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

her sight.  Returning down the grand cantilever staircase a while later, Margaret tripped on the last step and literally bumped into Charles who threw out an arm to steady her.  She knew who he was of course.  He had been the talk of London for a few weeks and there was much speculation as to whether or not he might be looking for a wife.  As soon as Margaret took the arm he offered and looked up into his concerned brown eyes she knew that if he needed a Duchess, he would have no need to look further.  It was going to be her.

He was a quiet man, never one to flaunt his status and extraordinary wealth or boast that his family seat of Canleigh Hall was the most prestigious country estate in Yorkshire but it was common knowledge and Margaret smiled now, remembering how it hadn’t taken her long to snare him.  Bowled over by her beauty and gaiety, he took every opportunity he could find to be in her company.  They walked in the park, attended the theatre, although Margaret would rather have seen a lively show instead of his preferred opera or ballet and they met at dinners held by friends of Uncle Arthur and Aunt Sarah and of course, the endless round of balls and dances.  Then, only two short months after they first met, Charles, totally besotted and desperately in love, asked her permission to speak to Uncle Arthur.

Margaret had looked up at his handsome face; his kindly eyes, his broad shoulders.  She thought of how financially stable he was and how she would be able to share in it, be able to spend lavishly on what she wanted instead of having to penny pinch on the tiny allowance Uncle Arthur allowed her,  be able to travel all over the world, hold sway at Canleigh Hall in Yorkshire and Canleigh House in London, hold gloriously expensive balls and parties, be the toast of London, be chauffeur driven in a Rolls Royce or drive recklessly around on her own in a sports car … and finally, there was the thought of seeing Aunt Sarah’s face when she heard Margaret was to become the Duchess of  Canleigh.

“Yes, Charles.  I should very much like you to speak to Uncle Arthur,” she answered without hesitation.  “He’s in the library with Aunt Sarah.”

There had been no hesitation on the part of Uncle Arthur either.  He readily agreed to such a miraculous end to all his tribulations with his niece and just a few short weeks later, a euphoric Margaret travelled up to Yorkshire with Charles and Aunt Sarah in order to prepare for the wedding and to meet his mother, Anne.  Both Margaret and Aunt Sarah were highly impressed when Charles, driving them in his Rolls Royce, turned off the Leeds road and through the open wrought iron gates flanked by stone lodges and down the long, winding rhododendron drive.  Eventually, it straightened out and the north front of Canleigh Hall came into view.  An enormous lawn bordered by dense woods stretched out to the right.  To the left, there was a gravelled area in front of the stone steps leading up to the front door.

Charles smiled as both women looked around wide eyed.  “It looked very different during the war.  When hostilities broke out the house was turned into a convalescent home for officers and all available ground was used for growing vegetables.  All this was dug up,” he waved his hand towards the grass, “the lawns at the back of the house, the cricket pitch and the tennis courts.  Thankfully mother has now restored everything to its full glory.  I shall have to take you on a tour tomorrow, taking in the stables too, of course … oh, and there’s also an indoor pool … it’s hidden away over there,” he pointed towards a cluster of massive rhododendron bushes to the east side of the house.

Margaret glanced that way dutifully but she wasn’t interested in the gardens or the pool.  Her attention was on the Hall itself.  She stared intently at the magnificent house, a sandy-coloured rectangular building, three storeys high, with an ornate balustrade circling the roof and eight stone columns supporting the grand portico above the front steps.  There seemed to be dozens of tall sash windows on the lower and middle floors but on the third, they were small and square.  Margaret sighed with pleasure.  It was perfect and would do very nicely for her to show off her status to all those lucky people who would be invited to her social gatherings.

To her delight, the front door opened and the house staff filed out and lined up on either side of the front door.  A small, thin, balding man with a crooked nose, dressed in a spotless white shirt, black tie, waistcoat, long black tail coat and striped trousers, walked down the short flight of steps, opened the car door and smiled warmly at her and Aunt Sarah.

“Welcome to Canleigh,” he said pleasantly.

Margaret couldn’t help herself and threw Aunt Sarah a swift look of satisfaction with just a hint of smugness.  Fully aware how her aunt and uncle were desperate to wash their hands of her, it gave her considerable pleasure to know they were incensed their wayward niece had managed to secure the favours of a Duke.  No wonder Aunt Sarah looked sick when their own daughter, Elizabeth, a good and decent girl in their eyes, had only managed a mere professor and, to add insult to injury, was lumbered with bringing up Margaret’s by-blow.

As impressed as Margaret was with the exterior of Canleigh Hall, the interior was even more breath-taking with high, decorated ceilings and room after room filled with valuable paintings, crystal chandeliers and antique furniture.  As she watched Aunt Sarah grow frostier as their brief introductory tour of the ground floor state rooms progressed, Margaret held onto Charles’s arm and