appear anything but. Still, she was resolved to see it through no matter how tough it got, and she vowed to talk to him just as soon as she got the chance to try and set a few things straight before the situation went from bad to worse. It wasn’t unreasonable of him to expect certain standards, but, in Liadan’s book, it was unreasonable to speak to an employee in such an arrogant, rude and high-handed way that it made them feel like leaving. What was wrong with the man, for goodness’ sake? Was he this hostile to everyone or had something about her personally rubbed him up the wrong way?
‘I’ll put the coffee on myself while you see to the fire,’ he said from behind her. ‘But don’t take too long. I’d like my breakfast before I start work and I’ve got a busy day ahead of me.’
As he went out of the door Adrian could have sworn he heard Liadan mutter something heartfelt beneath her breath and he knew he probably deserved whatever insult she was currently castigating him with. If Kate knew how he was behaving towards his new housekeeper she’d read him the Riot Act, but didn’t he have a right to expect good service when he’d made it perfectly clear that that was what he was looking for? As he walked back along the corridor to the kitchen he fought down a fresh resurgence of annoyance at Kate’s desertion and told himself it was her fault entirely if his manner wasn’t all that it should be. As for Liadan Willow—he’d better learn to keep his temper under strict control where she was concerned or he would quickly find himself without a housekeeper. It was that soft silken mass of red-gold hair of hers that was causing all the trouble. It reminded him of the one woman he had truly loved, stirring desperately agonising feelings of recrimination and regret about what had happened that dreadful day that would be with him for the rest of his life…
But his book was nearly finished. He couldn’t risk being abandoned by his housekeeper now when he was at such a crucial point, so he would endeavour to be more civil towards her. Just two more weeks, he estimated, and the thing would be done. Perhaps then his mind would allow him a brief period of peace from the demons of creativity that drove him and he could think about something else besides work. But as he stood spooning dark roast coffee grounds into the percolator Adrian wondered with pain what else he had worth thinking about in his life besides work.
‘Thanks for breakfast. I’m going to my study now, so please take any calls, would you? Just take messages for now and tell them I’ll get back to them later.’
Pausing from stacking a newly washed plate on the drainer, Liadan turned to acknowledge him. Had she really heard him say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in one breath? At least she hadn’t messed up the breakfast. She’d served him up eggs and bacon and tomatoes done to perfection, she’d kept the toast hot and the coffee strong as he liked it and the food had certainly seemed to lighten his mood.
‘Okay.’
‘Oh, and Liadan?’
She went still as a statue at his unexpected use of her name. ‘Yes?’
‘I need you to go and find George Ferrers, my head gardener. Tell him I’d like a meeting at nine sharp.’
‘But where will I…?’
He’d gone from the room before she had a chance to finish her question. Throwing the dishcloth back into the sink full of hot, sudsy water, Liadan took a moment to gather her thoughts. She gazed out of the window, and experienced a sudden deep longing for the camaraderie and warmth of Moonbeams, the charmingly pretty little shop where she had worked for the past three years with two of the nicest workmates you could wish to find. It was evident so far that working for Adrian Jacobs would not be such a joy.
Wrapped up warm in her long tweed coat, her orange mohair scarf looped snugly round her neck, Liadan filled her lungs joyfully with deep breaths of crisp morning air as she strode out purposefully in search of George Ferrers. Instinctively she headed towards two large greenhouses she’d glimpsed yesterday on her brief tour of the gardens with Adrian. There was too much snow for anyone to do much in the garden, she decided, so it stood to reason if there were greenhouses, that was where she’d find the man she was looking for.
She put her head round the door of the first building, and her spirits lifted when she saw a tall, older man garbed in old trousers, wellingtons, a thick Arran sweater and a sheepskin jacket patting earth down into a huge earthenware pot. He tipped his cap back on his head when Liadan called out, ‘Hello,’ waiting silently for her to join him.
‘You must be George,’ she said smilingly, holding out her hand. He had a kind face, one you could trust, she silently assessed. ‘I’m Liadan Willow. Mr Jacobs’ new housekeeper.’
‘If that’s the case, then things are looking up around here in a big way,’ drawled an interested male voice from behind her.
CHAPTER THREE
THE owner of the voice was tall and handsome, with jet-black hair and a diamond stud glistening in one ear-lobe. As he walked towards Liadan, his scruffy jeans hanging low on his hips, she noted with irritation that he had a deliberate swagger about him, telling her instantly that he imagined himself God’s gift to women. She didn’t normally take immediate dislikes, but she did to this man.
‘And you are?’
‘Steven. Steven Ferrers. George here is my dad.’
Deliberately redirecting her gaze to the older man, Liadan didn’t miss the flash of disapproval in his light blue eyes over her shoulder at his son. ‘What can I do for you, Miss Willow?’
‘Mr Jacobs would like to see you at nine o’clock sharp, if that’s okay? He asked me to come and tell you.’
‘I expect it’ll be about the snow piled up at the back door. Steven here was just about to get on to it, weren’t you, son?’
‘When I’ve finished the other hundred odd jobs I’ve already been ordered to do.’ Not bothering to temper his obvious resentment, Steven leant back against a table full of trays of seedlings, making no secret of the fact that he was studying Liadan’s figure with an insolence that made her furious. Biting back her indignation, Liadan found herself urgently needing to be back inside the house, ensconced in the warmth and safety of the kitchen, and tackling the list of jobs she had ahead of her for the day. Something about Steven Ferrers put her on edge and she decided that in future she would endeavour to keep contact with him to a strict minimum.
‘Bit of a slave-driver, our Mr Jacobs. Don’t you be letting him wear you out with all that housework, Miss Willow. Those pretty hands of yours were meant for finer things than pushing a vacuum cleaner around.’
Considering that her hands were still firmly inside her bright orange gloves, Liadan failed to see how he could judge them and was irked that a man she had only seconds before clapped eyes on made so free with his comments. George too, it seemed, had had his patience stretched beyond endurance. ‘That’s enough, Steven! Have you forgotten who pays your wages round here? You treat Mr Jacobs and anyone who works for him with respect, you hear?’
Turning to Liadan, he scratched his head briefly beneath his cap and shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. ‘I apologise for my son’s behaviour, Miss Willow. He meant no harm, I’m sure, but he gets a little carried away sometimes. Please don’t take offence.’
Feeling for the man’s embarrassment, Liadan didn’t hesitate to give him a reassuring smile. ‘None taken, Mr Ferrers. Well…I’d better be getting back to the house. Work to do.’
‘Be seeing you
