English Lord, Ordinary Lady. Fiona Harper

Will produced a wooden box from his briefcase. Hattie clapped as he opened it up to reveal a chessboard and chess pieces.

      How thoughtful of Will. He must have noticed on previous visits that Hattie sometimes got bored on the days she had to fill the space between the end of school and the end of Josie’s working day sitting quietly at a table. There was a man who was a positive influence on Hattie. She smiled. Her daughter could certainly do with a good male role model.

      By the time the last customers crossed the threshold, Hattie knew all the names of the pieces and exactly how they were allowed to move.

      Josie took her apron off, hung it over a chair and crossed the room to join them.

      ‘Let’s see these brochures, then.’

      Will dug the file out of his briefcase once again and handed it over. He nodded towards the board. ‘Do you play?’

      She shook her head. ‘My older brother tried to teach me, but I was hopeless. I was always making illegal moves, sending my pawns whizzing across the board and letting my rook move diagonally.’

      Hattie rolled her eyes. ‘Mum! It’s not that hard to remember.’

      Josie laughed. ‘I know, but I just couldn’t resist bending the rules a little.’ She turned to Will. ‘You’re shocked. Don’t deny it.’

      ‘You’re never going to win if you don’t play by the rules.’

      She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. ‘I like playing by my own rules.’

      Will shook his head and moved a pawn forward one space. ‘I’m starting to see that about you. But life follows a similar pattern, doesn’t it? If you don’t play by the rules, you don’t get ahead.’

      That simply wasn’t true. She knew plenty of people who got ahead just because they had been born with a title or with money. They jumped to the top of the heap just because they could, because they thought it was their right. It had nothing to do with living by the ‘rules’ and everything to do with the old-boy network.

      Perhaps it was just a different set of rules. Whatever. She still didn’t want to live by them. She knew her own values; she didn’t need anyone else imposing theirs on her. Freedom. Honesty. Unconditional love. Those were the things that were important. She had no problem in living according to those rules, the ones planted in her heart.

      The new Lord Radcliffe had a lot to learn if he was still clinging on to the misguided belief that hard work and integrity would get him anywhere in his shark-infested social circle.

      It wasn’t exactly what she’d imagined. Josie walked slowly through the newly refurbished tearoom, brushing the backs of the sturdy wooden chairs with her fingertips.

      ‘What do you think?’ Will looked hopeful.

      ‘It’s…’ dull? Stuffy? ‘…very traditional.’

      ‘Good. That’s the look I was going for.’

      Josie sighed as she remembered reams of scribbled plans she’d built up over the years. She’d had such great vision for this place. It would have been fabulous.

      Not like this. It was boring. And not just bog-standard boring. It was boring split into two syllables. Bor-ing.

      ‘You don’t like it.’ Will’s eyebrows edged a little closer together.

      ‘It’s very…appropriate.’ She mustn’t shudder, really she mustn’t, but that word—appropriate. Josie felt a quiver work its way up her body from her toes.

      Will’s tiny frown developed into the full-blown variety. ‘You hate it.’

      ‘It doesn’t matter what I think.’

      It was his stately home now. He could do whatever he liked with it.

      ‘Of course it does. I wouldn’t have asked for your opinion if I didn’t want it.’

      That was Will all over, she supposed. In the last few weeks, as they’d spent more time together, she’d come to learn that he didn’t play games. Unless she counted the twice-weekly sessions when he was teaching Hattie to play chess.

      ‘What’s wrong with it, then?’

      Josie turned full circle on the rubber heels of her boots, taking the room in.

      ‘All that burgundy drapery looks fine now, while we’re only just out of winter. It makes the place look cosy. But in high summer it’s going to be a bit dark and gloomy. Not very inviting on a hot day.’

      ‘We’re in Kent, not Florida.’

      Josie gave him a look. ‘I know that. But it can get pretty warm here in July and August. And people get hot walking round the gardens.’

      ‘What would you have done, then?’

      OK, she was going to try not to act as if she’d had this memorised for the past two years. ‘I’d have made it more contemporary. Light, bright and airy. Clean lines. White muslin curtains. Modern furniture. There’s a local artist who was prepared to show his work on the walls.’

      ‘That’s hardly in keeping with the history of the place, is it?’

      Josie stopped swivelling to and fro on her heels and faced him. ‘It used to be the stables. If you’re going all out for historical accuracy, you should fill the place with saddles, horses and hay. And where there are horses there’s always plenty of horse—’

      ‘OK! I get the picture.’

      ‘Manure. I was going to say manure.’ She gave him her best angelic smile.

      ‘Of course you were.’

      Will was giving her his trademark deadpan look, but underneath, just for a split-second, she could have sworn she’d seen the promise of a smile. She shouldn’t want to see more of that smile. It shouldn’t matter to her what he did with his mouth. Even if that bottom lip did look very inviting.

      She shook her head. This was her boss and she shouldn’t be thinking about him like this. And even if he weren’t her boss, she wasn’t about to have a fling with another member of the aristocracy. It would end in tears. Hers probably. Hattie’s definitely.

      Mentally, she added another entry to her unwritten set of rules: ignore Will’s bottom lip—and the rest of his finely chiselled face, for that matter. But then her thoughts just drifted lower, to the washboard abs and hard thighs Marianne the librarian had speculated about.

      Perhaps she should just try and avoid thinking about him altogether.

      While she’d been wrestling with herself, he’d crossed the room and unzipped a large bag balanced on a chair near the door. ‘While we are on the subject of new looks for the tearoom…’He pulled something out wrapped in the thin plastic that dry-cleaners used.

      She took a few steps closer.

      ‘I thought the staff should have a unified look. Something more appropriate.’

      He looked her up and down. Now, this was just a wild guess, but she was pretty sure that ripped jeans and a T-shirt with the name of her favourite rock band on the front was not what he had in mind when he said appropriate. Just as well she’d kept her jacket on and he couldn’t see the slogan splashed across the back.

      He walked to where she was standing, let the folded bundle drop and she took in the full horror of the situation.

      ‘You have got to be kidding me!’