Page 103 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
He chuckled. “Come on, Liv. You know Hartbury Hall is mine.”
She blinked, then paced back. “What? You’re not the owner. The owner is your uncle, or great-uncle, a widower, in his sixties, isn’t he?”
“Where did you hear that?”
Her brow wrinkled and she shook her head. “I can’t remember now. But that doesn’t matter. You never saidyouwere the owner. You told me that you’re the caretaker.”
“That’s right.” He drew close, his voice low. “There’s a perpetual trust that means it’s handed down from generation to generation. It’s not mine, so to speak, but the family’s.”
“The family’s?”
“The Fitzbrowne family. Come on. You know that’s my last name.”
“No. You were only ever introduced as Liam Browne. The gardener. Not Mr. Fitzbrowne, the owner.”
Pointing out his name was actually Sir William Fitzbrowne didn’t seem like it would go down too well at the moment. “I’m sorry.”
“Wait.” She took another step back, and her backside hit the door. She turned and scrabbled to unlock it, then escaped outside, dragging in deep breaths of the bitter cold. She rubbed her upper arms, where her long gloves didn’t meet her sleeves.
He took off his jacket, but she refused to let him wrap it around her. He grew aware that George had joined him, Veronica too.
“Olivia—” Veronica began.
“No.” Liv cut off her grandmother with an upraised gloved palm, her eyes fixed on Liam. “Do you mean to say that all this time you’ve been living here, it actually is your house? When I was making suggestions, I was actually talking aboutyourhouse and garden?”
He winced, then dipped his chin.
“Oh my gosh. Oh mygosh!” Her chest rose and fell. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Liv.” George tried to calm her. “Nobody should be embarrassed.”
She shook off his sister’s restraining hand. “I thought you had some rich relative you were caretaking for. As in, you were the paid caretaker. Not the actual owner.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Of course it’s a problem! Now I feel like an idiot, like everything I’ve said and done has been pushy and demanding. I feel like a fool.”
“We thought you knew,” George said in a small voice.
“I’m sure we told you.” A buzzing sound drew Veronica’s frown. She withdrew her mobile phone from her fabric bag. “Oh, who would be calling me at this hour of the night? Excuse me.” She moved away.
George nodded. “That day when Liam fell off the ladder. I explained it then, and—”
“I’m sure you did not. If you did, I clearly wasn’t listening.” She glanced at Sir Humphrey, who had followed them and was unabashedly eavesdropping. “I know you don’t like me, but I hope you know that I never knew who he really was.”
Why was she talking in the past tense? “Liv, come on. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.”
“But it is! Maybe it’s not a big deal for you, because you’re used to your rich friends and relatives. But that’s not me.” She gestured around her. “This isn’t me. I thought maybe it could be, but obviously I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Obviously.” Camilla’s jeer cut through the night air.
When had she joined them? He glanced behind him. Camilla arched a brow, her sneer spinning his attention back to Liv, whose embarrassment was as apparent as Camilla’s disdain.
He drew closer. “Liv, please can we talk?”
“I really don’t know what else there is to say. Except I’m glad you’re going to get your Orangery fixed. Hooray.”
She turned and stalked away, wobbling slightly in her heels, Camilla’s mocking laughter chasing her.
