Page 27 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
“What if she’s the answer to your prayers?”
Prayers he barely dared pray these days.
He was saved from further interrogation by his phone, buzzing with a reminder text. That in five months’ time he needed to send the next payment of the Hall’s taxes, something that Lord Atwood, head trustee, had reminded him about in their meeting earlier this week.
It had been the usual guff, reminders of his duty as heir, reminders of his obligations, reminders of the Hall’s debts. All of which served to remind him how woefully inadequate he was at the task he’d been given.
“And it’s now less than six months until the next payment is due, and there appears to be little change in the bank account. I hate to remind you—”
A lie. Lord Atwood loved to remind him.
“—but unless you do something soon, then in the new year we will need to enact the clause that sees the Hall sold to the highest bidder.”
He closed his eyes. Ignorance might be bliss, but sometimes it was also just ignorant. Ignoring the problem wouldn’t make it go away, as the past ten years had proved. But he’d been bowled over by Trinny’s actions, then the lawsuit, then spent the next years in hiding, trying to pick up the pieces of his life, including learning how to negotiate a future without her. Then, after meeting Toni and finding some semblance of light at the end of the tunnel, had come the scandal of the woman who had run away on the day of her wedding. Toni’s wedding to Liam. Oh, the fun times that had followed.
“Liam?” George asked now.
He peeked at her, his gaze sliding past her shoulder to the pile of unanswered mail that contained more requests for money, more bills and debt demands. He’d been doing his best, but apparently his best wasn’t good enough.
“What do you think?”
“About what?”
George snapped another piece into place. “About asking Liv to help open the Hall again.”
He silently exhaled and crossed his arms. Rock, meet hard place. Looked like the time for wallowing was done. “I don’t want her to know who I am.”
“Then stay as the gardener. From what she said today I think she thinks you are a local farmer’s son.”
“Which is true in some ways.”
“Yes, a farmer with a thousand acres and a Grade I listed house.” She rolled her eyes. “I can’t see how long that will last. It’s not like people around here don’t know who you are, even if they have been willing to leave you in peace recently.”
In recent months the local villagers he’d interacted with had done their best to let him lick his wounds in private. Perhaps a man who’d been stood up at the altar earned a degree of protectiveness. Could he trust the villagers to keep his secret? He didn’t think Liv knew who he was. From the few times they had spoken, she’d had none of the airs and graces he usually encountered with those wanting to toady up to him. That might be because she didn’t know who he was. Or that she was Australian and unimpressed by titles and money and such things. Or maybe she was simply unimpressed by him. Regardless, dealing with someone who didn’t know his inglorious past would be helpful. So perhaps he should take that chance.
“Look, call Veronica,” George begged. “Tell her what you told me about wanting to stay incognito. You’ve got nothing to lose by asking Liv to help, have you? And who knows? She might say no.”
For a moment, hope flickered in his heart. But then the pile of bills looked at him reproachfully. Just as Veronica had. Marge had. Tobias.
He sighed. And reached for his phone. Veronica was sure to say yes, but half of him hoped her granddaughter would say no. For Liv was far too unsettling for his peace of mind.
Chapter 7
“I’m afraid I still don’t understand what I am doing here.” Liv glanced across at Gran as they parked in the public car park of Hartbury Hall. “The gardens are closed on Fridays, aren’t they?”
“To the public, perhaps.” Gran glanced at her. “But we, my dear, are not the public.”
Liv bit back a smile at her grandmother’s officious manner and helped her from the car. Far from being the invalid that hip surgery and a hospital stay might make one assume, Gran was moving surprisingly well for her age.
“Now don’t fuss, dear.” Gran shooed her off. “The doctor told me it was important to keep moving and not sit still for long periods.”
“I don’t think he meant you should be taking long hikes across uneven gravel paths, either.”
“Well, I’m not going to fall. Not with you by my side, and old Ellis here.” She lifted her walking stick.
Her grandmother was probably the only person in the world to name her walking stick. And name it after her deceased husband, who had passed before Liv was born. But there it was. She supposed it gave Gran comfort to know “Ellis” could still help her. And protect her, as the case may be. Quirkiness was a trait passed down through the generations, it seemed.
But Gran didn’t seem content to meander along the path, instead steering Liv along another path that led towards Hartbury Hall’s front door. The windows were now unshuttered, and the entranceway, now cleared of aged leaves, had the front door … open?
