Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) by Carole Williams (uplifting novels TXT) 📕

tiny laughter lines circling them looked anxious and there was a hint of tension around his mouth.  His physique was slim and he was much taller than the nurse and the way he carried himself gave him an air of quiet and kindly unassuming authority.  A man to both like and respect.  The Duchess was a very lucky woman, the nurse thought enviously.

“Thank you,” he smiled back.

She left him alone and he looked at the two comfortable leather sofas and two wing backed chairs in the room but felt too wound up to sit down.  A kettle, cups and saucers and a supply of coffee, tea and sugar sat on the sideboard next to the tiny fridge, which bore a note on the front to indicate there was fresh milk inside.  A copy of Woman’s Weekly and Woman’s Own lay on the coffee table along with a couple of newspapers.

Charles, an avid reader, would have perused the papers even though he didn’t believe half of what the tabloids liked to feed the populace but he couldn’t concentrate on most of the rubbish they contained now.  He wished he had thought to bring his Times and Financial Times but the departure from the Hall when Margaret’s waters had broken just after seven o’clock this morning, two weeks earlier than expected, had been somewhat rushed.  However, his mother, the Dowager Duchess, would be here soon to keep him company.  Whilst still at Canleigh, waiting for the ambulance to arrive, he had telephoned her at the Dower House, where she had resided since his marriage to Margaret, to let her know what was happening.  Having attended a charity ball the previous evening and not arriving home until the early hours, she had been asleep in bed but roused herself quickly when she heard his voice, excited as he about the impending arrival of the first children to be born in the family since himself.

“I’ll get dressed immediately and pop up to the Hall for the Rolls,” she said. “Good luck darling and don’t worry.  Margaret and the children will be in very safe hands.”

“Yes, Mother … but please be careful with the Rolls.  Why not get Perkins to drive you?”

“There’s no need for a chauffeur and anyway it would be a complete waste of his time, having him hanging around the hospital waiting for us.  We have no idea how long we will be and I am perfectly capable of driving into Leeds.  We will then be able to return home at any time without bothering any of the staff.”

Charles feared for his car.  Unfortunately, his mother hadn’t one of her own as she didn’t really like to drive so when she did decide to borrow his it was a daunting prospect.  She gripped the steering wheel tensely, changed gear noisily, roared the engine unnecessarily and braked sharply.  She also had a tendency to dump any vehicle she was driving exactly where she wanted when arriving at her destination, oblivious as to whether or not it was convenient for other people or even legal.

Charles groaned inwardly.  He loved his mother dearly but she was an extremely determined woman and wouldn’t be swayed from anything once she had made up her mind.

“Okay, Mother … but just be careful, please … and take your time.”

Now he had more than his wife and children to worry about.  His mother was right of course, Margaret and the babies were in safe hands but his poor car was a different matter.  It was old, lovingly cared for and usually driven by Perkins, his chauffeur, who was also in charge of the horses and the stables, and when he was off duty, by Hardy, the butler, and then of course, by himself.  He couldn’t remember the last time his mother had driven it and the roads were fairly busy at this time of day with commuters rushing into Leeds to work.  It was also raining and a thunderstorm was threatening which would be an added distraction.  He crossed his fingers and prayed his mother would arrive safely and without incident.

He was relieved when an hour later the door of the waiting room opened and Anne, Dowager Duchess of Canleigh, stepped in, dressed in a Norman Hartnell blue skirt and jacket, a white silk blouse and navy leather court shoes.  Her long fair hair was swept back into a neat bun; her makeup consisted only of a dash of face powder and a touch of rose-pink lipstick.  She wore a single strand of pearls, matching earrings, her thin gold wedding ring and diamond cluster engagement ring.

He smiled at her gratefully, glad of her support at this tense and exciting time.  Despite certain differences of opinion, whenever he had needed her his mother had always been there.  His rock, as far back as he could remember.

“Charles,” she said, crossing him to kiss him on the cheek, her Chanel No. 5 nicely overpowering the ghastly hint of disinfectant which always seemed to linger around hospitals.  “Any news yet?"

“No, but it shouldn’t be long.”

“Good.  I can’t wait to greet my grandchildren.  We haven’t had this much excitement in the family since you were born,” she smiled, settling herself into one of the wing-backed chairs near to the window overlooking the hospital car park.

“What have you done with the Rolls?” he asked with trepidation, seeing the direction she was looking.

“Oh, it’s down there.  See,” she pointed at a parking bay near to the hospital entrance.  “Perfectly safe.  I think it’s in a Consultant’s spot, probably Giles Warburton and once he sees the Rolls he will know it's us.  He won’t mind.  He and his wife, Celia, dined with me last week and I gave him a sizeable cheque for the hospital so it should be alright.”

“Oh, Mother!  You are incorrigible.”

“I know … but we have more important things on our minds now.  The birth of