The Unexpected Pregnancy Read online

  Harriet opened her eyes to see James standing in a shaft of moonlight at the end of the bed.

  She smiled at him drowsily for a moment, and then shot upright in shock. It was no dream. He was here, in the flesh.

  “I frightened you,” said James tersely. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to find you here.”

  She pulled the sheet up over the heart banging against her ribs. “But you knew I was coming to La Fattoria.”

  “I meant here in my room.”

  “Oh.” She heaved in a shaky breath. “I didn’t know it was your room.”

  James took in a deep breath. “Go back to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  The door closed behind him and Harriet’s heart was still thumping from the shock of finding a man in her room. Only it wasn’t just a man, it was James. She slid out of bed, and then snatched at her dressing gown as the door flew open and James strode in again….

  CATHERINE GEORGE was born in Wales, and early in life developed a passion for reading that eventually fueled her compulsion to write. Marriage to an engineer led to nine years in Brazil, but on his later travels the education of her son and daughter kept her in the U.K. And instead of constant reading to pass her lonely evenings, she began to write the first of her romantic novels. When not writing and reading she loves to cook, listen to opera, browse in antique stores and walk the Labrador.

  Catherine George

  THE UNEXPECTED PREGNANCY

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER ONE

  HARRIET let herself into the still, empty house, but instead of making her usual nostalgic tour went straight to the kitchen to make a pot of the expensive coffee brought along for brain fuel. It was crunch time. She had to get to grips right away with the problem she’d taken a week’s holiday leave to solve. Before she went back to London a decision had to be made about her legacy. Her grandmother had made it very clear in her will that End House and its contents were to be left to Harriet to dispose of exactly as she wished. But what she wished, thought Harriet fiercely, was that her grandmother were still alive, and that any minute she’d come in from the garden with a bunch of herbs in her hand, demanding help to make supper.

  When the coffee-pot was empty Harriet took her bags upstairs and, because this might be the last time she ever slept here, put them in her grandmother’s room for the first time instead of her own. She ran a caressing hand over the brass rails of the bed, hung up some of her things in the oak armoire, and folded the rest away in the beautiful Georgian chest. Olivia Verney had disapproved of clothes flung down on chairs. Harriet grinned as she made up the bed. A good thing her grandmother had never seen her flatmate’s bedroom. Dido Parker was a good friend, and good at her job, but tidy she was not.

  After supper Harriet made some phone calls to announce her arrival, watered the array of plants in the conservatory, and had just settled down to read in the last of the evening light when she heard a car stop outside. She got up to look, and dodged back in dismay when she recognised the driver. But there was no point in hiding behind the sofa. Tim had probably told his brother she was here.

  When the knock came on the door, Harriet counted to five before opening it to confront the tall figure of James Edward Devereux.

  She gave him a cool smile. ‘Hello. I’m afraid Tim’s not here. I came on my own.’

  ‘I know that. May I come in?’

  As if she could refuse, she thought irritably, and showed him into the small, elegantly furnished sitting room.

  Her visitor was silent for a moment as he looked at his surroundings. ‘It’s months since your grandmother died, but here in her house it seems only right to offer my condolences again, Harriet.’

  ‘Thank you. Do sit down.’

  ‘I liked your grandmother very much,’ he said, choosing Olivia Verney’s favourite chair. ‘I was deeply sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral. I went down with some virus at the time.’

  ‘I heard.’ She perched on the edge of the sofa, feeling edgy. She’d known Tim’s brother since she was thirteen years old, and lately she’d even run into him in London once or twice, but they’d never been alone together before. What on earth was he doing here?

  ‘It must have been a shock when she left you so suddenly,’ he said with sympathy.

  Harriet nodded soberly. ‘A shock for me, but great for her.’

  ‘True.’ James Devereux became suddenly businesslike. ‘Right, then, Harriet, I’ll get to the point. Did Mrs Verney tell you I’d approached her about selling the house to me?’

  She stared at him blankly. ‘This house?’

  ‘Yes. The others in the row already belong to Edenhurst—’

  ‘You mean to you.’

  ‘Yes, Harriet, to me,’ he said patiently. ‘I need more staff accommodation, and End House would be ideal.’

  ‘Sorry,’ she said instantly. ‘It’s not for sale.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Tim told me you were spending a week here to come to a decision.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘So when did you arrive?’

  ‘A couple of hours ago.’

  ‘And the decision’s already made?’ His smile was mocking as he got to his feet. ‘Tell me, Harriet. If someone else had made the offer would you have accepted?’

  ‘It’s nothing personal,’ she said, lying through her teeth. ‘I just don’t want to sell End House right now.’

  ‘But Tim said you’d had it valued.’

  ‘On his advice, yes,’ she said curtly, making a note to have strong words with Tim Devereux.

  He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘If I offered slightly more than the estimate, would that change your mind?’

  ‘It most certainly would not!’ Her eyes flashed. ‘And Tim had no right to discuss the price with you.’

  ‘He didn’t. I asked the estate agent who sold me the other three.’

  ‘You needn’t have bothered. End House is not for sale.’

  ‘Before I go, enlighten me, Harriet,’ he said, following closely as she marched out into the hall. ‘Why are you always so damned hostile towards me?’

  She turned a scornful smile on him. ‘It’s no mystery. You make it pretty obvious lately that you disapprove of my relationship with Tim.’

  ‘You surely realise why?’

  ‘I’ve never given it a thought,’ she told him, amazed that her nose failed to grow a couple of inches at the lie.

  ‘Then think about it now,’ he said crisply. ‘I’ve had to be father, mother and brother to Tim since he was ten. I don’t want to see him hurt.’

  She bristled. ‘You think I’m going to hurt him?’

  ‘Yes.’ His eyes held hers. ‘Tim’s a one-woman man, but I know that you have other men in your life. I’d say the odds on Tim getting hurt are fairly high.’

  Not for the first time in their acquaintance Harriet wanted to punch James Edward Devereux on his elegant nose. Instead she opened the door wide to speed him on his way. ‘Tim’s perfectly happy with the fact that I have friends of both sexes.’

  ‘In the same situation I couldn’t be happy with that.’

  ‘You and Tim are two very different people,’ she said coldly.

  ‘True. Everyone loves Tim. Goodnight, Harriet.’ James Devereux glanced back as he reached his car. ‘The offer will stay on the table for a while. Ring me if you change your mind.’

  Harriet closed the door, rammed t
he bolts home and stormed to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee black and strong enough to counteract the effect James Devereux invariably had on her.

  She’d met his brother Tim in the village post office when she first came to live with her grandmother in Upcote, and the two orphaned thirteen-year-olds had taken to each other on sight. Tim had raced back to End House with Harriet right away to ask Olivia Verney’s permission to take her granddaughter fishing in the stream that ran through Edenhurst grounds. And afterwards he’d taken Harriet off to meet his brother, who was twelve years Tim’s senior, and possessed of such striking good looks he’d seemed like a god from Olympus to the youthful Harriet.

  Tim so openly worshipped his brother that for a while Harriet had found it natural to follow suit. Unlike her friends at school, who had crushes on rock stars and football players, Harriet Verney’s naive form of hero-worship had centred on James Edward Devereux. Tall, self-assured, with glossy dark hair and the tawny Devereux eyes, he was the archetypal Corsair to a teenager just introduced to Byron’s poetry.

  During that first summer vacation with her grandmother, Harriet had come to terms with her first experience with grief. The double loss of her parents in a storm on a sailing holiday had broken her world in pieces, and it had taken all her grandmother’s loving care to put it back together again. The meeting with Tim accelerated the healing process. That summer Harriet spent most of her daylight hours with him. Totally comfortable in each other’s company, they ate at the kitchen table at End House with Olivia Verney, or ran free on the acres of land belonging to Edenhurst, the beautiful, but increasingly dilapidated home of the Devereux brothers.

  By that time both Devereux parents had been dead for some time and life had become difficult for the heir to the estate. Crippling inheritance tax, plus school fees for Tim and wages for even the bare minimum of staff required to keep Edenhurst going had all been a huge burden for a young man only just qualified as an architect. Through Tim Harriet had learned that some of the antique furniture and the more valuable family paintings had to be sold. With the proceeds as back-up James Devereux had taken a gamble, and with a partner set up a company to convert derelict warehouses into expensive riverside apartments.

  The gamble paid off, the apartments sold like hot cakes, and riding high on the success of the enterprise James Devereux eventually went on to transform Edenhurst into the first of a series of hotels with integral health spas. He married an established star in the modelling world, and the only cloud on the dynamic young entrepreneur’s horizon had been his brother’s flat refusal to join the company.

  Tim Devereux insisted on taking a fine art degree instead, and went straight from college to work in a London gallery owned by Jeremy Blyth, an art dealer highly respected in his field. None of Tim’s choices had been influenced by Harriet, but James made it plain he blamed her for all of them, even though Tim was adamant that nothing would have persuaded him to go into property developing. The new job suited him down to the ground. Jeremy Blyth was charming, witty, openly gay and knew all there was to know about the art world. The job would provide invaluable experience, also allow spare time for Tim’s own painting. He shared a house with two friends from art college and he had Harriet. What else could he want in life?

  ‘His lordship’s blessing?’ she’d said bluntly.

  ‘I don’t know why you’re always so down on Jed.’ Tim had given her a coaxing smile as he put an arm round her. ‘Come on, Harry. Get if off your chest at last. You and I don’t have secrets, remember. What is it with you and my brother?’

  He’d kept on about it until at last, desperate to shut him up, Harriet finally told him that one Sunday afternoon she’d stopped to stroke the dog outside the open kitchen door of Edenhurst, overheard James lecturing Tim, and suffered the usual fate of eavesdroppers.

  ‘He felt great sympathy for my situation, but thought you should see something of the lads from the village as well, instead of spending all your time with a girl—even one who looked just like a boy with such close cropped hair and a gruff little voice.’ She growled at the memory, which still burned. ‘I wanted to kill him with my bare hands!’

  Tim had roared with laughter. ‘You’ve changed a bit since then, tiger. The hair grew, the girl equipment arrived, and that voice of yours could earn a fortune these days on one of those sexy chat lines—ouch!’ he howled as she hit him. ‘And now he’s shackled to the fair Madeleine surely you feel some sympathy for Jed.’

  ‘Not a scrap! He’s far too overbearing and sure of himself to merit any sympathy from me.’

  From that day on Harriet never thought of or referred to James Edward Devereux as Jed, as he was known to family and friends. And she never told a soul that her teenage self-esteem had been dealt such a blow that summer afternoon it had taken years afterwards for her to think of herself as even passably attractive.

  Harriet rang Dido early next morning to say she’d received an offer for End House. ‘Tim’s brother wants to add it to the Edenhurst estate, but I just can’t face giving the house up yet, so I turned him down.’

  ‘Good God, are you mad?’ said Dido, shocked. ‘I know your grandma left money to keep the place going for six months, but from now on you’ll have to pay running costs yourself.’

  ‘I know all that. But it’s been my home for the past ten years, remember. I just can’t bear to part with it yet. In fact,’ added Harriet, bracing herself, ‘I thought I might even live here myself for a bit, Dido.’

  There was a pause. ‘You work in London,’ Dido reminded her, sounding close to tears.

  ‘I could look round for something in this area instead—Cheltenham, maybe.’

  ‘You really want to desert me?’

  Harriet felt a guilty pang. ‘You earn serious money these days. Couldn’t you manage the mortgage on your own?’

  ‘I don’t care about the beastly mortgage. I just want you here with me. Besides, what about Tim?’

  ‘We can see each other at weekends.’

  ‘I think you’re making a huge mistake, Harriet. Please don’t make any snap decisions.’

  Harriet spent some time reassuring her friend, then walked to the village shops to buy a newspaper, stopped to chat with a couple of people she knew, and, because it was such a beautiful day, took the longer route back along the small tributary that formed the boundary to Edenhurst. She paused as she reached the stepping stones she’d hopped across so often with Tim in the past, and on impulse took off her sandals to see how far she could get. Halfway across she discovered that the water was faster and deeper than she remembered. She turned to retrace her steps, wobbled precariously as she hung on to her sandals, but lost her newspaper to the current when she spotted James Devereux in the shade of the willow hanging over the far bank.

  ‘Want some help?’ he asked, grinning broadly.

  ‘No,’ she said through her teeth.

  To her annoyance he kicked off his shoes and strolled across the stones towards her, sure-footed as a panther. ‘Give me your hand,’ he ordered.

  Harriet hesitated, almost lost her balance, and James grabbed her hand and hauled her across the stream straight up the bank into Edenhurst territory.

  ‘Now I’ve saved you from a ducking I claim a reward,’ he said, collecting his shoes. ‘Have lunch with me, Harriet. No wedding or conference this weekend. It’s fairly peaceful here for once.’

  Harriet eyed him in astonishment as she thrust damp feet into her sandals. ‘If this is a ploy to win me over about End House it won’t work.’

  ‘Certainly not. I just think it’s time you and I tried to get along better, for Tim’s sake.’ His lips twitched. ‘Besides, when I’m bent on persuasion—of any kind—I tend towards champagne and caviare.’

  ‘I detest caviare.’

  ‘I’ll make a note of that.’ He smiled persuasively. ‘But right now a humble sandwich is the only thing involved. So what do you say?’

  She looked at him for a moment, then gave a reluctant n
od. ‘All right.’

  His lips twitching at her lack of enthusiasm, James rang the house to order a picnic lunch in the folly. ‘I remember the days when you ran wild round here, Harriet,’ he commented as they began climbing the steep, winding path. He glanced at her fleetingly. ‘You’ve changed out of all recognition since then. The clothes are not much different, I suppose, but the resemblance ends there, full stop. At one time it was hard to tell you from Tim, whereas now—’

  ‘Whereas now,’ she cut back at him, ‘my hair’s long and you can tell exactly what sex I am. But I’m stuck with the voice.’

  He stopped dead at a stile blocking the path, comprehension dawning in his eyes. ‘Is this something I said?’

  ‘I once overheard you trying to persuade Tim to spend less time with me and more with the village boys.’ Harriet smiled sweetly. ‘If you were trying to turn him off me it didn’t work.’

  ‘Quite the reverse! Tim’s been crazy about you since he was fourteen years old.’

  ‘Thirteen,’ corrected Harriet.

  ‘Unlucky for some,’ James said lightly, and startled her considerably by picking her up to deposit her on the other side of the stile.

  By the time they reached the mock-Grecian temple where she’d once played endless games with Tim, their lunch was waiting on the stone bench girdling the interior. The tray held fresh fruit, a covered silver dish of sandwiches and an opened bottle of red wine.

  James poured a glass for Harriet, and sat down beside her on the bench to remove the cover from the platter. ‘Definitely no caviare,’ he assured her.

  ‘Quite a choice just the same,’ she said, impressed. ‘Is that how things work for you all the time, James? You just wave a wand and—what have I said?’

  ‘You actually allowed my given name to pass your lips!’ He raised his glass in mocking toast. ‘To truce, Harriet, long may it last. Now, what would madam like? Ham, smoked salmon, and, yes, I do believe there’s good old cheese as well.’