‘So, he owns a company called Ellingham Investments. Amongst other things, they convert beautiful buildings into upmarket hotels. I looked some of them up. There’s one in Cumbria, a huge manor house they renovated a dozen years ago. What he doesn’t have is a hotel in the Highlands. I thought I might contact him.’
‘Why?’
‘Oh, Olivia, you’re not that dumb,’ Candida said, speaking for the first time since Sebastian had entered the room. ‘To see if this Ellingham guy wants to buy the castle.’ She glanced at him, ‘Right?’
‘Correct.’ Sebastian held Olivia’s gaze.
‘But you can’t …’
‘I’m the Earl of Kirkshield,’ Sebastian said, drawing himself up to his full height. ‘And if I learnt anything from my father, it’s that I can do whatever I want.’
Before anyone spoke, he turned and left, spotting the flash of a peacock-blue jumper shooting around the corner, heading back into the kitchen. Jess. She had been listening in. That was all he needed; she was bound to have heard him tell Olivia they could barely afford to pay her wages, and he’d have to deal with the fallout from that now, too. Like he didn’t already have enough fires to fight.
Sebastian swore again, under his breath, and followed her.
Jess shot back into the kitchen, sliding across the flooring, and grabbed at a pile of cutlery to add to the dishwasher in her haste to look as though there was no way she’d been anywhere but here all along. Just in case any of them decided to make the kitchen their next port of call. Maybe Olivia would come in hot, angry that her plans had been disrupted and Jess would need something she could focus on, to keep her busy.
Or maybe she should be the one brimming with anger. Maybe she should have stormed in on them, rather than scooting back to the kitchen. Demanded to know when she was going to get paid. If there really was no money, she would be on the first train home. The aristocracy might have held on to their wealth in the past by suggesting their suppliers should be grateful to be associated with the ‘big house’, that it should be payment enough, but Jess couldn’t live on fresh air and fake promises.
Maybe it was time to jump ship and get the hell out, regardless. By the sounds of things, the family was imploding, and the estate was on the rocks. Hardly an attractive proposition for anyone. And that was without telling Sebastian the food and drink for the party was already on its way and the invoices would need paying either way. She tightened her fingers around the pile of cutlery, turning to sweep the whole lot through to the dishwasher, and that was when she felt the pain. Like a wasp had hidden itself in the centre of the pile of knives and forks and was aggrieved at being roughly handled. Her brain worked slower than her pain receptors, it would seem, as her fingers continued to tighten for a second before she yelped and dropped the whole lot on the floor.
Glancing at her clenched hand all she could see was red liquid squeezing through her fingers, trailing its way down the back of her fist towards the cuff of her favourite jumper. Blood. Strange that her first thought was how blood was hell to shift from wool, and as she tried to push the sleeve out of the way of the advancing blood with her free hand, while dodging her way around the blades littering the kitchen floor, Jess began to realise the whole situation was making her feel nauseous, not to mention light-headed.
As she turned to get her hand into the sink, run some water over the cut and assess the damage, Jess congratulated herself on not vomiting on the floor. She then noticed the floor tiles had come much closer to her face than where they had been a few moments before, and also that her knees had gone all wobbly. Her fingers brushed at the edge of the sink on her way down, and she tried to grab at it, but by the time she slid to the floor Jess was out cold.
Chapter 12
Sebastian trailed Jess to the kitchen, running through the apology he would have to make to her, the ultimately fruitless calls he’d have to tell her about, where he’d tried and failed to find her alternative employment. What he could say to convince Jess it wasn’t her, it was them – the Barclay-Browns were screwed up, on so many levels.
His thoughts tumbled. He wondered whether it would soften the blow if he explained to Jess just how difficult it must be for his mother to see such a beautiful young woman stepping into the role only just vacated by another, that one having been responsible for the demise of his father. Would that make Jess feel better about the situation, or worse?
By the time he reached the kitchen, none of his thoughts mattered, because he was greeted by another scene of devastation, with a sharp paring knife and other random pieces of cutlery all over the floor.
But then he noticed the bright red drips of blood, caught sight of Jess heading for the sink, staggering and grabbing at it before she slid to the floor.
He couldn’t get to her in time to break her fall, so was relieved she hadn’t gone down too hard. It had been more of a graceful descent, her damaged hand the last part of her to unfurl against the stone tiles, the slash of red a vivid contrast to the worn umber of the floor.
Sebastian wasn’t well versed in the art of first aid, so it was a relief when she regained consciousness almost immediately. She looked confused to see him kneeling at her side, a hastily grabbed tea towel in his grip which he had intended to wrap around her hand.
‘What are you doing?’ she mumbled.
‘You fell, or fainted, or something. I was going to …’ He ran out of words, because the truth was, he had no idea what he was going to do, past covering up the bloodied hand.
Jess hauled herself up onto her elbows, then winced as she put weight on the injury. Glancing at it she paled again, and Sebastian readied himself to catch her if she fainted for a second time. As it turned out, she managed to climb to her feet without further drama, peering at her hand again.
‘I don’t think it’s too bad,’ she announced. ‘Don’t know what came over me, I’m normally not one to faint into – or at least close to – the arms of the nearest aristocrat.’
Sebastian edged the towel onto the draining board. ‘I’m glad because I never was very good at catching. My ball skills have always left something to be desired, I’m afraid.’
‘Have they? Have they really?’ Jess stared at him, her eyes twinkling as she began to grin, and his unintended double-entendre dawned on him.
‘Hmm, well, perhaps that wasn’t the best analogy I could have come up with.’
Then Jess caught her own expression, closed it down. ‘Is there really no money for my wages?’
‘I’m sorry you had to hear that,’ he said. ‘You’ll be paid, Jess, of course you will. But the ugly truth is this estate is very much in debt.’
Jess frowned, turning away to run her hand under the tap, rubbing away the worst of the blood before re-examining the cut. She turned it for him to view. ‘See, it’s nothing really.’
