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

as long as you wish, of course.  This is your home and I would never ask you to leave it,” he stated generously, during yet another prolonged debate on the subject, desperate to avoid another row and the long uncomfortable silences that always followed.  “But I don’t expect you will want to because you will get married to some Earl or other and move away and have lots of babies … and horses I expect,” he laughed, in a feeble attempt to humour her.

Delia hadn’t been able to answer him at the time.  Furious that he thought she would be happy to be a brood mare for some aristocrat she turned on her heel, headed for the stables, and rode furiously across the fields for a good hour before the fury abated.

Sometimes she felt as if she would explode at the unfairness of it all.  Watching her twin now, plodding up the hill, she wondered what it would be like if he had never been born.  There would have been no other competition for her with Canleigh as their only other sibling was their younger sister, Victoria, two years their junior, so Canleigh would have automatically gone to Delia.  She studied him as he rode his pony towards them at a snail’s pace, his face red from the exertion and the sun, and was horrified as the thought dashed through her mind of how simple life would be if he were dead.

“Are you coming back to Tangles for tea?” asked Philip, jumping athletically down from Verity onto the grass, leaving her to graze in the shade beside Star.  He flopped down beside Delia, wiping perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.  “Nan has made your favourite chocolate cake.”

Delia turned her attention away from her twin and smiled warmly at Philip.

“Oh, how lovely she is.”

“I think there might be strawberry ice cream too, if we’re lucky … and her homemade lemonade,” Philip grinned, knowing Delia wouldn’t be able to resist either.

“Marvellous,” she enthused, gazing on his young Adonis body with adoration.  He was dressed in indigo blue jeans and a white t-shirt, showing off his fabulously bronzed face and arms.  Thick blonde hair topped his handsome slightly rounded face, in which his kind hazel eyes twinkled brightly.

Delia’s heart and soul filled with a strong aching love.  Young as she was, she knew Philip was going to be the only one for her.  She daydreamed constantly of the day she would drift up the aisle in a bubble of white to marry him and then, no matter what anyone said, or the legalities, and Delia didn’t have a clue how she would achieve it, but they would live happily at Canleigh forever with their horses … and their children.  There would be a boy, looking just like Philip, bronzed from an active outdoor life, with an abundance of blonde hair and hazel eyes like his father … and there would be a girl for her, as crazy about horses as she was and with long dark hair and deep brown eyes.  They would have a wonderful life living at Canleigh Hall, running the estate and holding lots of equestrian events, inviting top show jumpers and eventers to stay, and be the Mecca to which the horsey fraternity was drawn.

Delia smiled as her imagination roamed freely and her eyes flittered over the land in front of them; the woods, the fields, the lake with its abundance of wildlife including the mass of swans which from this distance were just a tiny speck of white in the corner of the lake.  Finally, as ever, her gaze rested on Canleigh Hall, and in particular the south terrace and below, the formal parterre garden, consisting of planted beds in symmetrical patterns and then, in the centre of a vast stone pond, the figure of Pegasus, which had fascinated her since she was a toddler.

She sighed with pleasure.  The scene before her was breathtaking and she was enjoying the afternoon immensely.  Riding gave her utter satisfaction but to be topped off with a visit to Tangles for tea was always a real bonus.  The welcome from Ralph and Betty Kershaw, Philip’s grandparents, was always warm and like Granny’s Dower House, it was more homely than Canleigh, which, especially in the depths of winter with such high ceilings and temperamental central heating, could be chilly and not a little gloomy.

However, she thought, looking at Philip who was chewing on a blade of grass and watching Richard and Dolly, she and her siblings did possess parents, although their mother might not be as adequate as they would have liked.  Philip’s had been tragically killed in a motorbike accident on a winter’s night when they skidded on black ice and went under the wheels of a lorry when they were returning home from the cinema.  Philip was only a baby at the time so he had never really known them.  His grandparents, Ralph and Constance, had collected him from the babysitter and taken him home to Tangles, a lovely old rambling Tudor house neighbouring Canleigh land and he had lived with them ever since.

“Well done,” said Philip to Richard who had finally made it up the hill and was sliding thankfully down from Dolly.

“This heat is horrendous,” Richard moaned.  “It’s far too hot to be outdoors.”

Delia looked at him disdainfully as he walked Dolly over to Star and Verity who were dozing in the shade of the tree.  He then sat down beside Delia, wiping his sweaty palms on his pale blue jeans.

“We’re going back to Tangles for tea,” she said.  “There’s chocolate cake.”

“Sounds wonderful,” he smiled at Philip.  “Your Nan is a super cook … and I could really do with a drink of her marvellous homemade lemonade.  You’re so lucky, Philip, having her.  I couldn’t imagine our Granny doing such stuff.”

They all laughed.  The autocratic Anne, Dowager