Against Her Rules Read online

  Against Her Rules

  by Victoria Barbour

  Published by Victoria Barbour, 2013.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  AGAINST HER RULES

  First edition. June 5, 2013.

  Copyright © 2013 Victoria Barbour.

  ISBN: 978-0992009106

  Written by Victoria Barbour.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Dedication

  To Reg, for always believing in me, and reading way more romance novels than I’m sure he ever thought he would. Your never-failing confidence in me is humbling and I love you for it.

  And to our baby boy, Rowan. Who knew the only kick in the pants I needed to finally finish a novel was your smiling face?

  Acknowledgements

  There are so many people who helped get this book brought to life. Thanks to A.E. Cummings for the editing, and Crystal McLellan for designing my cover. You are both fabulous friends, and amazingly talented women. A big thanks to my mom, Al Barbour, and my mother-in-law, Lucy Stoyles, for watching Rowan when he was all of three-months-old so I could try and write a novel in an absurdly short amount of time. For that matter, a huge thanks to all of my family for their support, especially my dad, Bob, who when I called and asked him what sound a turr makes, he entertainingly made those sounds—and mistakenly thought that I’d be using that sound in a love scene! And to all the writers who helped answer my multitude of questions, especially the Scribe Wenches. I really couldn’t have done this without all of your help, feedback, and enthusiasm.

  Chapter One

  The one thing no one ever tells you about royalty, either of the Hollywood or Aristocratic variety, is that they all leave a hell of a lot of mess behind them. Elsie Walsh had scoured the stained sheets of a prince, and had to use a full bottle of Javex on the jacuzzi of a certain female Oscar winner. No, sometimes playing host to the rich and famous was not that glamorous. As she surveyed the room she admitted that it could, after all, be worse. The worst this room had was a mud stain on the rug, and with the constant wind and rain of a Newfoundland November, that was run of the mill.

  With a sigh, she began to strip the butter cream luxury sheets off the king-sized bed. She’d normally leave the room until later when one of her staff came in, but this particular guest had asked that no one other than his hostess see the room. It wasn’t that bad, but he had some major trust issues ever since a cleaning lady at an upscale New York hotel had bugged his room, which resulted in the dissolution of his marriage, and in confirming the long-swirling rumours of his homosexuality.

  He, and many others, came to the small outport of Heart’s Ease, and its five-star bed and breakfast “Heart’s Ease Inn” in no small part for the privacy it offered. At least that’s what brought them the first time. After that, their reasons for returning were varied. Some came back because they fell in love with the sheer old-world peace that only a community of 233 people spread over six kilometres of grass, rock and barrens can offer. They found the idea of limited cellphone service and a grocery store that closed for lunch and supper charming. Others came back bringing friends for the surprising gourmet meals, and to marvel at the jellybean coloured houses nestled into the cliffs surrounding the harbour of the town. And a smaller number returned in the hopes of convincing the elf-like owner of the inn to fulfill their lustful fantasies.

  To her credit, Elsie had broken her rule of keeping her relationships with her guests to a professional level of friendship only once in her six years of business. The problem was, she kept breaking it with him time and time again.

  On Asher Corbin’s first visit to the inn he’d come with his then-girlfriend who was shooting a movie a few communities over. She won a Golden Globe for her performance. He won the rare prize of a night with Elsie. To this day she had no idea why she’d given in. Certainly, other, more famous guests had crossed her path, although he did have a fine heap of Grammys tossed in a closet in his townhouse in London. She’d stumbled on them when she’d agreed to spend a weekend with him. That ranked as number four on her list of “Big Mistakes Never to Make Again.” Nope. It wasn’t his fame. It wasn’t even his brooding, soulful looks, common in so many dreamy singer-songwriter types. Maybe it had something to do with the over-indulgence in her father’s partridgeberry wine, but she didn’t think so. Deep down she knew it was her fault.

  She didn’t feel lonely that often. It was hard to find the time to dwell on it, really. But there were times when she’d see a couple heading out for a walk hand-in-hand, or catch her mother making a playful swat at her father’s rear-end as he walked by, and she’d feel a little pang of longing. It was hard to meet someone special when there were about ten single men combined in the three towns in her general area. Even harder when two of them were her cousins, and another four were too closely related for her own comfort, regardless of what her great aunt Ida said.

  Elsie kept reminding herself that it was her choice to stay in Heart’s Ease and turn the crumbling old manor into the home of her dreams. As a little girl she’d often hike up the hill to the house. It was always a magical place to her. Her child’s mind concocted grand stories to explain why such a majestic old mansion towered above the narrow saltbox two-storey houses that made up the small town below. It had stood vacant since long before her mother was born. Elsie’s imagination took the facts—an English merchant built the sweeping home for his family but they left after just a couple of years—and turned it to a tale of romance and heartbreak. Elsie’s version had tragic deaths, mad old relatives locked in the attic, and a wicked storm that sent them all back to the tame confines of England.

  It wasn’t until she’d gone in search of the owner to buy the property that she’d learned the real story. It was 1887 and the merchant and his family hated the loneliness of Heart’s Ease. Instead, they moved to America and built a grander home in Cape Cod. They still got the salt air, and the sweeping views, but with neighbours of their own class, and a vibrant social scene.

  Their loss, she figured.

  Elsie’s initial plan had been to rent out the rooms so that she could pay off the loans on the house and then turn it into her own personal home. But she’d always had a knack for success, and so it was to no one’s surprise, other than her own, when the first famous face was spotted walking up to her door. Her loans were practically non-existent at this point, and yet she was happiest when the house was full of laughter, and music, and glamorous people mixing with the fishermen and storytellers of Heart’s Ease.

  As she folded the towels and restocked the toiletries, she conceded that she had a pretty great life. One of the perks of being single and child-free was that she could accept tickets to a world premiere, or exclusive concert. The only thing that she was tied to was the inn. The only people who depended on her were her guests. And that was fine by her—most of the time.

  “Elsie! Ellll-seeee!” The shrill call of her great aunt shook her from her thoughts. “Where are ya, me ducky?”

  “Don’t come up over the stairs, Aunt Ida,” she called. “I’ll be right down.”

  The tell-take thunk of the ninety-six-year-old woman’s cane on the wooden stairs told Elsie to hurry.

  By t
he time Elsie got to the top of the stairs, the elderly woman had managed three steps. Her weathered face was red with the effort.

  “Auntie. Stop. I’m coming. You know what happened last time you tried these stairs.” It was the reason she now needed to walk with a cane.

  “Well, I thought that Hugh Grant was up there.”

  “And if he was, I would have asked him to come say hello. Don’t I always bring your favourites around for tea?”

  “Not all of them,” the old woman grumbled as Elsie helped her down the few steps.

  “Oh Auntie. How many times do I have to tell you? Not every famous person in the world comes here. If Hugh Grant or Brad Pitt or...”

  “Channing Tatum, dear. He’s the newest most sexy man according to People.”

  Elsie rolled her eyes. “Or Channing Tatum ever come here, I’ll be sure you know about it. I promise.”

  “I don’t know why you just don’t write them and tell them you have an old dying aunt and that you’ll offer them a room for free if they’ll come.”

  “Aunt Ida,” Elsie scolded. “First of all, you’re nowhere near to death, and second of all, they can afford to pay for the room.”

  “Just because they’re rich doesn’t mean they can afford what you charges. Sure no one around here can afford to even have a bite to eat in that fancy dining room. I read in the paper that one poor feller had to save up for months just to bring his wife. I’m tellin’ ya, Elsie, you don’t need no more money. Let good decent folks have a turn sleepin’ in those big beds. Although I suppose you needs a ladder just to get up into one of ‘em.”

  This was an ongoing complaint Elsie heard nearly daily from one person or another. They were happy to see money coming into the community, but still couldn’t wrap their minds around the cost to spend a night. The money the new oil industry was bringing to Newfoundland hadn’t been seen in Heart’s Ease, where most of the population collected their old age pensions, and those that were still working made their living fishing.

  Elsie had just learned to ignore it. She also made a point of ensuring everyone in the harbour was invited over for some sort of function every month. In reality, there were far more days when her guests were from the city, than from somewhere exotic. With the departure of this morning’s movie great, she had only three rooms out of twenty booked. Once today’s guest checked in there would be six ordinary, non-famous guests at the inn.

  “Do you want a cup of tea, Auntie?” Elsie asked as she ushered the woman into a cozy, upholstered rocking chair by a huge bay window that overlooked the water.

  “Your mother is getting me one,” Aunt Ida said, as she brushed a white curl away from her face. “Now sit down because I want to talk to you before she comes in.” She lowered her voice. “It’s personal.”

  “What is it?” Elsie asked, settling into a red damask wing-backed chair.

  “I wants a job.”

  “A job? Here?”

  This was not what Elsie had expected. The last personal conversation between them had involved her aunt trying to fix her up with a recently widowed sixty-four-year-old man. Apparently a thirty-three year age difference was quite common when Ida was a young girl.

  “Yes. Not for a long time, mind now. But I want to save up a bit of money. I’m thinking of taking a trip.”

  Elsie opened her mouth but no words came out.

  “Now don’t start. This is why I’m not telling your mother, or father.” Aunt Ida religiously permed her hair every six weeks, and the tight curls bounced as she shifted to face Elsie with conviction.

  “I’m an old woman, Elsie. My parts are givin’ out on me. And I’ve never gone anywhere or done anything other than the scattered trip into St. John’s. I’ve never been on a plane. It was alright when I was younger. I didn’t know what I was missing. But everything I see on television, all those places and people and I can only see it on that box. I want to go to Scotland. My mother’s people came over from Scotland and I want to see it. Men in kilts, wooly cows, real heather. I want to see it all for real.” Rather than looking sad, the elderly woman’s eyes danced with excitement.

  “Aunt Ida, if that’s what you want, I can take you on a holiday.”

  “No, Elsie. I don’t want to be taken. I want to go.” She thumped her cane on the floor, narrowly missing Elsie’s toes. “I want to earn my own way, and do what I want to do. If you pay for it, then it’s your trip. I want my own trip. I want to plan it, and I want to go on my own.”

  There was no way anyone in the Walsh family was letting the woman, who was nearly a centenarian, for Pete’s sake, go off to Scotland on her own. They wouldn’t even let her wander around the mall on her own when they took her to St. John’s. Still, Elsie couldn’t say no.

  And so it was that Heart’s Ease Inn hired its very first concierge. Ida had done her research and figured that was the best job for her. She knew every nook and cranny around and was sure she could ensure guests got the inside scoop on everything they needed to know to enjoy their stay. Elsie just hoped she wouldn’t come to regret it.

  Chapter Two

  The light on the GPS indicated he had arrived at his destination. But Campbell Scott found himself perched near the edge of a cliff with nothing around him but short, stumpy trees that looked like they’d battled to the death with the wind and were just refusing to die gracefully. This was not the best start to his week. He’d spent the better part of two hours flying above St. John’s while the pilot waited for the all-clear to land in the thickest fog Cam had ever seen. It made the fog of London seem like a fine mist.

  He’d programmed the location of the bed and breakfast into his GPS and set off, only to find himself lost in a series of small communities that began with the word Heart. Heart’s Delight. Heart’s Content. Heart’s Desire. But where was Heart’s Ease? And where was the damned bed and breakfast? This was the fifth time he’d programmed in the location, and the fifth desolate location the unit had directed him to.

  He’d tried calling the place to find out where in the hell it was but he had yet to find any decent cell service. He picked up his iPhone and was shocked to see one weak bar on display. It was worth a try.

  The ring crackled, like he was dialing 1982, but at least it was ringing.

  “Hello?”

  The voice on the other end was older than he expected. “Hello. Is this the Heart’s Ease Inn?”

  “Oh my. Are you Scottish?” the voice trilled.

  “Aye. Have I rung the inn?”

  “I’m planning a trip to Scotland. Where abouts are you from?”

  “Glasgow. Excuse me but...”

  “Oh, a Glaswegian, are you? I was hoping for Edinburgh. I don’t have any plans to go to Glasgow myself. Heard it’s a bit of a rough spot.”

  Sweet lord. Even in this godforsaken small corner of the globe people had impressions of Glasgow. “Pardon me, madam, but I’m looking for the Heart’s Ease Inn.”

  “Oh yes. This is it. Looking to book a room are you? It’s pretty pricy, you know.”

  “I have a room booked. I just can’t seem to find the place.” He was also beginning to wonder if he wanted to if he was going to have to deal with this woman for the duration.

  “You didn’t go to Little Heart’s Ease, did you? That’s on the other side of the bay, my son, and you’ll have a good couple of hours drive to get here if that’s the case.”

  The woman at the car rental kiosk had warned him of that; at least he knew he wasn’t that far off the mark.

  “No, I’m pretty sure I’m nearby. I just can’t find the bloody place.”

  “Watch your language, boy. Now where are you then?”

  It was just his luck to get a schoolmarm on the line.

  “I have no idea. I’m in a field.”

  “What field?”

  “I don’t know. It’s green. There’s grass and trees.”

  “Now don’t go gettin’ snippy. Of course there’s grass and trees. Now, what else?”

  Ca
mpbell looked around. “I can see water, and...oh, it’s just a field. No fence. No building. No cows. Sheep. Nothing. Just a great big grassy area with some gnarled trees.”

  “Oh, that could be a couple of spots. Now we’re getting somewhere.” He could swear she was cackling with glee. “Now, what’s the last sign you saw?”

  That Campbell could answer, because he still couldn’t believe his eyes. He’d even taken a picture and texted it to his sister with a terse, “Where the hell have you sent me?”

  “It said Worms. Ice. Cold Beer,” Cam told the woman.

  “Excellent. We’re getting somewhere now,” the woman intoned. “Was it one of them neon magnetic signs, or was it more homemade?”

  “It was attached to a derelict gas station. And it was written on cardboard.”

  “Oh, sure you’ve gone too far.” The woman proceeded to give him what turned out to be surprisingly good directions, and in under fifteen minutes he was driving along a narrow, pothole ridden road that wound itself around a steep cliff face. At the end of the road, past the closed fish plant, and a long yellow wharf with several small fishing boats tied up to it, loomed a hill with a sprawling yellow Victorian-style mansion with red trim atop it.

  It was a three-storey building, except for the centre, which could have housed another few rooms. If this were his house, it’s where he would build his studio. It really was spectacular, even in the cold drizzle. He marveled over how the clapboard could keep such a rich colour. The salt in the air should have dulled it, yet it looked as if it were freshly painted. Several large, red burning bushes dotted the front grounds.

  As he pulled up the gravel driveway he began to see why the publishers had decided to send him here. If there was any place to get inspired, this was it.

  At first glance you’d think this was a desolate place. Its isolation and the sparse landscape made you think of loneliness. But then subtle things stood out. The blue jays fighting over seeds in a feeder shaped like the sun. Crisp white sheets flapping in the air, despite the mist, the clothesline dancing in the wind. Even the way all the tips of the small juniper trees pointed in the same direction. Looking toward the water, the view was breathtaking. White caps formed on the waves, and still he could see gulls riding them out with ease, as if this was their own personal surfer's nirvana.