Page 75 of The Terms of Their Affair

Maggie knew she should have been grateful that her future step-mother had hired her for the weekend. With a daughter to support and all the expenses single parenthood entailed, Maggie would take any additional income she could.

“Thank you, Cress.” Maggie knew the older woman hated the term of endearment, for the fact that it was more common than her full name. And therefore Maggie went out of her way to use it. Cressida was so infatuated with Maggie’s father, Clint, that she suffered the diminutive in silence.

“There are just a few more guests arriving. My God-daughter, Amelie, and her new beau, should be here by in a few hours.”

“Of course. Annie will have enough dinner for them as well,” she reassured confidently, referring to the country cook who was doing most of the leg-work for the weekend.

Cressida compressed her perfectly pouted lips. “Just remember, Maggie, that you are not actually the hired help. I wanted to support you in your little catering business, but I do not want my family thinking you’re just a cook.”

Maggie’s laugh was rich with both surprise and amusement. “I am just a cook.”

“A very good cook. But one who has a wealthy father and no need to be scrimping and saving like this.”

Maggie also had a very wealthy best friend, who had repeatedly offered money, property, anything to make Maggie’s life easier. Accepting handouts was simply not Maggie’s style, though.

“Don’t worry, Cress. I have every intention of joining you all for dinner. I just want to make sure the kitchen team has a handle on the menu, first.”

Cressida hovered on the brink of the kitchen a moment longer.

“Yes?” Maggie prompted, hiding her impatience behind a thin smile.

“You will have time to shower first, won’t you?”

Maggie frowned and looked down at the black jersey dress she wore. It was a perfectly nice outfit, and the butcher’s apron had worn most of the day’s misadventure. She looked back at Cressida and, for the first time, noticed that the woman was basically dressed to meet the Queen.

“I suspected as much,” Cressida sighed heavily. “Never fear. I have a wardrobe of Couture upstairs. You’re a little gangly, but I’m sure something will fit. I’ll put something in your room.”

Maggie grimaced at the woman’s knack for being offensive without meaning to. “Thank you,” she muttered without a hint of gratitude.

“We’ve got this covered, love,” Annie, the cook, promised with a wink.

“Oh, I know. I’m just trying to annoy her as best I can.”

“I gathered,” Annie remarked with a nod. “I’m sure she means well though.”

“Yes.” The fourth of her father’s wives, or the woman who was destined to be, at least, was kind-hearted. It wasn’t Cressida’s fault that she drove Maggie crazy.

Maggie took a perverse pleasure in shaping by hand the stars that topped the mince pies, before finally making her way to her room to get ready. By the time she pushed into the bedroom, she had barely ten minutes left in which to make herself ready.

Fortunately, Lady Cressida had gone to great lengths to ease her preparations. She eyed the dress that had been selected with a dubious expression.

She lifted it up and held it against her body. Despite being nothing like her usual style, it was a garment of great beauty. A deep, jade green in color, it was a perfect foil to her Irish complexion. It was strapless, designed to sit straight across the bust and tight to the hips, it then fell in a swathe of gauzy chiffon, to the floor. If she wore heels, it would be too short, leaving her with no choice but to stick to a pair of glittery gold ballet slippers she’d brought with her.

Cressida had also left out a fur shawl. Maggie ignored it. She’d been vegan for over a decade. Her step-mother would accept it one day.

As she descended the central staircase, she could hear the party was in full swing. Perhaps thirty or forty guests – intimate and cozy, Cressida had called it – would be swilling the finest champagne, enjoying Maggie’s canapés, and swaying their hips to the jazz band Clint had organised for the affair. He and Cressida always argued when it came to music. She adored classical and opera. Clint preferred rock and roll, and jazz.

He’d won, on this occasion, for two reasons. The party was being held in his home, and Cressida was nothing if not well mannered. And because he’d told her more people would sing along to jazz style carols than classical, with all those poncy violins to confuse things. Besides, he’d added a third point, though it had been unnecessary. “The classical band will take up half the drawing room, meaning we’d need to spill into the ball room, and you’ve made it clear that you want it to feel ‘intimate’.”

Maggie paused, halfway down the stairs and cursed. Her phone was in her room, and she needed to keep it with her. She began to retrace her steps, smiling distractedly as she thought of her little May. A weekend with Rosie, Luca and their daughter Marianna would be enormous fun for the one year old, but Maggie was missing her already.

Phone in hand, she moved back down the stairs, and turned towards the party.

In the two years, since that wild, impassioned night with Dante Velasco, she had imagined that she’d seen him everywhere she went. That night was no exception. A dark head in the corner of the room had her freezing, her whole body going into overdrive as her eyes hungrily, hopefully devoured the man.

It was not Dante. And nor would it be. This was a small party in the middle of the English countryside. Hardly the place she was most likely to run into Spanish wine-making royalty. Besides, if she’d wanted to see him again, she could have. But his words had taunted her since that night: I am my own person. I do not want to compromise that with commitments – to a family. That is not my way. How furious he would be to think she’d fallen pregnant! That she’d had his baby! No, it was better that the past stayed in the past, even if it meant her body would always long for his.

“Hello, darling,” Clint crossed to her, his mischievous eyes twinkling in his face. “You look like Cressida has waved her magic wand over you.”

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