Page 7 of Arrogant Heir

The vegetable soup was just what I needed, and I ate it in between sniffles and feeling sorry for myself, when I couldn’t ignore my growling stomach any longer. I did ignore a torrent of apologetic texts from Simon over the next few days, and he hasn’t texted since. Maybe my mum’s right, and he isn’tthe one.But if he’s not, then who is and why did I think it was him? How could I have been so wrong?

As I head outside, still wondering whether there’s a key somewhere for me to lock the cottage door, my mum’s face floats into my mind. I must call her tomorrow as she’ll want to know how it’s going and has already texted to check I arrived okay.

I curse at my heels digging into the gravel, but it’s not annoying enough to make me go back and swap them for trainers. Comfy flats are great, but will not fly with my little black dress, and I want to look my best the first time I meet the family.

The pond glows and twinkles by the light of the strategically placed garden lamps and I can make out where I’m treading, which is just as well, because I hadn’t even considered it would be hard to walk to the house in the dark.

Arriving at the front entrance of the manor, my heart speeds up as it hits me. I don’t know what to expect. Stretching for the brass knocker, I rap on the wooden door and take a couple of rapid, deep breaths. I don’t know how many people will be present and what they know about me, if anything.

A new face appears in the doorway, and ushers me in out of the chilled air. ‘Ms Jackson?’ I nod and follow the butler through the impressive entrance hall and into an elegantly decorated room with sparkling chandeliers, Persian rugs, and lots more unfamiliar faces.

I’m overwhelmed as the butler introduces me, and once again I feel like a character inDownton Abbey, but there’s no need to worry. Arthur, or Grandfather—as I call him secretly—immediately walks over and welcomes me.A grandfather would be nice. A billionaire one even better!‘Thanks for joining us,’ he says. His cheerful, ruddy face cracks into a warm grin and he grips my hand firmly.

The heat of the room and the buzzing conversation flows over me. Arthur calls for the others’ attention and introduces me in a loud voice.

I smile, look about, and say hello to the friendly faces surrounding me. I rarely seek crowds and this bunch is a crowd alright. I’m better one-to-one or in small groups. As an only child, I don’t have experience of big family dinners, although I used to fantasise about having a large family. Perhaps that’s part of what appealed to me about the Rochesters when the agency offered me the gig.

I notice how they all pay attention and listen to their grandfather. They obviously respect him, and my shoulders relax, and my stomach unknots itself. He’s clearly on my side, so that’s a good start. And I haven’t spotted the devil-Damian yet, so maybe he’s not here.

A server proffers a glass of wine from a gold tray, and I gratefully accept and take a huge glug, hoping it will calm my nerves. Just as I’m wondering where to position myself, a pretty auburn-haired girl of about my age barrels over and grabs my arm. ‘I can’t tell you how happy I am you’ve come. I’m so excited about this book, and even more excited to have another girl at Greystone.’ She sweeps her arm in a dramatic flourish and points to the cluster of Rochester men chatting and sipping their drinks.

‘Jamie, look how us girls are so obviously outnumbered here! There’s only me and Lillian, and dear Lily is away at school, so it’s me with all these dreadful brothers for most of the year. And my mother, of course, but she’s away a lot too.’ She laughs. It’s one of the most angelic sounds I’ve ever heard, and I warm to her. She’s one of those people who is genuinely lovely—I feel it instantly, and my breathing slows.

I laugh with her without even knowing why, and it feels good. It’s the first time I’ve laughed in a long time, which is an interesting realisation. Why wasn’t I laughing before Simon ended the engagement? My thoughts fleetingly try to find an answer, but I get nowhere because Marian—I’m Marian, by the way, spelt with an i-a-n to match the others, instead of the chic ianne—pulls me by the arm to introduce me to herdreadful brothers.

I cling onto my glass of wine and try to keep my balance in my high shoes as she names the brothers one by one, and I do my best to commit their names and faces to memory. She sees my confusion and pats my arm. ‘Don’t worry, we’re used to people not remembering our names first time round. There are rather a lot of us, and this is only the British bunch. Wait till you meet the American branch.’

The American branch… I make a mental note to remember to ask more about this. I’m already overwhelmed by this lot, so I can’t imagine having another load of names to get to grips with.

‘Don’t let her scare you,’ says a velvety voice from behind. A handsome face that looks a lot like Damian but is clearly an original, whispers in my ear, ‘Marian gets a bit carried away. You’ll soon settle in and it’s doubtful you’ll get to meet our American cousins. There’s a lot going on over there with the business right now, and they usually only visit Greystone for Christmas.’ He holds out his hand and clasps mine. ‘I’m Sebastian, by the way. Brother number 2—also known as the spare to the heir.’ He nods toward where Damian stands staring at us from across the room. The heir arranges his haughty face into a stiff smile and then turns abruptly away.

‘Don’t let him scare you either,’ he says. ‘His bark is much worse than his bite.’

‘That’s good cause his bark is pretty fierce,’ I say, laughing.

Sebastian’s heart-stopping blue-grey eyes, rimmed by lush dark lashes, meet my brown ones, and I feel a rush of gratitude.

I’m just so grateful he’s not arrogant like his brother, Damian, that I could hug him.And Marian is wonderful too. She released my arm and left me in Sebastian’s care, promising to be back soon. My heart’s stopped clattering like a manic thing in my chest, and when I hear the call for dinner, I know I can handle it as long as I’m surrounded by these new friendly faces.

I needn’t have worried about the dress-code as I see the Rochesters dress for dinner in a wide variety of styles. Some are casual, like Marian, who’s wearing trousers, a halter neck top despite the chilly evening, and the latest striped white and beige trainers with a thick sole. But Damian—of course—wears an immaculately tailored suit which I can only imagine was measured and made by the finest Savile Row has to offer. He probably flared his nostrils in disdain as the poor tailor scrambled to meet his lofty expectations.

Damian, although only thirty-four, gives off a vibe of being older and more traditional than his brothers. I glance across at Sebastian, who now stands next to Damian as they head towards the huge dining table. Although there’s only two years between them, as I recall from my research, Sebastian looks so much more relaxed that he seems much younger and carefree than his forbidding older brother.

The siblings take their seats, and for a second I’m gripped by a wave of panic as I wonder where to sit. I see Arthur look in my direction and signal for me to sit further down the table away from Sebastian and Marian, my new saviours. He pulls out a chair next to Damian, who rises briefly as I sit down.Awkward.Out of all the wonderful Rochesters, he had to sit me next to him!

I thank Arthur and sit down tentatively next to Damian, wishing I could disappear in a puff of magic dust. My skin is hot, and a prickly nervous rush runs through my body like an electric shock. I’m stranded between Damian and someone they have not introduced me to yet who is facing in the other direction and talking animatedly to another brother across the table. Sebastian catches my eye from further down, and mouths, ‘Are you okay?’ He looks sympathetic, but also smiles, as if there’s an inside joke I’m not in on yet.

Damian lifts his wine glass and sips. He’s removed his fancy jacket and wears a beautifully tailored white shirt which complements his thick, shiny black hair. I can’t help noticing how well the shirt sits on his broad shoulders.

He’s got a nice bod. I’ll give him that. I smile as I remember the pictures I saw in the paper of him lounging by a swimming pool, somewhere sunny, with sycophantic babes all around him at some mansion. Yes, I’ve seen that tautly muscled torso before.

‘Something funny, Ms Jackson?’ His deep voice interrupts my salacious thoughts, and I jump guiltily.

‘No, nothing at all. I was just thinking about something at home,’ I say, conscious I’m gabbling, but not knowing what to say.

‘Where is home?’ Damian asks, as he offers me a selection of bread to choose from before helping himself. My stomach needs feeding, but I’m too nervous to eat. Having to chew and swallow under his green-eyed stare makes me think I’d rather starve, so I sip my wine, pacing myself so I don’t drink too much, too fast.

I tell him briefly where I live, and to give him credit, he tries to have a conversation with me, but it’s like pulling teeth. I can be quite shy when I’m uptight, and I’m still indignant at his earlier insults, so the words don’t flow between us. I conclude he’s either still pissed off about me daring to show up as a female ghostwriter with a gender-neutral name, or he’s just an unsociable wanker. I haven’t quite made up my mind which yet, but I see one thing is certain.

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