ready.’ She pulled on her jacket, slid her feet into shoes that felt a little stiff, picked up her bag and followed him outside.
It was a fine, bright morning with not a breath of wind. Sun glinted through the trees, turning a million droplets of water into diamonds and making the saturated ground steam slightly.
When he’d locked the door behind them, they made their way out of the small garden and over the old humpbacked bridge.
A noisy brown torrent was surging through the single arch, carrying branches and loose boulders that battered at the stone foundations. The force seemed to make the whole structure shake, and she was glad to reach the other side.
As Simon helped her into the car she glanced back at Owl Cottage. So much had happened there, it would always be special to her. Though if it hadn’t been for the storm, the cottage wouldn’t have come into the equation, and events would almost certainly have moved at a much slower pace.
But would she have wanted them to?
Before she could answer the question, following the direction of her gaze, Simon asked, ‘No regrets?’
After a moment she replied steadily, ‘No regrets,’ and knew it was the truth.
The road through the woods was littered with storm debris and several times he had to stop the car and get out to move the bigger branches. On one occasion they were forced to leave the track altogether to find a way around a fallen tree. Once they had left the woods, however, and were into smoothly rolling parkland, they made much better time.
When they reached Farringdon Hall, Mrs Reynolds came hurrying to meet them. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said to Simon. ‘Sir Nigel’s been anxious since he asked for you and discovered you weren’t back.’
‘Thanks, Ann. Perhaps you’ll let him know we’re home safely and we’ll be in to see him as soon as we’ve changed.’
A little while later when Charlotte emerged from her room dressed in fresh undies, her oatmeal trousers and mulberry-coloured sweater, Simon was waiting.
After an appreciative glance at her slim trimness, he queried, ‘All set? Then we’ll go and tell Grandfather the good news, shall we?’
She went reluctantly. Though Simon seemed to think his grandfather would be pleased, she seriously doubted it. Why should Sir Nigel welcome a working-class girl into his aristocratic family?
And the whole thing had happened far too quickly. He would probably think that in so short a time she couldn’t possibly have come to love his grandson. He might even think that she was just after his money…
Glancing at her face as they made their way along the corridor to the old man’s room, Simon asked, ‘Feeling nervous?’
‘Scared stiff,’ she admitted.
‘You’ve no need to be,’ he reassured her.
‘But suppose he doesn’t accept me?’
‘He will,’ Simon said with certainty. ‘He took you to his heart the moment he saw you.’
As they reached the sickroom door it was opened by the nurse, who sighed with relief. ‘Thank the good lord you’re back. Sir Nigel’s been on edge since breakfast time waiting for you—’
‘Simon, my boy,’ her patient’s voice cut across the discreet whisper, ‘is everything all right?’
‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Not too long, now,’ the nurse cautioned, and slipped quietly away.
‘We had some trouble with the car,’ Simon explained, ‘and because of the weather conditions we decided to stay the night at Owl Cottage.’
‘Very sensible,’ Sir Nigel approved.
Taking Charlotte’s hand, Simon drew her to the bed. ‘We have some good news, haven’t we, darling?’
Looking even more gaunt and fragile, the old man was sitting propped up by pillows. His dark eyes moving from face to face, he waited.
‘We’re going to be married.’
Any worries Charlotte might have entertained about Sir Nigel’s reception of the news were instantly set at rest. His approval was evident.
Eyes alight with joy, he said, ‘Following the family tradition, eh? I can’t tell you how delighted I am… Charlotte, my dear…’ He held out both hands, long, thin, almost transparent hands, blotched with liver spots.
She took them gently in her strong young hands, and bent to kiss his cheek. His parchment-like skin smelled faintly of eau-de-Cologne.
Shaking hands with his grandson, he queried with undisguised eagerness, ‘How soon?’
‘As soon as possible,’ Simon assured him. ‘We would both prefer a church wedding, so I’m going to give Matthew a ring and see about an Archbishop’s Licence. Hopefully, we can arrange things for Wednesday or Thursday.’
‘You’ll be married at St Peter’s?’
‘I’d like to, though I haven’t yet had time to discuss this with my bride-to-be.’
Turning to Charlotte, he went on, ‘Our family have been tying the knot at the village church for generations. Grandfather was married there, so were my parents.’
‘That sounds lovely,’ she agreed.
Obviously relieved, the old man asked, ‘What about bridesmaids and a best man?’
‘Charlotte is going to ask her friend and flatmate, Miss Macfadyen, to be her bridesmaid, and, as neither of us have got a brother to act as best man, I thought I might ask—’
Sir Nigel looked up, his jaw tight. ‘Not—’
‘No, no…’ Simon said quickly. ‘I was thinking of Matthew’s son, James.’
‘Good choice,’ Sir Nigel approved.
‘If he can get the time off work, of course.’
‘What about Miss Macfadyen? Presumably she works?’
‘Yes, but as luck will have it, she has some holiday due, so I’ve suggested that we invite her down for a few days,’ Simon said.
‘An excellent idea!’
‘Now all we need is someone to give the bride away. It’s a great pity you’re not well enough.’
‘Who says I’m not? I’ll be only too happy to give Charlotte away if she has no objection, and doesn’t mind a wheelchair at her wedding.’
‘I’d be delighted,’ she told Sir Nigel truthfully. ‘So long as it won’t be too tiring for you.’
‘My dear, this news has given me a new lease of life, so I may as well use it to do something that will ensure me an enormous amount of pleasure.’
