appease him. I think you’re the person that has to do it.’ Dom patted the horse, which had taken advantage of the situation and pulled away from the confused Lottie. ‘You are the next Lady of Tipping House, my darling girl, and we need you to become that Lady now, whether you’re ready or not. Come up and see your grandmother later and we’ll talk.’ He paused and looked at the horse again. ‘Nice-looking animal, needs some discipline, though.’ And he was off, before Lottie had time to ask him about babies, or her gran, or what he meant by a ‘small stroke’.
She looked at Rory. ‘I can’t manage the whole estate, can I?’
‘Of course you can, gorgeous. If that shower of relatives of yours can, then it must be a piece of piss.’
***
‘Stuff and nonsense.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Dominic straightened the painting above the mantelpiece and wondered just how many years attempting to prolong his mother’s life would knock off his own. ‘Doctor’s orders and you know it, Mother.’
He loved his mother, every irascible inch of her, and the idea of her not being around was unthinkable. When Elizabeth died it would change not only his life, but the life of everybody in Tippermere. But handling her retirement would be like handling an uncut colt who knew you were just about to cut off the very part of his anatomy he held most dear. Separating her from her responsibilities would be like castration, if that was not too crude a way of putting it. Although the thought of what she might say if she could read his mind did lighten his mood slightly.
‘And what does that young whipper-snapper know? If I did everything the doctors told me I’d have been pushing up daisies for the past twenty years, just like your father. Gin is good for one. And do stop fiddling, dear.’
Dom stopped and resisted the urge to pour himself a stiff brandy. Tipping House Estate had been his home all his life, and he had at one stage wondered how he would feel when it came to letting go, handing the beautiful estate over to the care of its true heir, or more accurately, heiress, his niece, Lottie. But he now felt only a strange relief, along with guilt that he felt that way. Meeting Amanda had been his saving grace. She’d coaxed a caring side out of him that he never knew he possessed and now she was his priority. Along with his unborn child.
‘Thank heavens for that. Finally somebody who will talk some sense.’ Elizabeth’s backbone visibly straightened as Pip, with a wink in Dom’s direction, waltzed into the room. ‘Pour me a drink Philippa, and you,’ Elizabeth glared at her son, Dominic, ‘can take the dogs out for some exercise if you want to be useful.’ Bertie, the portly Labrador, picked precisely that moment to wander into the drawing room, a very fat but very dead rabbit hanging from his soft mouth.
Pip grimaced. Dead things, especially in the house, were something she could never quite get used to. She might have grown up surrounded by fields, but that was a Welsh mining village, where very little moved and very little died apart from the elderly residents.
She wrinkled her nose and sloshed a generous measure of gin into the nearest tumbler. Dom frowned and raised an eyebrow.
‘It’s for me. I need a drink.’
Dom wasn’t convinced. He’d asked Philippa along to the discussion because he knew his mother liked her. They had an unexpected affinity, which he could only put down to a shared interest in mischief-making, and maybe loneliness. They were of a type: fiercely independent, smart and undemonstrative. Elizabeth had never been one for shows of affection, but Dominic knew that beneath the surface she was as kind and caring as they came. But she wasn’t about to lay herself bare to anybody.
He sometimes wondered about his parents’ relationship, if his mother had ever truly opened up, even to his father. And he hoped very much that he was different. That he could share everything with Amanda, the woman he’d never expected to find. But his upbringing and genes meant it didn’t come naturally. But, there again, unburdening oneself and breaking down wasn’t always a good thing.
He studied Pip, who was sipping her gin with a look of mischief on her fine features. He didn’t trust them together, but he would use any means at his disposal to aid his attempt to get his mother to hand over the reins to her granddaughter. Going on as they had been was no longer an option. He was spending far too much time meeting with the new bank manager, who didn’t have any of the understanding of the old one, who had helped manage their money for years. He couldn’t explain the situation to Elizabeth and risk damaging her health even further. He’d been told to avoid stressing her. Although, he had a sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly how dire the situation was, and had decided to ignore it. Something Lottie was very good at.
Although Lottie’s most recent attempt at organising an event, her father’s wedding, had not exactly been a success in the conventional sense, he was still convinced that she had to start to shoulder much more of the responsibility, had to prepare to be Lady of the Manor. And hopefully work out how to save it in the process.
And, although it made him feel very selfish, Amanda needed him. He’d never, until he met his wife, had anybody really need him. But he had now, and he wasn’t going to let her down. His caretaking duties had to come to an end sooner or later, and as Charlotte showed no inclination to get married and follow the path of inheritance, she could at least start to assume responsibility. It was all going to be hers one day soon, and sooner if she didn’t help him find a way to get the bank off their backs.
Pip opened her blue eyes wider, a hint of a smile wrinkling the corners. ‘Well, you said Elizabeth wasn’t allowed.’
‘She isn’t. But I don’t expect that will stop the two of you.’
‘I am not dead yet, you know, unlike that animal Bertie’s got. Where on earth did you get that from, you naughty animal? Do get Cook to hang it in the kitchen, Dominic. And Philippa, come and sit down.’ Elizabeth patted the seat next to her. ‘The pair of you can stop talking about me as though I’m not here. I’m beginning to sympathise with that Mark Twain fellow, who was presumed in his grave before his time, even if he was American. I take it we’re all gathered, so you can persuade me it’s time to take a back seat?’
Dom looked at his mother and wished, not for the first time, that she wasn’t so shrewd, just a nice old lady in her dotage. ‘Yes.’ He sighed, prepared for the fight.
‘Well about time too. Why you haven’t got Charlotte sorted before now is beyond me. The girl is more than ready.’
‘What do you mean, sorted?’ Lottie chose just that moment to arrive, swiftly removing the rabbit from Bertie’s jaws and dangling it out of his reach as she looked from Elizabeth to Dom and back again.
‘You need to organise things, dear. Now get rid of that carcass and pour us all a stiff drink. Your Uncle Dominic spends all his time trying to hide bank statements from me, but he appears to have forgotten that you need to feed and water the living.’
Dom opened his mouth to respond, then wondered why he was bothering and shut it again.
There was something wrong if Elizabeth was being compliant. She must be up to something, which probably involved getting her hands on a large gin and tonic.
Lottie wondered whether she could just shove the dead animal under the table, then decided to give it to Dom instead, before eyeing up the drinks suspiciously.
‘That’s Philippa’s G&T. Come on now, before we all expire. And pour your uncle a brandy. He’s looking a bit peaky.’ Lottie picked up the bottle and was staring
