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

Charles sat down and shuffled some papers on his desk.  “As far as I am aware, the renovations for Canleigh House are complete … so there is absolutely no need for you to remain in Mayfair any longer.  I shall be informing the agents it’s ready and they can now search for some new tenants.  If you do go to London again, you will have to use the Savoy, as you did before we arranged for you to be on site for the renovations, and it goes without saying that I’m grateful for your help with it.”

Margaret moved back to the French windows and looked out, keeping her face averted from Charles while she tried to think.  She didn’t see her thirteen-year old twins pass the library door and pause as they realised she was there with their father.

“You can’t keep me a prisoner here, Charles.”

Charles looked at her glumly.  His marriage had been the disaster his mother had predicted, right from the time of his honeymoon but even more so following Margaret’s revelation in the hospital that she had an illegitimate child, a subject he had never broached with her.  He had done his best to dismiss her words that day, pretending to himself that she had only spoken because of the anaesthetic, which she had, of course, as she was obviously never going to tell him when she was lucid; but he had never forgotten it and any trust in her had died the day his twins were born.  He had to admit he hadn’t tried very hard to make the marriage work after that.  They simply weren’t suited and were happier living apart so unable to bear her continued presence at Canleigh where she was so depressed and miserable, which created a terrible strained atmosphere for the whole family, he had come up with a solution, which suited everyone. It had cost him a pretty penny, with the bills for the Savoy and her trips with her friends around the world but it had been worth it for peace and quiet and as long as she kept to her side of the bargain, he was relatively happy.

Her desire to spend so much time in the capital was also useful when his agents had advised that the long-term tenants of Canleigh House, their London home, were leaving and before it was suitable to be let again, it would need modernising.  Someone had to oversee the work and Margaret had offered.  With trepidation, he had agreed, knowing that in the privacy of their own home she was far more likely to go completely off the rails than in a busy hotel but with the stringent rules he had placed on her freedom, had hoped she would be sensible and he wouldn’t have to step in to curb her behaviour.  It had been fine at first because she was associating with people who also knew the rules but in the last few weeks, she seemed to be mixing with a younger set who always seemed to be spilling out of nightclubs in various states of intoxication.  He simply had to rein her in now the children were getting wind of her shenanigans.

“Margaret, all I have ever wanted is for you to behave with a modicum of respect for your position and this family.  Just remain here until August, then we’ll go to Blairness as usual, and after that … well, if you want to disappear again, that’s up to you but I shall have to insist you don’t fraternise with the people you are presently carousing with.”

Margaret’s heart was pounding fiercely.  She would go mad if she had to remain here until September, only broken up by four miserable weeks in Scotland, but she had no choice.  Charles called the shots and that was that.  What was she going to do?  Simon would go off the boil if she didn’t get back to London and she had never wanted a man so much.  She would go crazy stuck here, not knowing what was going on and she could hardly tell Charles that she was utterly besotted by a stunning, captivating, charismatic twenty-three-year old and would go insane if she couldn’t have him.  She tingled all over at the very thought of Simon’s skin touching hers, his hands on her body.  She had to stop herself moaning at the very thought.  She had to get out of here again.  She just had to … and she had to get out of this room this minute or she might say something she would regret.

She downed her gin, banged the glass on Charles’ desk, gave him a withering look, and stormed out of the library, just missing the twins as they hurtled down the kitchen stairs to avoid her.

*   *   *

The ponies careered up the field urged on by their young riders.  As usual, thirteen- year old Lady Delia Canleigh was yards in front, long black hair flapping wildly on her back as she sped along, urging Star, her grey Welsh Mountain pony, up the steep incline to the beautiful copper beech tree, which was the marker for such races to end.  This was the highest point on the Canleigh estate, a great place from which to view the Hall and its many acres disappearing into the distance.

Fifteen-year old Philip Kershaw, the ‘lad from next door’ and who was Delia’s best friend, was close behind.  Desperate to catch up and overtake Delia, his young face was grim with determination to win for once.  Richard, Delia’s twin, with the grand title of Marquess of Keighton, followed at a gentler pace, wondering what on earth he was doing here when he could have been nice and cool in his bedroom reading the latest medical journals he had managed to get his hands on.  He simply didn’t have the competitiveness of the other two