The baby that brought them together

As heir to Thornwood Manor, Liam Jenkins wants to erase painful memories by knocking it down and rebuilding it. But Alice Walters has turned the manor into a women’s refuge, and she’s prepared to be the thorn in the new lord’s side!

When they hear the cries of a newborn under the Christmas tree, they’re forced to find a way to work together. And with each passing day, this little baby brings them both back to life, and gives them a Christmas gift they never expected!

‘Did you hear that?’

Alice’s forehead creased. ‘I’m not sure.’

She took another turning and suddenly they were back in the Main Hall again, its oversized Christmas tree looming over the staircase. From beyond the next set of doors she could hear the dying chatter of people at the fundraiser, the last few guests still hanging on in there. But that wasn’t the noise that had caught Liam’s attention.

The sound rang out again, and this time there was no doubt in Liam’s mind about what he was hearing. He knew the sound of a baby crying well enough. From the age of ten upwards it had seemed every foster home he’d gone to had had a new baby—one he’d been expected to help look after.

Did someone bring their baby with them tonight?’

Except he couldn’t see anyone nearby, and the cry had sounded very close.

As if it was in the room with them.

‘I don’t think…’ Alice trailed off as the baby cried again. Then she stepped closer to the tree, taking slow, cautious steps in her long, shimmering dress, as if trying not to spook a wild animal.

Liam followed, instinctively staying quiet.

The crying was constant now, and there was no denying where it was coming from.

Alice hitched up her dress and knelt down on the flagstones, reaching under the spread of the pine needles, dislodging a couple of ornaments as she did so. Then she pulled out a basket—not a bassinet or anything, Liam realised. Just a wicker basket…the sort someone might use to store magazines or whatever.

A wicker basket with a baby lying in it.

Newborn Under the Christmas Tree

Sophie Pembroke

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SOPHIE PEMBROKE has been reading and writing romance ever since she read her first Mills & Boon at university, so getting to write them for a living is a dream come true! Sophie lives in a little Hertfordshire market town in the UK, with her scientist husband and her incredibly imaginative six-year-old daughter. She writes stories about friends, family and falling in love—usually while drinking too much tea and eating homemade cakes. She also keeps a blog at www.sophiepembroke.com.

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For Auntie Judy.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

LIAM JENKINS SQUINTED against the low winter sun as he looked up at Thornwood Castle in the distance and tried to imagine it as home.

He failed.

The dark grey of the stone walls, the rise and fall of the crenellations, the brooding shadow it set over the English countryside...none of them were exactly friendly. When he’d dared to dream about the idea of home over the years, he’d pictured himself somewhere warm and bright and welcoming. Somewhere near the beach and rolling surf of his country of birth, Australia. A house he’d designed and built himself, one that was purely his, with no bad memories attached.

Instead, he had a centuries-old British castle full of other people’s history and furniture and baggage.

And it was starting to rain.

With a deep sigh, Liam leant back against his hire car and ignored the icy droplets dripping past his collar. Instead he wondered, not for the first time, what on earth his great-aunt Rose had been thinking. He hadn’t seen her at all in the fifteen years before her death, and before their disastrous meeting in London he’d only ever visited Thornwood once. Two encounters in twenty-five years didn’t make them family, not really. As far as he was concerned, she was just another in a long line of relatives who didn’t have the time or the space in their lives or homes for him.

Even that first time he’d visited her, he’d known instantly that Thornwood Castle would never be where he belonged. Thornwood, with its buttresses and echoing stone walls, lined with rusting suits of armour, was a world away from the small home he’d lived in with his mother on the Gold Coast. Possibly a few hundred years away too. As a ten-year-old orphan, still grieving for the mother he’d thought was invincible until she wasn’t, the prospect of staying at Thornwood had been terrifying. And that was before he’d even met Great-Aunt Rose in all her intimidating glory.

Thinking of it now, he shivered, remembering the chill of her presence. The way she’d loomed over him, steel-grey hair fixed in place, her dark blue eyes too like his for it to be a coincidence. He had the family eyes—no one had ever truly doubted whose son he was. Even if they didn’t want to acknowledge the fact in public.

Liam shook off the memories and slipped back behind the steering wheel of his hire car.

Thornwood was his—a bequest he’d never expected, or wanted. The very idea of it filled him with a heavy apprehension. Thornwood Castle came with more than just history—it came with a legacy. An acceptance into a society that had cast him out before he was even born. People said that the class wars were over, that nobody cared about legitimacy or status of birth any more. Maybe that was true in some places, but Liam knew that those prejudices were still alive and well in Thornwood.

Or they had been when Rose was alive. Now she was gone...

Could Thornwood be a home? All he remembered of it was cold, unwelcoming halls and the obvious disapproval of his great-aunt’s butler as he’d met him at the door.

But then there was the letter. The spidery, wavering handwriting on thick creamy paper that had come with the lawyer who’d explained the bequest. The letter from Rose, written just days before she’d died, asking him to make Thornwood Castle his home, at last. To finally take on the family legacy.

You may find it rather different than you recall...

That was what she’d written. But from this distance it looked exactly like his memories of the place. Grey, forbidding, unwelcoming.

Liam was pretty sure that wasn’t what home was supposed to look like.

Although, in fairness, he could be wrong. He could barely remember having a real home at all. Since his mother died, he’d ricocheted among his reluctant relatives—first his mother’s, out in Australia, then later a brief trip over to the UK to be rejected by his long departed father’s odd, unknown family—and foster care, never finding anywhere to settle for long. And since he’d been out in the world on his own he’d been far too busy building the life he’d craved for himself—one based on his own merits, not who he was related to—to worry about building that home of his own he’d dreamt of as a child.

He had the success he’d wanted. No one in his world knew him as the bastard son of the heir to an earldom, or even as Marie’s poor little orphaned boy. These days he was known as his own man—a renowned and respected architect, owner of his own company, with turnover doubling every year. He was his own success story.

Maybe he could bring some of that success to Thornwood.

That was the plan, at least. The time for old-fashioned stately homes was over; nobody needed that much space any more. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t make Thornwood work for him. Tourists still had a fascination with the old British aristocracy—Liam’s ex-girlfriend had watched enough period dramas for Liam to be sure of that. So if Thornwood was his it had to earn its keep—just like any other building he’d ever designed or renovated. Thornwood just had more potential than a lot of them.

And he couldn’t help but smile out into the rain, just a little, at the thought of Great-Aunt Rose’s face watching from above—or below, probably—seeing Thornwood turned into the sort of aristocratic theme park she’d always hated. He might not have known Rose well, but she’d made her feelings about the hoi polloi roaming around her ancestral grounds very clear. As clear as the fact she included him in that number, whoever his father was.

She’d hate everything he had planned. And that was pretty much reason enough to do it. Call it closure, maybe. Finally taking over the world that had rejected him as a child.

Then he could move on, find his own home instead of one that had been left to him because there was no one else. Preferably somewhere it didn’t rain so damn much.

Liam stared up once more at the shadows of the crenellations in the grey and hazy light, the narrow windows and the aged stonework, and knew that he would stay, just as Rose had asked. But only long enough to close that chapter of his life for ever. To finally slam the door on the family who’d never wanted him.

Then he could return to his real life.

Liam started up the engine of the hire car again and, checking his mirrors, pulled back onto the road to drive the last half a mile up the long, winding driveway to the castle itself, smiling out through the windscreen at the rain as it started to fall in sheets.

He was nearly home, for now.

* * *

Alice Walters stared at the scene in front of her with dismay. ‘What happened?’ she asked as a couple of holly berries floated past on a stream that definitely didn’t belong in the main hall of Thornwood Castle.

‘Penelope was filling vases with water to add some of the greenery we collected from the woods,’ Heather explained, arms folded tight across her chest. The frown that seemed to have taken up permanent residence on her forehead since Rose died looked even deeper than usual. ‘Apparently she got distracted.’

‘And forgot to turn off the tap.’ It wasn’t the first time that Penelope had got distracted. Alice supposed she should be used to it by now. ‘Where’s Danielle?’

‘No idea,’ Heather said, the words clipped. ‘You know, for an assistant she doesn’t seem to be very much help.’

Alice sighed. She’d noticed the same thing recently too. When she’d first hired the teenager to give her a hand with the admin and such at Thornwood, mostly to help her earn a part-time income after her mother died, Danielle had seemed bright and happy to be there. But over the last few months she’d barely even bothered showing up. ‘Right, well, we’d better get the mops out. He’ll be here any minute.’

‘Our new lord and master,’ Heather said, distaste obvious in her tone. ‘I can’t wait.’

‘He might not be that bad.’ Alice headed towards the nearest store cupboard and pulled out a mop and bucket. Given the number of leaks the castle roof had sprung over the last few years, they always tried to keep supplies close at hand. For a once grand house, the place leaked like a sieve and was impossible to keep warm. She wondered if the newest owner knew what he was letting himself in for. ‘Rose wouldn’t have left him the castle if he was.’

‘Wouldn’t she?’ Heather took the mop from her and attempted to soak up some of the impromptu river, while Alice hunted for more rags and cloths to absorb the worst of it. ‘He’s the last of the line—illegitimate or not. It wouldn’t matter what Rose thought about him. She’d leave him the castle because that’s what tradition said she had to do. And you know how she felt about tradition—at least you should. You spent enough time arguing with her about it.’

‘I did,’ Alice said, sighing again. As if an indoor river wasn’t bad enough, she had the prospect of spending her morning showing the new owner of Thornwood Castle around the wreck he’d inherited.

Rose might not have always been the easiest woman to get along with, but she’d been pragmatic, in the way that people who’d seen everything the world had to throw at them come and go, and leave them standing, often were. She might not have liked the suggestions that Alice put forward about how to keep the castle alive and running, but she’d been willing to grit her teeth and bear it, if it meant that her home, her family estate, would survive to be useful to another generation, as something more than a historical show-and-tell. More than anything, Alice was sure, Rose just hadn’t wanted to be the one to let it go.

But what about her great-nephew? He was the unknown quantity. Would he care enough about Thornwood to work with them to keep it going? Or would he sell it to the first Russian oligarch who offered him seven figures for it?

Alice supposed she’d find out soon enough.

Not that it mattered to her. Not really. There was always work for a woman who could be organised, inventive, effective and productive—and Alice made sure that she was all those things. Rose had written her a glowing reference before she died, just in case she needed it. Alice would have no problem finding a new job—a new project to dive into and find a way to make it work. And it was getting time to move on—she’d already been at Thornwood longer than she’d planned. Normally she’d be looking forward to it. Except...

‘Alice?’ Penelope stuck her head around the door, her eyes huge and wide in her thin, pale face. Sixteen and already so disillusioned by life, Penelope—and all the other girls and women like her—was the only reason Alice was reluctant to leave Thornwood. The castle might not be her home, but it was the only place some of the women she helped had—and it was the best shot Alice had at doing something that mattered. Sure, she could get a job organising someone’s office, or arranging meetings and scheduling flights. But here at Thornwood she was making a difference. And that counted for a lot.

‘What is it, Penelope?’ Alice asked when the girl didn’t say anything further.

Slipping into the hall, Penelope wrapped her oversized grey cardigan around herself, her arms crossing over her middle. ‘There’s a car just pulled up. A big black four-by-four.’ Her eyes slid away from Alice’s as she spoke.

Alice and Heather exchanged a quick glance.

‘That’ll be him, then,’ Heather said with a nod. ‘Penelope, grab those cloths from Alice and do your best to mop up this mess, yeah? God knows where Danielle has got to.’

Penelope did as she was told, just like she always did—without question, without complaint, without a word. One day, Alice hoped that she might just look up and say, ‘No.’ One day.

Hopefully not today, though, as they really did need to clear up the mini flood.

Alice wiped her damp hands on her jeans. ‘Right then. I’d better...’ She flapped a hand towards the entrance hall.

Heather nodded. ‘You go. Go meet the beast.’

Alice rolled her eyes. ‘He might be lovely!’

‘You keep telling yourself that,’ Heather said, turning away to help Penelope with the remaining puddles. ‘Just because I’ve never met a man yet who was, doesn’t mean that this Liam bloke might not be the one who broke the mould.’

‘Exactly,’ Alice said, hoping she sounded more certain than she felt. ‘And, at the very least, we have to give him a chance.’

She just hoped that he gave her—and Heather, and Penelope, and all the others—a chance too.

* * *

Grabbing his bag from the back seat, Liam pressed the button to lock the car and turned to face Thornwood Castle in the flesh for the first time in twenty-five years.

‘Yeah, still imposing as all hell,’ he murmured, eyeing the arrow slits.

As far as he’d been able to tell from the notes his assistant had put together on the castle, it had never really been built for battle. In fact, it was constructed about two hundred years too late for the medieval sieges and warfare it looked like it was built to withstand. It was more or less a folly—one of those weird English quirks of history. Some ancestor of his—by blood if not name or marriage—had got it into his head that he wanted to live in a medieval castle, even if it was the seventeen-hundreds. So he’d designed one and had it built. And then that castle had been passed down through generations of family members until it reached him, in the twenty-first century, when all those arrow slits and murder holes were even less necessary than ever.

Well, hopefully. He hadn’t been back to Britain in a couple of years. Who knew what might have changed...?

Normally, Liam would happily mock the folly as typical aristocratic ridiculous behaviour. But as his assistant, Daisy, had pointed out to him drily as she’d handed him his plane tickets, building follies and vanity projects was basically what he did for a living these days. And he supposed she had a point. How was designing and building a hotel in the shape of a lily out in the Middle East any different to a medieval castle in the seventeen-hundreds?

Except he didn’t keep the buildings he designed, or force them on future generations. He did an outstanding job, basked in the praise, got paid and moved on.

Much simpler.

As he jogged up the stone steps to the imposing front door, Liam tried to find that desert warmth again inside himself, and the glow of a good job well done. He was renowned these days, and in great demand as an architect. He’d built structures others couldn’t conceive of, ones that every other architect he knew said was impossible.

There was no reason at all that he should still feel this intimidated by a fake English castle.

Straightening his shoulders, he reached out for the door handle—only to have it disappear inwards as the door opened by itself.

No, not by itself.

Liam blinked into the shadows of the entrance hall and made out one, two, three—five women standing there, blinking back at him.

For a moment he wondered if this was his staff—all lining up to meet him, as the new master. Even if he couldn’t inherit the title that would have been his father’s, if he’d lived long enough, he had the estate now.

Then he realised that the women were all wearing jeans and woolly jumpers—and that, somehow, inside the castle felt even colder than outside.

‘You must be Liam!’ the woman holding the door said, beaming. ‘I mean, Mr Howlett.’

‘Jenkins,’ he corrected her automatically. ‘Liam Jenkins. I use my mother’s name.’ No need to explain that he’d never been offered his father’s.

From the colour that flooded her cheeks, the woman knew that. ‘Of course. I’m so sorry. Mr Jenkins.’

She looked so distraught at the slip-up, Liam shrugged, falling back into his usual pattern of making others feel comfortable. ‘Call me Liam.’

‘Liam. Right. Thank you.’ The pink started to fade, which was a shame. Without it, she looked pale and cautious, her honey-blonde hair made dull by the grey light and shadows of the castle. But for that brief moment she’d looked...alive. Vibrant, in a way Liam hadn’t expected to find at Thornwood.

Which still told him nothing about who she was or why she was in his castle. ‘And you are...?’

‘Oh! I’m Alice Walters. Your great-aunt hired me to, well, to make Thornwood Castle useful again.’

‘Useful?’ Liam frowned. ‘It’s a medieval castle in the twenty-first century. How useful can it really be?’ Interesting, he could understand. Profitable, even more so. He’d half expected to find a guided tour in progress when he arrived—all the people who’d been kept out for so long coming to gawk at everything Rose had left behind. Nothing compared to what he had planned for the place. He had so many ideas for what to do to Thornwood—things he knew Great-Aunt Rose never would have even considered—to make the place into a proper tourist attraction. One he didn’t have to visit, but still paid him handsomely.

He’d considered all sorts of options since he’d first got the phone call telling him that Thornwood Castle was his.

He just hadn’t considered useful, beyond his own financial purposes.

‘Rose wanted to make sure that the castle fulfilled its traditional role in the community,’ Alice said vaguely. ‘She hired me to make that happen.’

‘Its traditional role?’ He was starting to sound like a bad echo. But really, Alice’s explanations weren’t explaining anything at all.

Perhaps it was time for some non-English bluntness. After all, he was more Aussie than English when it came down to it—whatever Rose’s will said.

‘Look,’ he said, taking care to sound more bored than annoyed, ‘I’ll make this really easy for you. Just a simple answer to a very simple question. What the hell are you all doing in my home?’

CHAPTER TWO

OKAY, THIS WAS not going as well as she’d hoped it might. Even if she hadn’t really hoped all that hard—her experiences were generally even worse than Heather’s, after all.

Behind her, she heard Penelope let out a tiny gasp at Liam’s words and realised it was time to move this conversation elsewhere, before he upset all their girls. He might sound so laid-back he was almost horizontal, but this was his house and he could still throw them all out on a moment’s notice if she didn’t do something fast.

‘Mr Jenkins, how about you come with me into the estate office? I can explain everything there.’ Plus there was a kettle. And biscuits. Maybe a nice cup of tea and a sit down would make them all friends.

‘Works for me,’ he said with a shrug.

She led him the long way round—partly to avoid any remaining flooding in the great hall, and partly to show off some of the parts of Thornwood that weren’t underwater.

‘Has it been many years since you were last at Thornwood?’ she asked politely as they skirted around the edges of the library, avoiding the combination of mismatched tables pushed together in the middle of the room with abandoned wool and knitting needles strewn across them. Everyone had dropped what they were doing the moment Liam’s car had pulled up. Understandable, given the impact he stood to have on their future. But still, Alice couldn’t help but wish they’d paused to tidy up a bit first.

‘Twenty-five,’ Liam said, raising his eyebrows at a ball of neon orange wool that had rolled off the table and into his path.

Alice swept it up as she passed, and lobbed it back on to the nearest table once he wasn’t looking. Really, for an Australian, it seemed he had the imperious English aristocrat thing down pat. The mixture of relaxed disapproval was most disconcerting.

‘That’s a long time,’ she said, knowing it sounded inane. But really, what else was she supposed to say?

Your great-aunt was alone for the last fifteen years of her life, and you couldn’t even spare an afternoon to visit?

Sure, he lived on the other side of the world. But Alice had been doing some reading up on Liam Jenkins, ever since she’d got wind of the details of the will, and she was willing to bet he’d been in London often enough over those twenty-five years. Looking at his résumé, he’d built at least a handful of buildings less than two hours’ drive away. How hard would it have been to stop in and see a lonely old lady? Or even to check on his inheritance, if he was truly that heartless.

Alice frowned. So why hadn’t he? Having met him, she could buy him not being bothered enough about Rose to visit. But he’d called Thornwood Castle his home. How could it be home if he hadn’t been there in two and a half decades? Maybe it was just a slip of the tongue. Or maybe not...

Suddenly, Alice got the feeling she was missing something in this story. It had the ring of the tales she’d heard from some of the women who stopped by the castle sometimes. Stories about slipping on the stairs, or losing their purse with the housekeeping money in it. No more believable than walking into a door and getting a black eye, but that was the point. Nobody expected those tales to be believed, not here. They didn’t need to be. Thornwood was a safe place.

But maybe Liam didn’t know that yet.

Well, if he wanted to make it his home, he’d have to learn. And hopefully he’d see the value of it, and let her continue her work.

Otherwise, there were going to be a lot of local women who didn’t have a safe place any more.

With that dismal thought, they reached the estate office. Alice reached past the suit of armour she’d named Rusty and opened the door. ‘Come on in.’

Inside, the office was as tidy as it ever got. Which, given that it was essentially a store cupboard with a desk shoehorned in and covered in a mass of paperwork and Post-it notes, wasn’t very. Thornwood had plenty of rooms—far more than one person could ever need. But when Alice had arrived at the castle three years before, she’d known that all those public spaces could be put to better use. Besides, they were all far too big—echoing and full of draughts. At least here in her little cupboard she was cosy. And hardly anyone ever came looking for her there.

‘Have a seat.’ She motioned to the rickety wooden dining chair on the near side of the desk, and squeezed past the filing cabinet to flip on the kettle. She didn’t need to look back to know he was staring dubiously at the seat—she’d done the same. Rose had said it dated back over a hundred years and hadn’t collapsed yet. Alice thought it might just be biding its time.

Maybe it had been waiting for Liam Jenkins...

She turned back but the chair was still standing, even under Liam’s weight. Which...well, he was a big man. Lots of muscle. Objectively, she supposed he could even be called well built, which was more than she’d have said for the chair before this point.

Maybe the chair was as scared of him as she was...

No. That was crazy—and not just because chairs didn’t have emotions. She wasn’t scared of Liam—he was too laconic to be scared of. She was...apprehensive, that was the word. And, even then, it was only because he could end everything that she’d built here in one fell swoop. It wasn’t personal. He had no power to hurt her, not like other men had. He was her boss, and if he fired her she’d be fine and free to pursue other worthwhile projects elsewhere.

This wasn’t like before. She had to remember that, even when he was scowling at her.

She wasn’t that Alice any more, and she never would be again. That much she knew for sure. Life had changed her—not always for the better, but for ever.

‘So,’ Liam said as they waited for her ancient kettle to brew, ‘what’s the conversation we need to have that you couldn’t have in front of all those women out there?’

‘Not couldn’t,’ she corrected him. ‘Chose not to.’

‘Right.’ He shrugged, obviously not seeing the difference. Alice sighed. Perhaps that was where she needed to start.

‘Those women—they’re part of the work I’ve been doing here,’ she said, swilling hot water around the teapot to warm it. She might not have space for much in her utility cupboard office, but there was a sink, a kettle and a teapot with cups and saucers. Besides her laptop, there really wasn’t much else that she needed.

‘Yeah, your work. Making Thornwood useful, wasn’t it?’

Did he really have to put such emphasis on the word? He made her sound like a small child trying to earn money for chores. ‘How much do you know about the history of the English aristocracy, Mr Jenkins?’

‘Not as much as you, I’d wager.’ He watched her, curiosity in his gaze, as she measured out the tea leaves and added the boiling water, before leaving the tea to steep. ‘I suppose you’re going to educate me? Starting with the national drink?’

‘I’m no expert myself,’ Alice assured him. She placed the pretty floral cups and saucers on the tray beside the pot and the small milk jug, then swivelled round to place the whole thing on the desk. Settling into her own desk chair, she rested her forearms on the wood of the desk and eyed him over the steam drifting up from the spout of the teapot. ‘But I know what that history meant to your great-aunt.’

‘It meant she left me this place, for a start.’

‘That’s right.’ However wrong a decision that might have been. Rose had been full of misgivings, Alice knew, about leaving Thornwood to someone she knew so little, who had shown no interest at all in his heritage or legacy before. But, when it came down to it, Liam Jenkins was the only family she had left. So blood had trumped legitimacy, and everything else that went with it. ‘But I want to be sure you understand exactly the expectations that she was leaving with that. Thornwood is more than just a pile of stones and rusty armour, you know.’

‘I know that,’ Liam shot back, too fast to sound at all casual. ‘It’s home, right? My family pile, so to speak.’

There was that word again. Home. Obviously that mattered to him and, even if she never knew why, perhaps Alice could use it. Could appeal to his decency—didn’t everyone deserve a home? Even those women out there whom he’d never met, who’d left hideously coloured wool all over the place and half flooded his castle?

It could work. Maybe.

Alice took a deep breath. She was going to have to try.

* * *

Liam eyed Alice over the desk and felt a small shiver of nerves at the back of his neck as she studied him back, then gave a tiny nod. She’d made a decision about something, that much was clear. He only wished he had the faintest clue what.

Alice, he was starting to realise, had plans for Thornwood—plans that were almost certainly at odds with his own. Which was why it was just as well he was the one who held the deeds to the castle, not her.

Maybe she was some sort of gold-digger. One who’d had his great-aunt wrapped around her little finger, taking advantage of her money and kindness—if the old bat really had any of either at the end—and expected to inherit. She must be furious to be done out of Thornwood, if that was the case. Good. He might not have deserved to inherit the place but, if she really was a gold-digger, she deserved it a thousand times less. And what was the deal with all those big-eyed women in cable knits?

‘Rose believed, very strongly, that the privilege of owning a place like Thornwood, and the status in society that it conveyed, came with a very definite level of responsibility too,’ Alice said, sounding so earnest that Liam almost put aside his gold-digger theory immediately. But only almost. After all, if she was good at it, of course she’d sound authentic. And, from what he remembered of Great-Aunt Rose, Alice would have had to be very good to fool her.

‘A responsibility to the estate?’ he guessed. Thornwood had been Rose’s life—keeping it going would have been her highest priority. God, she must have shuddered as she’d signed the documents that meant it would come into his hands. But Alice’s expression told him she meant more than that. So he kept guessing. ‘Is this about the title? Or that seat in the House of Lords thing? Because I didn’t inherit the title.’ Even Rose wouldn’t go so far as to convey that kind of status on the illegitimate son of her nephew. ‘And besides, I heard that Britain finally moved with the times and stopped giving people power just because of who their parents were. Well, apart from that whole monarchy thing.’

Alice shook her head. ‘It’s not anything to do with the title, not really. Except that...’ She sighed, as if the impossibility of making him understand her quaint British ways was beginning to dawn on her. ‘In the past, the lord of the manor—or lady, in Rose’s case—was responsible for the people who lived on their estate.’

‘You mean feudalism,’ Liam said with distaste. ‘Just another word for slavery, really.’ Just because he wasn’t British didn’t mean he wasn’t educated. She looked slightly surprised to realise that.

‘No! Not feudalism—at least, not for the last several hundred years. No, I just meant...the people who live on the estate have, traditionally, worked there too—usually as farmers. The local village is owned by the estate too, so it sets all the rents and has an obligation to take care of the tenants. They’re more...extended family than just renters, if you see what I mean.’

‘Yeah, I guess so.’ It wasn’t something he’d thought of before. He’d been so focused on the memory of Thornwood Castle’s imposing walls, and the chilly reception the place had offered him, that he hadn’t thought beyond the castle itself. He’d assumed that it would come with some gardens or whatever, but not a whole village. That was considerably more ‘home’ than Liam had bargained for, even if he didn’t plan to stay. And how would they take the news that Thornwood Castle was about to become the county’s biggest tourist attraction? He’d just have to spin it as good news—get them excited about the new jobs and tourist income before they realised how much disruption it would cause, or started getting nostalgic about the old days. Same as any other big project, really.

‘So, what? They need me to open a village fete or something?’ He’d seen the Downton Abbey Christmas special with his ex-girlfriend. That was practically a British documentary, right?

‘Not exactly.’ Alice looked uncomfortable but she pushed on regardless. Liam supposed he had to admire her determination to get her point across, whatever that point turned out to be. ‘Times have changed around here. A lot of the farmland had to be sold off, and the village itself is pretty much autonomous these days. And Rose...well, as she got older, she couldn’t get out and about so much. But she still wanted Thornwood Castle to be relevant. To be useful.’

There was that word again. ‘And so she hired you. To do what, exactly?’

‘To fundraise for and organise events that make the castle available to local women in need.’ The words came out in a rush, and Liam blinked as he processed them over again, to make sure he’d heard her right.

‘Like a refuge?’ Because that was basically the last thing he’d expect from Great-Aunt Rose. After all, she hadn’t even offered him a refuge when he’d needed one and he, whether she liked it or not, was her own flesh and blood.

Maybe Rose had changed over the years, but he doubted it. So what was he missing here? He guessed if anyone knew, it would be Alice. Which meant he needed to keep asking questions.

‘Sort of,’ she said, waggling her head from side to side. ‘A lot of the girls and women we help, they don’t feel they can spend a lot of time at home. So they come here instead.’

‘They’re abused?’ Liam met her gaze head-on, looking for the truth behind her words. ‘Then why don’t you help them get out? Not just set them up with some knitting needles to make cardigans in some draughty castle?’ He knew abuse; he’d seen it first-hand at some of the foster homes he’d been sent to. Suffered it too—both there and at home, with his mother’s boyfriends.

But, more than that, he’d seen what it had done to her. It had broken his mother’s spirit, if not her body. Somehow, he knew that it was the emotional and physical abuse that she’d suffered, the rejections and the hate, that had convinced her it wasn’t worth fighting for life any longer. Medicine might not be able to prove it yet, but he knew in his bones that if she’d not felt so worthless she could have beaten the cancer that finally took her life when he was ten.

He could see it now—the fear behind the eyes of the women who’d met him at the door. He’d assumed it was just the uncertainty that came with his arrival, but he should have known better. Should have recognised what he saw. Had he been away from that world, safe in the land of money and prestige, for so long that he’d forgotten what fear looked like?

‘We don’t... Okay, yes, sometimes we hold classes and today’s was knitting. But they don’t knit their own cardigans.’ She frowned. ‘At least, not as far as I know. And that’s not the point, anyway. You asked why we don’t get them out of abusive situations. We do, if they’re ready to go. We give them the support they need to make that decision, and put them in touch with the charities that can do it properly. But for some of them...’ Alice sighed. ‘The women and girls who come here, they all have their own stories, their own lives, their own individual situations. Some aren’t abused; they just need something else in their lives. Some are still torn about what to do for the best—for their kids, for themselves. And it’s easy for us to say, “You need to get out, now.” But sometimes it takes them a while to see that.’

‘So you just set up craft classes to distract them from all the things that are wrong in their lives?’ Fat lot of good that would do anyone.

Alice glared at him. ‘So we provide educational opportunities—computer classes, job interview training, talks from the local college about what courses are available, that sort of thing. We help rewrite CVs, we run food banks for those local families struggling to make ends meet, or clothes swaps and donations to provide school uniforms or interview clothes, we help decipher benefits claims forms, we hold meditation groups, exercise classes, cooking classes, breastfeeding workshops for new mums, help with childcare...everything we can think of that will make everyday life easier or provide new opportunities for the women and families of this village. And if they need to get out of a situation, we help them do that too. And we do it all on donations, persuading people to volunteer their time, and by making do with what we have. So no, it’s not just knitting.’

Her eyes were blazing now, her cheeks red and her pale hair had frizzed a little in the steam from the tea—or her anger. And Liam realised, with a sudden, sinking certainty, that Alice Walters wasn’t a gold-digger. She was something much worse—for him, at least.

Alice Walters was a do-gooder. A determined, stubborn, dedicated doer of good. And while he might admire that kind of zeal in someone else, right now he was mentally cursing it. Not because he didn’t want to help all those women—he did. That was the problem.

Because his vision for Thornwood Castle, his big middle finger to the society and family that had rejected him, sure as hell didn’t include groups of troubled women and kids tramping around his personal space, while Alice harangued him to give more, help more, do more. He could see it now—a supplier meeting interrupted by a crying woman, or a visionary design lost to some child’s scribbles.

They couldn’t stay, that much was obvious. But he couldn’t just throw them out either. It wasn’t that she’d got to him or anything, with her speeches about safe places and refuge and need. But if Thornwood had become essential to the local community, he needed to convince the local community—and, more importantly, Alice—that their needs would be better served elsewhere, so he could get on with his own plans.

That, he suspected, might take time. Well, time he had—Thornwood had stood for this long waiting for him; it would last a little longer while he sorted all this out. The castle would be his, and only his, eventually. Liam Jenkins was renowned in business for always getting what he wanted—no matter how long it took.

But for now the only thing to do was to gauge exactly what he was up against. And whether he could buy his way out of it.

Reaching for a biscuit for the road, he said, ‘You’re right. I had no idea of the scope of your work here. Why don’t you show me round the place while you tell me more about the work you do and the fundraising you’ve got going on?’

At least the surprise on her face was a small consolation for the work he had ahead of him.

CHAPTER THREE

THE MAN WAS impossible to read. Alice had always heard that Australians were open and honest, friendly but blunt. Clearly Liam had more of his father’s side in him than his upbringing would suggest, because he was giving nothing away. Every relaxed shrug or bland stare hid his thoughts all too effectively.

He’d nodded politely as she’d shown him around the bedrooms, barely even acknowledging the king’s room, where past monarchs had slept. She supposed that the history of the crown might not mean that much to him, but she’d expected at least a flicker of appreciation at the giant four-poster bed, or even just the place Thornwood held in the heart of the nation. Still, nothing.

‘And do the women ever stay over here?’ he asked as she shut another bedroom door.

‘Sometimes,’ Alice admitted. ‘Not often, because even with this many bedrooms if we started setting up some sort of bed and breakfast we’d be swamped in days. We simply don’t have the resources—and, to be honest, a lot of the bedrooms aren’t really in a suitable condition for guests.’

‘No beds?’

‘No heating. Or insulation. Or glass in the windows, in some cases.’ She shivered. ‘Thornwood in winter is not a warm place.’

‘Hence the cardigans.’ What was his obsession with knitwear? Alice wondered, as Liam strode off down the hallway. He had a good stride, she couldn’t help but notice. Strong, muscled legs under his trousers, a long step and a purposeful gait. He looked like a man who was there to get a job done.

Alice just wished she had some idea what the job at hand was, for him. Because obviously he had plans. A man like Liam Jenkins didn’t just show up at Thornwood Castle with a vague dream of medieval re-enactments or something.

‘So, which room is yours?’ Liam called back, and Alice scurried to catch him up.

‘Um, I have a box room on the ground floor.’ Near the boiler, and close to the kitchens. It was the warmest place in the castle, and Alice loved it—even if it wasn’t all that much bigger than her office. Small spaces were comforting. There was no space for anything—or anyone—to hide, there.

‘Rose had the master suite, along here, though,’ she added, taking a left turn in the corridor and leading him to a large oak door. ‘We’ve cleared it out already, and it’s made up fresh if you’d like to use it?’ She hoped so. Rose’s suite was one of the few bedrooms in a suitable condition for long-term accommodation. If he said no, Alice had a feeling it would somehow become her job to clear out and do up another room to suit him.

Somehow, a lot of things around Thornwood became Alice’s job, mostly just because it was quicker and easier to take care of things herself than expect anyone else to do it.

Actually, not just around Thornwood. Alice’s rule for living number two was: don’t expect anyone to do anything for you. She figured if they did it was a pleasant surprise. And at least she was never disappointed when they inevitably didn’t.

Technically, Rose had hired her as a fundraiser—to raise money to help keep Thornwood running, without having to open it up for tours. Alice had convinced her that the best way to keep the house open, useful and sort of private was to use it to help the local residents. Rose’s sense of duty had been tickled, and now here they were. Alice raised money—through begging phone calls to donors, or fundraising activities on site—but she also organised the seminars and classes they held, as well as took care of the women. Her salary—small as it was—was paid from the money she raised, so she rarely took more than her room and board, and money for essentials. She was all too aware of the other uses that money could be put to.

Everyone else on site was a volunteer—except for Maud, the cook-slash-housekeeper, who’d been in Rose’s service for decades. Even Heather, who practically ran the place when Alice was busy, did it for nothing. And she had quickly claimed responsibility for taking care of the women who came to them in real trouble, which Alice appreciated. They’d managed to put together a stockpile in the pantry, full of all the essentials women, children and babies might need—especially if they couldn’t go home again. Some just needed enough food to see them through until payday. Others needed clothes, toiletries, nappies, a pay-as-you-go phone with a number no one had—and a way out. Alice was proud that their work meant they could help all of them—or at least get them to the best place for them to find real long-term help. She’d built up great connections with refuges and charities nationwide, and the work they did at Thornwood was well respected. Women came to them now from across the county, not just the local villages.

She just hoped Liam’s sense of duty was as strong as his great-aunt’s.

Opening the door to the suite of rooms, she let Liam walk in first, ignoring the slight pang in her chest she always felt when she saw Rose’s space empty.

Alice couldn’t honestly say that she and Rose had been friends, but she had certainly developed a great deal of respect for the old woman in the time she’d been working at Thornwood. Rose’s beliefs and opinions might have been from a bygone age in lots of ways, but when it came down to the essentials she was practical and—to Alice’s great surprise—compassionate.

Rose could have sold Thornwood for millions twice over, or she could have hired a company to make it into a tourist attraction. But instead she’d hired Alice, and told her to ‘make Thornwood useful again.’ Not in a large, flashy, lucrative way. In a way that served the community, and filled a gap in society. In a way that helped people—women just like Alice had been four years ago. Desperate.

Leaning against the heavy door, she watched Rose’s great-nephew explore the room—running a hand over the antique dresser, sticking his head into the more modern bathroom. Then he crossed to the window and stared out at the gardens beyond.

‘What do you think?’ Alice asked when he didn’t turn back. ‘Will it suit?’

‘Hmm?’ Liam turned back, apparently startled out of his own thoughts. ‘Oh, definitely. The space out there will be perfect for—’ He cut himself off. ‘You meant the rooms. Yeah, they’ll be fine. I don’t imagine I’ll be spending much time in them, anyway.’

Which begged the question—where was he planning on spending his time? And doing what? Because he sure as hell hadn’t been thinking about the bedroom when he’d been looking out of that window. He’d been making plans—plans he clearly had no intention of sharing with her.

And that made Alice very nervous indeed.

‘Ready to show me downstairs?’ Liam flashed her a smile, as if the last few moments hadn’t happened at all.

Alice narrowed her eyes. He was hiding something, that much was clear. But what? And how much harm could it do to everything Alice had built up at Thornwood?

She supposed there was only one way to find out.

She took a deep breath and stretched her face into a bright and happy smile. ‘Absolutely.’

* * *

Liam followed Alice back down endless, labyrinthine corridors, still thinking about the large expanse of forest he’d seen from Rose’s window. It would be perfect for an outdoor pursuits centre. He could see go-karting and paintball, maybe a ropes course. Plenty to keep the kids entertained while the parents took high tea up at the castle, or whatever it was people wanted from a stately home. Regardless, there was plenty of potential there.

Once he’d dealt with the castle’s current residents, of course.

After one last sharp turn in the corridor, they were suddenly spat out into a wide-open landing, leading to a grand double staircase, which joined halfway down to provide steps wider than he was tall. The dark wooden bannisters had been twined with glossy dark green leaves and bright red berries. Below stood an enormous Christmas tree, already strung with lights and glass baubles, the angel on top almost reaching the very top of the stairs. Liam couldn’t imagine how they’d even got it in through the doors.

‘Impressive tree,’ he said, nodding towards it.

Alice gave him a small, tight smile. ‘We like to celebrate life every way we can here. Now, after you?’ She gestured towards the stairs.

Liam frowned. The staircase was clearly wide enough for both of them to descend at the same time, yet Alice hung back in a way she hadn’t before. She was the one who knew her way around, so she’d led the way for most of the tour. What was different now? Was this some sort of prank?

He took the first step gingerly, relieved when it felt perfectly solid and ordinary under his foot.

Behind him, he heard Alice let out a long breath of relief, and knew that this was just another puzzle he’d need to figure out before he could leave Thornwood.

Safely at the bottom, Liam turned to admire the staircase. It would be a grand welcome for guests, a great way to make them feel they really had bought a piece of the English aristocracy experience. Then he blinked, and realised he wasn’t looking at the staircase at all.

He was watching Alice.

She skipped down the stairs easily enough, one hand bouncing along the bannister in between the greenery. The tension he’d heard in her voice when she asked him to go first was gone, and instead she looked...what? Guarded, maybe? As if there was something here she was trying to hide—something more than leaky ceilings and missing windows. Something other than just Thornwood.

Something about her.

He frowned as she reached the ground floor and glided across to straighten an ornament on the tree. Why, exactly, had Alice Walters come to Thornwood in the first place? He’d assumed she’d just been an eccentric hire of Rose’s, but now he was wondering. Obviously she had to be good at her job, and have great organisational skills, if she was keeping all the courses and sessions running that she claimed—even if her office was a bomb site. And Rose had never had any patience for slackers, so she must be a hard worker. Not to mention good at eliciting donations, to pay for everything.

Those sorts of skills could command a significant wage in the business world—far higher than he could imagine Rose paying her. So what kept her at Thornwood? Was it just the desire to do good—and, if it was, what had instilled that need in her?

Or, and this seemed like more of a possibility than he’d previously considered, was Alice one of the women who had needed the safe haven of Thornwood?

For some reason the idea filled him with horror—far more than the usual pity or anger he’d expect at a women being caught in such a situation. The idea of Alice—fired up, determined, intense Alice—being diminished by someone, a man, he assumed... That was unacceptable.

She turned to him, her bright smile firmly back in place and her honey-blonde hair bouncing around her shoulders. Suddenly, she didn’t look like a victim to him any longer. She looked like a strong, capable woman—one he needed to negotiate with before he could move on with his plans.

He was here for business, not to save people. Besides, he’d never been any good at that, anyway. He hadn’t been able to save his mother, had he? And for every fight he’d got in the middle of, how many of the people he’d protected had just gone back and got beaten up again the next day? Probably most of them.

Better to focus on what he was good at—designing buildings and making them a success. That he knew how to do—even if Thornwood was a little different to his usual projects.

And Alice was a lot different to his usual challenges.

* * *

Relief settled over Alice as she saw that the river from that morning had been thoroughly mopped up and the main hall was looking its usual impressive self again, ready for its new owner. The Christmas tree appeared perfectly festive, as did the garlands on the banisters. And hopefully Liam hadn’t noticed anything odd about her behaviour by the stairs—although, given how observant he seemed about other things, she wouldn’t like to place a bet on it. Still, even if he had noticed, why would he care? He wasn’t likely to worry about it enough to ask questions and find out what her problem was.

People usually didn’t, in Alice’s experience. No one wanted the second-hand trauma and misery of another person when they were already dealing with their own.

‘Right, well, let’s start in the library,’ she said, forcing a bright smile. Hopefully someone might have even tidied up the knitting stuff by now, since a new session had been due to start ten minutes ago.

The library was one of Alice’s favourite spots in the whole castle. The walls were lined with books, as one might expect, but Alice had brought her own touches to the place since she’d arrived, with Rose’s blessing. While three walls still boasted shelves laden with dusty, oversized hardback tomes on subjects no one had experienced a need to research in decades, possibly centuries, the fourth wall had been transformed over the last year and a half. The dark wood shelves were now stuffed full of more modern books—self-help classics, career advice books, parenting and childcare publications, not to mention shelf after shelf of fiction. Alice had made sure to collect a good range, mostly from second-hand bookshops on her fundraising travels, so they had romance, detective stories, fantasy and sci-fi, thrillers, as well as a good selection of the classics and award-winners. Something for everybody, Alice liked to think.

Today, now that the knitting class had finished, there was a group huddled around the central tables discussing interview techniques. Alice and Liam hung back at the door rather than interrupt, and listened to the questions the women were posing.

‘But what do I say when they ask why I’ve been out of work for so long?’ one woman asked, leaning across the table.

Melanie, the careers adviser Alice had persuaded to come in and run the session for free, leaned back slightly. ‘Well, I think the best plan is to be honest. Explain what you’ve been doing instead.’

‘What? Changing nappies and mopping up spit-up?’ The woman laughed. ‘Why would they care about that?’

‘Because everything you do, every day, is what shapes you.’ Alice startled as Liam spoke, and the whole room turned towards him. Men at Thornwood were a rarity these days, for obvious reasons. One or two of the women looked a little anxious. Several more looked appreciative—Alice decided not to speculate if that was because of his advice or his appearance.

Liam stepped forward into the room, placing his hands on the back of an empty chair as he spoke. ‘Any company worth working for knows that previous experience isn’t the most important thing for a potential employee to have.’

‘Then why do they all ask for it?’ Jess, one of the younger women, asked.

‘Oh, they’d like it, sure,’ Liam acknowledged. ‘But what they really need is someone who can learn. Someone who can walk into an interview and show them that they’re bright, they’re willing and, most importantly, they’re enthusiastic. If you can make them believe that you’ll work well with their team, listen and learn what you need to know, then go on to make the most of every opportunity they give you—and benefit their company along the way—then they’d be fools not to hire you.’

‘So...you’re saying it’s all about the right attitude?’ Jess said, frowning. ‘Not qualifications and stuff?’

‘Ninety per cent of the time, yes.’ Liam shrugged. ‘Yes, there are some roles that require specific qualifications, but they’re fewer than you might think. And a lot of companies will train you up and help you get those qualifications, if they like you, and if they believe you’ll make the most of the opportunity.’

‘Huh.’ Jess’s frown transformed into a wide smile that lit up her whole face. Alice didn’t think she’d ever seen that expression on Jess’s face before. She rather suspected that it might be hope.

Suddenly, she felt considerably warmer towards Liam Jenkins. Anyone who could put that expression on the face of someone who’d been through as much as Jess had, well, he had to be worth keeping around.

Melanie thanked Liam for his input, and Alice hoped her feathers weren’t too ruffled. It was hard enough finding people willing to give up their free time to run the sessions at Thornwood, especially since she could rarely offer them more than lunch as payment.

‘Shall we carry on?’ Alice asked, and Liam nodded.

‘I hope I didn’t overstep my place there,’ he said as they made their way down the echoing stone corridor.

Alice gave him a lopsided smile. ‘The whole estate is sort of your place,’ she pointed out. ‘You’d have to step a long way to get over your boundaries.’

From the stunned look on his face, Alice guessed he hadn’t thought of it like that before. Maybe Liam was going to find this adjustment as odd as the rest of them.

‘Well, when you put it like that...’ He shook his head. ‘I guess it’s still sinking in. I never expected to inherit Thornwood. Not in a million years. The idea that I own all this, that it’s all mine, as far as you can see from those replica battlements... That’s going to take some getting used to.’

‘Rose never spoke to you about her will?’ Alice asked, surprised.

Liam shrugged. ‘I hadn’t seen her in fifteen years. And I hadn’t been near Thornwood for a decade before that. And when we did meet...let’s just say there were other things to discuss.’

What other things? Alice was desperate to know, but the way Liam looked away, his expression closing up, she knew better than to ask. Not yet, anyway. Maybe when she got to know the new lord of the manor a little better she’d feel more confident about such questions.

Maybe she’d understand what it was about him that made her need to know the answers too.

Still, for him to not even know he stood to inherit Thornwood...that was strange. Rose had wanted everything settled in the last year or two of her life—that was one of the reasons she’d hired Alice when she did. Everything had been arranged for months before she died. So why wouldn’t she have told him? And even before that...

‘But you were her only living relative. You must have known that Thornwood would naturally come to you,’ Alice said, knowing she was pushing but unable to stop herself.

‘Why?’ Liam’s voice grew hard. ‘She’d never given me anything else I was entitled to, so the idea of her starting with Thornwood was kind of ludicrous.’

Alice stumbled slightly as she processed his words and, fast as a shot, Liam’s hand caught her arm, steadying her. ‘Sorry,’ she gasped, trying not to react to the sudden flare of heat that ran through her at his touch. She was absolutely not going to develop anything approaching a crush on this man. That way lay madness, frustration and probably a whole load of embarrassment.

‘Uneven floor,’ Liam said, peering down at the stone under their feet. ‘I’ll have to get that fixed before—’ He broke off.

‘Before?’ Alice asked, curious. What exactly did he have planned for Thornwood, anyway? Whatever it was, she got the distinct impression it wouldn’t involve knitting groups.

‘Before someone hurts themselves more seriously.’ Liam dropped his hand from her arm and kept walking.

Alice studied him as she followed, rubbing the spot where he’d held her arm. It was a neat enough cover, but Alice had plenty of experience with dishonest men.

And Liam Jenkins was most definitely hiding something.

* * *

‘So, where’s next?’ Liam asked, changing the subject quickly.

‘Um...the kitchens?’

‘Sounds great.’ Liam started walking. He wasn’t entirely sure where the kitchens were, but the fantastic scents wafting towards him suggested he was going the right way. And at least if he kept moving Alice would hopefully be distracted enough not to notice his less than smooth cover-up.

Obviously he’d need to explain his plans to her, and everyone else, eventually—making a big splash and putting the English establishment up in arms was part of the reason he was doing it in the first place—the rest, of course, being money. But he wanted to do it in his own time, and in a way that would have maximum impact. Alice gossiping about it to the locals in the village was definitely not that.

He frowned as Alice caught him up and said, ‘This way,’ as she took a sharp left turn. She didn’t seem like the gossipy sort, he had to admit. In fact, she seemed like the sort of woman who could keep others’ secrets as well as her own—and, even on an hour or two’s acquaintance, Liam was sure she had plenty of those. But then, so did he. And if he wasn’t planning on sharing, there was no reason she should.

If he handled this right, Alice wouldn’t be around long enough for him to worry about her secrets, anyway.

‘Here we are.’ Alice stopped in front of a giant wooden door, arched at the top, and reached for the huge iron ring that served as a doorknob. As she turned it and pushed open the door, the wonderful aromas Liam had been enjoying hit him at full strength, along with a heat that was sorely absent from the rest of the castle. Roasting meat and onions and deep savoury smells that made his stomach growl with hunger. He half expected to see a roast pig on a spit over a roaring fire.

But when he looked past Alice, instead of the rustic brick and wood kitchen he was expecting, Liam found a shining modern one, complete with range cooker and a very efficient-looking woman in an apron. In fact, it looked set up to cater for the masses.

‘Liam, this is Maud,’ Alice said, motioning towards the cook. ‘She was Rose’s cook and housekeeper for twenty years, and she’s very kindly stayed on to help us keep the place up and running. Maud, this is the new owner of Thornwood, Liam Jenkins.’

Maud wiped her hand on her apron before holding it out for him to shake. ‘Pleasure, I’m sure.’ Something in her tone told him that she wasn’t at all sure, actually, but he appreciated the attempt at civility all the same. She turned away again, back to the pot on her hob.

‘This is an impressive kitchen,’ he said appreciatively. It was always good to get in with the person who was in charge of the food, he’d found.

‘It’s functional,’ Maud said without looking at him. ‘But to be honest, I prefer the Old Kitchen.’

‘Old Kitchen?’ Liam asked. ‘I know this place is huge, but how many kitchens does it really need? This one looks like it could cater for pretty much any function you wanted to hold here.’

Alice laughed, the sound high and bright—but nervous, somehow. ‘The Old Kitchen is really old. Like a period piece. We use it when we do family days, to show the kids how they used to make different food and drinks here in the past. We’ve done medieval days, Victorian days, all sorts. It’s much more atmospheric than using the new kitchen, but this is better for when we have lots of people to feed.’

‘Which seems like most of the time,’ he observed.

‘The Old Kitchen wouldn’t be any good for all those fiddly canapés and such you like for your fundraisers, anyway,’ Maud grumbled as she placed two plates of food on the counter before them. ‘I’m going to be wrapping Parma ham around asparagus for days, I know it, to be ready for next Thursday.’

Beside him, Liam saw Alice wince. ‘Next Thursday?’

‘I was...going to mention that. We had planned a fundraiser for next week. It’s been in everyone’s diaries for months, long before we knew Rose wouldn’t be here to host it. We have some great pledges of support already. It would be such a shame to cancel it now...’

The question she wasn’t asking hung in the heavily scented air between them. Would the fundraiser still be able to go ahead, now he was in charge?

Liam considered. On the one hand, what was the point? Things were going to change around here, and he might as well start now. On the other, for his first act as the new owner of Thornwood to be cancelling a fundraiser for local women and children in need... That didn’t send a great message.

‘Fine. You can have your fundraiser,’ he said, and Alice clapped her hands and grinned.

‘Fantastic! I just know you’ll be a great host. You did bring your dinner jacket, right?’

Wait. What? Liam had a sinking feeling that he’d just signed up for far more than he’d intended to—and that getting Alice Walters out of his castle might not be as easy as he’d hoped.

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