these people who always says exactly what’s on their mind. I live very quietly but I can’t reasonably expect you to do the same thing for an entire six months. I’m sure you’ll maybe want to go up to London occasionally and—’
‘Amuse myself?’ Luca slotted in very drily.
In spite of her discomfiture, Darcy uttered a strained little laugh. ‘You can hardly bring a girlfriend here—’
‘I do not have a woman in my life,’ he interrupted, with a strong suggestion of gritted teeth.
‘Possibly not at present,’ Darcy allowed, wondering what on earth was the matter with him. He was reacting as if she had grossly insulted him in some way. ‘But I’m being realistic. You’re bound to get bored down here. City slickers do...’
Brilliant eyes black as jet stabbed into her. A line of dark colour now lay over his taut cheekbones. ‘There will not be a woman nor any need for such behaviour on my part, I assure you,’ he imparted icily.
They were descending the stairs when a tiny figure clad in bright red leggings and a yellow T-shirt appeared in the Great Hall below. ‘Mummy!’ Zia carrolled with exuberance.
As her daughter flashed over to eagerly show off a much creased painting, Luca fell still. Interpreting his silence as astonishment, Darcy flung him an apologetic glance as she lifted her daughter up into her arms. ‘My daughter, Zia...I hadn’t got around to mentioning her yet,’ she conceded rather defensively.
Luca slid up a broad shoulder in an infinitesimal shrug of innate elegance. The advent of a stray cat might have inspired as much interest. Not a male who had any time for children, Darcy gathered, resolving to ensure that her playful and chatty toddler was kept well out of his path.
‘Is there anything else you wish to discuss?’ Luca prompted with faint impatience.
Darcy stiffened. Minutes later, she had written and passed him the cheque she had promised. He folded the item and tucked it into his inside pocket with complete cool. ‘I’ll drop you a note as soon as I get the date of the ceremony organised. I won’t need to see you again before that,’ she told him.
Luca printed a phone number on the front of the jotter she had left lying. ‘If you need to contact me for any other reason, leave a message on that line.’
A fortnight later, Darcy unbolted the huge front door of the Folly and dragged it open, only to freeze in dismay.
‘About time too,’ Margo Fielding complained sharply as she swept past, reeking of expensive perfume and irritation, closely followed by her daughter, Nina.
Aghast at the unforewarned descent of her stepmother and her stepsister, Darcy watched with a sinking heart as the tall, beautiful blonde duo stalked ahead of her into the drawing room.
She hadn’t laid eyes on either woman since they had moved out after her father’s funeral, eager to leave the privations of country life behind them and return to city life. The discovery that Darcy could not be forced to sell the Folly and share the proceeds with them had led to a strained parting of the ways. Although Morton Fielding had generously provided for his widow, and Margo was a wealthy woman in her own right, her stepmother had been far from satisfied.
Margo cast her an outraged look. ‘Don’t you think you should’ve told me that you were getting married?’ she demanded as she took up a painfully familiar bullying stance at the fireplace. ‘Can you imagine how I felt when a friend called me to ask who you were marrying and I had to confess my ignorance? How dare you embarrass me like that?’
Darcy was very tense, her tummy muscles knotting up while she wondered how on earth the older woman had discovered her plans. The vicar’s wife could be a bit of a gossip, she conceded, and Margo still had friends locally. No doubt that was how word had travelled farther afield at such speed. ‘I’m sorry...I would’ve informed you after the wedding—’
Nina’s scornful blue eyes raked over the younger woman. ‘But of course, when it’s safely over. You’re terrified that your bridegroom will bolt last minute, like Richard did!’
At that unpleasant and needless reminder, which was painfully apt, the embarrassed colour drained from Darcy’s taut cheekbones. ‘I—’
‘Just when I thought you must finally be coming to your senses and accepting the need to sell this white elephant of a house, you suddenly decide to get married,’ Margo condemned with stark resentment. ‘Is he even presentable?’
‘With all this heavy secrecy, it’s my bet that the groom is totally unpresentable...one of the estate workers?’ Nina suggested, with a disdainful little shudder of snobbish distaste.
‘You’re not pregnant again, are you?’ Margo treated Darcy to a withering and accusing appraisal. ‘That’s what people are going to think. And I refuse to have my acquaintances view me as some sort of wicked stepmother! So you’ll have to pay for a proper wedding reception and I’ll act as your hostess.’
‘I’m afraid I haven’t got the money for that,’ Darcy admitted tightly.
‘What about him?’ Nina pressed instantaneously.
Darcy flushed and looked away.
‘Penniless, I suppose.’ Reaching that conclusion, Margo exchanged a covert look of relief and satisfaction with her daughter. ‘I do hope he’s aware that when you go bust here, we’re entitled to a slice of whatever is left.’
‘I’m not planning to go bust,’ Darcy breathed, her taut fingers clenching in on themselves.
‘I’m just dying to meet this character.’ Nina giggled. ‘Who is he?’
‘His name’s Luca—’
‘What kind of a name is that?’ her stepmother demanded.
‘He’s Italian,’ Darcy confided grudgingly.
‘An immigrant?’ Nina squealed, as if that was the funniest thing she had ever heard. ‘I do hope he’s not marrying you just to get a British passport!’
‘I’ll throw a small engagement party for you this weekend in Truro,’ Margo announced grandly with a glacial smile. ‘I will not have people say that I didn’t at least try to do my duty by my late husband’s child.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ Darcy mumbled, after a staggered pause at the fact that Margo was prepared to make so much effort on her behalf. ‘But—’
‘No buts, Darcy. Everyone knows how eccentric you are, but I will not allow you to embarrass me in front of my friends. I will expect you and your fiancé at eight on Friday, both of you suitably dressed. And if he’s as hopeless as you are in polite company, tell him to keep his mouth shut and just smile:’
Her expectations voiced, Margo was already sweeping out to the hall. Darcy unfroze and sped after her. ‘But Luca...Luca’s got other arrangements for that night!’ she lied in a frantic rush.
‘Saturday, then,’ Margo decreed instead.
Darcy’s tremulous lips sealed again. How could she refuse to produce her supposed fiancé without giving the impression that there was something most peculiar about their relationship? She should never
