Leona said, which was perfectly true. “Was that Boyd I heard arriving?”
“Indeed it was,” Hadley remarked dryly, trusting to Leona’s discretion. “A great favourite with his stepmother is Mr Boyd.” A conclusion the entire family and staff had long since arrived at. “Mrs Blanchard’s sister, Tonya, is here as well.”
For a moment Leona looked at him in complete dismay. “Not Tonya?” She felt a silent scream of protest start up inside her head.
“Someone must have thought it was a lovely idea,” Hadley murmured, tongue in cheek. Tonya was a very demanding and unpopular guest at Brooklands.
It couldn’t have been Boyd, Leona thought. She had once overheard Boyd telling his father after one particularly strained dinner party, for which he blamed Tonya’s abrasive tongue, that he didn’t want her in the house any more. Tonya was a born troublemaker, a malicious one at that, churning out gossip and a whole lot of misinformation at every possible opportunity. As Jinty’s sister, she swanned about the estate, treating the staff as though they were invisible. Added to that, she made no bones about the fact that she found Boyd enormously attractive. What was more, she had deluded herself into thinking she had as good a chance as anyone of landing him. Not that she was getting much encouragement from her sister. Jinty disapproved of her as much as everyone else.
So who was it who had invited Tonya? With a thrill of horror Leona thought it just might have been Rupert. He had such an alarmingly perverse streak. He had to keep proving to his son that he was still Boss and could invite whom he pleased. Though Rupert adored his heir, in a strange way their relationship was fraught with hidden conflicts and dangers. Leona often thought it was the ghost of Alexa that stood between them—that and Boyd’s superior capabilities. On the one hand Boyd’s brilliance was a cause of great pride to Rupert, on the other it caused a somewhat irrational level of jealousy and resentment.
Rupert had a monumental ego. Boyd did not.
A buffet lunch was laid out in the informal dining room for those of the family who had arrived. When Leona walked in, golden sunlight was streaming through the huge Palladian windows which allowed marvellous views of the rear gardens. Although there was a terrace outside for extra dining, the informal dining room with so much glass gave Leona the feeling of being outdoors. As the ancestral home of the Blanchard clan, frequently visited by its members, the large room, decorated with a valuable collection of botanical prints, had been set with a number of glass-topped circular tables on carved timber bases, specially carved in the Philippines. Each table easily seated eight on handsome upholstered rattan armchairs, rather than having one very long extension table as in the formal dining room. It had all been Alexa’s idea.
Leona, who’d had a light breakfast of yoghurt and fruit at around seven a.m., found herself hungry. She was at the fortunate stage of her life when she could eat as much as she liked without putting on an ounce of weight. Good to know, but she stuck pretty religiously to the right foods anyway. Fine dark chocolate was her one vice, but she was well on the way to achieving a New Year resolution of only eating a single wickedly delicious piece a day.
At least ten members of the family were there before her, helping themselves to a buffet so lavish that Leona started to think of the world’s starving millions. The best restaurant in Sydney couldn’t have topped this spread, delivered by a stream of staff from the kitchen. At least the staff got to eat what was left over; it was one of the perks of the job.
“Oh, there you are, Leo!” she was greeted on all sides. Lovely to know that people were happy to see her and she, for the most part, was happy to see them.
Geraldine, who was a fashion icon herself—albeit more than a touch eccentric—was wearing a striking high-rise red hat. She jumped up from the table to come towards Leona with outstretched arms.
“Don’t you look beautiful, Leo dear!” They exchanged kisses, blessedly sincere. Shrewd grey eyes searched Leona’s face. “Such a pleasure to see you. You grow more and more like your dear mother every day. Come sit beside me. I want to hear all you’ve been up to.”
Leona smiled back. “Just give me a moment to grab some food, Aunty Gerri.”
From behind them came a feline little comment, something Tonya was never short of, “Yes, do. You’re dangerously thin, Leona. Sure you’re eating right?”
“Oh, do shut up, Tonya,” Geraldine said, as brusque when she chose to be as her brother Rupert.
“Shut up? For heaven’s sake.” Tonya pretended to gasp, then she fell silent as the atmosphere suddenly heightened.
The reason? Boyd had entered the room.
Here was a man dazzling enough to break any girl’s heart, Leona thought.
This love of mine.
The words sprang from the well of truth deep inside her. She couldn’t suppress her true feelings. She couldn’t choose the time or the place when they surfaced. The one thing she could ensure was that they were never exposed. Not to Boyd, whose position alone allowed no access. And especially not to Rupert, who had his own plans for the Crown prince. It was she who had chosen to lay down her heart. That Boyd could love her back in the same way was just an impossible dream.
Nevertheless she couldn’t stop herself staring at him. After all, everyone else was. Some inches over six feet, superb physique, a constant tan from the time he spent yachting on the Harbour, an enviable head of thick black hair swept back from a fine brow, elegantly sculpted bones—he would look good at ninety—and those beautiful magnetic eyes, as deep a blue as the finest sapphires in the Crown jewels. Those eyes, inherited from his mother, set him apart.
The big hush seemed endless. It had to be enormously flattering, Leona thought, but Boyd took it in his stride. Probably accepted it as his due. No, that wasn’t true. Boyd was no attention seeker. He simply didn’t notice it. It was like witnessing a medieval prince coming in from the hunt, the public adoration merely his due. Leona couldn’t help a tightening of her facial muscles—a little flare of rebellion? Public capitulation to Boyd’s splendid persona was not her thing at all. She enjoyed being the one not to swoon. Besides, she needed a shield to separate her from him. It was the paradox she’d had to live with for years. Behind the mask, the strategies and the countless diversionary tactics she had developed for self-protection, she felt constantly starved for the sight of him.
Where you are, I want to be.
Lyrics of a beautiful song. They were so true.
A smile flared white against the dark tan of his skin. He lifted a nonchalant hand in greeting. “Hi, everyone!”
“Great you’re here, Boyd!” came the chorus from the tables.
“We’re expecting a cracker game tomorrow!” This from one of the great-uncles. Playing polo was a release for Boyd and they all loved watching him.
Tonya seized the moment by going up to him and laying a proprietorial hand on his arm. A petite, sharp-featured but attractive blonde, she looked like a doll beside him, even in her spike-heeled shoes.
“Cheek of her!” Geraldine muttered, herself grabbing Leona’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “Doesn’t she know she drives him mad?”
“So who invited her?” Leona asked, gently easing her arm out of Geraldine’s fierce hold. She had her own suspicions.
“My
