Page 7 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

Chapter

Three

Lord Ashworth, I presume

Oz

I follow Milo down the path as he mutters apologies and I look back, wondering for a wild moment whether I imagined that encounter. I brighten slightly. If I did, my imagination has gotten immeasurably better. I can’t wait to have a sex dream about the stranger too.

We walk up the side of the house, stone mullioned windows looking down on us and glittering in the sun.

Coming to an arched mint green door in the wall, Milo opens it and gestures me through.

It’s like going into the secret garden as we pass through shade and then onto what is obviously the front of the house.

I look up and gasp. It’s bloody huge. Wisteria grows over the honey-coloured stone and its sweet scent drifts down.

In front is a grassed forecourt that leads down some stone steps to a long, gravelled driveway which is obviously the main entrance.

Milo doesn’t give me much chance to look as he marches up to a huge studded door and beckons me through and into a whitewashed passage with ancient-looking flagstones that are worn smooth and shining with the patina of years.

“We’ve got to hurry,” he says, opening a door and beckoning me through. “Lord Ashworth is here and wants to meet you.”

“Well, we mustn’t keep him waiting,” I say wryly, trying not to gape at what is obviously the great hall of the manor.

It’s full of sunshine that pours through the two-storey multipaned window.

It lays lazy stripes over a long oak refectory table, and when I look up I’m entranced with the white plasterwork ceiling.

Oak leaves and patterns sprawl across it and I nearly bump into a suit of battered-looking armour while I stare.

I look ahead at Milo. “So, let me get this straight. He’s the Earl of Ashworth but we call him Lord Ashworth? ”

He nods. “That’s right.” He hesitates. “Although he doesn’t seem to like a lot of ceremony at the best of times.”

He rushes through the great hall, going down some steps before knocking at a white painted door. He listens before opening it cautiously and looking round. His shoulders relax and he beckons me in. “He’s not here yet. I’ll leave you here and come back for you in an hour.”

“An hour?” I ask but it’s to thin air. I look around curiously at the room.

It’s obviously the man’s study. Old oak bookcases rise to the ceiling stuffed full of books and I inhale the scent of leather from their jackets.

The room is wide and graceful. A large stone fireplace is on one wall and an old velvet sofa sits in front of it looking insanely comfortable as do the tapestry chairs to either side, their material worn soft with the years.

An oak desk sits at the other side of the room piled high with mountains of papers and a computer.

The French doors are open letting in a soft breeze from the garden outside.

The air is redolent with the scent of furniture polish and paper.

What look like family portraits line the walls, and I’ve just stepped closer to look at a particularly grumpy lady with two children in Stuart dress when a disturbance at the door makes my head shoot up.

“ You!” I gasp and Silas pauses, giving me a curiously knowing look. “What are you doing here?” I ask, darting forward.

The look is immediately replaced by confusion. “I’ve come to talk to you,” he starts to say but I hush him impatiently.

“We haven’t got time for that .” I feel faintly scandalized, like I’m being infected with propriety the longer I stay here. “You can’t be in here,” I say. “I’m expecting to meet the lord of the house any minute. How am I going to explain you to him?”

“You’re going to explain me?” he says slowly and I wonder if he’s had too much sun.

“Never mind,” I hiss. “He’s obviously a lazy rich old man who leaves his staff to deal with everything.

But I do actually need this job as I don’t think I’ve got enough money to get a train back to London.

” I’m struck by a horrible thought. “Oh, my God. I’ll be stuck roaming the back lanes with my suitcase until I die of tiredness or boredom.

Whichever gets me first.” I pause. “Probably boredom. Then I’ll be a ghost they warn people about.

Beware the London Ghost. He’s been wandering the roads for a hundred years and still doesn’t know his way because all the fucking lanes look the bloody same here. ”

Incredibly he looks like he wants to laugh.

He also doesn’t look like he’s moving any day soon and to my horror I hear footsteps approaching the room.

I look around frantically and spying a half-open door, I drag him over to it.

I open it and a cursory glance shows me a small cupboard being used to store stationery. I push him in.

“Stay in there,” I hiss as I hear the door handle turn.

He turns to me, his face contorted with what looks very much like laughter. “Can I just say–” he starts.

“No,” I snap, and slam the door. Just in time. The study door opens and I dart to the middle of the room, looking up as Milo pops his head round.

“Have you seen–” he starts to say and stops. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” I say brightly. I probably look like he’s caught me in the middle of stealing the family silver.

He stares at me for a long second and then shrugs. It’s the sort of shrug that people tend to give when they’ve known me for longer than an hour. I’m glad he’s getting with the programme. “Have you seen Lord Ashworth? We can’t find him.”

“No, I haven’t seen anyone,” I say quickly, hoping he doesn’t see my glance at the cupboard.

He shrugs. “No one’s seen him since lunch. He was in the first field helping with some sheep and–”

“What does he look like?” I break in, a horrible feeling settling in my stomach.

He looks startled but obliges. “Tall. Dark hair with a beard.”

“Shit!” I say. He jerks and I shake my head. “Nope. Haven’t seen him. I have never seen anyone who looks like that … with a beard,” I finish slowly, and I’m sure it’s not my imagination that I heard a soft snort coming from the stationery cupboard.

Milo looks at me strangely but then shrugs. “Okay, I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure he’ll be in soon.”

“Me too,” I say emphatically. I wait until the door closes behind him before walking over to the cupboard slowly and opening the door. “Lord Ashworth, I presume,” I say hoarsely.

He looks up from where he’s perched on a stool reading a book. His lip twitches. “Oz Gallagher?”

I shake my head. “How lovely to meet you, sir.”

He stands up and stretches and I gulp as the muscles move sinuously under all that lovely olive skin.

“Now, Oz, please don’t be formal, and call me Silas. I’m sure I’m far too lazy and ancient and rich to get really aggravated.”

“Shit!” I say with feeling, but to my astonishment he breaks into laughter. Loud and glorious laughter. The sort that comes from deep in your stomach and leaves you clutching onto furniture. I shake my head as he laughs like a drain until he’s breathless and rubbing tears from his eyes.

“That’s the best fucking time I’ve had in ages,” he gasps.

“You should get out more,” I say sourly, shaking my head as that causes more paroxysms of mirth. I make my way back into the room, settling onto the chair in front of the desk gratefully. I think we’re beyond manners and waiting to be asked before seating myself.

He follows me, occasionally snorting until he’s seated opposite me at his desk. He looks at me and gives another peal of laughter.

I hold up my hand. “Hilarious as this is and I’m sure we’ll laugh about it when we’re eighty, do you think I can get a lift back to the station?”

The laughter dies from his face immediately. “What? Why?”

I stare at him. “Well, I’m sort of presuming that you’ll want me to leave.”

“Why?” he asks, his face blank with astonishment.

I falter. “Well, because of what I said about you and then the inappropriate flirting and–”

He shakes his head, seriousness appearing. “I didn’t mind.”

“You didn’t?”

He runs his finger contemplatively along the surface of his desk.

I stare at his broad hands and long tanned fingers and swallow.

“I think if you’d met my father you’d have got what you were expecting from a member of the nobility,” he says slowly.

He looks up and the faint cloud that had appeared over his face vanishes immediately.

He shakes his head. “Never mind. I’m not like him.

” He pauses. “I know I’m not here a lot–”

“That’s none of my business,” I immediately say.

“Well, actually it is. If you’re my house manager you sort of need to know where I am as you’ll need my approval for a lot of things.”

“You’re still going to employ me?” I gasp, and he frowns.

“Of course. Why not?” He shakes his head. “I like you, Oz.” He falters slightly. “I mean you’ve obviously got a sense of humour, which you’ll need, and you’re different.”

“Different good or different weird?”

“Bit of both. Both of which I think we need here,” he says tentatively and relaxes when I smile. He continues staring down at that restless hand. “Niall vouched for you, anyway.”

“I’m not sure why,” I say in a spirit of absolute honesty. “I think he might have had sunstroke or something.”

He laughs. “Niall’s a good judge of character. If he thinks you’ll fit, you will. I wish he’d had a say in employing–” He pauses.

“The previous house manager?” I ask softly.

He jerks, looking awkward. “Yes,” he says slowly. “But that’s all on me. I think it speaks volumes as to why I shouldn’t get involved in hiring anymore. And if I had any doubts I just have to look around and see the mess he left us in.”