Page 26 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

Sutton watched and waited, and there it was, an enormous house built of warm honey-coloured stone. Sutton, because she wasn’t a romantic, decided she was glad it wasn’t her job to clean the many, many windows. It was impressive, lovely and a bit overwhelming. Owning a house was a daunting idea; owning a house this big was something that would keep her awake at night.

Earlier in the day, she’d walked in the opposite direction, away from the house, towards the stream, and explored the fields and woods of the estate. The gardens were winter-denuded, but she could easily imagine how stunning they’d look in spring and summer, bursting with buds and wildflowers. What looked to be a massive rose garden ran the length of one side of the house, and she noticed benches under large trees.

They drove past the imposing and recessed front door and skirted the side of the house. More windows. ‘Will and Eli told me visitors can tour the house,’ Sutton said, half turning to face Gus.

‘In spring and summer, and it’s surprisingly popular. The family managed to hang onto most of their art and furniture collection. There’s a Reynolds and a William Nicolson and an exceptionally fine collection of Chinese jade and Sèvres china.’

Being the custodian of so much history could be both a challenge and a burden and Sutton hoped Rosie wouldn’t resent inheriting the barony one day. And that Felix would understand why it wasn’t his. It was a situation rife with complications, and Sutton didn’t envy Gus having to guide his kids through those tumultuous waters. Sometimes being poor, and having nothing to inherit, was easier.

Gus steered the car around to the back of the house and into a massive courtyard. Bright blue pots next to a series of red doors suggested the stables had been converted into self-catering accommodation at some point. Gus parked in front of another bright red door, this one leading into the big house, and told her they were heading into the private family entrance.

‘Moira has a self-contained apartment down here,’ Gus explained. ‘She keeps the rest of the house shut up during winter, unless there’s a function or if there are guests.’

Sutton tipped her head back to look up. And up. ‘It must be a bitch to heat.’

‘It really is, and damned expensive,’ Gus agreed. He opened his door and Sutton winced when sharp blades of icy air hit her lungs. Man, she needed to toughen up.

‘Do you get along with your mother-in-law?’ Sutton asked after he opened her door and waited for her to climb out. She didn’t want to. It was nice and toasty in the car and she could meet Lady Moira another time, couldn’t she?

‘Stop being a wuss,’ Gus told her. ‘It’s notthatcold.’

She’d seen the temperature on his car’s dashboard earlier, four degrees Centigrade. Below twenty it was chilly, below ten was stupidly cold. And the wind blowing down from the fells cut through her and made it feel like minus four.

‘It isthatcold and you didn’t answer my question,’ Sutton told him, pulling her beanie over her head.

Gus placed his hand on her back to guide her to the red door. ‘I do. She welcomed me into her home and her life,’ he said as they stepped into a mudroom filled with coats, dogs’ beds and bowls and a huge washer and dryer.

‘Aren’t mothers-in-law supposed to be grim?’ she asked as he shed his coat and flung it over the washing machine.

‘Mine isn’t.’

Okay, then. Good for him. An old sheepdog looked at them from a plump dog bed in the corner of the mudroom, and Gus dropped to his haunches to scratch black and white ears. ‘This is Candy,’ he told her. ‘She was Kate’s dog.’

He rubbed his hand over her head and down her neck. ‘How are you doing, old girl? Staying inside where it’s warm, huh?’

Clever dog.

After another minute stroking Candy, Gus stood and steered Sutton into a surprisingly modern kitchen. She took in the industrial oven, the sleek marble counter, and sighed at the massive Aga on the far side of the wall. ‘Does the Aga work?’

‘Yeah, it heats Moira’s private quarters,’ Gus replied. ‘But the house relies on an oil boiler for heat. Costs an effing fortune.’

Sutton heard the flying feet of the twins, and they barrelled around the corner and headed straight for her. Felix reached her first and skidded to a stop. ‘Sutton, Rosie says you come from Africa and it takes six days to get there.’

‘Just half a day on a plane, guys,’ Sutton told him, placing her hand on his head. Rosie was two steps behind her twin.

‘How do the planes stay up in the air that long?’ Rosie demanded, looking puzzled. ‘Why don’t they fall out of the sky?’

She looked at Gus, who raised his hands. ‘Pass,’ he said. Damn, he was quick.

Sutton was saved from explaining the intricacies of modern flight by the gentle tip tap of heels coming down the hallway. Kate’s mum looked just like the lady of the manor should, dammit, cool, calm and oh-so classy. She wore wide-legged trousers the colour of brushed steel, a black cashmere jersey and a gold belt that spanned her still-trim waist. Her silver bob was perfectly curled, and her make-up pitch-perfect. One look at her and Sutton felt she needed a tip-to-toe makeover.

‘Moira, this is Sutton. Sutton, Lady Moira Conningworth,’ Gus introduced her, before bending down to drop a kiss on both the kids’ heads. Sutton smiled at Lady Conningworth and was astounded by the hostility in her green eyes. Eeek! Sutton darted a look over her shoulder, mentally judging how long it would take her to scuttle out of her perfect house.

What did Gus tell Moira about her? How did he explain her? Taking a deep breath, Sutton pulled a smile onto her face, stepped forward and held out her hand. ‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ she said, not knowing what she preferred to be called. Moira? Lady Moira? Your Majesty, With-A-Stick-Shoved-Up-Your-Arse?

Gus’s haughty mother-in-law ignored her hand and narrowed her eyes. Wow. Okay, then. This was awkward.

Gus frowned and Sutton tucked her hands into the back pockets of her skinny jeans. ‘I told you about Sutton, Moira.’

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