Australia: In Bed with Her Groom. Emma Darcy

himself, which was all to the good.

      ‘This gives your birthplace as Springfield Manor,’ she observed inquiringly.

      ‘As I explained, I hold a hereditary position. Generations of my family have been born at Springfield Manor.’

      That wasn’t so good. It meant Cliffton had deep roots there. Maybe she shouldn’t start something that had little hope of a happy ending. However tempting it was to prolong an involvement with him, it wasn’t exactly honest to let him think she was prepared to fall in with the plans made for her and accompany him to Springfield Manor.

      Her usual sense of integrity reared its head. She handed him his passport and mustered up the strength to meet his gaze with steady eyes. ‘You have rather sprung this on me, Cliffton. I’m sure you think that William and I will be better off living at Springfield Manor, but I’ve got to tell you that giving up a life of independence goes very much against my grain. It also goes against my grain that I’m being placed in a position of obligation without my consent. I don’t like being beholden to anyone for anything.’

      To Ashley’s surprise, Cliffton looked pleased at this declaration. His eyes positively danced approval. ‘I quite understand, Mrs. Harcourt. There is nothing worse than a burden of obligation or the sense of not having a free choice. Believe me, it is the last thing I would put upon you. I merely offer. You decide what you want.’

      Put like that, Ashley could find no objection to tasting the waters without committing herself to the whole deal.

      ‘As I see the situation,’ Cliffton went on persuasively, ‘everyone has personal needs. It is a matter of working out whether or not yours can be accommodated to your satisfaction. I appreciate that this will take time.’

      ‘Yes,’ she quickly agreed. ‘It will take time. It could be years.’

      ‘As long as it takes,’ he reasserted with bland unconcern.

      ‘It may never be worked out to my satisfaction,’ she warned.

      ‘One can but give it fair trial.’

      ‘As long as that’s understood.’

      ‘Absolutely.’

      Integrity satisfied, Ashley decided she had to tackle the accommodation question. ‘This isn’t a big house, Cliffton.’

      ‘It appears to be very cosy and comfortable and practical. You have every reason to be proud of it.’

      ‘Thank you. I wasn’t apologising for its lack of grandeur,’ she said dryly. ‘I was about to point out we don’t have a lot of room. Are you prepared to live with less than you’re obviously accustomed to?’

      ‘I was a boy scout. A tent in the backyard will suffice,’ came the blithe reply.

      ‘No, no, we don’t have to go that far.’ He was clearly bent on staying with her, no matter what, and Ashley found herself feeling highly gratified by the fact. ‘There is a spare bedroom but it is small and rather cluttered. I think you’ll have to negotiate with William over what stays and what goes to make room for your things. It’s rather complicated with a miniature army of soldiers that are in the process of being painted.’

      He grinned. ‘I can see your William is a lad after my own heart, Mrs. Harcourt. Perhaps I can help him set up a battlefield. I once did a papier-mâché model for the Battle of Waterloo. One of my ancestors was a key figure in the defence of Hougoumont against the French.’

      Cliffton could become the father figure William had been missing all these years, Ashley thought hopefully.

      Or was he a soul mate?

      Despite Cliffton’s mastery of decorum, there was definitely a glint of mischief in his eyes that suggested something wild and wicked lived behind the pose of proper propriety. He was obviously in tune with William’s entrepreneurial skills. A hereditary butler was probably in the perfect position to be an opportunist with both his master and his master’s guests. Ashley suspected that Cliffton did very well for himself.

      Look at his clothes. And the Rolls Royce. Maybe an egalitarian society wouldn’t suit him nearly so well. On the other hand, if he was prepared to camp in a tent in the backyard, he was nothing if not flexible.

      Since there seemed to be no wrong in accepting him into the house as her butler, at least on a temporary basis, Ashley made her decision with a clear conscience and an exciting sense of adventure. Having a butler would undoubtedly be an interesting and novel experience. When the butler was Cliffton, well, who knew what might happen?

      She smiled. ‘Is there anything you wish to settle with me before bringing in your luggage?’

      He smiled back. ‘I believe we’ve covered everything of present importance, Mrs. Harcourt.’

      Ashley could feel his satisfaction and was highly conscious of her own. A two-way street, she thought with growing pleasure.

      ‘Then welcome to our home, Cliffton.’

      ‘Thank you, Mrs. Harcourt.’

      How that name grated on Ashley’s ears!

      ‘Please be assured I will serve you as best I can until everything is resolved,’ he continued.

      Happily, she hoped.

      ‘In the meantime, I shall go and survey the sleeping quarters and come to an accommodation with William.’

      Ashley came to another decision. ‘There is one other thing. In Australia it’s quite customary for both employer and employee to call each other by their first names. I’m not even your employer. And since we’ll be living in constant proximity, I think it would be more appropriate if I call you Harry and you call me Ashley. It won’t, uh, interfere with your duties, and I’ll feel more comfortable with it. If you don’t mind.’

      ‘Your comfort is my duty,’ he replied, giving her a dazzling smile. ‘Ashley it is.’

      ‘Thank you, Harry.’

      ‘My pleasure.’

      He left her to savour her pleasure, and it was very warm, warmer than anything Ashley had felt for a long, long time.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      NO SOONER HAD William’s friends scattered home for their evening meal than Ashley was faced with some of the wider consequences of accepting Harry into her household.

      The telephone rang.

      Ashley was slow in answering the call. Harry had insisted on preparing dinner, and William, most uncharacteristically, was helping him. She had slipped upstairs to change out of her business suit and freshen up generally for the evening ahead. By the time she emerged from the bathroom and picked up the receiver in her bedroom, Harry was already on the kitchen extension.

      ‘The Harcourt residence. May I enquire who’s calling, please?’

      Ashley held her tongue, curious to know how Harry would deal with the caller.

      ‘It’s Olivia Stanton. Dylan’s mother.’

      Ashley grimaced. Olivia was the president of the Parents’ and Citizens’ Association at William’s school, and she had a habit of minding everybody else’s business. Her snippy tone indicated a complaint was about to be voiced.

      ‘How do you do, Mrs. Stanton?’ Harry’s English accent suddenly developed a very plummy tone. ‘How may I help you?’

      A slight pause. ‘To whom am I speaking?’

      ‘My name is Cliffton. I am Mrs. Harcourt’s butler.’

      ‘Butler!’

      Her astonishment was unmistakable. A butler was a most uncommon personage in Australia, let alone in the Central Coast area of Wamberal.