English Lord, Ordinary Lady. Fiona Harper

any noise.

      She didn’t want to do anything to destroy Hattie’s innocent trust in the fact that her father would make good on his promise. The truth was, the last time she’d heard any news about Miles he’d been driving racing cars in Monte Carlo and having as wild a time as they’d had together when they’d been eighteen. She hoped, for her daughter’s sake, that one day he’d grow up and realise what he was missing.

      But until then, perhaps it was better that his visits were infrequent. He certainly wouldn’t be a positive influence in Hattie’s life. At the moment, Hattie saw him with the rose-coloured vision of childhood. And in some strange way, that helped. For now, in his absence, he was the fantasy father—funny, charming, devoted. If Miles really became a permanent fixture in Hattie’s life, she was going to be awfully disappointed.

      Josie held Poppy up so they were staring each other in the eye. ‘We’ll just have to fill in the gaps as best we can,’ she whispered. Poppy didn’t say much in reply, but Josie knew she’d hold up her end of the bargain.

      She crept back to Hattie’s bedroom and poked Poppy’s head round the door. Hattie squealed and when Josie entered the room she found her bouncing up and down on the bed on her knees. She delivered Poppy safe into her daughter’s arms.

      ‘She was just playing hide-and-seek. I found her in the living room. Now, no more bouncing. Time to lie down.’

      Hattie slid under the covers. Josie tucked the duvet under her chin and kissed her cheek. And, despite the urge to do exactly the opposite, she left her hair unruffled.

      Piles of paper were everywhere. A stuffed pheasant sitting on a shelf kept a beady eye on him as he navigated the clutter in Harry Radcliffe’s study.

      Will had been kidding himself thinking he could carry on with his business and be a part-time lord. Managing this project—no, managing his home—was going to be a full-time job and he needed office space.

      The walls were lined with bookshelves and every available gap was filled with boxes, papers and mementoes from Harry’s travels. He didn’t know where to start.

      On a certain level, he wanted to find out more about the man who had inhabited this study before him. Both his father and his grandfather had died when he was quite young and there had been no one to supply answers to the hundred-and-one questions about his family when teenage curiosity had struck.

      Funnily enough, he’d never thought of himself as a Radcliffe. He’d been twenty-five before he’d discovered his grandfather had changed his name to Roberts, using one of his profusion of middle names as his surname.

      Grandpa had always been very tight-lipped on the matter of family. It was his grandmother who had finally told him the whole sorry tale. Her husband’s family had cut him off and pretended he’d never existed. And the only crime he’d committed was to fall in love with the wrong woman. The injustice of it still made Will smart.

      Not that his grandfather had ever expressed regret about marrying his grandmother, but it had to have hurt. His family had treated him like an outcast.

      Will had been named after his grandfather and he’d been proud of the fact. Grandpa had been the one strong male influence in his life after his father’s early death, but he’d been so much more than a substitute parent. He’d been a friend, teacher and mentor.

      William Radcliffe had not deserved to die feeling the shame that he’d forever marked his family as rejects and losers. And now Will had the chance to reverse the Roberts family fortunes, to regain the reputation his grandfather had been sure was past resurrection.

      The Radcliffe family had allowed Elmhurst Hall to crumble and it would give him great satisfaction to restore it to its former glory, to turn it around and bring in an income to keep it safe for future generations—his children, not theirs. Then they’d see who the failures were.

      Of course, he had to find the right woman to have them with. Someone demure but not dull, engaging but not outrageous. Someone who was ready to settle down and have a quiet country life. When he thought about it like that, it seemed an awfully tall order. Where was he going to find such a woman? And even if he did, would he fall in love with her?

      No matter. If such a paragon of virtue really existed, he was bound to fall at her feet and worship.

      Two hours later, he’d managed to clear most of the desk. It was hard to work out exactly how to categorise the things he’d found. Harry’s personal and financial affairs were inextricably combined with the estate business.

      It seemed that Harry hadn’t thought of running the estate as a separate entity. That would have to change. Maybe he should look into setting up a charitable trust? But first things first. What Elmhurst needed was an administrator, someone to take care of the organisation, the people.

      He picked up a photograph in a frame that was sitting on the desk. Until fifteen minutes ago, it had been hidden behind a stack of maps and magazines.

      It was a black-and-white and taken, he guessed, some time in the Fifties. A large family group stood on the top lawn overlooking the sunken rose garden, squinting in the sunlight of a summer’s day. The man in the centre was Harry. He recognised him from some of the other photographs dotted around the hall. The rest of the group must have been made up of Harry’s brother—Will’s other great-uncle—and his children. Relations he’d never known.

      Since the solicitor had tracked him down he’d had no contact from any of these people. It was as if they didn’t want to acknowledge his existence. He put the picture frame back down on the desk. Some of those children would only be in their fifties now. They couldn’t all be dead. So much for blood being thicker than water.

      Hattie’s angelic face appeared at the counter, her chin lifted to see over the top of it. ‘Mummy, can I have another cake?’

      Josie wiped her hands on her apron and looked at her daughter. ‘One is enough, sweetie. I’ll be finished in forty-five minutes and then we’ll be going home for tea.’

      ‘Please?’ Hattie clasped her hands in front of her, looking adorably hopeful.

      ‘Sorry. Why don’t you go and sit back down with your colouring book?’

      Hattie dropped her hands and her shoulders hunched. ‘These tables are wobbly. I keep going wrong.’

      Josie put her hands on her hips and looked round the makeshift tea and coffee area they had set up in the corner of the gift shop while the renovations were being completed in the tearoom. It really wasn’t ideal. She’d put tablecloths over the assorted garden furniture they’d cobbled together, but it was mismatched and left a lot to be desired.

      ‘Look! Those people over there have finished with the corner table. That one doesn’t wobble at all. Why don’t I help you move all your crayons and books over?’

      A crayon rolled under the table in the moving operation and Josie ducked underneath to rescue it. Just as her fingers closed over it the old-fashioned bell on the door jangled. She backed out carefully, aware that the customers were getting a very good view of her rump.

      She began talking as she started to stand. ‘Please excuse me. I was just…Oh.’

      It wasn’t customers. It was the boss. He was clutching a familiar manila folder in his hand. Over the last few weeks he’d dropped by to see her at the end of the day every now and then to update her on the tearoom renovations. Was it her imagination, or were his visits getting more frequent? This was the second time this week and it was only Wednesday.

      He thrust the folder in her direction. ‘I thought you might like to take a look at these brochures for new tills.’

      ‘That would be lovely, but…’ Her gaze drifted to a table of four on the opposite side of the room. ‘I just have a few more cream teas to prepare.’

      He shrugged. ‘No problem. I’ll just sit here and keep Hattie company until you’re ready. Actually, I’ve got a surprise for you, princess.’

      Hattie’s