me with it,’ he said dryly.
‘Why are you single?’
He blew out a breath. ‘You’re very direct. Why are you single?’
Because she’d put her trust in the wrong people. ‘I asked you first.’
He shrugged. ‘I was seeing someone and it didn’t work out.’
That was obviously the need-to-know version of the story, she thought. She didn’t think Hugh was the type to be a selfish love rat—someone like that wouldn’t have come to her and Grace’s rescue when they’d needed help, the other week—so she assumed that he hadn’t been the one to end the relationship. Had his ex broken his heart? But there was no point in asking him. She knew he’d stonewall her.
‘You?’ he asked.
‘You summed it up for me, too. I was seeing someone and it didn’t work out,’ she said. She didn’t want to tell him the whole messy story. More precisely, she didn’t want him knowing that she was so naïve and had such poor judgement in relationships. Her best friend and her live-in boyfriend. Just how had she managed to keep her eyes so firmly closed to what was really going on between them?
‘Was it recent?’ he asked.
‘Six months ago,’ she said. ‘And you?’
‘A year.’
‘And you haven’t met anyone else since?’ That surprised her. When he wasn’t being grumpy in the office, Hugh was good company. And he was very easy on the eye. Surely he had women lining up for him in droves?
‘I’ve been too busy concentrating on my business.’ He paused. ‘You?’
‘The same.’ Except it hadn’t just been her romantic relationship that had crashed. Kirk had dumped her for the woman Bella had believed was her best friend since sixth form, taking that support away from her, too. And Kirk had quietly cleaned out their joint bank account, the morning he dumped her—which was why Bella hadn’t had her normal safety cushion of the equivalent of three months’ salary when her best client went bust, and why her finances were in such a mess now.
And there had been next to nothing she could do about it, because the money had been in their joint names. She’d talked to the bank, but they’d said that any signatory to a joint account had the right to withdraw however much money they liked, no matter how much they’d actually put in.
Bella would never make that mistake again. And she was really glad that she’d listened to Grace’s advice and put her tax money to one side in a different account rather than keeping it with her ‘salary’, or she’d be in debt to the Inland Revenue as well.
‘Let’s just say I’m tired of always dating Mr Wrong and I’m happier being single,’ she said.
‘Works for me. Any more questions?’
He was definitely in his Monday morning office mode now. Grumpy and difficult. She decided that any other questions could wait. ‘I guess we’ve covered the basics.’
‘Good. If you don’t mind, I’d better concentrate on my driving.’
Given that they were going to his family home, he probably knew the route blindfold, so Bella was pretty sure that this was just his way of avoiding any more questions. And she supposed he had a point. She knew enough to play her role. Asking him anything else would be intrusive, wouldn’t it? She let him concentrate on his driving and fiddled quietly with her phone, until he turned off the main road and drove them through narrower country roads to the outskirts of a village.
‘Here we are, then,’ he said as he turned into a driveway. The fences on either side were in perfect repair, and huge lime trees lined the fences and cast dappled shade on the driveway.
Bella had known that Hugh was from a posh background, but she hadn’t realised just how posh. At the end of the half-a-mile-long driveway was the most beautiful house she’d ever seen: an Elizabethan manor house built from mellow Cotswold stone, with floor-to-ceiling sash windows on the ground floor, mullioned windows on the top floor, wisteria climbing the walls which wasn’t in bloom yet but would look stunning in a couple of weeks, and a wide front door with a spider-web fanlight above it.
‘That’s gorgeous,’ she said. ‘And I’ve got this weird sense of déjà vu—I know I’ve never been here before, but somehow I feel as if I have.’
‘You’ve probably seen the house on TV,’ he said. ‘It’s been used as a location for a few period dramas.’
Before she had the chance to ask which ones, he parked on the gravelled area outside the house.
‘I see my brothers are already here,’ he said.
There were two sports cars similar to Hugh’s parked outside the house, along with a Range Rover, a Daimler and a Bentley. It felt almost as if she was walking into one of the period dramas he’d mentioned. And it was a million miles away from her own background. Was she really going to be able to pull this off?
‘The grandparents and the aunts are here, too, by the looks of it,’ he said. ‘We might as well go in and say hello. There probably isn’t enough time to give you a proper guided tour of the house before tea’s served, but I promise I’ll do it tomorrow. Ma’s probably in the kitchen fussing about. She said afternoon tea would be in the dining room and the cocktail party tonight’s in the ballroom.’
‘Your parents have a ballroom?’ She smiled to hide the panic that trickled through her. ‘That’s very Jane Austen.’
‘It’s probably been in one of the Austen adaptations. I can’t really remember,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Which sounds terribly snooty, but it isn’t meant to be.’
‘Of course not.’ Bella had the feeling that he was much more nervous about this than he looked, and somehow that made her feel a little less nervous. A little less alone.
‘Imagine the kind of house parties they had back in Austen’s time,’ he said. ‘I’d be off fishing or hunting with my brothers, or playing cards and drinking. But the women in the house party wouldn’t be allowed to do much more than read or play the piano. They’d be under constant scrutiny, and there were all the intricate manners...’ He shuddered. ‘I hate that kind of stuff. I’m glad it’s not like that now.’
‘Isn’t it?’ she asked softly—because that bit about constant scrutiny and manners sounded personal.
‘No.’
‘It was for my sister.’ The words were out before she could stop them.
He looked at her. ‘How?’
‘I...’ She sighed. ‘OK. You’re unlikely to meet her again, but if you do and you tell her you know why she drank all that champagne that night I might have to kill you.’
‘Noted. What happened?’ he asked, sounding curious.
‘She was at the golden wedding anniversary party for her fiancé’s parents. Let’s just say that Cynthia of the Concrete Hair—’
He blinked. ‘Who?’
