Baby on the Rebel Heir’s Doorstep

But it did mean her brothers were likely to be in attendance. Neither Gary nor Keith were ones to miss a free drink or a party, and she didn’t believe for a moment that either of them would have been responsible enough to stay back and take care of The Fox, the family pub their father had left them when he died, two years ago.

She was almost surprised they hadn’t asked her to cover for them. Perhaps after months of refusing to listen to any of her ideas on how to improve the place they’d assumed—correctly—that she’d turn them down flat. In the past, she wouldn’t have. She’d never wanted to let her father down. But she had no such concerns about Gary and Keith. Well, hardly any.

She was worried about The Fox, though…

Helping herself to a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray—just one, she still had to drive home later—Lena scanned the room again and began mentally cataloguing who she needed to speak to tonight, and in what order. She could see the Reverend Dominic Spade across the way by the terrace; she should collar him about holding the food bank at the church over the summer holidays, at least. But first she needed to speak to Trevor and Kathy about the news of the sale of the village hall and what it meant for their community hub. And she should probably try and find Paul Gardiner, the local estate agent, before that. See what information she could pry out of him…

Across the room she could see the party’s hostess, Victoria Blythe—soon to be Clifford—mingling, a smile on her face, her hands resting on her pregnant belly. It was good to see; after the terrible loss of her husband and only son, Lena hadn’t been sure that her friend would ever smile again. But it seemed that Finn Clifford had found a way to make her future bright.

She’d catch Victoria later, though. First she had village matters to attend to.

She couldn’t spot Paul, and Rev Spade was standing a little too close to where Gary and Keith were holding court on the terrace for her liking, so Lena headed for the buffet table and Trevor and Kathy instead.

‘Ah, Lena! Just the person I was looking for,’ Trevor said as she joined them.

‘You weren’t looking for anything beyond the next of those mini sausage rolls.’ Kathy snatched one of them from his plate and popped it in her mouth before he could object. ‘You look lovely tonight, love.’

Lena glanced down at her shimmering blue dress, smoothing the fabric again over her hips, where it clung tight before falling all the way to the ground over her silver heels. ‘Thanks.’

The mystery of Trevor and Kathy was one Lena had never quite managed to solve, despite having known them both pretty much all her life. They weren’t married, that much was certain—she’d checked the parish records to be sure—and they didn’t live together, either. Instead, they occupied two adjoining terrace houses in a side street not far from the pub where Lena grew up, and were both regulars.

She’d never seen anything to suggest a romantic relationship between them, and they bickered far too much to be actual friends…and yet, they were nearly always seen together.

One day she’d figure it out. But today she had other priorities.

‘I was looking for you two as well.’ She eyed the buffet table. ‘And maybe those duck spring rolls.’

Kathy grabbed her a plate, added several spring rolls, two sausage rolls, and a chicken satay skewer, then handed it over. ‘Do you have news?’

Lena shook her head. ‘I was sort of hoping you would. Nothing on the Save The Village Hall petition, then?’

‘Apparently our “esteemed” local councillor has been telling everyone he speaks to that the hall was falling apart, and there was no money to repair the roof after it caved in, so selling it is the only option.’ The expression on Trevor’s face told Lena exactly what he thought of Councillor Morgan. She didn’t entirely disagree.

‘The biggest problem is that he’s right.’ Kathy sighed. ‘The estimates on replacing the roof alone were astronomical, and it just wasn’t getting enough use to warrant it. Even the local Brownies group decided to use the school hall instead, after the last storm. Brown Owl said there were more buckets than girls in there.’

‘So they’re just going to sell it for housing, like everything else around here.’ The old cinema in Wishcliffe had been demolished and turned into flats five years ago, and even the Wells-on-Water Methodist chapel was now a Grand Designs transformation in progress.

‘That’s the talk,’ Trevor confirmed, his voice glum.

‘On the bright side, though, it looks like some of the money from the sale will go into the community funds account we set up as part of the charitable trust thing for the hall.’ Kathy’s face brightened as she spoke. ‘So once it all goes through, we can start looking for a new location for the community hub project again.’

‘That’s good,’ Lena said, although she couldn’t quite find the same enthusiasm as Kathy. Whatever money they raised from the sale of the hall, it was unlikely to be enough to buy and pay for the upkeep of another property. Which meant renting, which would deplete funds even faster. She foresaw a lot of fundraising in her future.

Good thing that one of her main talents was sweet-talking the rich and privileged into supporting community projects. Well, that and running pubs. She was a woman of many talents, really—all of them unappreciated by her family.

But when something mattered to her, she didn’t give up. And this village—and its people—mattered. So she’d find a way, as she always did.

‘What we really need is a sponsor,’ Trevor mused. ‘Someone with the money and the inclination—or guilt…I’d take guilt—to make them want to do good deeds.’

‘Guilt is very motivating,’ Kathy agreed. Lena looked down at her plate and refused to think about her own motives. ‘What about Finn Clifford, since we’re here? Think we could hit him up for some contributions?’

‘Probably,’ Lena said, looking up to scan the room again in search of likely targets. ‘But he’s only just moved back here and he’s got the baby on the way and the wedding to plan. We might get some money, but he’s not going to be a figurehead or get properly involved or anything.’

‘Besides, he’s out here at Clifford House,’ Trevor pointed out. ‘Closer to Wishcliffe than Wells-on-Water. And for the community hub to be a success, we really do need someone connected to our community, don’t we?’

Kathy hummed her agreement as, across the room, another figure caught Lena’s eye, talking with their hostess. A tall, dark, brooding sort of a figure, he stuck out in the ballroom like a cactus in a rose garden. A large, prickly, unwelcome cactus.

He looks like…

The man turned, and Lena got a good look at his face, her eyes widening with recognition.

Never mind looked like. It was.

Even if she hadn’t recognised his face, the way her heart suddenly beat double time would have given it away.

Quickly, she spun away, facing the buffet table again, suddenly very, very interested in the miniature Yorkshire puds with beef and horseradish.

But Kathy had already followed her gaze, it seemed. ‘Now, there’s a thought. Max Blythe. He’s just inherited the Manor House, hasn’t he? That’s definitely Wells-on-Water territory, and by all accounts he’s absolutely loaded. What do you think, Lena?’

I think if I never talk to Max Blythe again it’ll be too soon.

‘Perhaps,’ Lena said, non-committally, trying to keep all the memories buried deep in her chest. ‘What do you think about the halloumi fries? Too greasy?’

Kathy and Trevor ignored her attempts at canapé-based conversation.

‘Heads up, ladies,’ Trevor said. ‘Victoria’s got him in her grasp now. And they’re heading this way.’

*

Max Blythe hated parties.

As a rule, he wasn’t all that fond of gatherings, shindigs or social get-togethers in general. But he really didn’t like parties.

Even ones as deliciously catered and with such good libations as the one Finn and Victoria were throwing tonight.

His problem wasn’t with his hosts, who seemed like perfectly nice and reasonable people. It wasn’t even that they’d invited him there tonight since it seemed they’d invited everyone in the vicinity and that now, rather unexpectedly, included him.

No, Max’s issue with tonight’s party in particular was the Looks.

He didn’t think there was a single attendee not guilty of giving him one—unless, somehow, they hadn’t spotted him yet. A few people had tried to talk to him—or, more likely, get some gossip out of him—but they’d all been easily rebuffed. The rest…they just looked.

They said more with a Look than they could with words, though. In every Look Max read a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions.

Curiosity, of course, about why he’d returned to Wells-on-Water after so many years, and about what his relationship with the Blythe family was now. Resentment or disappointment from many who’d known him as a child. Pity from some, probably those remembering his mother. Anger from others, seeing where he’d managed to take his life. Appreciation, from some female gazes—but that, at least, was familiar from other settings, much as he tended to ignore it. The fascination with his family, his history—that was all particular to this area of the country. Wishcliffe and Wells-on-Water, the neighbouring small town and village by the sea that had witnessed his miserable childhood. The same place he’d vowed never to return to after his mother’s death.

Until Toby Blythe, Viscount Wishcliffe, had changed all that.

Max wasn’t entirely sure how much his half-brother had made known to the general population of the area about his existence and why Toby had gifted him the Manor House at Wells-on-Water, but in his experience very little stayed secret in a place like Wishcliffe. And it wasn’t as if anyone who’d lived in the area while he was growing up could have missed the pointed way his mother had named him Blythe, even if his father had never acknowledged him.

It was an open secret—and humiliation—in the community. Max was the illegitimate son of the old viscount, born between the two legitimate heirs, Barnaby and Toby. His mother had never tried to hide who he was, never denied it—in fact, she’d seemed to revel in forcing the uncomfortable truth on everyone.

You have to do what’s right in this world, Max, even when it’s hard, she’d always said. And when it feels hardest, that’s when it matters most.

And it had been hard. His whole childhood, it had been unbearably hard. Dealing with all the sniggers behind his back that turned to all-out bullying as he grew older. The disapproving looks from the adults in the village, probably aimed more at his mother for ‘flaunting her sin’—as one of them had put it once—than at him, but which still made him feel like a disappointment just for existing. And seeing, every single day, that huge house on the hill and knowing his father was up there with his two half-brothers, all pretending he didn’t exist.

Was it any wonder he’d rebelled? Caused the kind of trouble that made people pay attention to him, rather than try to ignore his existence? That lived down to their every expectation of it?

Or that he’d run away as fast and as far as he could, as soon as sixth form was over?

He’d headed out into a world who didn’t know or care who he was, and showed them who he could be without all that baggage hanging over him. He’d kept the surname—what else would he call himself after so long?—but outside Wishcliffe and Wells-on-Water the name Blythe didn’t mean a damn thing to anyone. It was wonderfully freeing.

He’d made his fortune, made his own name, made his own life. And he’d been happy with it.

Until an email from Toby had turned everything upside down.

Now, here he was, back in the heart of Wishcliffe society, staring down all the looks and the disappointment again. Except, this time, he was there as Toby Blythe’s brother. Rightful heir of the Manor House above Wells-on-Water village. His father might never have acknowledged him in his lifetime, but the old viscount’s son had.

Max belonged now. Even if he still wasn’t a hundred per cent sure he wanted to.

Not if it meant attending parties like this all the time, anyway.

‘They’ll get used to you soon enough,’ Toby had said, when he and his new wife Autumn had invited Max to dinner the previous weekend. ‘Forget you ever went away.’

But Max didn’t want them to forget. He wanted them to remember everything he’d achieved in spite of being the illegitimate son of Viscount Wishcliffe.

And more than anything, he didn’t want anybody remembering the pathetic, lost and lonely boy he’d been before he moved away.

A movement across the room caught his eye—mostly because it was moving towards him. He steeled himself for another encounter with a local looking for gossip, before realising that it was actually his hostess approaching him.

Victoria Blythe made her way across the ballroom, her ever-growing belly clearing a path before her. Max couldn’t help but smile; he’d met Victoria and her fiancé, Finn Clifford, at the Sunday dinner at Wishcliffe the weekend before and found his elder half-brother’s widow to be both insightful and determined. Which was how she’d persuaded him to attend tonight in the first place.

‘Max, they’re going to talk about you whatever you do,’ she’d said. ‘At least if you’re there it’s harder for them to do it behind your back.’

‘Victoria,’ Max said as she reached him. ‘Thank you for inviting me tonight. You have a lovely home.’ That sounded like the right sort of thing to say, didn’t it?

She inclined her head to accept the compliment, so he assumed it was. ‘Thank you for coming. I’m sorry my home is filled with such gossips.’

He chuckled at that, which made her smile.

‘Why don’t I find someone to introduce you to who probably won’t ask you too many invasive questions?’ she suggested.

‘That would be nice,’ Max replied cautiously, unsure that there was anyone in the room who wouldn’t. But he couldn’t exactly say, ‘I’m happier standing here glaring at all your guests, thanks,’ could he?

Victoria scanned the room for a moment, and then smiled in a way that made Max even more nervous.

‘Perfect.’ Taking Max’s arm, she led him towards her target, as he wondered if there was still time to make a run for the door.

Then he realised exactly who Victoria was taking him to, and decided that diving out of the window would probably suffice. Anything except talking to—

But it was too late.

The blonde ahead of them, the one in the shimmering blue dress that clung to curves he remembered well, was already turning to face them. The older couple she was talking to began to fade backwards into the crowd around the buffet table, smiles on their lips.

‘Max, let me introduce Lena Phillips. She’s the manager of the King’s Arms pub in Wishcliffe’

Lena raised perfectly arched eyebrows in surprise, every inch the perfect class princess she’d been at school. ‘Max Blythe. Really.’

Really what? Really there? Really daring to speak to her again? Really assuming she’d want to talk to him after their last…interaction, the night before he skipped town?

Max wasn’t sure. So he just said, ‘Apparently so. Hello, Lena.’

*

There wasn’t much for it other than to brazen it out, Lena decided. Trevor and Kathy were already moving away towards the desserts table—traitors—and leaving her alone to face her doom. They probably assumed she’d be sweet-talking Max Blythe into donating squillions to set up some state-of-the-art community hub centre complete with computer access for those without it and a coffee shop with a ready supply of sausage rolls. When actually, she would just be trying to get the hell away from him as soon as possible.

Which would be easier if Victoria weren’t standing right there watching them.

She needed to say something, Lena realised. Continue an actual normal conversation like normal people.

As if the last time she’d seen Max Blythe hadn’t been minutes after he took her virginity in the back of his beaten-up car, then skipped town without looking back. As if that one night hadn’t changed the trajectory of her whole life.

At least he looked as shell-shocked at the unexpected reunion as she felt. He deserved to feel awkward and embarrassed. She didn’t. He was the one who’d run out, after all. Well, run first anyway.

Victoria opened her mouth, obviously about to fill the uncomfortable silence, but before she could speak her fiancé, Finn, appeared at her side.

‘Excuse me, Max, Lena, I just need to borrow my fiancée for a moment.’

‘Borrow me?’ Lena heard Victoria object as he steered her out of the ballroom. ‘What am I? A phone charger?’

And then it was just her and Max. For the first time in sixteen years, since they were both eighteen and stupid.

‘I didn’t realise you’d be here tonight,’ Lena said, not adding that she might not have attended herself if she had done. He’d guess that part, and it wasn’t true, anyway. She’d have come—not to see him, but because of the networking opportunities Victoria’s party offered. Because her life had nothing to do with him any more.

Lena hoped he got all that from her short, unimaginative statement.

Max gave her a crooked smile. ‘You might be the only one here who didn’t, then. Seems to me that the primary reason for attendance for most people was to stare awkwardly at me.’

‘I think you’ll find it was actually the sausage rolls,’ Lena countered. ‘They’re surprisingly good.’

And you’re not actually the centre of anyone’s world, Max Blythe.

So many things she wanted to say to him. Curses and accusations and cutting remarks. Explanations and apologies, and the secrets she’d held tight to her chest for so long. But she wasn’t eighteen any more. At thirty-four, she’d learned to hold her tongue. To make nice, build bridges, charm people. Everything she needed to do for her business, and for her work in the community.

What she needed to do to make Wells-on-Water a better place. A place that eighteen-year-olds like they’d been didn’t need to run away from in the first place.

But right now she wished she could be that young and careless again. A girl who hadn’t learned to be so nice, yet. One who still said what she was really thinking.

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d never been that girl. Ever since her mother died when she was young, Lena had learned to say whatever she needed to say to keep everyone happy, to secure her place in the community, even if she was the daughter of a drunk and sister to two of the biggest troublemakers in the village.

‘Sausage rolls?’ Max looked hopefully over at the buffet table, just as Trevor popped the last one into his mouth.

Lena shrugged, feeling childishly pleased. ‘You can’t hang around at these things. You miss your chance and those sausage rolls are gone for ever.’

‘I guess I’ll have to wait for the next party’ Max replied, and Lena felt a jolt of uncertainty go through her.

‘You’re planning on staying around this time, then?’ She cursed the words the moment they were out of her mouth. Why did she have to make reference to the last time they’d spoken? She’d wanted to pretend it had never happened at all. Or that if it had, she hadn’t thought about it since. Now that was blown out of the water.

And she could tell from the surprise in Max’s eyes, and the slow smile that followed, that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking about.

‘Well,’ he said, slowly, ‘Toby did give me an entire house. Seems a shame to waste it.’

Since the house in question was closer to a mansion, Lena couldn’t exactly disagree. Which didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.

‘I’m just surprised you’d want it,’ she said. ‘I seem to remember you being quite adamant about getting the hell out of Wells-on-Water, and Wishcliffe, and never coming back.’

‘That was a long time ago,’ Max replied. ‘I like to think I’ve grown up a bit since then.’

And boy, had he. The Max she remembered at eighteen had been darkly handsome, with the same dark brown eyes under his black hair, but he hadn’t been built like the man in front of her was. At eighteen he’d been lanky and gorgeous, but Max Blythe at thirty-four looked…dangerous. From the broad, broad shoulders to the way his chest filled out his dinner jacket, and how those golden-brown eyes glittered with more than just a promise tonight. Tonight, they held knowledge of the world, and a cynicism that even Max at eighteen hadn’t been able to match.

In short, he’d grown up. And he’d grown up well.

Of course, Lena liked to think she had, too. She might not be quite the perky blonde teenager he’d left behind, but she’d replaced that youthful enthusiasm with plenty of things she valued more. Self-knowledge, for one. And a daily yoga routine that kept her both toned and less stressed.

‘We’ve all grown up,’ she murmured, and watched as that dark gaze scanned the length of her, from her highlighted hair to the high heels on her feet, taking in the carefully chosen dress on the way. She looked good tonight and, seeing Max again, she was damn pleased she’d made the effort.

Except she always made the effort, and she made it for herself, not for him or anyone else.

She could feel the tension, the attraction, shimmering between them, the same way it had that last night. Then, it had been a shock—something utterly unexpected. Now, it felt different. Part familiar, inevitable even. But part new, because they weren’t eighteen-year-old innocents any longer.

Now, they both knew what the deal was. What they could have, if they wanted it.

She met his gaze, and knew that Max felt it too.

Then his attention jerked away, to something happening behind her. Lena glanced back over her shoulder and suppressed a groan at the sight of her two brothers trying to toss profiteroles into each other’s mouths.

‘Well, most of us have grown up,’ Max amended, and with a wince, Lena nodded her agreement.

‘I should probably…’ She trailed off with a vague wave towards Gary and Kevin. Typical that they’d ruin the first interesting interaction she’d had with a man in years.

Max raised one eyebrow. ‘Why? They’re adults, aren’t they? Not your responsibility.’

‘Maybe not. But—’ But what? He was right, damn him. They weren’t her responsibility, even with both their parents gone. Hell, they were even older than she was. And yet, she knew that everyone in this room would expect her to step in, hand them both some coffee, and keep them out of trouble until they sobered up. Just as she had every other time in living memory.

God, she was sick of it.

Taking care of the community was one thing. Being responsible for her feckless, thoughtless and immature brothers was another.

‘I say, leave them to it and come out onto the terrace with me, where we can have a proper catch-up. I mean, it’s been a long time, Lena. I’d love to hear what you’ve been up to.’

Oh, this was exactly how he’d got her into that car sixteen years ago. That hint of a promise in his voice, the one that offered to take her away from all the things about her life that drove her crazy.

And she’d fallen for it, and then he’d left. And she’d been alone for everything that came next.

But this time…this time she was an adult. In charge of her own life. She could leave any time she wanted. And all he was suggesting was a conversation on the terrace, where she didn’t have to watch her idiot brothers embarrass themselves—and, by proxy, her. If she wanted it to lead anywhere else…it would be up to her.

‘Okay,’ she said, and he smiled as she headed for the door, knowing he would follow.

Just a conversation. And this time, it would be Lena who walked away at the end of it. Or didn’t.