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The Master Of Calverley Hall
Lucy Ashford
'So, you’re back.'But can he put her world to rights?It should be Connor Hamilton’s final triumph to return to Calverley Hall as its master, rather than the poor blacksmith’s boy he once was. But he’s shocked to find the previous owner’s daughter, his old friend Isobel Blake, has lost everything—including her good reputation. Now the fragility beneath her shabby clothes and brave smile makes him want to protect her and hold her close…
“So, you’re back.”
But can he put her world to rights?
It should have been Connor Hamilton’s final triumph to return to Calverley Hall as its master, rather than the poor blacksmith’s boy he once was. He’s shocked to find that the previous owner’s daughter, his old friend Isobel Blake, has lost everything, including her good reputation. Now the fragility beneath her shabby clothes and brave smile makes him want to protect her and hold her close...
“Ashford creates charming characters.”
—RT Book Reviews on The Rake’s Bargain
LUCY ASHFORD studied English with history at Nottingham University, and the Regency is her favourite period. She lives with her husband in an old stone cottage in the Derbyshire Peak District, close to beautiful Chatsworth House, and she loves to walk in the surrounding hills while letting her imagination go to work on her latest story.
You can contact Lucy via her website: lucyashford.com (http://www.lucyashford.com).
Also by Lucy Ashford (#ue7cf793f-b345-5b67-96ba-eb738be6d344)
The Major and the Pickpocket
The Return of Lord Conistone
The Captain’s Courtesan
The Outrageous Belle Marchmain
Snowbound Wedding Wishes
The Rake’s Bargain
The Captain and His Innocent
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
The Master of Calverley Hall
Lucy Ashford
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07383-7
THE MASTER OF CALVERLEY HALL
© 2018 Lucy Ashford
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Alan
Contents
Cover (#u7e0e32d1-4a99-5f74-b81b-7fefa8169057)
Back Cover Text (#u25c00425-663e-54bb-8920-b47280ec7a10)
About the Author (#uea179968-0cf6-5f83-b573-9e14e94e26b0)
Booklist (#u1224fb8f-494d-5d2e-9ab5-85a35c8843e4)
Title Page (#ufa7afbfe-fdc7-5398-a87f-a143fac2a04f)
Copyright (#u3c3259eb-f01e-537d-ba28-d12ef90e496a)
Dedication (#ua58e7794-7cb5-56fa-abee-c735a9dfaf0b)
Chapter One (#u372e5a89-cd95-5190-bdd7-aac8333741f3)
Chapter Two (#u52c92304-9f95-5a9c-ac09-c5133284d71c)
Chapter Three (#u77357f1c-b726-5f91-9452-b3e3f85cf106)
Chapter Four (#ue1126c1a-0a77-5a9b-931d-5b014e22aa23)
Chapter Five (#ue5fea8dc-b3df-51c9-b714-a90d82ef3929)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ue7cf793f-b345-5b67-96ba-eb738be6d344)
Gloucestershire—June 1816
Seven years ago, Connor Hamilton had vowed to turn his back for good on the English countryside. But today, as he felt the warm summer sun on his face and breathed in the scent of freshly mown hay, he realised he’d never actually forgotten how beautiful it could be.
He’d chosen to drive from the Hall in his phaeton, with nine-year-old Elvie sitting at his side and Tom, the elderly groom, perched on the back. His two matched bays set a smart pace along the road to Chipping Calverley, but as their destination grew closer Connor reined them to a walk and took a swift glance down at Elvie. Not that he could see a great deal of her, thanks to that huge sunbonnet her grandmother had insisted the child wear.
‘I promise I’ll bring her back in one piece, Laura,’ Connor had teased.
‘I know! I know I’m fussing!’ Laura had laughed. But then she’d added, more quietly, ‘You realise, Connor, how very much my granddaughter means to me.’
An unspoken grief coloured her words and Connor had replied, ‘Of course. She means a great deal to me also.’
Poor Elvie. Poor silent, orphaned Elvie. But she was taking everything in, Connor was sure, with quiet pleasure. And suddenly the little girl tugged at the sleeve of his driving coat and whispered, ‘Look,Connor. There’s a fair!’
She was pointing to the colourful tents set out on a grassy meadow in the distance, the spaces between them already thronged with people and stalls. ‘A fair?’ he echoed teasingly. ‘Never, Elvie. Surely not.’
‘But there is, Connor. There is.’
Connor pretended to lean forward, shading his eyes from the bright sun. ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘I think you’re quite right.’
She didn’t say another word, but she gazed intently at the bustling scene as they drew closer. And Connor thought, Pray God I’ve done the right thing, bringing the child here. Meaning not just to the fair, but to Calverley, to the very place where he himself had grown up, the place he had turned his back on all those years ago. Thus, in all likelihood, opening himself up to all sorts of memories and regrets...
Concentrate, he told himself sternly, because by now his horses had come to a complete halt in the solid queue of carriages, gigs and carts all heading for the fairground. Connor turned round to his groom. ‘All right if I leave you in charge, Tom, while I walk on with Elvie?’
‘All right indeed, sir,’ said Tom, lowering himself remarkably promptly for a man of his age from the rear of the carriage. ‘You two go and enjoy yourselves, now!’
No one could have been more pleased than old Tom when Connor had arrived at Calverley Hall back in April and told him he was going to buy the place. Its former owner had died five years ago, owing money everywhere; the bank had taken possession and put the run-down Hall up for sale. No buyers appeared. Instead, a succession of tenants had done nothing to reverse its general decline and few of the staff from the old days remained.
But now Connor was the new master of Calverley. ‘Well,’ Tom had said when he heard the news, ‘I was thinking of retiring, to be honest. But since you’re back—if you need a fellow to run your stables, Mr Hamilton, then here I am!’ He’d puffed out his chest. ‘It will be an honour working for you, sir!’
And if Tom was recalling how Connor grew up the son of the local blacksmith, and had laboured every day in the heat of the forge, then old Tom said nothing at all.
Now Connor handed the reins to him, then went to help little Elvie down. ‘It’s a bit of a walk, Elvie,’ he told her. ‘But you don’t mind, do you?’
‘Oh, no.’ She gripped his hand tightly.
‘Good girl,’ he approved and noted how her eyes were round with wonder as he guided her through the lively crowds. So, he thought to himself, people still came from miles around to the midsummer fair at Chipping Calverley. ‘It’s the prettiest village in Gloucestershire,’ people always used to say. ‘With the best fair in the whole of the county!’
And he was finding that every sound, sight and scent brought back memories. The appetising smell from the stall selling fresh bread. The music of the Morris Men with their fiddles and their bells. The laughter of the crowd watching the Punch and Judy show. You didn’t see many smiles on the faces of London’s businessmen, thought Connor. Not unless they’d just made a vast profit in some big financial deal—and even then, their smiles were only half there, because their brains were already busy counting up the money.
Talking of money, those creatures in the livestock pens had to be worth a fair amount. He steered Elvie towards where the farmers stood proudly by their animals and the crowds pressed against the enclosures to get a better view.
‘Look, Elvie. See the calves?’ He lifted the little girl up high to get a better view of the cows with their young ones and—firmly chained to a stout post—the muscular black bull that gazed balefully at the awestruck crowd. Elvie gasped in delight, then they moved on because a little way past the cattle enclosure Connor had spotted some colourfully dressed gypsies offering pony rides. He saw Elvie gazing at them. ‘Do you want a ride?’ he asked her gently.
She hesitated and shook her head; he thought he glimpsed uncertainty in her eyes.
‘Perhaps another time, then,’ he said. ‘Yes?’ And she nodded.
Maybe I ought to get her a pony of her own, Connor mentally noted. A small one, a gentle one. It will give her something to take care of. Perhaps even help her, in a small way, to get over her father’s death.
Connor, too, missed Miles Delafield. The older man had been not only his business partner, but his close friend. Miles would have loved all this,he thought suddenly. He gazed around and realised that if you looked beyond the fairground and up the valley, you could actually see Calverley Hall on the far side of the river. From here you got a heart-stopping view of its acres of gardens running down to the water meadows; of its gabled roofs and diamond-paned windows sparkling in the June sun.
And now—all of it belonged to him. What talk there must have been, when the locals heard he was moving in. What speculation about the money he had made. And if he’d hoped to make his appearance here at the fair unnoticed, he was mistaken, because he was finding himself hailed in hearty greeting by landowners and businessmen who wouldn’t have acknowledged his existence in the old days. They came up to him one after another, declaring, ‘We must get together soon, Hamilton! It’s good to see you back, hopefully to restore the Hall to its former glory. You’ll come round for dinner soon?’
And then there was the local Vicar, the Reverend Malpass. Malpass ran a small school for the children of the deserving poor, which Connor had briefly attended before being thrown out for hiding a frog in the Vicar’s desk.
Did Malpass remember? Surely he did—but he was almost painfully effusive in his attempts to welcome Connor home. ‘Mr Hamilton, it’s truly excellent news that you’ve moved into Calverley Hall. I remember you well—and I’m sure that you’re exactly what the place needs!’
Connor gazed at him, dark eyebrows slightly raised. ‘I remember you, too, Reverend Malpass. And I can see that you’ve hardly changed in the slightest.’
The Vicar hesitated. Frogs? thought Connor. Was he thinking of frogs? Then Malpass, clearly shrugging aside the past, beamed down on Elvie. ‘And this young lady is your relative, is she? Charming. Charming, I’m sure. How do you do, miss?’
‘I—I’m very well, sir.’
That stammer again. Connor felt Elvie shrink against his side and he gripped her hand. ‘She’s not my relative,’ he stated flatly. ‘Miss Elvira Delafield is the daughter of my former business partner.’
‘Ah, yes. Miles Delafield—he died recently of a heart attack, didn’t he? And I hear this poor little girl’s mother is dead, too—most, most unfortunate!’
Connor felt Elvie press closer. He’d always thought the Vicar was a blundering fool. ‘Indeed,’ he replied tersely. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us...’
