back shortly, William.’
Ashley felt her mind was split into at least a dozen pieces, zigzagging off in all directions. As she reached the hallway she gathered enough wits to admonish her precocious son. ‘You behave yourself, William,’ she said sternly. ‘And you are not to ask for anything. Do you hear me?’
‘Loud and clear, Mum. I promise I’ll be as good as gold. Cross my heart.’ He grinned. ‘I wouldn’t risk not going to England with Mr. Cliffton.’
And that was the crux of it, Ashley thought wryly as she accompanied Harry to the Rolls Royce. William was getting totally out of hand. He needed a father. But was Harry any different to her son? Everything seemed to be suddenly out of hand. She didn’t feel in control of anything any more.
Harry saw her settled in the front passenger seat, wanting her beside him. As he rounded the bonnet to the driver’s side he felt the exhilaration of having crossed another critical line. Not only had becoming lovers exceeded all his hopes and expectations, he had successfully put in place the process of moving Ashley to his home ground.
It had niggled at him all week that not once had Ashley questioned him in any practical sense about his life. A woman who was considering him as a husband surely would. It had seemed to him she was satisfied with collecting beautiful memories while Harry had progressed to absolute certainty about what he wanted.
It was possible that she saw a visit to Springfield Manor as a chance to fill a treasure chest of memories, but it was a step towards him, a step towards the future he could give her. Surely she would see that what he offered was entirely different from the life she had suffered with Roger. He couldn’t lose now. No way. She wanted him. And they were great together. No doubt about that.
Ashley didn’t look at him as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She appeared deep in private thought. Not worrying, he hoped. He drove slowly, considering how best to make his next move.
‘Do you always do what Mr. Fotheringham tells you to?’ she asked.
It was a tricky question. Harry didn’t want to lie to her. Soon, very soon, he would have to lay out the truth, but that was better done in England when she was under his roof. He could more easily counter a negative reaction there. He chose his words with as much care as he had in explaining George’s telephone call.
‘We tend to come to an agreement, Ashley. I did tell you that George Fotheringham’s family and mine have been connected for centuries. Since the Battle of Flodden in 1513. There is a line of respect kept by both sides and an affection and indulgence that comes from long familiarity.’
‘A sense of belonging,’ she murmured.
‘Yes.’
‘That must be…comforting.’
‘You can share it, too, Ashley. You and William.’
She made no reply to that. She pointed ahead. ‘There’s the house. The one where people are out on the front balcony.’
The Rolls Royce was definitely on show, Harry thought with a flash of irony, but status symbols were totally irrelevant to what was on his mind. The driveway to the Stantons’ double garage had been left clear, and he drove the Rolls into it for Ashley’s convenience. He switched off the engine and turned to her, reaching over to take her right hand and hold it.
She looked at him, her eyes mirroring a fearful uncertainty, but she left her hand in his, perhaps needing the comfort of the contact. Without hesitation, Harry gave her one rock-solid certainty to hang onto.
‘I want to marry you, Ashley. Will you think about that while you mix with your friends tonight?’
‘Harry…’ It was a breathless little gasp as though he’d punched the air out of her lungs. Her eyes widened wonderingly.
‘Don’t answer me now. I just want you to know,’ he said with quiet seriousness. To imprint it firmly on her mind, he repeated, ‘I want to marry you.’
THE NEXT FEW moments were a blur to Ashley. The trip to England, Harry’s declaration on top of it followed by him playing the chauffeur, stepping out of the car to open her door for her and see her safely onto her feet…It was all happening too quickly for her. Now he was leaving her at this meaningless party to go home and play a war game with her son, and she didn’t have wits enough to stop him, to say she didn’t want him to go and leave her here alone.
She stood, stupidly speechless, watching him close her door and move to the driver’s side, decisive in all his actions. He entered the Rolls, switched on the engine, reversed out of the driveway, and Ashley felt deserted in no-man’s-land.
But, of course, she wasn’t. People were watching. People were waiting. People who had made up her world before Harry had swept into it. It was probably a good idea to remind herself of what she was leaving behind before she left it to go to England with Harry, before she made decisions that would affect the rest of her life. And William’s. She turned and walked up the steps.
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