she thought as she rang off, because that was definitely a peace-offering. She found herself wondering how the rest of the weekend had gone, and if Joel Castille had shown any great interest in the autumn countryside he’d been invited to admire. But she immediately dismissed it all from her mind. His interests were no concern of hers. And the falling leaves could bury him alive for all she cared.