lay on the polished mahogany occasional table beside her knee, along with the remains of her afternoon tea.
She turned a coolly gracious smile up to Regan, her dark brown eyes compassionate for her obvious embarrassment.
‘Take no notice, my dear. I designed these grounds specifically to tempt people to explore rather than just to stand and stare.’ She tilted her beautifully coiffured ash-blonde head. ‘Won’t you sit down? I’ll ask Mrs Beatson to bring you a refreshing cool drink or cup of tea.’
‘Tea, please,’ elected Sir Frank. ‘And scones. With cream and some of that homemade kiwi fruit jam of yours.’
His sister-in-law gave him a quelling look. ‘Plain tea and biscuits is all you’ll get from Alice,’ she said firmly. ‘The doctor sent her your diet sheet.’
‘I think I may have ended up with some tree sap on my skirt as well,’ said Regan, declining to besmirch any of the antique cream and white striped armchairs. Her nerves were on full alert as she tried to pay full attention to her hostess while also keeping one wary eye on the door for Adam, half expecting him to burst in and denounce her for a wanton harlot. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I changed first…’
‘Of course, and you might like a shower after your hot drive, too. Why don’t I get Alice to show you to your room? Although you’ll forgive us if the bed isn’t made up yet, since we weren’t expecting any more guests today.’ She slanted a look at her brother-in-law which made him scowl sheepishly.
‘I’m sorry. I quite understand, Mrs Harriman. I don’t want to be a burden—I can make up the bed myself if someone shows me where the linen cupboard is,’ said Regan. Whatever discussion had gone on between them before she’d arrived, it was evident that Sir Frank’s steamroller generosity had paid off, but that Hazel Harriman was gracefully making him aware of her displeasure.
The smile in the soft brown eyes shifted from one of politeness to genuine warmth. ‘Now I’m the one embarrassing you, Regan—forgive me, but I couldn’t resist that little dig at Frank. You don’t have to feel awkward—I know exactly what he’s like. This idea of his was probably sprung on you with much the same lack of notice as he gave me. He calls my side of the family bossy, but he really takes the cake!’
‘Cake, huh!’ Sir Frank rumbled. ‘Tea and biscuits is all I get around here!’
‘And please do call me Hazel,’ the other woman went on, as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘because we want to be comfortable with each other if we’re going to be working side by side for the next few weeks. Much as I hate to admit it, I do need someone to help—I’m left-handed and I have endless letters and lists still to deal with. And Carolyn is in such a mental tizzy that she can’t seem to concentrate on anything at the moment…’
One of the tight knots of tension loosened in Regan’s chest at the rueful admission of relief. At least now, on top of her other worries, she needn’t fear that she was leeching off a reluctant hostess.
‘Now, why don’t you go upstairs with Alice and settle in?’ Hazel ordered briskly. ‘And later she can show you around the house, so you can get your bearings. We can leave our little get-to-know-you chat until later. Meanwhile, I suppose I should see how the meal will stretch to two extra…I think Alice told me she was doing a stuffed salmon…’
Oh, God, was she going to have to face Adam across a formal table?
‘You said you weren’t expecting any more guests?’ Regan blurted. ‘Does that mean you have some staying here already?’
She held her breath until Hazel shook her head, her softset curls shimmering. ‘Not staying, no—except for Carolyn, of course, and she often flits back to Auckland to stay overnight at her flat. No, by “guests” I meant that Carolyn’s having a little impromptu party here later this evening for some of our local friends. It’ll be a nice, informal introduction for you.
‘And we do have plenty of visitors popping in and out during the course of the day. Joshua’s staying down at Palm Court, and he regularly drops by to see Carolyn, and there’s Christopher, of course—that’s Joshua’s brother.’
Thinking about it later in her room Regan, pondered the uneasy look that Hazel had exchanged with Sir Frank when she’d mentioned Christopher Wade and then hurriedly changed the subject—thwarting any further casual enquiry about male visitors. Was the fiancé’s brother considered some kind of problem? Could he be her Adam?
If so, she didn’t run into him when the stoic Alice Beatson finally winkled her out of her room for a nervewracking tour of the house. The room in which she had seen him proved to be a blessedly empty library, and dinner turned out to be a straightforward foursome with the Harrimans. Carolyn, whom she’d never met before, seemed perfectly pleasant when introduced, but rather disconcertingly edgy when she learned the purpose for Regan’s visit. Beneath the superficial gloss of sophistication often provided by inherited wealth she seemed rather young for her twenty-two years, and Regan had misgivings about the wilful curve to her lovely mouth and the highly-strung quality to her darting conversation. She had a beautiful figure and long, natural blonde hair which she kept twitching over her shoulder, and there was a hectic glitter in her golden-brown eyes as she bubbled excitedly about Joshua, whom she called her Darling Jay, and the people Regan was likely to meet later that night.
A good percentage of them were male, and as Regan ventured down later to join the party she was deeply fatalistic, determined that whatever happened she would brazen things out. Now that she had calmed down she had reasoned that a confrontation with Adam might be highly embarrassing but it wasn’t the end of the world. Plenty of women had to endure the social awkwardness of running into inconvenient ex-lovers. And Adam was a sophisticated man, unlikely to want a public fuss any more than she did.
The ‘little’ impromptu party had the house bulging at the seams already, and after Hazel had introduced her without incident to several bunches of friendly, relaxed people Regan felt confident enough to grab a glass of non-alcoholic punch and wing it on her own. In her black flip skirt and plain white silk camisole she knew she looked more subdued than most of the younger women present, and that suited her perfectly.
‘Hi, sweetie—you’re definitely a new face around here.’ As she moved away from the punch bowl she was accosted by a handsome, dark-haired young man with a cocky smile and to-die-for blue eyes who fell into step beside her. ‘Now, you can’t be a friend of Caro’s or we would have met before—are you part of the local gentry?’
‘I’m Regan Frances. I’m a house-guest here.’ That was the unfussy label Hazel had used in her introductions.
‘Are you indeed? Lucky thing! My name is Chris.’
She stopped by the French doors to the glass conservatory. ‘Christopher Wade?’
He leaned his hand on the doorframe above her head and raised his eyebrows in a wicked leer. ‘Ah, I see my fame has preceded me. What have you heard? How brilliant I am? How witty and good-looking? It’s all true, I tell you!’
She laughed. ‘I can see that.’
‘A woman of exquisite discernment.’ He grinned, and for the next few minutes elicited a string of giggles with his nonsense.
Regan was so busy enjoying the performance that she wasn’t aware of her danger until a masculine arm suddenly shot into her line of vision, holding out another full glass of beverage.
‘You
