Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(68)

“Because I put you in that position.”

“I was perfectly capable of dealing with her.”

“So why didn’t you?”

“Because I thought you liked her.”

He puts the spoon down. “And so you had to put up with her? What the hell?”

I shrug. “The marriage vows mention for better or worse, or at least the traditional ones not spoken by Elvis Earl. She was just an extreme version of the worse bit.” I shake my head. “Don’t beat yourself up about that. I always knew if I told you, you’d do something about it straight away. You were never okay with anyone being nasty to me.”

“She’s gone. I let her go when you left, and I found out what was going on.”

“What? Oh no.”

He cocks his head to one side. “You seem bothered by that. She was horrid to you.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean she should lose her job.”

He studies me, and I have the feeling that something I just said pleased him. Then he shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. She’s gone to a friend of mine who appreciates her tendency to channel Margaret Thatcher a lot better than I did.” He licks his lips. “But you didn’t feel able to tell me.”

I hesitate. “Well, no,” I finally say. “I couldn’t admit that your housekeeper frightened me.” He groans and I shake my head. “I wasn’t starring in a Victoria Holt book as a lonely new bride with a sinister retinue. Although Mrs Ward did fill that role as if she was born to it.” His mouth twitches reluctantly. “I’m an adult and not dealing with her was all on me.”

He leans against the stove, a small smile playing on his full lips. “Oh god, I remember my sister reading those books one summer. She swanned about in a lacy white dress, seeing mystery and gothic romance everywhere. Unfortunately, we were staying at a cottage in Yorkshire rather than some Victorian outpost, but she did her best with what she had to work with.”

“Did she?” I’m vastly entertained by this insight into his family life. I never met his sister, as she followed their father into the diplomatic trade and was in Israel when I was living with Lachlan. She’d written me a very nice letter, though, commiserating on my having to marry Lachlan and offering advice, most of which was lock him in a cupboard when he got high-handed. I sometimes regret not taking that advice.

“No. She completely missed the house next door being burgled. In fact, she and my mum made the thieves a cup of tea.” I laugh and he stops talking and flushes. “Sorry. That was probably a bit boring.”

I gape at him. “Are you mad? It’s far from boring. This was the sort of thing I wanted from you when we were married.”

“Then I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you,” he says gravely and turns back to the stove.

“What are you making?” I ask, standing up and peering over his shoulder.

“Chilli and if you touch that spoon, I’ll smack your fingers.”

I give a dramatic shudder. “That was rather glorious. You looked like a complete villain then. A young Basil Rathbone.”

“Who the hell was he?”

“My mother had a crush on him for years. If me or my sister were ill, we knew we were doomed to have to watch one of his films. It’s the main reason for our spotless attendance records. My sister once went to school with flu just to avoid watching Robin Hood. My father was an eternal disappointment to my mum. Not a villainous moustache in sight.”

“I can grow one if it would make you happy.”

I shudder. “No, thank you. Reminds me of Armie Hammer in Death on the Nile. It looked like it was going to fall off his face and end up in the soup. It quite took my mind off the plot.”

“Did you know that Agatha Christie actually didn’t know who’d done it until she reached the end of writing her novels? She went back and added the clues.”

“That does not surprise me. It reminds me of Rafferty when he has to hand in his accounts every month.” I head back to the table. “Well, if you won’t let me eat chilli, I’m going to have one of these scones.” I slather one with butter and jam. I take a mouthful and immediately give a rather slutty groan. “God, that’s lovely, Lachie.” I flush when I realise, I’ve used that bloody nickname again.

He shoots me a pleased look and I raise my eyebrow until he faces the oven again.

I settle back at the table and nab another scone before drawing out the booty I found earlier when I was cleaning. “Look at this,” I gloat. “Look what I found.”

Lachlan turns around. “A pile of mouldy old paper?”

“No, silly. It’s Jackie.”

“What?”

“Apparently it was a magazine for girls in the sixties and seventies. I found a pile of them in a room upstairs. They’re absolutely fascinating.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Weren’t you supposed to be cleaning?”

I wave a careless hand. “I did clean.”

He continues watching me, his eyes wry.

“Oh, okay, I gave the room a quick once-over and then sat on the window seat reading them. I’ve had a fabulous hour.” I pause. “In between all the cleaning of course.”

“Of course.”

I grab another scone, not missing his pleased expression. “The articles are fascinating.” I paw through the pile and extract one, flicking through the pages before exclaiming in triumph. “Here it is. The guide to dating the right way in the sixties.”