Read Online The Beekeeper's Daughter by Santa Montefiore - Free Book Online Page B

down her back and the sun had bronzed her arms and chest to a warm honey colour and turned her cheeks pink. When they reached Freddie’s house she put her towel in her bicycle basket and made to leave. ‘Will I see you tomorrow?’ she asked.
    ‘I’m going to help out with the harvest,’ Freddie said. ‘Mum says I’m old enough now and they’ll pay me.’
    ‘So you’ll be busy?’
    ‘Yes, I meant to tell you.’
    Grace was a little disappointed she was going to lose her playmate. ‘Well, they always need more hands,’ she reasoned.
    ‘I’m going to see Mr Garner tomorrow and put myself forward.’
    ‘Careful he doesn’t see you have your eye on his job!’
    He laughed. ‘I don’t imagine he’ll see me as a threat.’
    ‘Not if he sees you getting stung by a bee!’ With that, she began to pedal off.
    ‘You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?’ he shouted after her.
    ‘No!’ she shouted back, laughing. ‘Buzz buzz buzz!’
    On the way back to the cottage, Grace stopped to look at the big house again. This time there was only the Alfa Romeo parked outside. It gave her a frisson of pleasure to think that Rufus was still at home and she wondered what he was doing in that enormous house. With all those rooms to choose from, how did he decide which one to sit in?
    When she reached the cottage she was surprised to see the Marquess’s grand black Bentley parked on the grass in front. It looked incongruous there, all gleaming metal and glass, beside the rustic simplicity of the thatched house. She wondered what Lord Penselwood wanted with her father and where the chauffeur had gone. He usually sat in the motor car in his hat and gloves, looking important.
    She pushed open the door to find the little stone hall crowded with people. When she saw that one of them was Rufus, her heart stalled before hastily spluttering to life again. She was immediately self-conscious in her crumpled dress with her unbrushed hair hanging in damp tendrils down her back. ‘Ah, there you are,’ said Rufus happily, as if he’d been looking for her. He took off his hat.
    ‘Grace?’ enquired her father, shooting her a bewildered look.
    Grace glanced at the frail woman who was holding onto Rufus’s arm and realized with a sinking feeling why they had come. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Penselwood,’ she said shyly, not sure whether or not to curtsy. The Dowager Marchioness didn’t respond. Grace turned to Rufus.
    ‘Grandmama doesn’t hear very well so you have to shout like this: She said good afternoon, Grandmama.’ He raised his voice in his grandmother’s ear.
    The old lady looked Grace up and down with large, hooded eyes and gave a little sniff. ‘So you’re Mr Hamblin’s daughter, are you?’
    ‘Yes, m’lady.’
    ‘Do you have green fingers as well?’
    ‘I’m learning,’ Grace replied.
    ‘From the very best, my dear. Ah, the wonders I created with your father’s guidance and expertise, and now I’m reduced to a sedentary life and can only look from afar and imagine what more could be done in those borders. At least I have my greenhouses. Yes, I’m not too crippled to enjoy those. ’
    ‘Shall we go through? I think my grandmother should sit down,’ Rufus suggested.
    ‘Please,’ said Arthur, leading them into the sitting room. He raised his eyebrows enquiringly but Grace didn’t have time to explain.
    Rufus was so tall that he had to bend his head to pass beneath the door frame. ‘What a nice place you have,’ he commented jovially, sweeping his eyes over the room. ‘Very cosy in winter I suspect, with the fire lit. Goodness, look at all your books. You must be an avid reader, Mr Hamblin.’
    ‘Where are the bees?’ asked the Dowager Marchioness, scanning the room impatiently. Her voice was unexpectedly shrill for her small, birdlike frame.
    ‘Hopefully not in here,’ Rufus replied dryly.
    ‘They’re outside,’ Grace interjected. She watched Rufus settle his grandmother into an