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

and the shooting brake for their luggage, she could easily have thrown her arms around them and kissed them.  She often giggled at what their faces might have looked like if she had dared.  Then, of course, there were the final few miles to Canleigh and she would settle back in the big, comfy car, ignoring her parents who were normally silent, and the chatter from Richard and Victoria, usually complaining about being home with school having to be faced in the immediate future.  Delia would stare out of the window, watching the village come into view with an overwhelming feeling of warmth and joy and when there was a brief glimpse of the Hall in the distance, before it disappeared back behind the trees, she almost burst with pleasure and a huge feeling of contentment would wash over her.  Just as it did now.  She gazed up at the beautiful old building, her heart filled with pride and love and she silently thanked Richard for bequeathing it to her.  She still couldn’t believe what he had done and knowing that the piece of paper that meant so much to her was safely tucked up in the stables, gave her tremendous joy.  She had never felt so happy in her life.

She smiled broadly at the butler.  “Thank you so much, Hardy.  Mrs. Jenkins would have been livid if I didn’t hand in my maths homework and as for Miss Bradshaw … she thinks there is no other subject of any importance bar geography,” she sang, virtually dancing down the stone steps towards the butler, who was holding open the rear door of the Rolls for her.  She threw the bag inside and climbed in after it.

“Thank you, Hardy.  What on earth would we do without you?”

He smiled back.  “I’ve no idea, Milady?  No idea at all.”

He shut the door behind her and with the dignity of long service to a valued member of the aristocracy, walked around the highly polished vehicle and slid into the driver’s seat.  Perkins was always busy with the horses early in the morning so once Hardy had laid out the Duke’s attire for the day and seen that breakfast was prepared in the dining room, it had become one of his duties to drive Lady Delia to school, a task he enjoyed immensely.

“Please, Hardy, can we go the back way this morning?” asked Delia.  “I just want to see the new ponies Granny has rescued.  Just to look.  Please, Hardy.  It will only take a few extra minutes.”

“Very well, Lady Delia,” he said, happy to go along with her request.  On such a lovely morning it was a pleasure to be able to enjoy the warm breeze from the open windows as he steered the car carefully through the estate via the winding country lanes, past the pretty cottages for the estate workers and then the Dower House where the Dowager had resided for the last fourteen years.

Delia was always quiet on the journey home, concentrating on her homework so she could get as much done as possible to allow for more time outside in the evening but in the mornings, she liked to chat.  Sometimes it was about school, sometimes about Canleigh, sometimes about the Dowager, sometimes about Master Philip but more often than not about her horse-riding activities.  Today was no exception.

“I do hope the weather holds for the show on Saturday,” she said.  “It’s ghastly trying to steer Star round a ring when the going’s slippery.  He hates it.”

“The weather forecast for the weekend is good … and I’m sure you and young Master Philip will do very well.”

“Philip definitely will.  He’s so steady … thinks about what he’s doing … he’s more cautious and careful … doesn’t like to take risks … unlike me,” Delia pulled a face at Hardy in the rear-view mirror and laughed.  “Impulsive and reckless … that’s what the Kershaws and my headmistress think of me.  They say I’ll come to a bad end.  Do you think they are right, Hardy?” she asked teasingly.

“I sincerely hope not, Milady,” replied Hardy firmly, although on reflection there had been many an occasion during Lady Delia’s childhood when her behaviour had created more than a little cause for concern, no doubt through the lack of a mother’s proper guiding hand.  The Duke did his best and Lady Delia idolised and looked up to the Dowager, who was a brilliant role model for the youngster.  Ralph and Constance Kershaw also had a steadying influence on Delia and Master Philip was a really good lad, two years Delia’s senior and her constant companion since they were young but there was no doubt about it, Lady Delia certainly had a mind of her own and could be very stubborn and wilful at times.

As they neared the paddock opposite the Dower House where the Dowager had instructed her new arrivals were to graze, he and Delia could see her leaning on the gate, her three dogs sitting patiently at her feet.  Gypsies had abandoned the two young piebalds in an appalling state when they had moved on from Yorkshire.  The RSPCA, one of the charities Anne supported wholeheartedly, had become involved and contacted the Dowager to see if she could offer them temporary sanctuary until they could re-home them permanently.

Delia jumped out of the car and dashed up to her grandmother, quickly patting each dog in turn on the head, who all wagged their tails in greeting.  She planted a kiss on Anne’s cheek and glanced at the horses.  “Oh, Granny.  They look in pretty poor shape,” staring at the desperately thin animals.  Their ribs were prominent and they were covered in sores and scabs.

Anne sighed, put an arm around Delia’s shoulders and kissed her back.  “Yes, darling.  I am afraid they are but give them a few weeks here, with decent food and veterinary care and they will