The Million Pound Marriage Deal

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‘We certainly do.’ For one mischievous moment she was tempted to launch into a song from South Pacific or Grease, but she was aware of the other two people in the room...and she had a feeling they might not appreciate her musical prowess as much as Carol Ann and Will.

Not that Will would necessarily appreciate it either, but he’d appreciate the effort of making Carol Ann happy.

‘She sends me the best presents.’ She stared at Sophie expectantly now. ‘Did you bring me a present?’

Will’s head rocked back. ‘Carol Ann, you can’t—’

‘Of course I did.’ Sophie laughed at a thunderstruck Will. Digging into her pocket, she drew out a small velvet box. ‘Here you go.’

Carol Ann opened the box and her eyes went wide. ‘It’s beautiful!’

It was a bracelet of pink and purple crystals, and she’d known Carol Ann would love it.

The other girl danced on the spot. ‘Purple for me! Pink for you!’ she shouted.

‘Not so loud,’ Will admonished, though he couldn’t hide his smile.

‘Put it on me,’ Carol Ann demanded.

Will did and Carol Ann rushed to show it to Ms Grant and her grandfather.

‘What did she mean about the colours?’ Will asked, drawing her further into the room.

‘Purple is Carol Ann’s favourite colour and pink is mine.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘She told me.’

Carol Ann swung back to them. ‘Because we talk lots and lots on the phone.’

His eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. She’d thought he knew. She’d thought Carol Ann would’ve told him. She’d never mentioned it to him herself because he’d never raised the topic. So rather than look at Will, Sophie grinned at Carol Ann. ‘Because we’re best friends.’

The pressure of his fingers on her arm informed her he’d be following this conversation up when they were alone. ‘Do you remember Miss Grant?’ He gestured to the other woman. ‘She came to London with Carol Ann when they visited.’

She did. Esther Grant was Carol Ann’s carer. The two women smiled at each other. ‘Of course I do. How’s your father doing, Esther?’

‘Coming along nicely, thank you, Sophie.’

‘He had a hip replacement last month,’ she explained to Will.

Will stared at her with narrowed eyes. ‘And are you and my grandfather in regular correspondence too?’

She turned to the stocky man who surveyed her from the largest armchair she’d ever seen. ‘I don’t believe Lord Bramley and I have ever met.’

‘Grandfather, I’d like you to meet Sophie Mitchell.’

For a moment she thought the older man wasn’t going to rise from his chair, that he meant to snub her completely, but eventually he lumbered to his feet and briefly clasped her hand. ‘Your reputation precedes you.’

Ouch! She refused to let her chin drop. ‘As does yours.’ She meant it in exactly the same way as he did, and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen.

He briefly clasped Will’s hand. He wasn’t as tall as Will, but he was broader. Without another word he installed himself in his chair again. Flicking a glance at her left hand, he grimaced. ‘I don’t need to ask why you’ve decided to grace us with your presence.’

Carol Ann bustled up between them. ‘You’re here to visit me, aren’t you, Will?’

‘That’s right,’ he agreed.

He met Sophie’s eyes over the top of Carol Ann’s head and she sent him what she hoped was an encouraging smile. It was nice to see him with his sister, but there was no denying the tension that had him coiled up tight.

‘And to tell you that Sophie and I are going to get married.’

Carol Ann’s eyes widened.

‘As long as that’s all right with you,’ Sophie added.

More squealing and jumping up and down ensued, especially when she realised Sophie wouldn’t just be her best friend but also her sister, until Esther broke in and told Carol Ann that it was time for her Zumba dance class at the local community centre.

The room grew quiet when it was only the three of them left. Dark undercurrents she didn’t understand swirled about the room.

‘So you’re not going to congratulate us?’ Will finally said, though his tone implied he didn’t care one way or the other if his grandfather approved of the match or not, was happy for him or not. It was all she could do not to wince.

The older man’s gaze turned to her. ‘I noticed you asked Carol Ann’s permission, but you didn’t ask mine.’

A myriad different retorts sprang to her lips, but she sensed hurt behind the belligerence so she swallowed them all back. She sensed similar retorts on the top of Will’s tongue too, but she rested her hand on his arm to keep him from replying.

Will’s grandfather glanced at that hand and then back into her face and pursed his lips.

‘Carol Ann is a darling,’ she said. ‘But Will marrying has the potential to impact on her significantly. We didn’t want her security to feel threatened.’

He thrust out his jaw. ‘What about my security?’

The muscles under her fingers clenched and she tightened her grip. It took a ludicrous amount of willpower not to let her hand explore the intriguing line of that arm further—to test the solidity of the flesh that quivered beneath her touch. ‘Forgive me, sir, but you’re a man of the world and you don’t need mollycoddling. May we sit?’

She needed to sit before her knees gave out. She didn’t wait for an answer, but dragged Will to the sofa and all but fell down into it.

The older man grunted but for a moment she swore she detected a flash of humour in those eyes.

She glanced at Will in her peripheral vision. Why didn’t he say something? She gave a surreptitious nudge to his ribs.

He started. Not the reaction she’d been hoping for. It was all she could do not to roll her eyes.

‘I take it, Grandfather, that you’re in good health?’

That jaw jutted out. ‘Fit as a fiddle.’

‘In that case, as you’re the one who demanded I marry, I’m at a loss to explain your appalling lack of enthusiasm at my announcement.’

Well, that was a no-brainer. He obviously had an objection to Will’s choice of bride. But would Lord Bramley say as much in front of her?

She really hoped not because if he did she’d be forced to retaliate. But as the two men’s gazes locked and clashed it occurred to her that maybe this had nothing to do with her at all.

What on earth was this pair’s problem with each other?

She shuffled upright. ‘We were hoping to be married here, at Ashbarrow Castle, if that’s all right with you, sir.’

Her words broke through the silent battle and they both swung to stare at her. ‘When are you planning to marry?’ barked Will’s grandfather. ‘Spring?’

Spring was six months away.

One corner of Will’s mouth lifted, but his eyes remained as cold as chips of ice. ‘We’re getting married in three weeks.’

‘Three weeks!’ The older man glared at them, his jaw working. ‘That’s impossible. There’s too much to organise. People will talk!’

‘People always talk,’ Sophie broke in. ‘But when there’s no baby in nine months’ time they’ll realise they were wrong. I’m not pregnant, Lord Bramley.’

‘Then why the rush?’

‘I believe you’re the one who set the timer, sir.’

If Will ever used that tone with her she might just shrivel on the spot!

‘Then why don’t you just go to some hole-and-corner register office?’ he spat.

‘Because that’s not what I want,’ Sophie inserted with a confidence she was far from feeling, her best hostess smile in place. She didn’t actually know what a hole-and-corner register office might be, or if it even existed, but she caught the tone well enough. Will was going to give her a million pounds. She had to save the situation before Will blew it and told the old man precisely what he could do with his estate.

She refused to let her smile waver. ‘I always swore that when I got married it’d be done right.’ She’d just never envisaged a marriage like...this. ‘I agree that three weeks isn’t much time, but it’s doable. Which is just as well as it’s the timeframe Will has given me.’

Both men stared at her as if she’d grown a second head.

‘Four generations of the Trent-Patersons have been married here at the village church. I happen to think it’s important for Will to be married from here as well. It’s a tradition that should be preserved.’

A different light came into Lord Bramley’s eyes. He leaned back and folded his arms. Sophie held her breath.

‘My grandson doesn’t think so. He thinks tradition a waste of time.’

Will’s hands clenched. ‘When tradition is used as an excuse to force someone to do something unprincipled, when it’s an excuse for bad behaviour and deceit, then it’s empty, worthless and meaningless. And I refuse to have anything to do with it.’

Wow! Will vibrated with barely contained anger. Damage control. ‘I think we might’ve just gone off track.’

Beside her, Will swore. She slipped her hand inside his and he gripped it hard. ‘The kind of tradition I’m talking about is a nice one. One that I’d be proud to be a part of.’

Will met her gaze and she sent him a smile. He stared at her for two beats and then shook his head and sent her a rueful smile in return.

Squaring his shoulders, he swung back to his grandfather. ‘Sophie has her heart set on being married from Ashbarrow. And I want her to have the wedding of her dreams.’

‘What does your father think about this?’

Her stomach clenched at Lord Bramley’s sly question. ‘As soon as I tell him I’ll let you know.’

‘He’ll have his heart set on a London wedding.’

She bit back an inappropriate smile along with an even more inappropriate gurgle of laughter. ‘Nonsense. What he has his heart set on is his daughter mending her wicked ways.’

Lord Bramley remained silent for several long moments. ‘Very well, you can be married from here on two conditions.’

Will stiffened. ‘If I don’t like your—’

She dug her fingernails into the back of his hand. ‘Which are?’

‘That you delay your nuptials for another week. Give me a month to get the place ready.’

She glanced at Will. His lips thinned into a mutinous line. Lips that had touched hers and sent such a jolt through her she still hadn’t recovered. Don’t think about that!