The English Bride Read online

  It wasn’t the first time he had seen Francesca capture a whole lot of male attention but it was the first time another man had provoked his male aggression. Francesca was his. Immediately, as he thought it, he was forced to confront his own contradictions. He had no rights where Francesca was concerned. She was a free agent. As was he and apparently Glenn Richards. But no question about it, Richards’s eyes on Francesca had set him off. Richards wasn’t even being terribly discreet, his dark eyes savouring Francesca’s appearance and the quality of her conversation. Which seemed reasonable enough given Francesca showed her intelligence and breeding, but he was starting to fill Grant with an odd hostility he tried to fight down.

  Richards was an attractive man—dark curly hair, deep brown eyes, quirky eyebrows, an easy, friendly smile, midheight, well dressed, well-travelled, clever and articulate. Nothing there to dislike except he was taking far too much interest in Francesca. Grant felt a need to sort out his emotions before they got out of hand. He knew he had an aggressive streak. He knew he had to keep it under control.

  They were seated in the formal dining room with its fine paintings and furnishings. Ngaire started out by commenting on the exquisite floral arrangement at the centre of the table, and reached to stroke a petal. Rebecca smiled her pleasure. “Francesca must take the credit. We spent some time over the arrangements, experimenting with containers and the various shapes for the flowers.”

  “Yes, I noticed,” Ngaire said as indeed she had. “The arrangement in the main hall is quite dramatic.”

  “I’m afraid we robbed the Golden Shower tree.” Francesca smiled. “A few palms, gold ribbon. A wonderful big Chinese vase. We had a lot of fun.”

  “Ikebana isn’t it?” Ngaire asked, thinking how beautiful and stylish all the arrangements through the house were.

  “I actually took a course with a master teacher a few years back,” Rebecca said. “I must say Fran is an apt pupil. The centrepiece is inspirational.”

  “I agree.” Brod looked like he thought his wife and cousin could do anything they turned their hand to.

  “A mangrove root, dracena and a couple of sprays of white butterfly orchids, plus some red wire for a bit of dash,” Francesca said, identifying the materials she had used. “It means something, too. I quote from I don’t know where. Probably anonymous. ‘Happiness is like a butterfly. The more you chase it the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and softly sit on your shoulder.’” Somehow it seemed appropriate. Her gaze met Grant’s enigmatically across the table. “Of course, too, it’s a symbol of welcome.”

  “Yes, indeed. Welcome to Kimbara, Ngaire and Glenn.” Brod raised his wineglass and the others followed suit. “Tomorrow you’ll see Opal, my sister Ally’s new home. It has its own wonderful appeal as you’re due to find out. In our childhood Opal was Ally’s and my second home.”

  “In fact we were all so close we were family.” Grant gave a truly illuminating smile. “Now we are family. The Camerons and the Kinrosses united at last.”

  “There’s such a fascination about your stories,” Ngaire said. “Two great pioneering dynasties. I can’t wait to read your biography, Fee.”

  “Don’t worry, darling,” Fee said in her deep sexy voice. “You and Glenn are invited to our preview party. It was a brainwave on Fran’s part thinking of Opal for the colonial outback scenes. I was re-reading The Immigrant last night. The station is close to perfect for Bruce Templeton’s book.”

  Grant nodded. “I’ve read the novel as well and thoroughly enjoyed it. With a few minor changes the homestead will serve you well. You’re lucky Ally hadn’t got started on all her refurbishing. My mother intended to make them but never got the chance.”

  “I’m so sorry, Grant,” Ngaire murmured, aware his parents had been tragically killed in an air crash. “I can’t wait to visit tomorrow,” she added gently.

  The meal Rebecca and Francesca had worked on for a couple of days before the guests arrived, progressed splendidly with help in the kitchen: crab cream for starters, with crisp fried vermicelli followed by tournedos of Kimbarra beef with roast parsnips and potatoes, fresh green beans and two sauces, madeira and béarnaise. The conversation flowed over a wide range of subjects: the movie, Fee’s role in it, Fee’s and David’s impending nuptials, Grant’s vision for Cameron Airways, outback life, Rafe and Ally’s overseas honeymoon, domestic politics, world politics, a smattering of gossip, books that had not made an easy transition into movies.

  Everyone took part, full of animated interest as the wineglasses quickly emptied. Francesca, as usual, limited herself to two. She noticed Rebecca did the same, but Fee sipped her wine quickly, glass after glass, showing no effects except her beautiful, slender hands moved even more expressively and her green eyes glittered with great good humour. This was an area where Fee shone, and David looked on, his heart swelling with pride. After the last few sad years Fee was a positive joy to him.

  There was a choice for dessert—chocolate sorbet and orange ice-cream or an Old English apple pie, richly flavoured with dark brown sugar, nutmeg, cinnamon, orange and lemon zest, raisins and sultanas, served with double cream. This was David’s contribution to the meal from a family recipe he had enjoyed from childhood. He knew all the ingredients, even if he didn’t know exact quantities. He even stood beside Francesca in the kitchen while she made it saying he always liked his with cheddar cheese.

  Mellowed by such a wonderful meal, Glenn took the opportunity to say what he’d been thinking for the past two hours.

  “It was a wonderful coup securing you for a pivotal role, Fiona—” he deferred to her “—you’ll bring great presence and credibility to the role, but I can’t help thinking your beautiful daughter, Francesca, would make a marvellous Lucinda.”

  “Hey, that’s amazing!” Ngaire burst out, but Fee stared at Glenn in astonishment, her spoon frozen in midair.

  “Fran doesn’t act, Glenn,” she said as though it were completely out of character. “She’s had no training whatsoever. Ally is the only other actress in the family.”

  “And she’s marvellous, too,” Glenn said, still getting over his disappointment Ally Kinross had rejected the lead.

  But Ngaire waved a hand. “Training is important, of course, Fee, but I know for a fact some people are naturals. The fourteen-year-old I had in my last movie was sensational. Straight from school though she was learning drama and art of speech.”

  “But Fran has no interest in acting, have you, darling?” Fee looked down the table, clearly unable to picture her daughter as an actress. “She’s much happier with her drawing and her music. She’s very good at both. Francesca is the product of a very good school.”

  Grant turned his iridescent eyes on Francesca. “I didn’t know that,” he said, sounding like he wished he had.

  “Now that we’ve settled down I’ll get a good piano sent out here,” Brod said briskly.

  “Make it a Steinway.” Francesca smiled at him.

  “Then a Steinway it is.” Brod was quite serious. “I know you draw extremely well.”

  “What about acting?” Glenn persisted, fingering his wineglass. The sauterne was wonderful. “Surely they put on plays at your very good school?”

  Francesca nodded her head. “Of course they did. Mamma’s going to be amazed but I was very much in demand. A lot of Shakespeare. I was a fabulous Juliet,” she joked, “to my friend, Dinah Phillip’s Romeo. Pity you didn’t see us.”

  “Why didn’t I see you?” Fee demanded.

  “Ah, Mamma,” Francesca murmured, rolling her eyes.

  “You mean I wasn’t around?” Fee gazed off into the middle distance remembering how it was.

  “You were lighting up the London stage,” Francesca reminded her.

  “Now I think about it you could play Lucinda.” Grant’s voice had gathered conviction.

  “I agree,” Ngaire murmured.

  “You really think Francesca could handle it?” Fee st
ared at Ngaire as though she had gone mad.

  “I’d love to,” Francesca said

  “You could handle it, I know you could.” Grant looked across the table at Francesca thinking Fee was the last straw. “It would be good for you. A bit of fun, widen your horizons.”

  “Surely, darling, you wouldn’t entertain the idea of acting as a career?” Grant might as well have suggested prostitution.

  “No, Mamma, I wouldn’t.” Francesca shook her head, her manner gentle but firm. “It’s more as Grant says. A bit part. A bit of fun.”

  “A challenge.” Grant smiled, always one for a challenge, good, too, at encouraging others. “You’re full of surprises, Francesca. Full of refinements. I’d love to hear you play the piano.” No wonder he always heard music flow around her.

  “So you shall,” Brod promised. “There was a grand piano here in my mother’s day. She played beautifully, but my father got rid of it. He wouldn’t let Ally learn, either,” he added a trifle bleakly, “though she wanted to.”

  “I expect it was too painful,” Ngaire murmured, not knowing the full story.

  “But surely you have that NADA graduate, what’s her name, Paige something?” Fee carried on with her objections.

  “Paige Macauly,” Glenn supplied. “Yes, Paige was well in the running but we’ve made no final decision, have we, Ngaire.”

  “I thought we had, dear,” Ngaire said wryly. “But I quite share your vision of Francesca as Lucinda. One can see her in the part.”

  “I get killed off early,” Francesca said. “I could do a good job of pining away. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do. Pine away in a strange new country?”

  Glenn smiled. “Of course your character was never very strong. Physically you suggest fragility, sensitivity.”

  Francesca didn’t see herself as quite the marshmallow. “Ballerinas are very fragile looking,” she pointed out, “but they’re very strong. I’ll have you know I play an excellent game of tennis. There was a time I was good at archery. I’m a very good rider, aren’t I, Brod?” She appealed to her cousin who was always on her side.

  “A lovely seat on a horse. Sweet hands,” Brod agreed. “A woman’s looks can belie her strengths.”

  “So what about reading for the part?” Glenn pressed on as keen to get to know Francesca better as to have her in a role that would keep her in daily contact.

  “I must say, Glenn, I think you’re going too fast,” Fee protested. “Francesca’s father wouldn’t be at all happy about another actress in the family. One was more than enough.”

  “It’s only a bit part, Mamma,” Francesca said reassuringly.

  “Yes, but you might get the bug.”

  It was hard to say what was really bothering Fee, David thought. Fear Francesca could cause herself some embarrassment? He couldn’t see how. Or fear of de Lyle’s wrath. As far as he was concerned his cousin was of an age she could do as she pleased. Probably very well.

  It was difficult for Grant to get Francesca alone until well after eleven when Brod excused himself from the conversation saying he had a dawn start. Station work went on seven days a week and though the staff had a roster Brod did not. Rebecca, too, excused herself with a charming smile leaving Fee to carry on with the conversation, which reverted to an in-depth discussion of the film, characterisation and so forth.

  It was time to grab Francesca and run, Grant thought, aware of Richards’s acute disappointment when she left the charmed circle, though Fee talked on, her chain of thought unbroken.

  “I think you’ve won yourself a heart,” Grant commented dryly as they walked down the front steps to take a short stroll.

  Francesca ignored that, picking up on what really concerned her. “Mamma didn’t sound too pleased with Glenn’s suggestion,” she said, her own pleasure eroded by her mother’s reaction.

  “I think you’re going to be brilliant,” Grant said, mutually upset by Fee. “You’re vibrantly artistic. I don’t like to say it but Fee seems to be devoid of sensitivity sometimes.”

  “She isn’t always tactful,” Francesca was forced to agree. “Maybe she thinks I’m going to make a goose of myself. Or worse a goose of her.”

  He drew her to him, one arm lightly around her waist. “You want to do it, don’t you?”

  Francesca felt a lot easier in his company. “Yes, but not if Mamma would rather I didn’t.”

  “You’re a big girl now, Francesca,” he pointed out, his voice oddly tender.

  “I’ve never been much good at upsetting people.”

  “Don’t feel guilty about Fee,” he warned.

  “So what do you think I should do?” she spoke softly, but sounding pained.

  “I’ve told you. Go for it. You’ll enjoy it.” His arm tightened in a hug.

  “And what if I get bitten by the bug as Mamma seems to think?” She knew she wouldn’t. Her priorities had been long since fixed.

  “If you get hooked, you get hooked,” Grant answered lightly, thinking it unlikely. “It’s your life. Just don’t move away too far. I’d miss you too much.”

  “So you don’t care if I turned into another Fee?” she stopped dead, rounding on him, heart high.

  “You won’t, Francesca.” He couldn’t resist it. He bent his head and briefly brushed her velvet mouth. Fast and light, still consumed by the pleasure of it. “Remember all the heart-to-heart talks we used to have when we were kids. You want home and family. A man who loves you. A man who is fully committed to you to share your life. And what was it? Four children. That’s a full-time job,” he added with a sympathetic laugh.

  “That’s what comes of being an only child,” she said as he steered her onwards. “My growing up was painful. I’m not going to let that happen to my children.”

  “But you still need your mother’s encouragement and approval?”

  “That’s normal isn’t it? It’s what we all hope for. Parental approval?”

  He nodded gravely. “Our parents were one hundred percent behind Rafe and me. Brod and Ally endured a kind of hell. I didn’t fully appreciate how deeply your parents’ separation affected you until recently. While we’re on the subject, what about your father? Would he object so strenuously to your becoming an actress if it ever turned out that was what you wanted?”

  “Wow!” Francesca’s exclamation said it all. “Actually he’d be shocked. Depend on it.”

  “Because he has big plans for you?” Definitely. It was an inexorable fact.

  “They won’t work, Grant, if they’re the opposite to mine,” Francesca murmured, in the fierce grip of sexual longing. “I don’t want to disappoint either of my parents but as you’ve just pointed out my life is my own. That’s what makes your pushing me away so peculiar.”

  “For pity’s sake, Francesca. That’s not what I meant at all.” He stared down at her, her beautiful skin silvered by the moonlight.

  “But you won’t allow I know my own mind?” Her response was swift.

  “What is your mind, Francesca?” He made a little grimace, taking her firmly by the shoulders and turning her to him.

  “Are we allowed to use the word love here?” A flush of colour had appeared on her cheeks. Even by moonlight he was able to see it. “You hold so much back.”

  He was haunted by the truth. “There’s no way ever, Francesca, I’d hurt you. I’m in love with you,” he admitted freely. “You know that. You’re in my mind all the time, let alone my dreams.” How intoxicatingly erotic he didn’t tell her.

  “You care a lot but you won’t take me seriously.” She couldn’t control the wave of resentment that welled up.

  “That’s ridiculous and you know it.”

  Her chin came up. “Then maybe there’s some part of you you don’t want me to share. A man like you would worry about loss of liberty, loss of freedom.”

  He was shocked she thought that. “So what do you want me to do? Marry you?” he demanded of the embodiment of his dreams.

  “I’m sorry, sorry.” Sudde
nly Francesca broke away feeling utterly humiliated. Where was her pride? Did she really have to force his hand?

  “Francesca.” He came after her, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s never been like this for me with anyone. I want you desperately. So desperately I can’t really understand myself. That day in the cave, I wanted to take you then. I was a hair’s-breadth away from messing up your life. My life. It’s not as easy as you’re saying. You can’t know what’s involved.”

  “And you won’t let me learn?” The strong passion in him communicated itself to her.

  “I’m trying to think what’s best for both of us. God, do you think I’m so utterly selfish I’d trap you in a cage?”

  She broke away again, moving like a shadow into the swaying sheltering trees. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “You’ve got to hear what I’m saying.” He found her easily in the velvet dark, following her fragrance. “I take the idea of marriage as a very serious business. I’m like the black swans. I’m going to mate for life. If you’d had my own kind of background I wouldn’t hesitate for a minute but you were reared to the high life. Do you really think I’d ever let you run off? Do you think I’d ever let you get away from me with another man?

  Tears sprang to her eyes at his forcefulness. Didn’t he know she loved him? “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her agitation apparent.

  “But it happens, Francesca,” he groaned, trying to get a handle on an emotional situation that was gaining swiftly in intensity. “It happens all the time. Not every woman can stand the isolation, the lack of entertainment, theatre, ballet, concerts, art showings, all the things you’ve been used to, being on your own when your man’s away. I have to point out these things. I’d be painting a false picture if I didn’t.”

  Even as he spoke, trying to warn her, prepare her, he didn’t know which, shards of desire were piercing him through, sharper and sharper as she stood quietly under his hands, her long hair rippling over them like skeins of silk. He was desperately afraid of his own driving male hunger so fierce it could frighten her. “Hell I’d take the all-for-love gamble if you could pay the price. If I married you I’d never let you go,” he exploded. “Can’t you understand all this loving, this passion is dangerous?”