Page 53 of A Change of Location
Setting down her spoon with a strawberry still on it, she met his gaze. “Not today, I promise. But I can’t exist in limbo indefinitely.”
“I’m aware it’s a hardship for such a highly organized person.”
“I dislike the implication that my life is excessively structured.”
“I respect what you Yanks refer to as ‘work ethic.’ In fact, Ms. Ballard, I’ve been thinking that my enterprises could benefit from your experience and your credentials.”
“In exchange for which I receive room and board. And you enjoy the occasional shag.”
“It wouldn’t be occasional. Judging from recent experience, the enjoyment will be mutual.” His sudden grin was replaced by a sober expression, and a tone to match. “That came out wrong. I’ll set aside the personal—for the moment. I’m juggling an overwhelming number of projects. The affordable housing initiative. Promoting local farms and their products. Developing eco-tourism in the district. Creating an environment for small business start-ups. Securing the necessary financing, through banks or government grants, to complete our Rural Heritage Center on schedule. Not to mention the vocational education and apprenticeship programs.”
“I lack expertise in all those areas.”
“You told me you worked in marketing, when you weren’t scouting. And you’re a born manager. I’m asking you to remain in Somerset, gainfully employed and amply compensated. Within arms’ reach.” He returned his attention to his strawberries.
During the past twelve hours, she’d wondered if she was capable of settling for a pleasant holiday fling that was destined to end with goodbyes outside Newbridge railway station. She certainly hadn’t expected Martin to pursue what amounted to a major commitment. Unaccustomed to the leisurely life she’d experienced at Stanwell, she was tempted by the challenge of restoring his finances and assisting in the completion of his ambitious and worthwhile plans. But to do that, she’d have to abandon the career for which she’d worked so hard and so long.
Could I?
She shied from the question. Impossible to base a life-altering decision on a dinner date, a bunch of flowers, and a single night sharing a bed.
“No,” she said firmly, her reverie interrupted by Jewel, attempting to climb into her lap. She shoved at the solid black and white bulk. “I’m eating. Keep off.”
The dog obediently backed away. Sinking on her haunches, she regarded Hannah with solemn brown eyes.
She felt trapped between two individuals determined to hold her here. Hannah’s relationship history—with men, not animals—hadn’t prepared her for this dilemma.
Chapter 17
After exploring Montacute House and its formal gardens, they proceeded to South Cadbury. The public pathway led them to a broad, flat hill. The ascent to the long-vanished fort wasn’t difficult, and the reward was a vista of lush woodlands interspersed with ridges and valleys. Hedgerows crisscrossed the meadows, dividing them into squares and rectangles of green wheat or yellow rapeseed flowers.
“I can see why King Arthur chose this spot for his Camelot,” Hannah commented.
“All those centuries ago, the view would’ve been quite different.” Martin turned and pointed. “He’s buried over there, in Glastonbury. Not far from the Tor—that mound in the distance, topped with the tower.”
On their way back to Stanwell, he remembered that he had an errand in Milverston Magna.
“Poppy asked me to go to Holly Cottage and decide what work needs doing before we publicize its availability. I can drop you at the house. I shouldn’t be gone for long.”
Jewel greeted Hannah exuberantly, clearly in need of activity as well as companionship, so she clipped a leash to the dog’s collar and took her into the garden. Beyond the tennis court, they met Poppy and Millie.
“Martin seemed especially chipper when I popped over from my office this morning. He couldn’t stop yawning while he spooned out the coffee grounds, as though he didn’t get much sleep. Care to confess?”
“No.” Although Hannah wouldn’t reveal exactly what had transpired, she said, “If you hadn’t swilled so much beer at The Peacock, I’d be packing my bag. Leaving for Boston.”
“I’m glad you’re not. Mart deserves to be happy.”
“So do you. Why not transfer your allegiance from The Huntsman’s Horn to The Peacock? Let Jack decide if your age difference matters. Any man would be glad to be fancied by a younger woman who looks like you.”
“Thanks.” Threading Millie’s leash through her fingers, Poppy added, “Caring for Mart as much as I do, I feel a responsibility to enlighten you about his previous relationships. Unless you don’t care to hear.”
“I’m not sure,” Hannah hedged. Poppy’s candor, her most consistent feature, could be a blessing or a curse.
“He went through a weird, wild child phase. Dyed his hair purple and wore leather trousers and a bicycle chain round his neck. When he and his mates went clubbing in London, their vibe scared away the society girls. Nobody knew his Uncle Rufus had executed a deed of gift, making him legal owner of this place and the castle up north and the London properties.”
“Something to do with avoiding inheritance tax, he said.”
“Exactly. After Eton, Mart went to his father’s Oxford college. When Isobel got sick he left, wanting to be with her during her treatment. After she recovered and moved to La Rochelle, he took off for Italy and explored a bit of Asia. He came back to England because the marquess was failing. For a while he was enrolled in the agricultural college, taking courses in land management and rural affairs. So did I. But unlike yours truly, he didn’t complete a degree. Because of his uncle dying, he didn’t finish. About three years ago, at a country wedding somewhere in the Three Counties, he met Jessica.”
