The English Lord's Secret Son Read Online Free PDF Page A

challenge, I reckon. A famous landscape gardener has been
working there for months. His aim is to bring the estate back to its former
glory. Best of luck, we all say. We’ll have the tourists back in no time. The
hall’s rose gardens used to be ever so famous. You won’t be able to get in,
love. But you can enjoy the view. The manor house—it’s built out of our lovely
honey-coloured Cotswold stone—stands on the top of the hill. Keep driving north
out of town, no more than three miles on. Can’t miss it. All of them rolling
acres belong to Lord Wyndham. Only had daughters. No surviving son. The estate
is entailed so it will pass to another male member of the Radclyffe family once
Lord Wyndham is gone.”
    Cate absorbed all this information in utter silence. In truth
she was poleaxed. Stella had rarely spoken of her former life. Stella had made
secrecy an art form. Cate hadn’t even known the house where Stella and her
younger sister, Annabel, had grown up was called Radclyffe Hall until fairly
recently when she had overheard a conversation between Stella and Arnold. So
this all came as a revelation. Lord Wyndham was Stella’s father. My God! Wasn’t
Stella a woman for burying the past? Cate felt incensed but shook it off.
    “What’s lunch like at the pub?” she asked, swiftly changing the
subject. It would take time to absorb it all. Lots of time. Quietness to
reflect.
    “Second to none!” the postmistress declared stoutly.
    “Think they can put me up for a few days?”
    “I’d say so, love. Me and my hubby, Jack, run it. Shall I book
you in?”
    “If you would. My name is Cate Hamilton, by the way. I have ID
in the car.” She half turned to go out and get it.
    “Won’t be necessary, love,” the woman stayed her. “We’ll get
the particulars when you return from your sightseeing jaunt. I’ll have your room
prepared.”
    “Thank you. You’re very kind, Mrs—”
    “Bailey. Joyce Bailey.”
    “Pleasure to meet you, Mrs Bailey.” Cate put out her hand. It
was heart-lifting to be so warmly received.
    Joyce Bailey took it. She just loved that radiant smile. Funny
thing was the girl—she couldn’t have been more than eighteen—reminded her of
someone. She tried to think who. No one who lived in the village. She was
absolutely sure of that. She knew every last soul. But the smile, the girl’s
beauty, struck some sort of chord. Maybe it would come to her some time. Never
an oil painting, she suddenly remembered the beautiful Radclyffe girls, Stella
and Annabel. Dark-haired both, with lovely melting dark eyes; Annabel had been
considered the more beautiful of the two. The whole district had been stunned
when Stella and her husband had taken off for Australia. Annabel had gone with
them at the time. But Annabel had returned almost a year later to marry a
baronet who carried her off to London.
    It had taken little time for Lord and Lady Wyndham to adapt to
losing their beautiful daughters. The loss of their son, the heir, in infancy
was the big tragedy. Everything else rated far below the line. The death of the
son had come as the great blow of their lives. Other losses could be sustained.
It was well known in the village the Radclyffes were a dysfunctional family.
    After Lady Wyndham died, her husband retreated from the world,
seeing few visitors. The Australian girl had no chance of getting a glimpse
inside the hall. She could get as far as the garden. Beautiful girls had a way
of getting in where the ants couldn’t.
    * * *
    So her objective Radclyffe Hall was only a few miles
away. Cate couldn’t help feeling a quickening excitement. She slipped back
behind the wheel with a parting wave to Mrs Bailey who, intrigued, had come to
the post office door to see her off. Cate was really looking forward to this
excursion. Lunch too for that matter. She was hungry. Back on the road there was
a continuation of the chequered green landscape, a tapestry with all its
different textures. It had the most potent