Free Love to Hate You by Anna Premoli

say. I am clearly lying through my teeth, but it’s what these people are expecting from me.
    â€œOh, more than you can imagine. But you will meet her tonight for dinner, so you can judge for yourselves. She’s a rare beauty,” says Miss Shrop, her eyes becoming dreamy.
    Ian and I shoot each other a worried look.
    Miss Shrop leads us along a semi-hidden corridor behind the stairs, only to stop after a few metres in front of a door, saying, “Miss Percy, this will be your room.” She then turns to look at Ian. “Lord Langley, we have prepared a room for you on the first floor. Please come with me.”
    And she heads off back towards the stairs, leaving me standing in front of the door without any further instructions.
    For a moment Ian looks as astonished as I am, and doesn’t seem to know if he should leave me in that dark corridor and follow the governess or wait to make sure my room is not some sort of Bluebeard-style trap.
    â€œGo,” I say, resignedly, “if you lose her, you’re in trouble.”
    â€œLooks like I'll have to,” he answers, sounding worried.
    â€œSee you later.” I wave goodbye and turn the door handle.
    â€œOk, see you later,” he says, having apparently decided that it's safe to let me enter my room.
    The first thing I think upon entering is that Beverly put me in here deliberately. He's probably still punishing me for keeping him waiting for an hour the other week.
    I can’t, in fairness, say the room is in any way
ugly
, but it is as spartan and aseptic as a hospital. And grey. Very, very grey.
    The scene brings a smile to my face, though. I'm a born fighter. Beverly obviously hasn't yet realised who he’s dealing with.
    *
    A few hours later I’m sitting on a majestic copy of a Louis XVIII sofa sipping a glass of Pimms and waiting for the arrival of Beverly's much sighed over daughter. And she is scandalously late. Too late even for such a rare beauty.
    I’m onto my third glass and if I keep knocking it back like this on an empty stomach, I’m afraid I won’t be sober for much longer.
    Ian must be of the same opinion, since he keeps shooting me nervous glances from his perch on the other equally horrendous sofa.
    I lift one eyebrow to try and tell him that he doesn't need to worry about me, but get the feeling the message doesn’t really get across.
    Beverly, meanwhile, is delighting us with a monologue about his hunting exploits. Since I’m totally opposed to hunting, I try to concentrate my attention on Ian so I can avoid listening to all the bloody details. I
am
the daughter of two greener than green pacifists, after all!
    Ian notices my alarmed expression and is looking at me worriedly. I'm glad I'm not in his shoes, stuck between Beverly and the hated Miss Percy. I’m sure he's had better weekends.
    Our host has announced that he doesn’t want to talk shop ‘on an empty stomach,’ and the star of the evening, Miss Elizabeth Beverly, finally makes her appearance just when we have totally run out of things to talk about.
    One look at her is enough to understand why Beverly insisted on having Ian as a consultant.
    It's nothing to do with Beverly not trusting me or my skills. Deep down, he knows very well that I’m good at my job.
    He asked for Ian because what he really wants is a duke for a son-in-law.
    For the first time in many days, I smile a proper, honest, real smile.
    Ladies and gentlemen, things are about to get entertaining.

Chapter 8
    Elizabeth is a rather showy beauty. Ok – she's
very
showy. She has masses of voluminous, bright red (dyed) hair, blue eyes and so much mascara that it must take her a couple of hours each day to remove it. If she actually can. The rest of her make-up is laid on just as thickly – it would be over the top for a smart dinner party, and I get the feeling that's
not
what this is going to be…
    The most astonishing thing, though, is what