Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) by Carole Williams (positive books to read .TXT) 📗

and was quite happy to let them beat him to it.  He didn’t mind riding now and again but was content to take it all much slower, just as he took everything else in his life, especially if Delia was involved.  Having such an intense sister was quite exhausting at times and he found it much easier to let her have her way in virtually everything, which gave him a far more peaceful existence.

Delia won the race. She always did.  She had been born to the saddle and it was the one thing she excelled in and which gave her huge satisfaction.  When riding she felt in total control of her world and totally free of mental or physical restraints.

Star slid to a halt under the shade of the magnificent tree, its thick branches heavy with shiny brown leaves and Delia turned and laughed at Philip charging up behind her on his piebald pony, Verity, and Richard further down the field on his lazy chestnut mare, Dolly, who was doing little more than ambling up the hill.  Scampering over the grass, careful to keep their distance from the ponies, were Freckles, Ellie and Pippa; Granny’s three young mongrels, a mixture of spaniel and something with exceedingly long legs.  They liked this particular field and busied themselves searching for anything remotely edible in the hedgerows.

Freckles owed her life to Granny, who had found her, heavily pregnant, tied to a tree in the woods.  Granny had taken her straight home to the Dower House and summoned James Masters, the Vet, to check the poor dog was in a fit condition to deliver her puppies without specialist help.  After receiving the news that all that was wrong with the dog was that she needed a good bath and a feed, Granny had lavished all the care she possibly could on her and two days later Ellie and Pippa were born.  All three dogs were now as mad as hatters and needed tons of exercise but Delia was always happy to help out if Granny was otherwise engaged, which was why they were all with her today.

Delia turned her gaze from the dogs to her twin, lagging far behind Philip.  Richard really did test her patience as he was so boringly dull and had no spirit of adventure.  It was incredible to think they were twins.  Their natures were very different and although they looked similar, they certainly weren’t identical.  Richard was dark haired, like Delia, with the same big brown eyes but whereas her face was a distinct oval, his was a little rounder and he had a dimple in the centre of his chin and then he had to wear those ghastly spectacles which he hated so much.

“Come on, slowcoaches.  I knew you wouldn’t beat me today,” she called triumphantly, glancing across the acres of land to her beloved home in the distance.

Canleigh Hall looked even more elegant and imposing in the strong sunshine than it normally did; like a fairy tale palace in an oil painting.  With love and longing, Delia gazed down at her home.  It wasn’t as big as some of the stately piles she had stayed in belonging to the families of her school friends but it was the most beautiful and she loved every inch of the building and every acre of the land surrounding it intensely.  It galled her to think that all of it would one day pass to Richard.

Their father had tried to explain the stupid primogeniture thingy to her and insisted that although Delia was the first-born, Richard would inherit Canleigh just because he was male but, as there were no others in the wider family, she would be next in line.  So, Richard stood in her way and there was simply nothing to be done about it.  How desperately unfair was that?  She remembered having the most almighty tantrum, screaming and screaming at her father that Richard didn’t love Canleigh as she did and she wanted it and was going to have it!  She had been sent to her room and not allowed down again all day and then had to apologise for her behaviour at breakfast the next morning.  Standing sullenly beside her father’s chair at the head of the solid mahogany table in the dining room stuffed full of Chippendale furniture and huge paintings on the walls by Titian and Rembrandt, her father’s favourite artists, shuffling her feet and trying to sound sorry, was torment.  Her apology had even sounded false to her but her father had sighed and finally sent her packing back to her room with the warning to never behave like that again and the estate would pass to Richard and she had better get used to the idea.

It hadn’t been mentioned again in front of her father, although Delia inwardly seethed and made her fury quite plain to Richard, never missing an opportunity to reiterate on how the stupid ancient law that ruled their lives was so very wrong.  She knew Richard loved their home but he hadn’t any real passion for it.  His focus in life was to attend medical school and eventually become a surgeon.  It was certainly not his intention to live here when he was an adult and run the estate himself.  He had discussed his ambitions with her and they rarely involved Canleigh until he was too old and feeble to do anything else but retire here.

Richard had long, lengthy talks with their father, who was fully behind his son’s decision to have a promising career, although disappointed he was not more interested in his inheritance, commenting that he hoped that would change as Richard reached maturity and if not, plans would have to be put in place for Canleigh to be run properly when he became the Duke of Canleigh.

“I shall find an excellent estate manager and leave him to it,” Richard had told Delia.  “You can stay here for