me two minutes,’ Ella said.
And she was ready in the time it took him to wash up their undrunk mugs of tea.
Ella didn’t manage to get much more out of Oliver about his family on the journey, other than that his older brother Ned was married to Prue and they had three girls. Her bravado dimmed a bit when Oliver explained that Ned was the heir to the earldom and he was the ‘spare’ until Ned and Prue had a son—particularly when she worked out that if Ned and Prue didn’t have a son and something happened to Ned, Oliver would be the future Earl of Darrington; and then if her baby was a boy he would be the heir, which would make her the mother of an earl. Her nerves threatened to outweigh the bravery completely when Oliver drove down the long, narrow driveway lined with trees and she saw just how big Darrington Hall was. Her worries grew as he parked his car among what she recognised as Rolls-Royces and Bentleys. No way could she fit into this kind of world. If his parents didn’t approve of his job, they’d approve even less of her.
He helped her from the car, and led her up the steps to the porticoed entrance. They were greeted at the door by a butler wearing white gloves, who took their coats. ‘Good to see you again, Master Oliver,’ he said, dipping his head in acknowledgement.
‘Thank you, Benson,’ Oliver said with a smile.
‘Everyone’s in the ballroom, Master Oliver,’ the butler said.
‘Thanks, Benson. This way, Ella,’ Oliver said.
The reception hall was massive, with a huge sweeping staircase, polished wooden floors, a carpet that looked as if it was an antique worth hundreds of thousands of pounds, and a whole gallery of portraits in heavy gold frames.
‘Are they…?’ Ella asked, gesturing to them.
‘The Earls of Darrington, yes. My father’s the one over there.’
The newest portrait. The current Earl had a stern face, Ella thought. And he was wearing very formal dress; she imagined it was what he’d wear in the House of Lords.
He really, really wasn’t going to approve of her.
There were serving staff dressed in black and white, carrying silver trays filled with glasses of champagne or exquisite canapés. The trays looked as if they were real silver, Ella thought, rather than the polished chrome used in a restaurant.
She felt even more out of place when they walked into the ballroom itself. Again, the room was massive, with wooden-panelled walls, a huge marble fireplace, more oil paintings in heavy frames and the most enormous crystal chandelier. There was a baby grand piano in the corner of the room, and the man sitting on the piano stool was playing soft jazz, not quite loudly enough to disturb the hum of conversation. And the only time she’d seen a Christmas tree that big was in one of the posh London stores. It looked professionally decorated, too—not like the Christmas trees in her family, strewn with decorations made over the years at school by each child. All the reds and golds of the different decorations matched, and the spacing between baubles was so precise that someone must’ve used a tape measure.
But then Oliver tucked her hand firmly in the crook of his arm and was walking her over towards a couple at the other side of the room.
‘Olls! I thought Mama had been at the sherry when she said you were turning up tonight,’ the man said, clapping him on the back.
Even without the words, Ella would’ve guessed that this was Oliver’s brother, because they looked so alike.
‘Very funny, Ned. I’d like you to meet Ms Ella O’Brien. Ella, this is my elder brother Ned, and how he managed to persuade lovely Prue here to marry a scoundrel like him is beyond me,’ Oliver said, laughing.
‘I—um—how do you do, Lord Darrington?’ Ella said awkwardly, holding out a hand, really hoping that she’d got the etiquette right. Or should she be curtsying to him? She only just resisted the urge to kick Oliver very hard on the ankle for not giving her anywhere near enough information about how to deal with this.
Viscount Darrington shook her hand. ‘Delighted to meet you, Ms O’Brien, or may I call you Ella?’
She could see where Oliver got his charm from, now. ‘Ella’s fine,’ she said, cross with herself for squeaking the words.
‘And you must call me Ned,’ he said with a warm smile.
‘And I’m Prue. We don’t stand on ceremony, whatever nonsense Olls might have told you,’ Viscountess Darrington said. Then she shook her head in exasperation. ‘Did he not even let you get a drink, first? That’s terrible. Olls, your manners are shocking. Come with me, Ella—let’s leave these heathens to sort themselves out. What would you like? Some champagne?’
‘Thank you,’ Ella said, ‘but I’m on an early shift tomorrow, so I’d rather not be drinking alcohol tonight.’
‘Let’s sort you out with something soft, then,’ Prue said with a smile. ‘And I’m sure we have you to thank for Olls actually coming to the party. He normally wriggles out of it.’
‘I…um…’ Ella didn’t know what to say.
‘And it’s really bad of him to drop you right in the middle of this without any warning,’ Prue said. ‘This place is a bit overwhelming, the first time you see it—and with all these people about it’s even more intimidating.’ She shook her head again and tutted. ‘I’m so sorry, Ella. If he’d actually told us he was bringing you, I’d have suggested meeting you in Cheltenham for lunch first—somewhere quiet, where we could have had a proper chat and got to know each other a bit before tonight.’
Ella really hadn’t expected Oliver’s family to be so welcoming, not after he’d said things were strained between them. But Prue Darrington was a real sweetheart, and Ella began to feel just the tiniest bit better about being here.
‘I think the invitation was all a bit last-minute,’ she said.
Prue rolled her eyes. ‘The Darrington men are all the same—they’re total rubbish at communicating. But I’m so glad you’ve come. It’s lovely to meet you. And I do like your necklace. It’s so pretty.’
Ella wasn’t sure whether Prue really meant the compliment or was just being kind, but she was grateful that at least someone here wasn’t looking down on her. ‘Thank you.’
‘I take it you work with Olls?’ Prue asked.
Ella nodded. ‘I’m a midwife.’
‘What a wonderful job to have—to see those first precious moments of life,’ Prue said.
‘I love it,’ Ella confided shyly. ‘Oliver says you have three girls?’
‘We do. Rose, Poppy and Lily—aged five, three and thirteen months respectively.’
‘They’re very pretty names,’ Ella said.
Prue grinned. ‘That’s the great thing about having a girl Darrington. You actually get to choose her name yourself.’
Ella blinked. ‘You mean, if
