Swapping downstairs for upstairsâ¦ How hard can it be!?

Look up the phrase ordinary girl and youâll see a picture of me, Gemma Goodwin â I only look half-decent after applying the entire contents of my make-up bag, and my dating track-record includes a man who treated me to dinnerâ¦at a kebab shop. No joke!

The only extraordinary thing about me is that I look EXACTLY like my BFF, Abbey Croxley. Oh, and that for reasons I canât explain, Iâve agreed to swap identities and pretend be her to star in the TV show about her aristocratic familyâs country estate, Million Dollar Mansion.

So now itâs not just my tan Iâm faking â itâs Kate Middleton style demure hemlines and lady-like manners too. And amongst the hundreds of fusty etiquette rules Iâm trying to cram into my head, there are two I really must remember; 1) No-one can ever find out that Iâm just Gemma, whoâd be more at home in the servants quarters. And 2) There can be absolutely no flirting with Abbeyâs dishy but buttoned-up cousin, Lord Edward.

Aaargh, this is going to be harder than I thoughtâ¦

Doubting Abbey
Samantha Tonge

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2013

Copyright Â© Samantha Tonge 2013

Samantha Tonge asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition Â© June 2013 ISBN: 9781472073778

Version date: 2018-07-23

SAMANTHA TONGE lives in Cheshire with her lovely family and two cats who think they are dogs. Along with writing, her days are spent swimming, willing cakes to rise and avoiding housework. A love of fiction developed as a child, when she was known for reading Enid Blyton books in the bath. A desire to write bubbled away in the background whilst she pursued other careers, including a fun stint working at the EuroDisney theme park. Formally trained as a linguist, Samantha now likes nothing more than holing herself up in the spare room, in front of the keyboard. Writing romantic comedy novels and short stories for womenâs magazines is her passion.

http://doubtingabbey.blogspot.co.uk/

http://samanthatonge.co.uk/

Huge thanks to Lucy Gilmour and the HQ Digital UK team for this opportunity and their enthusiasm. Same to my agent, Kate Nash, for all her hard work. Thanks to those writing friends who have unconditionally supported my journey to publication, in particular Caroline Green and Emma Darwin. I couldnât have done it either, without the rest of the WriteWords crew, including Jon Gritton with his technical know-how. Plus Iâve appreciated input into my writing career from Shirley Blair at The Peopleâs Friend.

For Martin, Immy and Jay â thanks for never doubting me.

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Epilogue

Endpages

About the Publisher

LORD EDWARDâS E-DIARY

Welcome to this blog. Your visit is appreciated. May I introduce myself â I am Lord Edward, the son of the Earl of Croxley. Our home, Applebridge Hall, is in the final of the Million Dollar Mansion competition. For regular updates of our progress, please do grace this blog with your presence.

Monday 27th August

7p.m. Good evening, readers. Finally I write my first entry. Do bear with me, as I am new to blogging, which I see as a modern twist on my ancestorsâ habit of keeping journals. The programme-makers insist you will be interested in my thoughts on the competition, so I shall attempt to bring honesty and some perspective to this diary.

Honest thought number one? Chaos has descended. The film crews arrived again todayâcue a refresher course on camera and sound procedures. A national tabloid interviewed Father. To my irritation, the photographer suggested we both wore monocles and borrowed a cluster of the Queenâs corgis. Regardless of the fact I donât know Her Majesty, my response equalled âover my dead bodyâ.

Some perspective? I await a phone call from my, um, dear cousin, Abigail Croxley who, Iâm sure, will confirm her intention to join us imminently. How we intend to beat the other finalist, the Baron of Marwick Castle, is still top secret. However, here is an exclusive clue: my cousinâs cooking knowledge will be an instrumental part of our tactics. I am very much looking forward to seeing her.

Best bit of today? Right now, sitting by myself in our tranquil library.

Worst? Gaynor, the director, handing me a DVD of Pride and Prejudice, along with a frilly white shirt and breeches. I made it quite clear that I am a down-to-earth gentleman who will never, under any circumstances, resemble some sort of romantic hero like Mr Darcy.

Chapter 1

Abbey was born to sophistication, whereas I was more Barbara than Buckingham Palace Windsor. The two of us had just got back from a goodbye lunch with our Pizza Parlour colleagues, and were standing in front of the bathroom mirror. Having toasted each of our redundancies, I felt a bit tiddly, but still sharp enough to realize this idea was bonkers.

âLook, Abbey, I donât know whatâs behind this plan, but seriouslyâ¦â I smiled ââ¦wise up. I could never trick people into thinking I was you, a member of the aristocracy. Ask me to mimic aâ¦a pop star or footballerâs wife, then Iâd give it a shot, but even then I dunno if I could live a lie for very long.â With a grin, I shrugged. âRun this idea past me again.â Perhaps Iâd misheard.

Abbeyâs bottom lip quivered. âItâsâ¦um, no joke, Gemma â please, pretend to be me. Just for two weeks.â Her cheeks flushed. âWho else could I trust with such a mission?â

My jaw dropped. âAre you out of your mind? You know Iâd flog all my make-up and fave shoes on eBay if it meant helping you get out of a scrapeâ¦ But this? Abbey, mateâ¦â My eyes narrowed for a second. âMarcus next door hasnât given you one of his funny-smelling cigarettes has he?â

âGoodness, no!â Abbeyâs face broke into a smile. âHonestly, I quite understand your apprehension, butâ¦â She fiddled with the waistband of her skinny white trousers. âItâd only be for a fortnight and it is in a good cause.â She took my hands and squeezed them. âOh, please, Gemma. Youâre the only person in the world who can pull this off. Remember when Laurence, the son of one of Mummyâs friends, stayed over a few weeks ago?â

Ooh, yeah. Hotter than Dadâs chilli con carne, he was, in that white scarf and tux.

âHe caught you fresh-faced in the morning,â she said, âand insisted we looked terribly alike. If you dyed your brunette hair blonde, he joked we could pass as sisters, what with the same shape nose and blue eyes.â

âHe must have still had his beer goggles â or champers shadesâon.â I let my hands drop from her grip and looked down at my skimpy skirt, the streak of fake tan and high-heeled shoes. âMind youâ¦â I giggled ââ¦remember my first day at work?â

Abbey leant towards me and joined in the laughter. My chest glowed, glad to have cheered her up â but then it was funny, me being mistaken for her. Several members of staff had thought that Abbey â who already worked there â had suffered some sort of identity crisis and undergone a chavvy makeover. Or, in their opinion, makeunder. I should have been insulted at their relief when sheâd turned up looking her usual sophisticated self.

âEven the regular customers were fooled.â I turned to the bathroom mirror for a moment. Personally, I couldnât see a strong resemblance but time had taught me that the world at large occasionally considered us each otherâs doppelganger.

Abbeyâs grey-haired aunt came in, picked up a bottle of cleanser and passed it to me. âDo hurry up, Gemma â we only have ten days to complete your transformation.â

A bubble of laughter tickled the inside of my chest. Really? I mean, really? This wasnât a wind-up? To humour them, I removed the make-up from half of my face. Minus one false eyelash and a cheek of bronzer, I resembled an unsymmetrical Picasso portrait.

I leant towards Abbey and whispered, âCome on, spillâtell me what this is really about and what sheâs actually doing here.â

âShe has a name,â said the old dear, who clearly had bionic hearing and a strict dinner lady stare.

âHow rude of me not to introduce my aunt formally,â said Abbey with a sheepish smile at the old dear. âGemma, this is Lady Constance Woodfold, my motherâs sisterâshe used to run her own finishing school.â

âIâm sure youâll look delightful without all that bronzer, Gemma,â said Lady C (posh titles were too long to say in full, unless you were Lady Gaga). âSurely your mother would prefer to see your skin au naturel?â

âNo idea. She umâ¦â I cleared my throat ââ¦Mum got ill when I was little andâ¦â

Lady Câs cheeks tinged pink. âDo accept my apologies. Of course. Abigail told me of her demise.â Her wrinkled face softened. âWas there no female relative on hand during your formative years?â

I almost chuckled. Didnât people only speak like that on old BBC news reels?

âAuntie Janâs cool. If it wasnât for her, Iâd know nothing about clothes and make-up. People always mistook me for a boy, as a kid. When I hit the teen years, she intervened and even bought my first chicken fillets.â

âSheâs a proficient cook?â said Lady C, brow furrowed.

I grinned. âTheyâre the inedible kind that you stick down your bra, to up the cup size.â

Lady C pursed her lips. âThose fake appendages must disappear, along with your heavy eye-liner. Then we can concentrate on the more important things you need to learn, like the art of good conversation and table manners.â

Huh? What was all this about?

The old woman glanced at Abbey. âDoes Gemma not know yet that your Uncle James is in the final of Million Dollar Mansion?â

âWhaaat?â I almost choked on the word. âYour Dadâs brother? The one who inherited the family homeâAppleâ¦?â

âApplebridge Hall?â said Abbey. âYes. Thatâs him.â

âAmaaaaaazinâ! I saw a clip of that programme! Castles and Tudor mansions and all sorts competing against each other to win a million dollars to set their place up asâ¦ what did they call it? A going concernâ¦ The dosh is up for grabs from some American billionaire obsessed with Downton Abbey. But howâ¦? Whatâ¦?â

âAll you need to know at this stage, dear,â said Lady C, âis that Abigail is expected to help out with some catering project â no doubt serving cream teas in some shop theyâve probably constructed within a converted part of the estate. With its exciting armoury and dungeons, the Earl believes the opposition, Marwick Castle, could win. The Croxleys have owned Applebridge Hall since the sixteenth century, so must build on its strength of history, tradition andâ¦ family values.â She stood up straighter. âAbbey is unable to go. Thatâs where you come in.â

âMe? On the telly?â Wow. So it wasnât a joke. I bit my thumbnail. âMuch as I love reality shows, the last thing Iâd want is to be on screen. Itâs bad enough in real life, worrying about spots and bad hair days, let alone in front of the whole nation.â

âBut people wonât know itâs you,â said Abbey. âNot even my uncle, who hasnât seen me since I was nine, when he and Daddy had words. My parents will be away on a cruise and my friends donât watch such programmes. Even if they do, more than once, people have mistaken us for each other. Itâs a foolproof plan.â

âWhat about Rupert?â I said.

âIâve discussed the matter with him,â said Abbey. âYou know my little brother â heâs jolly loyal and wonât say a word. He understands my reasonsâ and, by the way, thinks youâll do a wonderful job.â

âDidnât your uncle ask for him to help as well?â

âYes, but Daddy said no way, what with his final year at university coming up. Rupeâs already left for Cambridge early. You know him â never happier than when his head is stuck in some book about the history of art.â

I stared at her. What had happened to my honest flatmate, who was straighter than hair squeezed through ceramic stylers; as upright as a sentry box guard? Although she had a point and, apart from lush Laurence, no one had seen me without make-up, for yearsâeven boyfriends, as I lazily went to bed with my slap on. âBut why would your dad want you to help, if he and his brother havenât spoken for so long?â

âYou should have seen Daddy when he asked me â he blew his nose and pretended it was hay feverâ¦â Abbeyâs voice cracked. âI suspect he desperately wants to end the estrangement.â

âSo why canât you take part?â

Subtly made-up eyes all droopy, Abbey sighed. âItâs a long story.â

I squeezed her arm. Bezzie mates we were, even without much in common, apart from loving novels and Scrabble. A lump formed in my throat. Abbey had never been one to veer from responsibilities, so the reason she couldnât help her family out had to be a mega-serious one.

âYouâ¦ arenât ill, are you?â I said, eyes watering, trying to imagine life without my best bud. Who would listen to me wittering on about the latest lad I fancied? Whoâd give me the best hugs at moments of true crisis, like last week when I missed out on getting those designer platform boots in the sales?

âItâs Zakâ¦ He wants me to travel to Africa with him immediately. The orphanage he helped build there last year in Rwanda is in turmoil. Itâs overflowing after more beastly violence. There are hundreds of children orphaned or whoâve lost their parents. Time is of the essence.â

âBut why you?â

Abbey shrugged. âIn pockets of the community they speak French, which Iâm still almost fluent in, thanks to my finishing school days. I also took a course in childcare. Zak says Iâd be a useful member of the team, seeing as I have catering skills as well.â

âSounds dangerous to me,â I said.

âThe organization Zak works for is very well run.â

âButâ¦ but doesnât Zak understand that sometimes family has to come first?â

Abbey raised an eyebrow. âUnder these circumstances?â

I sighed. âNo. Youâre right. Most dads would be chuffed that their daughter was keen to do such charitable work.â

âAnd anywayâ¦â oh, no â Abbeyâs voice wavered again ââ¦Zak already thinks I put him second â like last month when he did that sponsored marathon. I couldnât support him because Daddy insisted I accompany him instead, on that trip to France to source new cheesesâ¦â

I nodded. As a catering magnate, Abbeyâs dad was keen for her to join him in the business. Out of his two children, she was the one interested in cooking. However, it was obvious that the trip had been an excuse. He didnât think minimum wage Zak was good enough for his daughter.

Abbey threw her hands into the air. âIf I go to Africa, Daddy will be forever estranged from his brother â yet, if I donât, Zak might decide his future doesnât include me.â

âLook, Gemma, dearâ¦â Lady C straightened her navy blazer. âWhy donât you and I go for a walk and get to know each other? My niece says you were up for promotion at work â that you were quick to learn and showed initiative. We might both be surprised at how easily you could learn our aristocratic code of conduct. Why donât you pay your parents a visit, Abigail, and find out some more details about this competition?â

Abbey looked at me.

âGuess itâs only a walk,â I said and smiled, hoping to see her eyes regain their usual twinkle.

âRight,â said Lady C and smoothed down her grey bob as Abbey left the bathroom. âYou should change before we go out. Oneâs make-up and outfit should look modest and effortless.â

Surely the aim of looking good was to show youâd gone to a lot of trouble?

With a shrug, I went into my bedroom and browsed through my wardrobe. Little did Lady C know that sometimes Iâd dress up in Abbeyâs new outfits. My flatmate never minded â said it was a good way of seeing what they looked like on her. KMid (translated: Kate Middleton, now the Duchess of Cambridge) was her fashion hero and, I had to admit, some of her jeans with blazers looked awesome. Also, we both liked our future queenâs knee-high suede boots, high nude shoes and GORGE long layered hair. Plus Abbey had recently bought some amazinâ blusher, supposedly favoured by Kateâs sister, Pippa.

Minutes later, I emerged in old jeans, a T-shirt and my only flat pair of sandals.

âWell, thatâs a slight improvement,â said Lady C, who was waiting in the open-plan lounge. âIf you agree to this proposition, tomorrow weâll go through Abigailâs clothes. Youâre roughly the same size and I brought my sewing kit with me.â

Ooh, that would be a plus - perhaps Iâd get to wear some of those sparkly evening dresses Abbey owned. One awesome long silver gown was a copy of something KMid had recently worn to a charity ball, following the birth of cute Prince George.

I shook myself. Get a grip, Gemma, this was a ridiculous plan. How could a few glitzy frocks make up for spending every nerve-racking second of two weeks waiting for someone to see through my disguise?

âNowâ¦â Lady C put on a bright smile ââ¦how about removing the rest of that bronzer?â

I took a deep breath and went back into the bathroom. Five minutes later, just as I was taking off the second eyelash, Lady C joined me.

âGoodness me! The likeness between you and Abigail is quite extraordinaryâ before me stands a glowing young woman with a flawless complexion and eyes as blue as periwinkles.â

I shrugged and tried to familiarize myself with the bare face staring back at me from the mirror, which I usually only caught fleetingly in the morning. It was like the younger tomboy me whoâd watch footie and climb trees to keep up with her brothers.

âAuntie Jan wouldnât approve.â I shook my head. âThis goes against everything she taught me. Without Mum, growing up, at least I had her to point me in the right direction.â

Lady C suddenly suffered a coughing fit. I clapped her on the back and eventually she managed a half-smile. Despite her stern words, with her crinkly eyes and lavender smell, Lady C seemed like the kind of aunt the younger me had longed for. Auntie Jan was more like a fun friend who gave mega hugs but never wanted to let go, as if they were more for her.

âRight, letâs go for that stroll,â she said and we headed back to the lounge.

âBut what if I bump into a mate, looking like this?â I said. Not that there was much chance of that â Abbeyâs flat was in one of the posher parts of London. And I know it was superficial, worrying about make-up, but the more natural look just wasnât my thing. Even pets looked better pimped up, in my opinion, like dogs with cute bows and sparkly jackets.

âTrue friends donât care about appearances, Gemma,â she said and picked up her Margaret Thatcher handbag. âWhat counts is your integrity, honesty and kindness.â

Yeah, right. Tell that to the womenâs magazines, who filled their pages with tips on dieting and how to look younger.

We left the flat and entered the lift. Lady C didnât seem so small now that Iâd removed my stilettos. As we exited the building, I squinted in the sunshine, feeling like I was in a bad dream where you wander down the street and suddenly realize youâre naked.

âShoulders back, dear,â said Abbeyâs aunt. âChin not too high or low and stomach pulled in. Donât walk too fast or slow, nor appear aimless â a lady always knows where she is going. These quick tips on deportment will have to do for this excursion. What youâll need is several hours balancing a book on your head.â

âThat only happens in the movies, right?â I grinned.

She arched one eyebrow, then, as we passed a hairdressing salon, tested my ability to hold what she called âa suitably civilized conversationâ. We started with the weather.

âUmâ¦hasnât the sunshine been lovely lately,â I said. âArenât you mega hot in those tights and that blazer? After all, weâre still in August.â

Lady C almost choked. âDonât ever mention something so personal and, whilst I think about it, also avoid religion and politics and gossipââ

âButâ¦â

âNo interrupting either. Remember peopleâs names, compliment them, donât raise your voice or ever show emotion.â

Whoa! At this rate, Iâd need to take notes.

âKeep yourself informed, Gemma. Read the papers,â she said as I stopped to look through the window of my favourite cake shop. âLetâs see what you know about this yearâs newsâ¦â

Reluctantly, I left the yummy chocolate Ã©clairs and we continued along the pavement.

âDo you remember what happened with Jordan?â said Lady C.

âMega disappointing, wasnât it, when she didnât get back with Peter AndrÃ©?â

Her brow wrinkled deeper than usual as we turned a corner. âNo, Jordanâs in the Middle East; itâs a place, not a person. Letâs try something closer to homeâ¦ The Double Dip.â

âThat new ride at Alton Towers?â I said as the cheeky street cleaner pushed his trolley past and gave me polite look instead of his usual leer.

âI was talking about the recession. Donât you ever read the papers?â Lady C let out a sigh as I led her off the main road and through a small park. âFailing current affairs, ask people questions about themselves, but nothing too probing.â

Easy. âSo, did you really own a finishing school when you were mega younger?â

Lady C glanced sideways at me and her eyes narrowed. âNever allude to someoneâs age. But yes, it was my own business.â

âAmazinâ!â I said, remembering her advice to compliment people.

âAmazinggggggg,â she said and veered to avoid some nettles. âOr âwonderfulâ would be better. Donât say âmegaâ, try, âawfullyâ and, instead of âwowâ, how about âgoodnessâ?â

I opened my mouth. Then shut it. Goodbye spontaneity.

âWhat a thoroughly delightful place,â said Lady C as two children ran past with nets and buckets. âA pied wagtail and nuthatchâ¦Well, I never.â

Clearly, she was some kind of birdwatching buff. Perspiring now, I spotted an ice cream van. Comfort food might help me forget my nude look.

âHow about a choc ice?â I said.

âGoodness, no. Itâs highly impolite to eat on the go.â

Instead, we walked onto a bridge. I picked up a twig and threw it into the stream below.

âNow itâs my turn for some questions,â said Lady C. âWhat do you do for a living?â

âI am â wasâa waitress at Pizza Parlour. Weâve all just been given the boot.â

Lady C raised an eyebrow.

âOops, sorry! I mean, made redundant.â I coughed. âSuch jolly bad luck but Iâm sure, um, another job opportunity will arise soon.â

Lady Câs mouth upturned. âGood, although thereâs just one problemâ remember you are Abbey now. Donât talk about your own life.â

âOkayâ¦ I was a head chef at Pizza Parlour and, having gained experience out in the real world, will now join Daddyâs company, Croxley Catering. This will offer me a super career.â Abbey used words like âsuperâ. Plus âterriblyâ. And âsilly sausageâ. Lady C beamed and I felt all fuzzy inside, like when Dad gave me the thumbs-up for explaining the offside rule.

âBut what about you, Gemma?â she said softly. âTell me about your aspirations.â

I picked up another twig and lobbed it into the current. âDunnoâ never thought about it really. Would love to be able to cook like Abbey, but, wellâ¦ As long as I earn enough to pay the bills and have a good time, Iâm doing okay.â

âThere must be more than that, dear. Self-esteem and self-ambition make a lady. Always aim high; consider the long plan. Thatâs the trouble with young girls nowadays â thereâs too much living for the moment.â She stared at me. âYouâve got a real chance to turn your life around, here, Gemma.â

I couldnât help snorting. âWhat, in a fortnight?â

âLife has a habit of throwing opportunities our way.â She smiled. âWho knows what will happen?â

I shrugged and glanced at an oldish woman, further along the stream, whoâd stopped to lean on her walking stick. A young teenager approached her andâ oh my god! âshoved her to one side, grabbed her handbag and scarpered.

People all around did nothing and acted as if it had happened in their blind spot. Uh oh. Heart racingâ¦ I was having one of my adrenaline rushes that made me do something bonkers.

âOi!â I shouted and within seconds my legs were carrying me after him. The teenager jumped over some bushes and headed into a forested area at the end of the stream. Just as I caught up, he tripped and fell. Swearing, he got to his feet.

âHand it over!â I said.

âGonna make me, bitch?â

Erâ¦ yeah. I lunged forward. Years of wrestling my brothers, Ryan and Tom, had stood me in good stead for dealing with over-friendly blokes and now thieves. Except his eyes looked glazed and with an unexpected strength he pushed me off. I grabbed onto the handbag before tumbling onto a log. A male voice shouted behind me and the teenager swore again before running away.

âYou okay?â

I turned around to see â wow, a total hunk with an athletic build, all wrapped up in a sharp suit. He was pushing forty but flirty eyes never aged. He pulled me to my feet and, with no short skirt or cleavage to distract him, gazed right into my understated face. I held my breath. The hunk didnât flinch or gasp in horror. In fact, he smiled and carefully examined my forehead.

âBit of a graze, there,â he said and lifted up one trouser leg several inches to reveal a bandage. âSprained my knee yesterday. If it wasnât for that, Iâd have nailed that young bastâ¦ basket case.â

Blimey â he hadnât wanted to swear in front of me.

Fingers curled gently around my elbow, he guided me out of the trees. Lady C and the handbagâs owner were waiting by the edge of the stream.

âOh, thanks so much,â said the woman. âIâm so grateful. Let me reward you.â

Yes, please! But I caught Lady Câs eye. No doubt accepting a fiver for my trouble would be the height of bad manners.

âNo, it was my, um, pleasure,â I said and rubbed my arm.

The hot guy shook his head. âIâll ring the police. I bet that thug wasnât expecting to be collared by such a charming young lady. Really, well done,â he said.

Gemma Goodwin, charming, without her boob enhancers and bronzer? My face broke into a grin as Lady C steered me towards a nearby bench, moved a discarded magazine and we sat down. I bit my thumbnail.

âMega unladylike, wasnât it â me running like that, shouting âoi!â I just couldnât stand by and watch that bugâ¦that loser steal someoneâs handbag. Iâd do it again.â

âJolly glad to hear it. You seem to have this idea that minding oneâs manners and dressing modestly equates with being, well, something of a lily-livered wimp.â Lady C pulled a leaf out of my hair. âWhereas ladies display strength of character, they are fair and charitable.â She beamed. âQuite simply, I was impressed.â

âYou, um, arenât disappointed?â

Her eyes sparkled. âGemma, my dear, Iâm beginning to understand why you and Abigail are such good friends. With a new hair colour and clothes, you could be in with a real chance of pulling this off. I used to run intensive etiquette courses and might just be able to teach you everything you need in the next ten days until the final. Tonight weâll start with table manners. I brought some of the more adventurous foods you might encounter, like asparagus, mussels and quail eggs.â

Urgh! Sheâd better teach me the etiquette for throwing up.

I picked up the magazine. It was a TV guide for next week. Oh my God! Million Dollar Mansion was advertised on the front. I flicked through and came to a full page photo of the Earl of Croxley, a slim, grey-bearded man with a pipe, in a tweed suit. Lord Edward, his son, looked a moody so-and-so, as if the camera was his worst enemy. Yet I could forgive his Victor Meldrew expression because of those tousled honey curls and broad shoulders. Phwoaar!

On the opposite page were the other finalists. With dyed black hair greased back and an expensive suit, the divorced Baron of Marwick was in his sixties and looked like his middle name was Smug. His son, Harry Gainsworth, wore a flash tie and mega gold watch. Their family had owned Marwick Castle for less than a century. Both held glasses of champagne and in their interviews called the Earl of Croxley a âboring old fartâ.

Whereas the Croxleysâ¦ Once more I gazed at the photo of Applebridge Hall. My eye caught tatty gardens and crumbling brickwork â talk about shabby chic. I read the Earlâs warm tales about his grandparents and Elizabethan ancestorsâit must be hard for him, all that history suddenly at risk. But could little old me really help save the Croxleysâ mansion?

âShame, isnât it, that Abbeyâs dad and the Earl arenât on talking terms â that Abbey and Rupert arenât in touch with their cousin,â I said.

âIt is, dear. I believe Edward made some attempt to contact them when he wasâ¦ooh, almost twenty. Abigail and Rupert were still at junior school. He sent them cards and the occasional book. But Richard never passed them on.â

âThat stinks! Does Abbey know?â

âYes. Richard told the children it was for the best. That they were too young to understand the reasons for the estrangement and what was really going on. The cards eventually stopped.â

Blimey. This was hardcore falling out, not to let the kids at least have contact. Without warning, I sneezed and sniffed loudly.

Lady C tutted and passed me her dainty lace handkerchief.

âSee?â I said. âWe could change my appearance â even with my own style and hair colour, Iâve been mistaken for your niece. But everything else about me is wrong. I talk while I eat and, thanks to Uncle Pete, I know more about brick-laying than cross-stitch or croquet.â

âLadies arenât stuck in the nineteenth century, my dear,â said Lady Constance. âExpert knowledge in any area is admirable.â

At that moment the National Anthem blared out from her handbag. That was some ringtone. Lady C took out her phone.

âHello, Abigailâ¦ Pardon? School? Oh, dear. Oh dearie, dearie me. Noâdonât mention that. Ah, and thereâs something elseâ¦?â A pained expression deepened her wrinkles. âYes, quite. What a shame. Leave it with me. Speak later, poppetâ¦â She ended the call.

âBad news?â I said.

Lady C stared at me for a few seconds. âAbigail misunderstood the start date of the final. Filming actually begins on September the first.â

âThis Saturday?â I squeaked. âThat only gives us four days! And wasnât there something else â about a school?â

Lady Câs shoulders sagged. âThatâs irrelevant now, seeing as your transformation is quite impossible. Poor Abigail. You were her only chance.â

Uh oh â another adrenaline rush as my conscience pricked. Months ago, Abbey had taken me in, after I left Dadâs so that he could turn my bedroom into a nursery for his new girlfriendâs twins. Truth be told, I still owed her big time. My heart raced, meaning I was about to do something stupidâ¦ Urghâlike deceiving people and pretending to be posh. An uncomfortable twinge pinched my stomach. Yet just one look at Lady C reminded me just how important this was to Abbey. And if you couldnât step out of your comfort zone to help mates, then I reckoned it was what Abbey would call âa pretty poor showâ.

âWhat the hell,â I heard my sing-song voice say. âLetâs give it our best shot. Applebridge Hall, here I come!â

If anyone could imitate my best bud, it was me.

LORD EDWARDâS E-DIARY

Monday 27th August

âCommentsâ

10.30p.m. After several pleasant hours of reading, here in my beloved library, Iâve just bobbed back online to close down the laptop. How extraordinary that already several people have commentedâfor that I thank you.

Drunkwriter, your poem wasâ¦thought-provoking. Historybuff, Applebridge Hall was indeed built almost five hundred years agoâby the first Earl of Croxley, who fought against the Spanish Armada. EtonMess, close as cousin Abigail and myself are, I, um, donât profess to know any of her personal measurements. Nor whether she prefers tights to stockingsâ¦ For details regarding her appearance, you must wait to see her on the show. Which reminds me of terrific news, blog-readersâshe just rang, to confirm her arrival this Saturday.

Chapter 2

Ever wondered how it might feel to go on one of those makeover shows where they revamp your look for The Big Reveal? Well, take it from me, youâre torn between dying to peek and fearing you wonât recognize the reflection at all. Especially when you quite liked the former youâI would miss my rub-in tan and Dairy Milk hair.

I glanced at my packed suitcase as I waited for the Million Dollar Mansion car to drive me the hourâs journey to Applebridge Hall. Lady C had pinned up my newly dyed, strawberry-blonde hair. The nail polish was clear, the chicken fillets gone and the make-up toned down. Nor did my outfit show legs or cleavage.

I hadnât needed as much help from Lady C as Iâd expected, appearance-wise. After all, Iâd lived with Abbey for months now and knew just how much mascara she liked to apply to her lashes (think more wiry daddy-long-legs and less furry tarantula).

Lady C yawned and pointed towards Abbeyâs full-length mirror. Weâd hardly slept for the last four days. It was like suffering from an almighty hangover.

âTime to take a look, dear,â she said.

I tiptoed forward. âShiitt!â

âGemma! After everything weâve practised this week. How terribly disappointing that you still use that ghastly word.â

âWhat? Ohâ¦Sorry.â I giggled. âBut itâs wicked! I do look just like Abbey.â Apart from my cuddlier tum and freckles. I swivelled from side to side, eyeing the knee-length navy skirt and red polo shirt. I wore KMid high nude shoes and gold stud earrings and a little silk red scarf around my neckâ¦ There was a definite classy air hostess vibe going on!

âNow, youâll have men fighting to open doors for you.â

I shrugged. âWhy should they? Guys, girls, weâre all equals.â

âYou think thatâs how men treated you, in your old clothes?â She smiled and shook her head. âRight, youâve got my mobile phone number, dear. Donât hesitate to ring if you need me. Now, remember, cutleryâ¦â

âWork from the outside inâ¦â I said and gave a big yawn, remembering to cover my mouth.

âAnd alcohol?â

âDonât clink glasses or get drunk.â

Carrying my suitcase, I left Abbeyâs bedroom and followed Lady C into the lounge.

âPity Abbey couldnât drop by to see me off,â I said. âShe wouldnât believe what I look like now.â

âYes, itâs unfortunate she had to take her parents to the airport this morning.â

âAt least we spoke on the phone briefly last night. She couldnât stop talking about her trip.â I glanced sideways at Lady C. âIn fact, I didnât have time to ask her what she said to you on the phone, when we were in the park â about a school. Seeing as you canât remember.â

Lady C blushed. âOh, er, never mind. Right, letâs seeâ¦ If you are expected to help in say a coffee shop,â she said, changing the subject, âdonât hesitate to contact me if youâre expected to bake. I have files of recipes.â

I opened the flatâs front door. Roses in her cheeks, Lady C gave me a quick hug.

âThe best of British, dear. Now remember, most importantlyâ¦â

âThe three Ms: Modesty, Manners and no Men.â For some reason my eyes tingled. âDo you, um, think weâve done enough? In such a short time?â

âHard work can achieve great things, Gemma, and Iâve been incredibly impressed by your commitment. As long as you donât dunk your bread in soup or chew your hair orââ

âInterrupt people?â I, um, interrupted.

We both smiled and I made my way to the lift.

Right. Get into character, Gemma. This could, in the words of Abbey, be super fun! Little old me was going to see how the other half lived. Iâd ring bells for coffee, eat off silver and servants would have to avoid eye contact and bow. For two whole weeks I wouldnât have to clean or iron. At the most Iâd serve cream teas to the The Little People (previously me!) who, in awe of the Croxley name, would hang on my every word. Although Lady C kept hinting that I might be expected to bake, I was sure the local shops would sell scones and the like â I could just raid their supplies.

As the lift approached the ground floor, I chuckled at the idea of me ordering people around. What was I like? Living like that would be the pits. Hopefully the servants (just saying that word felt wrong) would be like family and I could still make myself Cup-a-Soups and Pot Noodles. The real challenge would be resisting the temptation to tell them who I really was. I took a deep breath. Stiff upper lip, as Lady C would say.

As for servants and bellsâ¦ well, from what the Earl had told Abbeyâs dad, Applebridge Hall had suffered from years of financial problems. Entering this competition was a last drastic measure. For getting to the final, the Earl had already won twenty-five thousand pounds, to put into motion plans for how the place would eventually start earning its own keep. Iâd said that was a mega amount of money. Abbey soon put me right.

âOh, no, Gemma,â sheâd insisted. âThatâs nothing, in terms of running a mansion. Maintenance costs for one year would see that gone â and thatâs without repairing the roof or completing the rewiring. Then thereâs damp, rising gardening costs and, as for the internal renovationsâ¦ Tapestries and ceilings need refreshing and apparently Uncleâs desperate to reupholster much of the furniture. Metres and metres of brickwork should be re-pointedâ¦â

Still, I couldnât wait to see the place and strode out into the sunshine.

âYoo-hoo!â called a voice. âAbigail Croxley?â

I looked at my watch again.

âMiss Croxley?â

Eek! That was me. I shook myself to attention and looked up. A skinny woman with red hair, carrying a clipboard, waved from next to a big shiny black car, parked up by the side of the road. Chin not too high or low, shoulders back, I strolled over.

âHow do you do?â I said in a controlled voice, and held out my hand.

âOh, erm, good, thanks.â She grinned and grasped my fingers, pumping them up and down. âIâm Roxyâthe production assistant. We spoke on the phone yesterday.â

Stomach twisting, I nodded. What if, face-to-face, my pretend accent sounded weird? But then, after all this time living with Abbey, I stood as good a chance as anyone of mimicking a posh voice.

âWeâd better get a move on,â she continued, speaking at top-speed. âThe TV crews at Applebridge Hall are on standby. My boss, Gaynor, the director, hates it if people are late. Footage of your arrival will have to be edited, ready for screening on tomorrowâs Sunday night show.â She grinned. âWelcome aboard the roller coaster that is Million Dollar Mansion!â

She lugged my case over to the car boot. Iâd never met anyone who spoke so fast. A chauffeur in a smart cap and suit got out and opened the door for me. The only time Iâd seen anyone dressed like that was at a mateâs hen night, but trusted (nay, prayed!) this old codger wouldnât perform a striptease.

While Roxy got in around the other side, I concentrated hard to get into the car just right. The rules wereâ¦ legs first, knees closed at all timesâ¦ Phew. Job done. No knickers flashed.

The door closed behind me. I looked to my left and smiled at Roxy. She ended a phone call as the chauffeur loaded my luggage, got in and we pulled away.

âWhen was the last time you visited Applebridge Hall?â she asked warmly, while scribbling notes.

âOnly last year,â I said, chest feeling all tight. I wasnât used to telling such bare-faced lies and in my mind frantically went over what Lady C called my âremitâ â a mega fancy word for the task Iâve been given, namely pretending to be one of a happy Croxley clan. In an email to Abbey, Lord Edward said she should act as if the family often met up. All members of staff would play along, as the future of Applebridge Hall â and their jobs â depended on it.

âRecently, Iâve been terribly busy in catering and am so looking forward to taking time out to visit my uncle again. Iâd be interested to know the arrangements for when I arrive,â I continued, articulating every word as if I was the Speaking Clock.

âQuite a, erm, character, isnât he, the Earl?â she said and glanced sideways at me.

Really? I was dying to probe her further but another of Lady Câs rules was never to appear over-familiar.

âAlthough Lord Edwardâs not half-bad.â She winked. âDefinite eye-candy for the girls.â

âI wouldnât know about that,â I said stiffly. Uncomfortable as it was, good old English reserve was useful if stuck for words.

Roxy rummaged in her jeans pocket and pulled out some fruit pastilles. She held out the packet. âI never have time to eat these days â fancy sharing my breakfast?â

âThatâs very kind, but no, thank you,â I said, remembering what Lady C said about never eating on the go. On the other hand, I didnât want to offend herâ¦

âWhat a, um, charming bracelet,â I said and pointed to her wrist.

âOh, ta.â She grinned. âMy fiancÃ© gave it to me.â

âFiancÃ©? Oh, of course, I didnât see the ring.â It was no Elizabeth Taylor rock, but, nevertheless, a mega diamond to me. âAmaaaaazinâ,â I cooed. Oops. I caught Roxyâs eye. Her lip twitched. We giggled and then quickly I recovered my stuffy act. âMy flatmateâ¦ thatâs um, one of her words,â I said. âOccasionally, I pick up these things.â

Roxy examined her wedding finger. âMy boyfriend proposed in New York. Although I donât suppose this compares to the huge pendants and tiaras youâve grown up with.â

âThe, um, setting is utterly exquisite,â I said. âItâs a ring Iâd be proud to wear.â

Roxy eyes crinkled at the corners. She held up her clipboard and flicked through the paperwork quick-smart. âThe arrangements, letâs seeâ¦ Late morning arrival â greetings with family and staff. Then youâll have a little private time before, at one oâclock, your uncle and cousin make a special announcement.â

âWhat about?â I said.

âThe business idea theyâve come up with, to save Applebridge Hall. Lord Edward has been hinting about it on his blog.â She grinned. âGaynor had to work on him for ages before heâd agree to spill his thoughts and feelings on-line. But, to be fair, heâs gone for it with gusto and is determined itâll attract more fans and contribute to Applebridge Hallâs success.â

Ah, yes â Edwardâs E-diary. Last night Lady C and I had taken a peek. His tone sounded a bit old-fashioned but, to my surprise, he seemed mega friendly towards the blog-readers.

âAnd this announcementâ¦?â I said airily.

Roxyâs eyes twinkled. âDonât you know anything about it?â

âNo. Cousin Edward, he, um, wanted it to be a surprise.â Better not mention the coffee shop, seeing as other people didnât know yet.

She shrugged. âEven the crew and I donât know for sure. Weâve only just returned to the properties, since the preliminary rounds.â Roxy consulted her clipboard again. âTonight, at seven, youâll be having dinnerâ¦â She shot me a look. âLook, can I give you a tip, Abigail? Woman to woman?â

âDo call me Abbey,â I said and squished back into the comfy seat. Thank God these media types didnât stand on ceremony. In fact, so far, so bloominâ good. My false accent hadnât been rumbled. This speaking malarkey was manageable as long as I gave it more Toff than TOWIE.

âAbbeyâyou seem pretty down-to-earth. If you really want your family to winâ¦â She threw her hands into the air. âFor Godâs sake, sex things up!â

âI beg your pardon?â I said in my best plummy voice. Ooh, it was hard not to laugh, but Abbey would have certainly cringed at the S word. Not that she was a prude, but once Iâd read out a chapter of Fifty Shades of Grey â her eyes bulged so much, I thought she was going to croak and search for a lily pad.

âNo offence meant,â she said and shoved another pastille in her mouth. âItâs just that wordâs out that the Baron of Marwick has something wild planned for this evening. In contrast to your uncle, whose idea of an entertaining Saturday night is sharing good food with friendsâ¦ Thatâs fine for an earl pushing eighty, but your average reality show viewer wants arguments, intrigue or, even better, nudity.â

âYes, last yearâs Big Brother was jolly good,â I said. âUm, so my flatmate told me.â

âSheâs right â viewing figures topped ten million. One of the housemates got pregnant and the police had to break in and stop a brawl.â

I put on a shocked voice. âHow dreadful.â

Roxy stopped chewing for a moment. âAs you probably know, your uncle is a bit camera-shy. But, to stand any chance of winning, heâs got to wake up to the fact that Million Dollar Mansion is more than a posh version of Come Dine With Me. Marwick Castle is a strong contender â the Baron is media savvy and doesnât much care what he has to do to pull in votes.â Roxy took out another sweet. âTo be honest, the production team was amazed Applebridge Hall got this far, and can only put it down to your hunky cousin appealing to female viewers.â She cleared her throat. âNot that you heard any of this from me.â

âYou can trust me,â I said, concentrating now. âThanks awfully, Roxy. Iâll do what I can. Your inputâs appreciated.â

As we turned off the motorway and stopped at traffic lights, she consulted her watch. âWeâll be there before you know it, so here are a few tips. Try to act natural in front of the camerasâas if us TV folk are invisible. Thereâs me and the director, Gaynor, various camera operators and sound guys, some set up in the house. Others will follow you Croxleys around the estate doing your daily business. Just consider us part of the scenery, the fittings and fixtures â discreet, unthreatening.â Roxy gave a wide smile. âThereâs nothing to worry about. And you look fab â those shoes are to die forâ¦â Her smile broadened. âThe viewers are going to love you.â

My stomach relaxed. Perhaps Iâd been worrying about nothing, I thought, as we overtook a tractor on the dual carriageway and I took in the quaint countryside.

âHow many episodes will be broadcast each week?â I asked eventually.

âThree â Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday, at eight p.m. sharp, with the Live Final â a special Saturday show, on the fifteenth, two weeks from today. Cameramen have spent the last five days at both locations, filming a fresh load of stock shots â you know, house exteriors, the groundsâ¦â Roxy smiled. âDonât be nervous, Abbey. I can tell that youâre really photogenic.â

If only my appearance was the main concern, now. The mega hard part would be keeping my act up from sunrise to sunset, with all those TV people around.

Roxy texted madly on her phone for a while until, about twenty minutes later, a car cut in front of us, just as we turned into a road welcoming us to Applebridge. The chauffeur braked and Roxyâs clipboard fell on the floor. I collected up the papers as the driver sped up once more.

âThanks,â mouthed Roxy, who was now on the phone to Gaynor. I gazed out of the window again. Wow. What a tiny village. At a first glance, there was nothing in Applebridge, apart from a post office, corner shop and pub called The Green Acorn â although the place was famous for staging a rock festival on some of the Earlâs land every summer. According to Lady C, that was at least one source of income for Abbeyâs uncle.

I swallowed hard. Not long now to meeting my flatmateâs posh relatives and potentially being discovered, on camera, as a fraud. To distract myself, I glanced at Roxyâs papers and a list of everyone whoâd be filmed at Applebridge Hall. With lots of exclamation marks, the names had been divided into two categories: âAboveâ and âBelowâ stairs.

I gazed at a photo of sharp-eyed Kathleen, the Scottish cook and housekeeper, and the estate manager, Mr Thompson, with a Sherlock Holmes style hat and hunting gun. Then there was a woman in her thirties, wearing cords and a T-shirt â that was Jean, apparently, the head-gardener. She looked nice. Mmmâher assistant, unshaven Nick, was about the same age as me. Sexy eyes! Not that Iâd be able to get to know him well. Imagine the scandal if he and I really hit it off.

Roxy ended her call as the car turned into a drive longer than the street Iâd grown up on. We drove past rows of little trees, bearing plump red apples, shinier than Snow White poisoned onesâwhen we were small, my brothers and I would have had heaps of fun playing hide and seek amongst them. Downhill to the right as the orchards fell behind us, was a pond with tall grasses and bulrushes on the nearside. Even the ducks were a fancy type, with purple chests and red bills.

My throat felt funny. I felt sick. How could I ever have thought this would work? What if the Croxleys saw straight through me? Perhaps theyâd laugh at my choice of words or sneer at the way I walked. Or perhaps theyâd be over-the-top friendly and Iâd feel even worse about fooling them. Either way, I didnât belong here. Urgh! Deep breaths. Focus, Gemma. You can do this. Think of the positives â itâs lush; what an amazinâ place to be a gardener.

Mmm, yes, talking of gardeners and that photo of Nick, with his short dark hair and eyes, all twinklyâ¦

Oh My God! Forget the nerves for a momentâIâd just thought of an awesome way to sex up Applebridge Hall! Thatâs what Roxy said I needed to do, right? It was my duty. Sorry, Lady C, but Iâd have to ignore the last of the three Ms: âNo Menâ. To beat Marwick Castle, the Croxleys had to keep the viewers glued to their seats and now I had a wicked plan!

Oblivious to the scene ahead, as the car slowed, I worked hard to suppress a chuckle. Above and below stairsâ¦The answer to winning was obvious. The nation had to believe that the Earlâs well-to-do niece and the gardenerâs assistant were having a forbidden secret affair!

LORD EDWARDâS E-DIARY

Saturday 1st September

11.30a.m. Today is going to be jolly busy and Iâve just been informed that my cousinâs car has pulled into the drive, so quicklyâ¦ First of all, thank you to everyone who is already âfollowingâ this blog. The TV company has linked us to their website and several local stations have kindly spread word of this diary. Do please connect us to other social sites â no doubt many of you belong to Facebook.

Right, on now with the business of the dayâI hereby formally announce the beginning of the competition. Let me use this domain to officially throw down the gauntlet to the opposition: Baron Marwick, if you are reading this, I declare our very determined intention to win Million Dollar Mansion. In the tradition of the Croxleysâ duelling ancestors, we challenge you to beat our familyâs honourable loyalty and values. Or, as a more modern opponent might say: Game on!

Just to add, Iâve done my research and apparently blogs thrive with plenty of interaction. So what about answering this poser question?

How do you think we have invested our semi-final winnings, in order to defeat Marwick Castle? Onâ¦

Machinery to produce our very own âCroxley Ciderâ?

Transforming part of the mansion into kitchens, for the âApplebridge Food Academyâ?

Converting the old stables into the âCroxley Coffee Shopâ?

I shall attempt to bob on here later to view responses and briefly comment. On a speedy lighter note, may I respond to bustyfanDownton: no, I donât dye my hair, nor can I acquire Prince Harryâs phone number â apologies.

Chapter 3

Donât call the police, Uncleâ¦ I mean, Earlâ¦Thereâs a good reason Iâm pretending to be your niece. Mr Thompson, put down that gun!

I took a deep breath. There was no point practising in my head what Iâd say if found out. Go, girl! You can carry this off.

I looked out of the window as the car ground to a halt. My brow relaxed. Talk about picture perfect. Clearly Iâd snuffed it and this was some heavenly palace or, Mary Poppins style, I had jumped into some painting of old England. Looming before me was the mega grand Applebridge Hall.

âDonât know how anyone gets used to living in a place like this,â said Roxy.

âMe neither,â I mumbled, eyes transfixed. Although my older brother Ryanâs gaff was a former stately home â he was staying there at, um, Her Majestyâs Pleasure! Mega stupid heâd been, crashing into a parked car while texting.

Wow. Applebridge Hall was huge. Mahoosive. Bigger than Hogwarts. My home for the next week had gardens ten times the size of the sports grounds at my old high school. I fanned myself with Roxyâs clipboard, in anticipation of stepping out of the air-conditioned car and into the sticky end-of-the-summer heat. The mansion stood three storeys high and triangular gables (I knew that word from builder Uncle Pete) lined the top, where parts of the roof came forward. Where each one peaked, twisted ornamental bits rose into the air like mini totem poles. Iâd seen similar ones in the book on Elizabethan architecture that Lady C had given me to speed-read.

âRemember,â said Roxy. âBig smile as soon as the car door opens. Cameras will be rolling.â

I think I nodded in reply. Not sure. I was still gawping. Although, this close, you could see why the Earl needed those million dollars. The building was made from reddish-brown stone wall and needed a mega good clean. Mouldy patches covered large areas â lichen, I think. Slate roof tiles had slipped out of position and several of the chimneys were missing chunks of stonework.

Yet, despite the crumbling brick and odd cracked window, it was pretty impressive, from the outside at least. Green ivy sprawled across the front and around the window frames. There was a protruding arched entrance in the middle, either side of which the building stretched sideways for the length of four window bays. At each end, Applebridge Hall extended forward so that, from the air, the building looked like a capital E. A tribute, perhaps, to the seventeenth century Queen Elizabeth, in which case it was just as well English letters didnât look like Arabic or Chinese.

âReady?â said Roxy.

I swallowed. âWhatâs Charlie Chingo like?â A washed-up eighties pop star, with his trademark quiff and Blues Brothers suit, heâd reinvented himself as a chat show host and was presenting the show.

âA total diamond.â Roxy grinned. âOn screen he behaves like a carefree teenager, but no one works harderâhe often hovers around our outside broadcast van, helping edit footage for the next show.â

I nodded and stared at the mansionâs many windows. Vertical bars divided them into panes. It would take forever to make them all sparkle. Good thing all I had to do for this fortnight was serve cream teas.

The chauffeur opened my door and, thighs together, I slid out. In front of the car was a three-tiered fountain, overgrown with green slime and moss. Across the lawns, birds chirped and the sound of tinkling water filled the air. A line of people gathered at the entrance. Enough of admiring the estate â it was time to kick off this charade.

The cameraman and sound guy hovered like sprinters waiting for the off. Lord Edward stood in front, looking pretty lush (eek, mustnât think that, he was supposed to be my cousin). His eyes were fixed on me. Members of staff were just behind him, with the old Earl. Nearby, hovered a tall woman with a shiny Jessie J bob, black-rimmed glasses and clipboard.

âThatâs Gaynor, the director,â Roxy whispered.

Ooh, look at me, taking directions, eat your heart out, Hollywood. I was in the ideal reality show, where the real me wouldnât be recognized and I didnât have to eat kangaroo bottom or witchetty grubs. Deep breaths as I almost hyperventilated when Charlie Chingo appeared.

âCome, Chat with the Chingo!â said Charlie and led me towards Lord Edward and his dad.

How could the TV presenter wear a jacket? The forecasters had been right about an Indian summer. Hopefully, I looked around for a tray of refreshing drinks to celebrate my arrival.

âWelcome, Miss Abigail Croxley, to Million Dollar Mansion! How ya feeling? Nervous? Excited? Thrilled to be back at the ancestral pile?â Charlie turned to the camera. âThis is the Earl of Croxleyâs niece, the dishy daughter of his younger brother, catering magnate, The Honourable Richard Croxley.â Charlie raised his eyebrows up and down whilst I tried mega hard not to stare at a furry microphone held above our heads. âSo tell us, Abigail â you must just lurrrve visiting your uncle and cousin. How does it feel to be back in the bosom of your heritage?â

âIndeed, it is, um, an enormous pleasure to return,â I declared. Before my makeover, a friendly man like him would have winked at the word âbosomâ and stared at my chest. Instead, Charlie lifted my hand to his lips and gave it a kiss. The Earl stepped forward and took his pipe out of his mouth. He wore tweed trousers, a checked shirt and tweed waistcoat like in that magazine in the park. Wow. Here was a living and breathing member of the aristocracy. The only group of people I belonged to was the Facebook Primark fan club.

âWelcome to Applebridge Hall, Abigail,â he said gruffly.

A whiff of tobacco reminded me of visits to the pub when I was little, watching Dad play darts and fighting Tom and Ryan for the last pork scratching or peanut.

âUm, hello,â I muttered, feeling like FRAUD was my middle name.

âSpeak up, girl,â he said.

âHow nice to see you again, Uncle. I do hope you are well. Mummy and Daddy send their loââ better not overdo it ââtheir good wishes.â Before I knew it, Iâd planted a kiss on the old manâs bristly beard.

He grunted, lifted his pipe and inhaled, then about-turned and headed into the house. Oh, dear â but surely a friendly kiss was the right move for meeting a relative? I smiled at Edward, wondering how many female viewers would swap places with me right at this moment. Not that Iâd risk getting close enough to kiss his cheek â it would look so wrong, if his supposed cousin couldnât stop herself from stroking his tousled honey hair.

My mind went blank as he approached me. If only Iâd paid more attention to Lady Câs every word. Should I call him by his full title? What was short for Edward? Ted? Was that too casual?

âHello, Teddy,â I stuttered. Crap! How did that nickname slip out? His cheeks flashed red before he held out his hand and squeezed my fingers a little too tight. âI meanâ¦ I do hope you are well. The estate looks marvellous.â

âPleasant journey, Cousin?â he said, still studying my face. It was weird. He kind of had the same nose as Abbey.

âVery, um, nice, thank you,â I said, squirming under his intense gaze. He had the tiniest green specks in his blue eyesâ¦ Ahem. Right. Concentrate. Now, what did Lady C say about conversation? Talk about the weatherâ¦

âNo blinding blizzards or black ice, if thatâs what you mean,â I said, my voice giving a little wobble.

âHardly,â he replied dryly. âWeâre only just in September.â

Charlie came in between us and put his arms around my shoulder. âWhat a family resemblance!â he said. âHoney hair! Blue eyes! And Teddy! I like it, Lord Edward! You kept that name from us. Letâs hope that Abigailââ

âAbbey,â I said, breaking the rule on interrupting.

Charlie grinned. âLetâs hope that Abbey reveals more family secrets.â

By now Lord Edwardâs face had turned an ugly shade of purple. Swiftly, I moved onto the line-up of staff that stood to attention outside the arched entrance.

âOch, itâs lovely to meet you again, Miss Croxley,â said Kathleen, the cook. She wore a bright apron and sensible lace-up shoes. Awkwardly, she curtsied. I smiled at her, both of us knowing sheâd never previously met the grown-up Abigail Croxley. It didnât feel right, a top cook like her kowtowing to a pizza waitress.

Next were two chambermaids in black dresses and white hats, only hired for my arrival, apparently. Each one curtsied in turn until I came to the estate manager, hunting gun slung over his shoulder. He nodded, looked at his watch and seemed on the verge of leaving before he gazed behind me. I wondered if heâd caught Lord Edwardâs eye.

âAhem, welcome back, Miss Croxley,â he said in a voice deeper than Barry Whiteâs.

âThank you, Mr Thompson,â I said, pleased at remembering his name. Then I smiled at the gardener. âI hope you are keeping well, um, Jean, and look forward to a stroll around the estate with you later.â

âOf course, Miss,â she said. âWeâve worked hard on the vegetable patch this year.â

I turned to her assistant, Nick, with his twinkly eyes and David Beckham stubble. Little did he know it, but we were actually going to be red-hot lovers! Not that I felt remotely kissable without my tan.

âHow splendid to see you again, Nick,â I murmured, standing upright to make sure the fluffy mike caught every word. âI did so enjoy the weeks we spent together last year. Our time amongst the flower beds was delightful and you, um, sowed your seeds so well.â

Charlie snorted whilst Nick raised one eyebrow. I held his hand just a bit longer than Lady C would have deemed decent. His shake was firm, and his mouth twitched as if he was trying not to laugh. Nick was going to be a welcome contrast to the stuffiness of the Croxleys.

With a smile, I turned to Charlie. Drama was like my worst subject at school and I just hoped my aristocratic character came across as believable. Although a small part of me irrationally hoped to be found out, cos Jean, Nick and Kathleen seemed lovely. If only they could know the truth â but that was never going to happen. Truth, honour and loyalty were obviously important to the traditional Croxleysâ¦ I couldnât ever imagine the old Earl being in on my secret and agreeing to fool the nation â not even to save his mansion.

âLooks like Abigail has very fond memories of the gardens,â said Charlie with a wink at the camera.

Lord Edward glared at me and rubbed the palm of his hand against the back of his neck.

âAnd, with that, folks,â said Charlie to the camera, âmay I announce the start of the final. Two weeks from today I shall proudly announce the winner of Million Dollar Mansion. Youâve now met the cast from both here and Marwick Castle. So ready, steady go! Let the battle begin!â

He stood grinning at the camera for several seconds before Gaynor gave him the thumbs-up.

âThatâs a wrap, darlings,â she said and lit a fag.

Charlie turned to me. âGood on ya, Abbey, youâre a natural in front of the camera. Once youâre settled, Bob, the sound operator will fit you up with a lapel mic.â He turned to Edward. âSee you at one then, Lord Edward, for your special announcement. I believe weâll be filming it in the orchards. You and your cousin have just got time to stretch your legs.â

Charlie bowed and headed for Gaynor, taking a notebook out of his pocket. The staff had already gone back indoors. I glanced at Edward.

âUmâ¦pleasant enough man,â I said and jerked my head towards Charlie, hands feeling clammy.

Edward scowled. âDonât be naÃ¯ve, cousin. These media types are only after one thing âa cheap story. Watch what you say to them. Now, come, weâll walk to the pond. Thereâs a bench in the shade. I shall fill you in on todayâs schedule. And itâs not Teddy. Nor Ted.â

âSo what should I call you?â

âEdward is my name, Abigail.â

âAs you wish, but please â call me Abbey.â

I followed him down the path to the main drive and we headed across the lawns. Hands in pockets, he sauntered towards the pond.

âAmaaazinâ,â I murmured, taking in my surroundings. âggg,â I added, hoping the end of the word didnât arrive too late.

âLandscaping costs a fortune nowadays,â said Edward. âJean was quite a find.â

We skirted the pond and headed for a bench.

âAnd how long has Nick been in your employment?â I asked. Ooh, listen to me, all formal. I was kind of getting the hang of talking posh, remembering everything Lady C had told me and trying to speak just like Abbey did.

Edward gave me a stare, as if to say: why so interested?

âDonât we all need to get our stories straight?â I stuttered. Looked like he might already suspect something was afoot between me and Nick â I wanted the public to do that, not disapproving Teddy.

Quick. Change the subject. âGoodness, itâs hot.â Without thinking, I kicked off my KMid shoes and headed towards a patch of bulrushes. I dipped a toe in the water, which was so clear it looked good enough to drink. A few small fish darted among the reeds. I plunged in the rest of my foot and squidged the sand on the bottom between my toes, just like I used to when me and Dad went fishing for tiddlers.

Ahhhhâbliss. Perhaps this would stop me feeling as if the midday sun was frazzling my brain. Lady C had offered me her sunhat, but per-lease. Wide-rimmed? Floral? Nothing was going to get me into that. Although perhaps I should have protected my grey cells, cos, aargh! What was I thinking? A lady would never complain about how she was feeling, let alone strip off and paddle in front of someone she didnât know well. In fact, Abbey once had toothache for a whole weekend without telling me. Stoicalâ¦that was the word Lady C mentioned. Brave face. Stiff upper lip and all that.

Quickly, I headed back to the bench and slipped on my shoes. The tall grasses hid us from the TV people hovering outside Applebridge Hall. I sat down. Edward gazed at me, a strange expression on his face.

âApologies,â I muttered. âI think the sun has gone to my head.â

âDonât stop paddling on my account,â he said, arms folded, the flicker of a smile on his lips.

âSo, about this Nickâ¦â I said, ignoring his comment.

âOnly just joined us,â replied Edward. âAs you know, Father and I have had to run the estate on a tight budget and only employed a gardening assistant for Jean temporarily, to spruce up the old place for the show. Heâs a bit young. Lacks experience, but heâs all we could get at short notice.â

I bit my thumbnail â oops, better drop that unladylike habitâand admired the scenery while we sat in silence. âDo you think the Baron is in with a good chance?â I said eventually.

Edward frowned. âHalf glass full, Abbey. We have to believe we can win. One mustnât let the ancestors down. Thatâs why Iâm doing everything I can â like the blog. Whatever it takesâ¦â His shoulders sagged and he stared across the pond, all of a sudden looking older than the Earl. I wanted to hug him. Noâ¦ random thought. I mean, he really wasnât my type.

âIâd better watch how I behave if youâre writing this online diary,â I said and smiled.

âOnly if you are worried what people think about you. But yes, I will be doing my best to give a truthful account of whatâs going on. People may not like my honesty, but I think itâs only fair to our supporters to tell it how it is.â

I tried to imagine his position. His home, his whole way of life was at stake. If the Croxleys lost this competition â everything he knew, everything he believed in would disappear.

âIâm sure you wonât let anyone down,â I murmured.

Another of those piercing gazes. âItâsâ¦jolly good to have you here, Cousin.â Then the brief glimpse of someone actually human disappeared and his voice hardened. âIt doesnât help anyone to get sentimental, though. We have our heritage to protect. Responsibilities to fulfil. Starting with an on-camera dinner at seven. Family friends are joining us â Viscount Hamilton-Brown, his wife and their daughter. Kathleen suggested Nick help her serve the food, for the cameras. We found tailcoats and a butlerâs jacket in the attic that he can wear. Itâs formal dress tonight.â He rolled his eyes. ââLarger-than-lifeâ seems to be Gaynorâs motto. I believe Mr Thompson shot some rabbits yesterday and, of course, dessert will include apples from the estate.â He cleared his throat and stood up. âTo the orchards. Father and the cameras will be waiting.â

I got to my feet. âCan you let me in on the secret announcement?â

âHavenât I already explained everything to your father?â He shook his head and strode off.

My mouth fell open. Almost tripping over clumps of grass, I caught him up.

âHey!â

He stopped and turned around, a bemused look on his face. Oh, dear. Iâd raised my voice.

âUm, I meanâ¦â I grabbed some long grass. âHayâ¦ this will make excellent hayâ¦ And, talking of rabbits, did you know eating hay prevents them from getting fur balls in their stomach? I, um, watch a lot of nature programmes.â

The top button of Edwardâs shirt had pinged open and I wondered how smooth his chest would feel if I slipped a finger through the gap. With a sigh, I realized Iâd have to try a lot harder to get into character.

âRemember, cousin, Iâm here to help,â I said, more softly. âIf we are to carry on this pretence that the family is close, despite the Earl having banished Daddy from the estate andâ¦â

âWhoa! Is that what your father told you?â His face screwed up into a frown.

âUm, not exactly,â I said sheepishly.

âThen you should keep your misguided opinions to yourself.â

âBut, wait a minuteâ¦ Edwardâ¦ The fact is, we havenât seen each other since I was nine. I demand that you keep me informed â Daddyâ¦ Daddyâs been very busy lately and probably just forgot to tell me about your plans. Remember, Iâm here to do you a favour. Applebridge Hall has little to do with my life. This charade is for your benefit alone.â Oops. I hadnât meant to sound that harsh.

His mouth twitched. Was he bemused? Appalled? Spoilt and too used to having his own way?

âYour fatherâs company, Croxley Catering, trades off our family name, doesnât it?â he finally muttered. âAll things considered, helping us is the least you can do.â

TouchÃ©. Still, Edward could have shown a little gratitude if we were to get on well over the next two weeks.

âAnyway,â he said, a muscle in his cheek twitching, âI tried to keep in touch with you, years ago â sent you and Rupert gifts. Yet I never received a reply.â

âDaddy wouldnât let us see them â said we were too young to understand the estrangement.â Thank God Lady C had told me about that.

Edwardâs brow smoothed out for a minute. âReally? I meanâ¦â His voice kind of wavered. âYou would have been interested in receiving them?â

I nodded. Abbey had often said what a pity it was she hardly knew Edward or the Earl â growing up, she wished theyâd sometimes met up. âI never forgot about my cousin Edward,â I said. âAnd Rupe would have fitted right in here. Heâs studying history of art and dreams of working for the National Trust one day.â

The strangest look crossed Edwardâs face and then his brow once again furrowed.

âLetâs get going; weâll be late,â he muttered and headed off. Jeez! He was the one who needed a crash course in politeness. I wondered if there was a male nobleâs version of PMT. The best way to get through the next fortnight was probably going to be to avoid Edward at all costs.

His stupid announcement could wait a few minutes. Iâd find myself a welcome drink. No doubt Kathleen had a jug of homemade lemonade or some country punch. However, Lord Edward had other plans.

âThis way, old girl,â he called after me as I veered towards Applebridge Hall. âDo keep up.â

Cheek! Heâd call me to âheelâ next.

Wiping perspiration from my forehead, I decided to follow him. No point causing upset on the first day of my stay. The lawns soon gave way to a path lined by brambles and nettles, as we left the overgrown area to the more orderly rows of apple trees. Out of nowhere, Roxy appeared by my side and Charlie, Gaynor and the camera crew came into view. They were set up, halfway down one row. Roxy stopped me for a moment and, before I knew it, had fitted a mic onto the collar of my blouse, threaded the wire underneath and clipped the battery pack onto the belt of my skirt.

âGaynor wants you to keep this on for the afternoon,â she said, as quickly as ever. âThe crew will follow you around while the Earl gives you a tour of the house. Itâs a chance for the viewers to see all the rooms again.â

Ahead, Gaynor fitted Edward with the same equipment â except she seemed to take longer, especially threading the wire into place under his shirt, and, to my annoyance, I felt an urge to do the same.

The Earl appeared and headed over to me, puffing on his pipe.

âLunch will be served after this, Abigail,â he said. âIt will give us the opportunity to exchange news.â There was no smile, no crinkly smiley eyes. He looked as if I was the last person he wanted here.

âThank you, Uncle,â I said and breathed in the smell of tobacco, glad Iâd not said âaceâ or âtaâ. Gaynor positioned me in between him and his son. I swatted away a cloud of tiny fruit flies.

âBig smiles, everyone,â ordered Gaynor, before giving a rusty smokerâs cough. âAbbey, darling, if you could pick one of those apples and hold it in front of youâ¦ Fabulous. Right, Charlie, letâs roll.â

Charlie gazed into the camera. âAnd here we are, folks, once again back at Applebridge Hall. Teddy, hereâ¦â Edward bristled ââ¦ Teddy has an announcement to make. Over to you, Lord Edward,â he said with a big smile.

The camera panned over to me, Edward and his dad.

âThe prize money we won for reaching the final has gone towards extending the kitchens, at the front of the left wing on the ground floor,â said Edward calmly. âWeâve built five work-stations to start with, that will enable us to run top-notch cookery classes â residential ones eventually, we hope, that will accommodate ten students at a time.â

The Earl muttered something about not having strangers kipping in his home.

âWe already have three locals eager to be the first students,â continued Edward. âOn Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays the doors shall open toâ¦ Applebridge Food Academy.â

âClassy stuff, Teddy,â said Charlie and clapped him on the back âSo, a kind of cookery school. And where does your cousin fit into this plan?â

âWith renowned caterer, the Honourable Richard Croxley, as her father,â he said, âAbbey has culinary talent in her blood. Applebridge Food Academy will be a traditional, family-run affair with her at the helm.â

âA kind of Mansion Masterchef,â said Charlie. âI love it! After all, cooking is the new sex! Viewers love gastronomy programmes. Your cousin could be the next Nigella, perhaps. So, Abbey, Chat with the Chingo â tell me what you think to teaching people how to cook posh nosh.â

Huh? I felt dizzy. Theyâd got it wrong. I was only here to serve scones in a coffee shop. Waitressing, that was my experience â plus I could nuke food in the microwave, prepare cold snacks and order takeaway. But wait a minuteâ¦ Cookery school? Thatâs what Abbey must have told Lady C about on the phone, that day in the park. The two of them knew!

My mouth went dry, knees weak, heart fastâ¦ Me, cook from scratch and instruct other people? Please donât say the future of Applebridge Hall depended on that!

LORD EDWARDâS E-DIARY

Saturday 1st September

âCommentsâ

3p.m. Good afternoon. Time for a quick appearance whilst my, um, cousinâ¦ recuperates after her journey. Naturally, I am pleased to see her. It meansâ¦an awful lot. Family is of paramount importance to Father and me. Indeed, it is with amusement and a touch of family pride that I can again observe Abigailâsâ¦ outspokennessâa true Croxley trait. However, itâs her cooking skills which shall be most significant over the next two weeks, and Iâm interested to see your comments about this morningâs poser question â do keep them coming until you discover the answer in tomorrow eveningâs programme.

Some of you have even put forward your own entrepreneurial concepts for us to follow. Knityourownmansion, Iâm intrigued by your idea of producing woollen earmuffs in the shape of apples. Tiarablogger, I like the idea of those cider flavours you suggested â although, utterly English as it sounds, Iâm not sure about apple, sage and onion.

Time to dash, but Lovehotnoble, let me first decline your kind gift proposal. On a purely practical note, I suspect the sequinned trim would chafe in all the wrong places. I do hope my frankness isnât offensive. Iâ¦where possibleâ¦always aim to tell the truth.

Chapter 4

Within minutes of this announcement I had one of my funny turns. Unsteadily, I wavered from side to side, before my body went into spasm. There was no need to call the doctor. Iâd suffered this before. The remedy was an afternoon in bed. Otherwise, I might have had to pull out of the showâ¦

Sounded believable, didnât it? And, sure enough, everyone in the orchard fell for my act, which was the only way I could cope with Edwardâs terrifying announcement about me being some cookery teacherâdistraction was the key, before Charlie asked me any awkward questions.

Yet I felt bad, putting on such a performance, which even Edward fell for after Iâd writhed for a few seconds in the soil. He and Kathleen whisked me into the house, my eyes half-shut but still managing to goggle at some fancy staircase leading up to the first floor. Once left alone in my bedroom, I turned on my front and groaned into the pillow.

Urgh. Cringe. Blush. Poor Kathleen had seemed mega concerned, deep lines forming around her eyes as sheâd tucked me in. But there was no way I could just stand in front of the camera after Edward dropped that bombshell. Gemma Goodwin run some cookery school? No way. After a minute or so, I sat up in bed and opened my eyes.

Forget my planned tour around Applebridge Hall. I needed the rest of the day to phone Lady C. I tugged off my mic. It was dark. Before leaving, Edward had gently pulled thick curtains around the â listen to thisâfour-poster bed. Stifled in the enclosed space, I drew them back.

Wow. The room was amazzzzzzinâ, with the wallsâ bottom half wood-panelled and the top painted plain red. In contrast, the ceiling was white and ornate. I bounced up and down for a moment. Talk about The Princess and the Pea - Iâd never been on such a high mattress. To my left was the door and opposite an en suite. I gazed around at a floral tapestry and an intricately carved fireplace. On the right was one of the huge windows Iâd seen from outside.

I picked up a glass of water from the bedside table. Mmm. I needed that.

Right. Time to ring Lady C. I reached for my handbag, which was on a wooden chest at the foot of the bed, next to a bowl of smelly pot pourri. On Lady Câs advice, Iâd bought a cheap phone and set it up with the name âAbbey Croxleyâ for her, as my supposed aunt, to contact me. Plus that meant I had a mobile to use out in the open, around Applebridge Hall. My real phone â my life! â with all of Gemma Goodwinâs contacts, was hidden in a pair of socks.

âPlease pick up,â I whispered, which she did, within seconds.

âHello, Gemma,â said Lady C in a small voice.

âYou knew! All about Applebridge Food Academy!â

âNow, calm down, dear, you seeâ¦â

âAnd Abbey! How could she not tell me, at least?â

âAbigail only found out that day in the park â her father failed to mention the details previously. He has such faith â quite rightly â in my nieceâs culinary talents that he didnât think it would be a big deal. Which, of course, it wouldnât, if it was actually her staying at Applebridge Hallâ¦â

âBut why didnât she warn me?â

Lady C sighed. âI, um, might have persuaded her not to â played down the whole âschoolâ bit. I said youâd no doubt have cooks doing the real workâ¦ And she was so wrapped up preparing for her African tripâ¦â Another sigh came down the line. âFrankly, dear, I didnât want you to change your mind. I apologise. That was selfish.â

âBut how did you think Iâd cope, once here?â

âWell, surely you can cook a bit, dear. Iâll help you choose the recipes. Weâll keep them simpleâ¦â

I shook my head in disbelief. Didnât she know that, nowadays, it wasnât the goal of every young woman to be a domestic goddess? That plenty, like me, considered the microwave a more important invention than the wheel?

âWeâve got tomorrow to plan the recipes, then?â she said, more firmly. âYour first class is on Monday?â

I gasped. âWhatâ¦ Noâ¦ I meanâ¦Youâre taking this seriously? But I canât cook, let alone teach. We need to think up some excuse, a good reason why I canât possibly do that job.â

âKeep calm and carry on,â was the answer that came down the line. âDonât arouse suspicion.â

âBut I canâtââ

âNo such word as âcanâtâ in a ladyâs vocabulary,â she interrupted â naughty! âIâm sure your culinary knowledge is better than you think.â

âOkay. Test me on a few cookery terms,â I said, determined to prove her wrong.

âBake blind.â

âWith my eyes shut?â I replied.

âBeat eggs,â Lady C ventured.

âThat seems mega cruel.â

âSkin a banana?â

âBarbaric!â I declared.

âFollow the recipe,â she said, hopefully.

âWhereâs it going?â

âTurn on the oven, Gemma?â

âHow? Call it hot stuff and flourish a whisk?â

A sigh came down the phone.

âLook, I can scramble eggs and bake a potato,â I said, âbut, honestly, thatâs about it.â

âHave they suspected youâre not Abigail yet?â

âI donât think soâ¦â

âThere you go,â said Lady C, voice brighter. âThings are off to a jolly good start. All we need to do is talk through some simple recipes.â

Which we did, for what felt like hours. The trouble was, Iâd never baked a cake and bought pastry ready-made. I got white sauce out of a jar and mistook broccoli for cauliflower. Finally, Lady C gave up and said sheâd call me early the following day. Overnight, sheâd study her cookery books, determined to find some impressive dishes that looked more complicated than they actually were.

My stomach gurgled loudly. I wasnât used to missing lunch and suddenly craved a kebab with a triple chocolate milkshake. Someone rapped at the door. I smoothed down my polo shirt.

âEnter,â I said, my voice a bit wobbly. Perhaps theyâd sussed out my fake collapse.

The door opened. Honey curls appeared and Edward walked in with my suitcase.

âYou look better,â he said, a brief flash of relief in his eyes. He put down my luggage. âNo doubt Kathleen will insist you have some of her Scotch Broth.â

âThank you, Cousin.â My cheeks burned. âUm, apologies for beforeâ¦â

âLetâs hope it doesnât happen again. Health problems donât make for good television. The Croxleys are old school. We donât get illâcertainly not in public.â

Huh? For a second, my shame evaporated! âThanks for the concern,â I said, unable to hide a strong hint of sarcasm that Iâd never heard Abbey use.

âYou might mean that when you hear Iâve persuaded Gaynor to cut that unsavoury scene from tomorrow nightâs show.â

Was he bonkers? That was good telly. âUm, Teddyâ¦â

He scowled.

âEdwardâ¦ Thatâs just the sort of footage that makes a reality show â according to my lodger, Gemma,â I hastened to add. âSheâs a big fan of that genre. From what I can gather, itâs the dramatic bits that gain viewers. Itâs not a serious illness and my, um, medication helps. Donât edit it out on my behalf.â

âI didnât, Abigail. Itâs to uphold the family reputation.â

âItâs Abbey,â I said, meeting his scowl.

âThroughout history, Croxley women have been strong,â he said and rubbed the back of his neck. âThey are stoic in the midst of war, resourceful during economic downturns, uncomplaining in the face of diseaseâ¦â His voice wavered. âYou only had to see the way my mother carried herself during her last months. It does our image no good to have you drop to the floor because youâ¦ you felt out of sorts.â

It could have been some serious brain condition, for all he cared. Yet my fists didnât curl for long as I reminded myself that I had been acting, plus Iâd noticed how the mention of his mum made his chin give a teeny wobble.

âYou must miss the Countess terribly,â I said. âWhen did sheâ¦?â

âDie?â His body stiffened. âIâm sorry that part of our family history has slipped your memory. Or perhaps your father never found it important enough to explain.â

Of courseâAbbey would have at least known that. Urgh. Poor bloke. My stomach twisted really tight.

âNoâ¦ I meanâ¦â I cleared my throat. âI was just going to ask: when did she first receive the diagnosis?â I guessed sheâd had the Big C. âFather didnât give me many details and, as you knowâ¦â blagging for my life, here ââ¦ with the estrangement between our parents, attending the funeral proved to be, sadly, quite impossible.â

âGranted.â His cheek twitched. âFrom start to finish, the cancer took three years to take her from Father and me. Two years next month sheâs been gone. Mother was only fifty-five.â

A lump rose in my throat as Edwardâs eyes looked all dull. Wow. How tragic. Nowadays, fifty-five was like the new forty. And if anyone knew what life was like without a mum it was me.

âHow old was she when your parents married?â I tucked a loose dyed blonde curl behind my ear. The Earl must have been a right sugar daddy.

âTwenty-three, I think. Father was forty-two.â

We sat in silence for a few seconds, before I rummaged in my handbag.

âMy hairbrushâit was in here earlierâ¦â I must have looked a right mess and totally unladylike. With a sigh, I pulled out all the pins, and locks of hair dropped around my face. Lady C would not have been impressed.

âHere,â said Edward in a gruff voice as he approached and slipped an elastic band from his wrist. He sat on the bed, turned me away from him and deftly twisted my hair at either side before tying it all together at the back with the elastic band.

âUmâ¦thank you so much,â I said and turned back to him, wondering why tingles ran up and down my spine.

âI used to do that for Mother,â he said in a quiet voice. âEspecially at the end, when she was bed-bound.â He stood up and cleared his throat. âKathleen will be up in a minute. Please be in formal dress and downstairs for seven sharp at the latest. Viscount Hamilton-Brown and his family will be here at six-thirty for drinks.â The door shut behind him.

What an oddball he was â one minute so gentle, the next abrupt and stand-offish.

I leapt off the bed to gaze out of the window. My bedroom was at the back of the house and looked down onto the cutest courtyard with fancy flower pots and intricate metal benches. Jean stood in the ornamental gardens, weeding flower beds. Nick was further away, working in a regimented vegetable patch. To the left was the maze Abbey had mentioned and in the distance was a forested area, just in front of which wasâ¦ I squintedâ¦grey headstones, fenced off. Ahaâthe family cemetery.

My eyes headed back to Nick. He looked shorter than Edward, with a stockier build and more cheerful face â less typically attractive than my supposed cousin, but there was a certain charisma, an air of being confident with women.

He called out something to Jean. She laughed and he grinned back. Nick would need a sense of humour if he was going to agree to my plan. How on earth was I going to catch the gardener alone and put forward my mega idea ASAP, i.e. before dinner tonight?

Another knock at the door interrupted my plotting and Kathleen entered with her yummy broth. Weird it was, calling her by her first name while she addressed me as Miss Croxley, but Lady C had drilled into me that etiquette about names and titles was especially important with staff. So, after Iâd done my best to convince her I felt fine and there was no need to worry, we talked about the eveningâs dinner. Like a nanny, Kathleen hovered until Iâd cleared the soup bowl and, thanks to her warm down-to-earth chat, tension seeped out of my shoulders and my bedroom began to feel more homely. For the first time I felt I could cope with two weeks living in this building.

After she left, I took a leisurely shower and changed into one of Abbeyâs smart black dresses. Its round neckline was modest but low enough to show a little shoulder. Freakily, it went down to the ground, covering every inch of my legs, although it had always looked kind of classy on Abbey. At least it had short sleeves, otherwise I might have really fainted from the heat.

I pinned up my hair again and put on Abbeyâs crystal necklace and matching earrings. I applied a small squirt of perfume and a subtle shade of eyeshadow, just like my best bud would. It was six-fifteen. My mouth felt dry. Ahead of me was a whole evening of pretending to be someone I wasnât. Inhale. Exhale. Feeling calmer, I left my bedroom and headed along a high ceilinged corridor, actually feeling rather grown-up and glamorous. Halfway down the winding mahogany staircaseâyay!âI bumped into Nick!

âMiss Croxley,â he said and gave a smile. Flecks of soil covered his T-shirt. âNice to see youâve recovered,â he said in a concerned voice.

âThank you. Kathleenâs broth has revived me.â I cleared my throat. âActually, I was hoping to catch you.â

He raised one eyebrow.

âAbout earlier,â I said. âMe pretending that you and I spent time together last yearâ¦â

Nick held up the palm of his hand. âPlease, Miss Croxley. I get it. Weâve all been briefed about how we need to make it look as if you are a regular visitor.â

âItâs not just thatâ¦ Can I be quite frank? May I speak to you in confidence?â

âNo problem, Miss.â Nickâs eyes twinkled and I couldnât help smiling â which was great. Iâd always been won over by blokes who could make me laugh. A good sense of humour beat looks for me every time. I mean, there was only so much a six-pack could do after a crap day at work, whereas a jokeâ¦

âThank you, Nick. Itâs just thatâ¦ According to Roxy, Applebridge Hall isnât the favourite to win. She suggestedâ¦ Please do excuse the phraseâ¦that somehow the Croxley familyâ¦forgive me, but, um, sex things up.â

His eyes widened.

A bubble of laughter tickled inside my chest. Oh, Godâmustnât laugh. In fact, thinking about it, this wasnât funny at all. I was putting myself on the line here â my true identity might well and truly be rumbled. âI know â itâs a terribly crass idea, but I want to do everything possible to help my family. So, I was thinking that, wellâ¦â How would he take this? Be offended? Amused? Or suss out straight away that Iâm no real aristocrat? ââ¦ a secret affair between a Croxley and a member of staff might improve ratings.â

Nickâs mouth fell open. âAre you proposing, Miss, that you and Iâ¦?â

My heart raced. âExactly. It would be purely for the cameras, of course, and more suggestion than action. It pains me to resort to such tactics, but my familyâs heritage is at stake.â

I waited, imagining the disdain of Edward if heâd been listening, hoping that I was right in thinking that good-humoured Nick was the opposite of judgemental. The gardener stared for a moment and scratched his unshaven chin, which was kind of sexy and something youâd never find on Lord Clean-cut, Edward.

âThe Baron of Marwick sure is tough competition,â said Nick. âHe also announced his plans to win this afternoon. The Castle has been set up to host weekend medieval hen and stag nights, with banquets held in the dungeons. I bet theyâll get pretty crazy. During the week, heâll host corporate team-building trips, incorporating archery and shooting. It all soundsâ¦â

I sighed. âAwfully sexy.â Oops â that wasnât something Abbey would ever say.

âYeah, butâ¦ A Croxley mixing it up with a gardener? Someone who works on the land?â His eyes narrowed. âYou canât possibly be related to Lord Edward if youâre suggesting such a thing.â

I swallowed hard. Surely I hadnât misjudged Nick so badlyâ¦

âYouâd better show me some form of ID, Miss,â he said, âbefore I say something to the Earl.â

LORD EDWARDâS E-DIARY

Saturday 1st September

âCommentsâ

6.15p.m. Thank you, but no, Lovehotnobleârubber trim would probably be equally uncomfortable.

Now, duty calls â I must hurry to greet our guests. Just a quick word to say that Abigailâ¦ How long Iâve waited to see her face. I mean, erm, of course, itâs only been months since our last meeting, but neverthelessâ¦ To have her here finallyâ¦ At Applebridgeâ¦ Itâs smashing.

Right. Anyway. Really must go. Dinner awaits.

Chapter 5

Nick and I couldnât stop laughing. Mega phew! For one minute I really believed heâd seen through my disguise and was after a peek at my passport.

âDesperate times call for desperate measures,â I said eventually. âBut honestly, Nick, I perfectly understand if you think this ideaâ¦improper.â After all, laughs aside, this was all an act to me but it was Nickâs real life â he could lose his job.

I caught sight of a designer logo on the bottom of his T-shirt and recognized his cologne as an expensive brand Iâd once sniffed when out with a boyfriend. Nick struck me as a bit glam for a gardener.

âConsider me in, Miss,â he said.

âYouâre sure?â I raised my eyebrows, giving him one last chance to back out. Although I could sense that, unlike Edward, a major drive in Nickâs life was fun; I reckoned we would really get along.

âOne hundred per cent!â he said. âHow do you suggest we get things started?â

âSlowly.â I backed up against the crimson-painted wall, as Nick had leant forward to keep our voices and plans ultra secret. âPerhaps a look here, a touch there â although, having said that, we only have two weeks.â Footsteps sounded from the bottom of the staircase.

âBetter get things moving, then,â whispered Nick. âA friend of mine knows a Z-list celebrity who trades off winding up photographers that heâs having all sorts of affairs. His specialty is this dud kiss â I can show you if you like. Weâll need to practiceâ¦â

Before I knew it, heâd placed a hand over my mouth and bowed forward to snog his knuckles. But still, it wasnât a bad ideaâfrom behind him it must have looked mega realistic. And Nick did smell good. It was a while since Iâd been this close to a man, especially one who had no ulterior motive. With easy-going Nick, it felt kind of comfortable, untilâ¦. uh oh! I could hardly breathe now, seeing as heâd taken me by surprise and Iâd had no time to fill my lungs with air.

âUnhand her, you scoundrel!â hissed Edward, whoâd appeared from downstairs. He climbed the steps towards us, two at a time, appearing even taller than usual. Nick backed off immediately and I gasped for breath.

âWhat the hell do you think youâre doing, man?â Eyes blazing, Edward grabbed the gardenerâs shoulder. âPack your things this instant and leave. I wonât have you disrespect my cousin!â

âLook, Edward,â I said, heart thumping, âlet me explainâ¦â Wow, no one had ever rushed to my side to protect me. My brothers and dad thought me well capable of looking after myselfâwhich I was. But stillâ¦ This mansion must have brought out the damsel in me!

A few minutes later a snarl still crossed Edwardâs lips as he stared at Nick. âTell me that again, Cousin. And youâd better hurry upâ¦â He glanced at his watch. âItâs almost six-thirty. Our dinner guests have been shown in and are waiting for us.â

âNick, um, used to be a dental technician,â I said, repeating the rapidly made-up excuse while trying not to ogle my supposed cousin in his tux. âOne of my teeth was hurting and Nick very kindly agreed to take a look.â

Knights in shining armour were all very well, but jeez, Edward obviously didnât believe in the process of verbal or written warnings before firing staff members. Although it was kind of sweet. My heart still beat madly. Iâd always found loyalty to family and friends mega attractive.

I stared from Edward to Nick, who stood like two spitting hyenas. Perhaps they had more in common than I suspected. Yet, heroics aside, I reckoned Edward would be much harder to live with than laidback, up-for-a-laugh Nick.

âYep, Miss Croxleyâs, erm, got an ulcer,â said the gardener and folded his arms. âSeems like Your Lordship got the wrong end of the stick. So, if youâll excuse me, I must change into my outfit to help out at dinner.â Nick turned to me and winked. âIâd gargle with salt water, miss,â he said, and disappeared up the stairs.

âWas he bothering you?â said Edward.

âNot at all.â I moved away from the wall and brushed down my dress.

âStay away from Nick,â said Edward. âHeâs a shifty chap.â

âWith respect, Cousin, who are you to order me around?â Well, Abbey often demonstrated that being a lady wasnât about being a doormat. It was awesome, listening to her on the phone if someone dared call pretending to be our energy company or acting as if they could give her a better mortgage deal.

Edwardâs eyes narrowed. âThereâs something in his expressionâa total lack of respect.â

Yeah, well, not everyoneâs in awe of the aristocracy.

âRight, Abigail, letâs go downstairs,â he said, his tone bringing an abrupt end to the incident. âViscount Hamilton-Brown and his family have waited long enoughâ¦along with the camera crew and production staff,â he added, a hint of resignation tainting his voice.

I took a deep breath. This dinner party was the first real test of whether I could behave like a lady. If I couldnât get through this evening without embarrassing myself, then there was no point carrying on with the whole charade. We walked down to the ground floor and came to a door at the front right hand side of the house. It seemed strange, Nick going to the top floor to change, but Lady C had explained that, despite the phrase âupstairs and downstairsâ, at different points in history it was nothing strange for servants to live âup in the godsâ. In fact sheâd crammed a lot of information into a few days, including a summary of European royals â ooh, of all the places to live, glam Monaco was now top of my list.

âThatâs the Low Drawing Room,â said Edward. âPerhaps you remember it from your last visit.â

âCousinâ I was only nine.â Without asking, I ducked inside for a moment and spied furniture with carved animal legs â how amazinâ! And just look at the mega detailed fireplace and classy chandelierâ¦ However, the spooky grandfather clock creeped me out and seemed better suited to the set of a haunted house horror film.

On closer inspection, I could see that the rugs were worn and wall carvings chipped. Plus the tiled floor was cracked, the tapestries faded and one corner of the ceiling showed signs of damp. It was like stepping back in time, what with no telly or computer and no comfy bean bag or gaming chair to chill out on.

âThis used to be where the Croxleys received run-of-the-mill guests,â he said. âVIPs were received upstairs, in the High Drawing Room.â

âLike who?â I said.

âDepends on the eraâ military men, politicians, foreign statesmen, people from the world of entertainmentâ¦ Noel Coward, the playwright, visited my great-grandparents â like him, they adored jazz.â

We left the room and made our way down a dark mahogany-panelled corridor, eventually coming to another door, on the right.

âThat leads to the library,â said Edward, âwhich is oppositeâ¦â we entered a room on the left ââ¦the Drake Diner.â

Wow. It stretched across the back of the house, with patio doors opening onto the cute courtyard. I gawped at the oak panelling all the way up to the ornate ceiling and admired the family coat of arms and gold-framed landscapesâ¦ Iâd never been in a place like this without a ticket and tour guide. Feeling as out of place as a pop star at the Proms, I fiddled with my watch. Edward glanced sideways.

âYou look, um, quite satisfactory, Cousin,â he said. âCome onâlet me introduce you to our friends.â

Jeez, Edward was in no danger of overdoing the compliments! But I was beginning to realize that, with him, less was more. And at least he was no different with anyone else. This included the gushing Mrs Viscount â yes, I really did call her that â well, Iâd never come across the word, apart from when Dad used to buy these wrapped minty chocolate biscuits. How was I supposed to know it was âViscountessâ? Edward announced that her brooch was âan interesting sizeâ and then commented on the Viscountâs âunusualâ tie. Yet a large dollop of charm did appear when he talked to their sophisticated daughter, the Honourable Henrietta Hamilton-Brown. Edward admired her brunette hair, swept up into a high bun. He said it looked âdelightfulââthen ruined it by chatting to her about the state of the Euro. Borrrrrring.

âItâs super to meet some of your wider family, James,â said the Viscountess to the Earl as we sat at the long dining table in padded tapestry chairs.

I squished back comfortably and did my best not to stare at the big fluffy mic the sound guy had just manoeuvred over our heads. âJamesâ sat at one end of the table, in between the Viscount â Ernest, as he insisted I call him â and his wife, Annabel. Next to her was Henrietta, with me and Edward opposite. My Uncle Pete would have loved this table for pasting his wallpaper on. It must have seated, oohâ¦ at least twenty toffs.

I tipped my chair back (a habit Iâve always had) and smiled across at Annabel. Right, time to have a crack at conversation. I didnât fancy politics or the recession. That left personal stuff and the weather.

âHave you had to travel far this evening?â I asked.

âOnly for an hour,â she said. âThe last half of the journey was through such heavenly countryside.â

âWe adore visiting here,â said Henrietta and beamed at Edward. âTell me, whatâs the state of apple prices this year? Are they still in the doldrums because of the economic downturn?â

I did my best to look brainy as they discussed, in great detail, when it would be best to bring contract workers into the orchards. Henriettaâs comments sounded so eloquent. How delicately she sipped her wine. He even let her straighten his tie. Jeez, she was like some automated Stepford wife!

âAnd howâs the car boot business?â she said.

âNot bad,â said Edward. He caught my eye. âI rent out the acres of land that stretch to the left, behind the maze.â

âAh, for that summer rock festival?â I said.

âYes. Plus several funfairs that tour through here each year.â

âAnd a bloominâ mess they make as well,â interrupted the Earl, a grimace contorting his jowls.

Edward sighed. âBut needs must, Father. Along with renting out the land for car boot sales, it brings in something of a steady income.â

âSounds like a lot of work to organise,â I said.

âWhen it comes to this estate, Edward is terribly industrious.â Henrietta smiled. âWhen he inherits, thereâs no doubt in my mind that he will do his ancestors and the Croxley tradition proud.â

Youâd think such a compliment would bring a smile to his face. Instead, Edward loosened his tie and bit his lip, his eyes dulling for a second. However, the moment soon passed and, as the two friends chatted, my ears perked up at the mention of a Lieutenant Robert Mayhew.

âIs that the Lieutenant Robert Mayhew?â I said, interrupting their conversation â soz, Lady C, but I couldnât contain my interest. âMy, umâ¦ flatmate Gemma calls him âthe Forces Pin-upâ. Didnât he make it back from Afghanistan, despite gun wounds and second degree burns?â

Henrietta smiled. âEdward went to school with Robert. They are the best of friends.â

âSuch a courageousââ read that as gorgeous ââperson,â I said, âreturning to that burning vehicle.â

Edward smiled. âOnly a madman like Rob would go back in when he was drenched in fuel. Apart from his helmet, Robâs uniform was in ashes by the time heâd hauled everyone else out.â

âTerribly modest about it all, wasnât he?â I said.

Edward shrugged. âHe says, just like thousands of other troops, he was simply doing his job.â

âHeâs organized a big charity ball next month,â said Henrietta, âto raise money for injured soldiers. Heâll be pleased to see you there, Edward.â

âIt should be a wonderful evening,â said Annabel.

âDamn brave lad,â said the Earl. Ernest grunted his agreement.

âI remember the first time I met him,â said Henrietta. âIt was at your twenty-first birthday party, Edward; do you remember?â

âRob was home on leave and danced with anything in a skirt. Even Dundee Douglas, whoâd put on his kilt.â

âYour mother always thought him a decent chap,â said the Earl to Edward, âeven when he led you astray at school by suggesting you skip school for the cinema. Rosemary wouldnât hear a bad word against him.â

Henrietta put her hand on Edwardâs. A display of emotion like that, in public, must have meant they were really good friends, or evenâ¦? For some reason, an uncomfortable twinge niggled my stomach.

âPoor you, Edward,â she said. âThose afternoons at the pictures couldnât have possibly been your idea.â

âSon?â The Earl raised his eyebrows. âAll these years poor Robert took the blame?â

Edward grinned and rubbed the back of his neck.

My stomach tingled. A smile on Edwardâs lips was a rare thing and, for a few seconds, made him look a decade younger. Just then, in tailcoats and a butlerâs jacket, Nick entered through a door from the left hand side and the pantry, cellars and kitchens. Heâd combed his hair over into a greased-down side-parting and winked at me as if to say: âthis geeky look is deliberateâ. His hand brushed against mine as he poured my wine. Clearly, he took my Plan Sex-up seriously. Edward stared at me, only turning away when the starter arrived. I swallowed. This was going to be hard â clinically putting on a show, pretending not to care what other people thought about my actions or about me.

âAsparagus?â Henrietta put her napkin on her lap. âMy favourite. Kathleen really is a treasure. I assume she froze these, freshly picked from your garden. What a joy to eat them out of season.â

Phew! Good thing Lady C had taught me how to eat these green monstrosities that looked like witchâs fingers. They lay on a bed of lettuce and were sprinkled with chopped red stuff. I picked one up. Euw. There was only meant to be sauce on the ends but these were slippery all over and had obviously beenâ¦â

âMarinated,â said Henrietta, daintily cutting them up with a knife and fork. âQuite lovely.â

âHave you been away on holiday this year, Annabel?â I said, hoping no one saw me quickly wipe my fingers on a napkin.

While she described her mega Caribbean cruise, I dug into my starter, suddenly starving, doing my best to chew with my mouth closed and not talk with it full. My only faux pas (impressive, eh? Lady C even taught me French) was eating the bed of lettuce. Well, how was I to know it was a garnish? Perhaps the rabbit dish would be easier. Certainly it smelt yummy, with gravy-covered chunks of meat, served with mushrooms, roasted cherry tomatoes and baby onions.

âNo haggis tonight, then? Thatâs a change,â said Annabel. Eyes twinkling, she glanced at me. âKathleen is fiercely proud of her Scottish roots.â

âShe is making a special effort to cook English meals for the cameras,â said the Earl. âNo doubt in two weeks it will be back to normal.â

âWhatever that will be,â muttered Edward. He cleared his throat. âSo, tell me, Henrietta, all about this local animal charity you have recently become patron of.â

Carefully I chewed each morsel and, without dribbling, managed to chat to the Viscountess (Mrs Minty Chocolate Biscuit). We swapped opinions about the Royals (K-Mid of course and the awesome Diamond Jubilee celebrations). It couldnât have gone better until I plunged my fork into one of the tiny onions.

I caught its side and the shiny ball flew into the air, at speed, across the table. Shiiit. It landed right on top of Henriettaâs head and, like an egg in a nest, settled in her bun. The camera zoomed in. Eerily, everyone stayed silent. No one swore or shrieked. Clearly, they knew Lady Câs rule about staying as cool as a cucumber. I glanced at the Earl, who had put down his pipe.

It was no good. If I suppressed the gigantic giggle inside me any longer Iâd spontaneously explode. Oh, Godâ¦ Here it cameâ¦ A snort escaped my lips. Then, nearby, Nick cracked and that really set me off as I spied his crinkly, watering-with-laughter eyes. For several seconds we were the only ones laughing, until Henriettaâs face scrunched up to release a high-pitched giggle. Next, Ernest and Annabel crumbled. Even Edwardâs face broke into a grin. He removed the onion while Henrietta whispered something to him about not making a fuss. The Earl shook his head.

âI canât apologize enough,â I stuttered. Must control myself in front of the camera.

âDo you play golf, Abigail?â said the Earl. âBecause I suspect youâd be a whizz at landing a hole-in-one.â For the first time since my arrival he smiled at me properly, eyes all shiny.

Nick cleared away the plates and announced pudding would be simple apple pie â cue a massive sigh of relief from me. However, the Hamilton-Browns teased me relentlessly and ducked for cover when I reached for coffee sugar lumps. Even Henrietta kept giving me grins, so perhaps I could forgive her for being perfect and not spilling a drop of gravy on her silk blouse.

âHow wonderful that you are heading up the Applebridge Food Academy, Abigail,â said Annabel as she unwrapped an after-dinner mint.

âPlease â call me Abbey.â I tipped my chair backwards. âYes, itâs, um, a challenge, no doubt about that.â One that Iâd rather block out, for the moment. Otherwise, the temptation to go on the run would win.

âOur last chance, thatâs what it is,â muttered the Earl and puffed on his pipe. âA great deal is hanging on Abigailâs expertise.â

No pressure, then.

âReverend White is attending Mondayâs first course, as well as a teacher from the high school in town,â continued the Earl. âAlso, my accountantâan enthusiastic womanâ¦ We thought just three students was a sensible number for starters.â

Roxy walked past in the background and stopped chewing sweets long enough to pull a face. She was right. I needed to focus. Catapulted onions were hardly sexy. The camera crew had gone into the kitchens to film the staff. This was my chance to find Nick, get him on camera next to me and instigate Plan Sex-up. Deep in thought, I tipped back on my chair again.

There was an ear-splitting crack as the wooden legs collapsed. Ankles over head, I crashed onto my back. Fuck! I must have flashed my sequinned scarlet thong, having refused, point blank, to borrow Abbeyâs big pants. This was more Porno than Sex-up.

âAre you all right, Abbey?â asked Henrietta, on her feet. âPoor you â I bet that hurt. At least the cameras have gone.â

Edward reached my side quicker than a bullet out of Mr Thompsonâs gun. Gently he sat me up and made sure no bones were broken. Then, straight away, cheeks flushed, he backed off and examined the chair. Nick helped me to my feet.

âThe two back legs are completely ruined,â Edward announced after a quick glance at me rubbing my back. âItâs a shame. This is a matching antique set.â

For some reason, my eyes felt all watery. I couldnât help thinking he was more worried about permanent damage to the furniture than me.

âIâm okay,â I mumbled to everyone else. Lady C hadnât prepared me for such a situation and Iâd never seen Abbey spreadeagle her legs in the air.

Edward didnât look at me again, cos I was probably some mega embarrassment â one that felt about as small as the flying onion.

âAlthough my back is, um, a tad sore,â I said, annoyed at the wobble in my voice.

âYouâve probably bruised it,â said Henrietta, voice still full of concern.

âDo we keep painkillers in the house, Uncle?â My cheeks burnt. I had to get out of here. This bonkers pretence was over. It would be best to quit before I let Abbey down any more. I couldnât even behave like a lady for the length of one fancy dinner.

âKathleen has a supply in the kitchen,â he said and nodded in that direction. âShall I ring for a couple?â

âNo, Iâll, um, stretch my back and walk the long way around, through the front of the house. Please, everyone, do excuse me. Apologies, once again, for the disturbance.â

Still rubbing my back, I left the dining room and headed along the dark corridor, back past the Low Drawing room. With a groan, I slumped at the bottom of the staircase. Aarghh! That could not have been more humiliating. Actually, it could â thank God Iâd not gone commando to avoid visible panty lines. But then maybe that would have got some reaction out of those po-faced Croxley men. So much for Edward being a knight in shining armour.

With a sigh, I stood up and walked to the other side of the building, past another winding staircase. Edward had told me that here was the newly converted kitchen area installed for the Food Academy and, curiously, I went in. Talk about fancy.

With a sniff, I inspected the white-washed room and its five new workstations, one extra at the front where the teacher (thatâs me) would demonstrate her skills. They were basic, each with a silver sink, cooker and cutlery, plus cupboards well stocked with pans, sieves and graters. It was the only part of the house Iâd seen, so far, that showed no hint of its noble status. A door at the back must have led to the pantry and cellars and real kitchen, where Kathleen cooked for the house. On tiptoe, I let myself in.

Sure enough, Kathleen and Mr Thompson sat at a large table, mugs in front of them, dead pheasants by the estate managerâs feet. In front of a rolling camera, they chatted about how self-sufficient the estate was. Elvis Presley music played from an old-fashioned tape cassette machine on one of the units. Whilst huge, this kitchen was much more homely, with pine units, a huge scratched table and cross-stitch pictures on the walls. A whiff of baked pastry and fruit cut through the air. It was dark outside now. Nick had taken off his butlerâs coat and was downing a glass of water. He winked and joined me at the back of the kitchen, by the dishwasher. The cameraman and sound guy faced our direction but remained focused on Mr Thompson and the cook.

âPerhaps,â he muttered, âthis is an ideal opportunity to do something romantic â weâll get caught in the background of this shot.â

âNo, you seeâ¦ Itâs all a mistake, me at Applebridge Hall, and Iâve changed my miââ

âShh!â said Nick, eyes a-twinkle, and crept behind me, expensive cologne overpowering the smell of apple pie. He snaked his arms around my waist, before nuzzling my neck. Oohâspiky unshaven cheeks. Iâd always liked the feel of thatâ¦ Finally, the gardener drew away and winked as he walked back to Kathleen and Mr Thompson. Back to my senses, I hurtled out of the room.

So much for Lady Câs Three Ms â Modesty (thong flashed), Manners (rocketing onion) and No Men (unsightly stubble marks on my neck). At this rate Iâd leave Abbeyâs reputation in tatters. It was over. Iâd leave Applebridge tonight, before I made an even bigger fool of myself and lost lovely Nick his job. Run, girl, run!

LORD EDWARDâS E-DIARY

Saturday 1st September

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11.45p.m. Thank you for your interest today, blog-readers. Hereâs one last comment from me before hitting the hay. This eveningâs dinner has not been without incident and, after an hour or so of reflection, I can only conclude that my cousin will bring more to Million Dollar Mansion than I ever imagined.

Of course, I knew she would as we, um, are a jolly close family. However, Iâd forgotten the moreâ¦spontaneous side to her nature. Itâs reminiscent of my dear mother, who used to say, like sweet apple with pork, like cranberry jelly with turkey, she compensated for the stodgier aspects of my father and me.

However, what has flummoxed me is that an accident occurred tonight â nothing serious â but it surprised me how much Iâ¦ If anything bad had happened toâ¦ Forgive me â the extra glass of port I drank must be responsible for this rambling. Itâs just that the power of shared DNA has a lot to answer forânothing else could explain the strength of a new, unexpected feelingâ¦

Knityourownmansion, many thanks â thereâs no doubt the Earl would very much like to receive a knitted mohair pipe through the post.

Drunkwriter, thank you for gracing us with your presence again, and Iâm sure youâll understand why I had to moderate your comment â references to parts of the anatomy arenât for the everyone, however poetic.

Cupcakesrock, you hope that the answer to my poser question is the Croxley Coffee Shop? And Blogger569, I like your suggestion of us producing cider with cloves and orange â no doubt it would sell well at Christmas. I hope you both watch tomorrowâs show and approve of the poser questionâs answer.

Right. Good. Done for the day. Sleep well, all.

Chapter 6

Ever declared to the world that youâre starting a diet, but then eaten three bacon sarnies, one multi-pack of crisps, two pizzas and a family-sized tube of cookies? Then youâll understand why I didnât leave Applebridge Hall last night, despite my, um, dramatic announcement. As I was about to go upstairs, the Earl appeared. In a gruff voice, he asked how I was and patted my shoulder. Apparently, everyone was worried Iâd feel too embarrassed to return to the dinner table. Mouth open, I listened as he muttered some story about his trousers falling down at a charity fund-raiser. It was nineteen ninety-five and gave him the push to finally ditch braces. Perhaps these Croxley men did have more running through their veins than stand-offish, cool tradition.

I yawned, having just got up, showered and carefully selected one of Abbeyâs outfits. It had a definite KMid feel, with the immaculate skinny jeans (okay, a bit of a squeeze on me) and white T-shirt. If I went out later, there was a short grey jacket to go with it, which was okay, but I was already missing wearing black â and especially my face bronzer.

My phone rang. I sat down on the four-poster bed (love saying that) and grabbed my mobile from the bedside table.

âHiya. Yeah, Iâm okay. Dinner? Umâ¦Fineâthere were no problems.â Hope Lady C didnât notice my voice suddenly squeak. Even though the truth would worry her, there was clearly no way sheâd agree to me leaving the mansion now. So it was best to spare her the gory details of the astronaut onion and dress-above-waist faux pas. âSo have you chosen the menu I should demonstrate tomorrow, in my first lesson?â I grabbed my handbag from the foot of the bed and rummaged inside it. Finally, I pulled out a pen and a scrunched up tissue â that would have to do for writing down the ingredients.

âRightâ¦ An apple theme? What a mega idea, what with the orchards! Okay, Apple and English blue cheese salad to startâ¦â I said, scribbling furiously. Yay for ingredients that wouldnât even need cooking! âPork and apple stew for the main, okayâ¦â Chucking everything into a pot seemed doable. âAnd baked apples for pudding?â Lady C said I should avoid cake or pastry-making for my first session and to say Iâd chosen something less challenging, for âthe sake of the studentsâ.

I kept the call brief, worried I might let slip about my kitchen-smooch with Nick. Also, I had a mega busy day ahead â the Earl was giving me an on-camera tour of the top floor late afternoon, then, at eight, weâd all watch the first Sunday episode of Million Dollar Mansion: the Final. It was the first opportunity the Croxleys had to see exactly how the smarmy Baron of Marwick had spent his twenty-five thousand quid. And it was my first chance to get a good look at the opposition.

Ingredients list in hand, I headed down to the kitchens to see if I would need to visit a supermarket. Kathleen greeted me with a warm smile. I felt bad tweaking the truth and telling her I was late up due to my back still aching. Despite her motherly protests, I insisted on simply munching an apple for breakfast (I couldnât face the Croxleysâ usual sausage and black pudding). The cook took the piece of tissue and skimmed the items.

âNot bad choices,â she said, âalthough I could recommend some hearty Scottish dishes. I mean, if they were good enough for the Queen Motherâ¦â Ten minutes later she was still describing weird-sounding dishes like Skink Soup and Clap shot! I smiled sheepishly. That Queen Mum thing was a random comment. Perhaps even the staff here were posh and she used to know royalty.

With a flourish, she opened the pantry door and seemed pleased with my gasp of amazement.

âWe never run out of anything here,â she said and wiggled her generous bosom.

It was as if the Croxleys had their own corner shop, what with the massive bags of flour, tubs of seasoning, rows of cereals, pickles and preservesâ¦ The freezers were chock-full of meat theyâd bought from local farmers. Kathleen took out some pork and showed me all the fruit and veg I needed. Plus the fridgeâs selection of cheese was awesome and even included the English blue for my salad, which was apparently Viscount Hamilton-Brownâs favourite.

âRightâ¦ Iâll lunch alone, downstairs with the computer,â I told her as she shut the fridge door. âI must brush up my knowledge of, um, reality TV shows and how they work.â

âOch, thatâs true dedication â good on you,â she said, eyes crinkling at the corners.

I smiled back, having bent the truth again. More likely Iâd be surfing YouTube clips about the basics of cooking. Part of the twenty-five thousand the Croxleys won had been spent on a long-awaited Internet connection. Although Kathleen tutted at the idea of on-line shopping, proudly declaring that Mr Thompson drove her into town twice a week and that the fishmonger and milkman delivered to the doorstep.

Several hours later, eyes twitching from staring at the screen and the artificial light in the cellars, I leant back in the chair â then immediately leant forward again, not wanting to risk snapping another piece of furniture. The time jumped out at me from the bottom of the screen â eek! Quarter to five already. I logged off and scurried past racks of wine, up the whitewashed stairs and into the kitchen.

âIâd better get upstairs for this tour,â I said to Kathleen who, wooden spoon in hand, was swaying to her Elvis Presley music. I glanced down at my culottes. âDo you think I should change into somethingâ¦grander?â

âOch, lassie, you look lovely,â said Kathleen and wiped her hands on her apron. âI donât think the viewers expect us to look too glamorous.â She pulled a face. âWeâll leave anything tacky, like that to that pompous numpty, the Baron of Marwick. Ee, I cannot think of anyone less aristocraticâ¦â

My stomach twinged. Try the real me for starters.

I left the smell of baking biscuits, headed out of the kitchen and towards the staircase. Then I climbed the steps, trying to get my bearings. As Iâd found out yesterday, the ground floor housed the Low Drawing Room and library on the right, the Drake Diner in the middle and on the left, the kitchens. On the middle floor, were the family dining room and their lounge, known as the Parlour, then family and guest bedrooms and the High Drawing Room.

Panting slightly, I climbed another flight of stairs, right up to the second floor, at the top. This was where my tour would start and was home to something called the Long Gallery, plus the rooms where the staff slept.

âGood afternoon, Abbey,â said the Earl, in his tweed suit. He stood next to Gaynor and Roxy, who chatted to the cameraman. âI do hope you slept well. Kathleen said you were spending the day preparing for tomorrow.â He sucked on his pipe. âThatâs the attitude. Jolly good show, girl. Although I still think this cookery school idea is a load of nonsenseâ¦â

I smiled though his smoke and gazed the length of what was a mega wide corridor. In fact, it was more like a room, really, with doors to the staff bedrooms lining one side, on the left, and large windows on the rightâthe very back of the house. Plus there were a lot of pictures hanging.

âRight, darlings, letâs get this show on the road,â said Gaynor in her husky smokerâs voice, with a determined flick of her black bob. âLord Croxley, if you could remember that this tour is for the viewers as well, that would be fabâ¦â

He pursed his mouth. âDonât worry â Iâll try to make it interesting.â

Roxy managed to smile at me while still chewing the sweet sheâd just popped in her mouth and gave the thumbs-up as the Earl started walking.

âIâve never cared much for this marble fireplace,â he said gruffly and pointed to a middle section of the long wall, in between two bedrooms. âAlthough Trigger, my fatherâs gundog, loved nothing better than to stretch out in front of it, following an afternoon at the shootâ a treat for the old mutt as he was rarely allowed in the house.â

I nodded, adjusting the micâs battery pack clipped onto my culottes, under my blouse, that Roxy had quickly helped me fit. Apparently the lapel mics were better if you were walking about.

âSo, this is the Long Gallery?â I said â cue the Earl to duly chat about its features. At the far end stood two buckets and there was a slightly musty whiff in the air.

âA couple of the bedrooms up here donât belong to the staff and havenât been entered for years,â muttered the Earl. I waited for some mysterious reason as to why not but he just carried on walkingâRoxy pulled a face and yawned.

Urgh â she was right, this footage would be mind-numbingly boring. Shame, cos I thought this floor was pretty amazinâ. The windows were mega, with shelves below them for seats. In between hung portraits of all sorts of people. Impressive chandeliers dangled from the ceiling and gave me a sudden urge to swing on them. I shivered, despite the summer temperature outside, wondering how many thousands of pounds it would cost to install central heating. The Earl was making points about the history of the interior design, which wouldnât grab the attention of your average viewer. Finally, he stopped still in front of a portrait and puffed on his pipe. It was of a middle-aged bloke in a dinner suit, who sat by bookshelves, dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose. The manâs shoulders sagged as if someone had anchored his cuffs into stormy waters.

âGoodness, he looks, um, terribly serious,â I said. âWho was he, Uncle? Some important politician who knew our ancestors? Or perhaps a film star who visited? He looks as if he could play a believable stern villain.â

The Earlâs cheeks flushed. âThatâs Papa.â

âOhâ¦umâ¦â I stuttered.

âReally, Abigail,â he said. âIâm surprised you donât recognize your grandfather.â

Suddenly desperate to bite my thumbnail, I swallowed hard.

âThis was painted just after the Second World War,â he continued. âI was only eight but remember it like yesterday. Papa didnât budge an inch for hours, when he sat for the artist. Impressiveâbut then he was made of strong stuff.â

I studied the manâs hair, greased above the ears and black. Perhaps the Earl had looked like this as a young man.

âIt was painted just after Applebridge Hall returned to our possession. As you know, this place was requisitioned as a home for children during the war. We still lived here as a family, but evacuees from London were billeted with us.â

Abbey hadnât told me that! Wow. Awesome.

âThe family struggled to bring it back to its former glory after those little blighters spent six years running riot. In fact, one of the lads caused a fire,â he said, as if talking to no one in particular. âDennis Smith was his name. Always up to no good. He swore blind he hadnât been playing with matches, but none of us children believed him as weâd often catch him in the forest with a lit roll-up of paper, pretending to smoke.â

Rolled up paper? As children, my brothers had bought the real McCoy. The ice cream man got done for selling us single fags from his van.

The Earl turned to the camera and raised his eyebrows. âPerhaps, if heâs watching, Dennis would like to confess his crime. But thereâstiff upper lip and all that, my family simply had to tolerate the intrusion and damage. If truth be told, Mama enjoyed doing her bit and I made the most of the company. It was for the good of the country. The real villain was Hitler.â He sucked on his pipe. âAfter the war, Papa did his best to restore our home to its former glory.â

Blimey, for a man of few words, that was quite a speech. Sweet â heâd clearly adored his dad.

One thing Abbey had mentioned was this grandfatherâs failed business dealings. He died from a heart attack, mega young â well, if, unlike me, you donât consider being fifty- something totally ancient. Her dad, Richard, was only a teen. In the days following his death, the Earl and his brother must have become close, which made their fall-out all the more random.

âIt must have been a shock when he, um, passed on.â Okay, so a lady wasnât supposed to make such personal comments but, for Gawdâs sake, how would viewers warm to the Croxleys if they came across as such cardboard cut-out, unemotional aristocratic figures?

âEpiccccc,â I said as we moved to the next portraitâa woman in a fancy dress, with geisha-white skin and caramel hair swept up. Jewels dangled from her ears and hung around her neckâ¦ Crap! Had I really laxed into Gemma mode and really said âepicâ? âI mean, umâ¦a picccccture one could stare at all day. What an extraordinarily good-looking woman.â

âMama,â he said and his face went all squishy for a second, before he stared at me. âOnce more, you talk as if youâve never seen a picture of her.â

I forced a laugh. âApologies, Uncle â Grandmother looks quite, um, different from the photos Father has shown me.â

The Earl gazed back at the portrait. âDuring inclement weather, when Papa was away on business, sheâd smuggle my pony up here and let me ride the length of the Long Gallery. I loved her for that,â he said softly.

âHow, um, enchanting.â I glanced at Gaynor, whoâd looked up from her clipboard to listen. Roxy had even stopped chewing. Blimey, the Earl had let his gruff mask slip for a minute.

A smile flickered across his face. âWell, thatâs what the Long Gallery was sometimes used forâexercise in bad weather. Up and down weâd go. Our indoor constitutional, Mama used to call it â but she always made it seem jolly.â

He scratched his bristly beard and headed for the next picture. It was a couple, smartly dressed on a fancy sofa. The man had on a cravat and a pocket watch hung out of his waistcoat. I glanced sideways at the Earl. A pocket watch dangled from his tweed waistcoat â perhaps it was the same one. The woman was dressed in a vertically striped blouse and broad-brimmed hat. The couple looked happy and fancy-free, eyes twinkly and mouths upturned.

âMy great-grandparents,â he said. âTerribly well-known for their partying. Splendid hosts, according to one and all. The Drake Diner was home to many a ball. In those days the servants slept in the kitchens and pantry. Up here was for guests.â

We moved onto the next frame. âMy grandparents,â he murmured. âThey were also significant players on the social scene. We believe a young Noel Coward stayed here once.â

âAh, yes, my dear cousin mentioned that,â I said.

âYour father never told you?â he said abruptly.

Roxy and Gaynor glanced at each other and raised their eyebrows.

âBut, erm, of course,â the Earl said after a quick glare at me, âRichard never was much interested in celebrity. But he must have told you about our great-grandfatherâs party trick? Papa used to creep down and peek at him doing it in the Drake Diner.â

My cheeks flamed. âUm, yes, he could make, um, coins appear from peopleâs earsâ¦?â

âThat wasnât the one I was thinking of,â he said in a measured voice. âApparently, drinking out of his wifeâs shoe was considered a jolly jape. Heâd announce to the room that it made the champagne taste absolutely divine. Papa got into trouble when he was a little boy for trying the same with his bedtime milk.â

Gaynor and Roxy smiled.

As we came to the end of the Long Gallery, on the right hand side of the house, we stood and gazed up at a ginormous gold-framed portrait of a man. Around his neck was an amazinâ ruffle, he had a moustache, beard and wore a feathered hat. His expression looked kind of laid-back, as if not a thing could surprise him. Upright and confident, he seemed like the complete opposite of the bespectacled, world-weary-looking Earlâs dad.

âThe very first Earl of Croxley,â said the old man and straightened his back. âElizabeth the First awarded him the estate of Applebridge for his role in defeating the Spanish Armada, in 1588. The Drake Diner was named after his good friendâ¦â

âSir Francis Drake,â I mumbled. Even I could work that out.

I exchanged glances with Roxy, whoâd was clearly rapt. This tour had turned into a live history lesson. I gazed at the man on the canvas and tried to imagine him on some ship or proudly bowing before the Queen. He must have been one of the celebrities of the day. Mega important. Probably had his pick of the women, ate the finest food without having to worry about paparazzi and Twitter trolls, like todayâs celebs.

âDid he build Applebridge Hall?â I asked.

âYou donât even know that!â he spluttered, yet within seconds obviously remembered that we were supposed to promote this cuddly image of a close family. He forced a chuckle. âAh, my scoundrel of a younger brotherâ¦ Richard was never much of a historian. Yes. His family lived in a small country house on the estate â since knocked downâwhilst the architects and builders set to work.â

Footsteps sounded up the stairwell nearest to us. Honey curls appeared.

âGood day, Abbey,â Edward said. âI trust that, um, your back no longer hurts.â

Blimey. He was making an effort for the cameras. âGood afternoon. Yes, tickety-boo now, thank you,â I replied. It was weird living somewhere so big that a whole day might pass before you bump into the other housemates.

âFather, the first episode of Million Dollar Mansion: the Final will be on in around an hour,â said Edward. âMembers of staff are congregating in the Parlour. I believe Kathleen has prepared tea and your favourite lemon crumb biscuits for everyone. We could all go over the plans for tomorrow before the beginning of the programme.â

âAaaaand cut,â said Gaynor and gave a rusty cough. âNo problem, darlings. We can continue the tour tomorrow, Lord Croxley â weâll still have time to edit it for Tuesdayâs show. And yes, fab work, everyoneâthose tales made Applebridge Hall come to life; made the whole place lessâ¦grey.â

However, the old man wasnât listening.

âRight, young ladyâ¦â he hissed to me and unplugged his mic, before doing the same to mine. âLetâs walk back the length of the Gallery and downstairs to the Parlour. On the way, you can explain to me why you know so little about the Croxley ancestors. Letâs hope to God that your cookery knowledge is better than your history.â

Crap. I took off my mic and we handed them to the cameraman. Gaynor and Roxy were still staring up at the ginormous portrait. Edward had disappeared, having muttered something about his blog.

âItâs as if youâre a complete stranger, Abigail,â said the Earl and glared. âThe Richard I used to know loved these old anecdotes. Estrangement or not, Iâm sure any daughter of his would be familiar with what her ancestors looked like and, in Godâs name, know the origins of how this place was built!â

âIâ¦ Yesâ¦ You seeâ¦â I stuttered.

âWell?â he said. âIâm waiting for what had better be a damn good explanation.â

LORD EDWARDâS E-DIARY

Sunday 2nd September

7p.m. Good evening, blog-readers, I trust you will soon settle down to watch this eveningâs show. No doubt you shall find footage of yesterdayâs events, including dinner, entertaining. Of course, it is somewhat edited, especially during these early days, whilst we get used to the cameras. And not everything is caught on film. As I suggested to you last night, Cousin Abigail is quite the dark horse â for a ladyâand even made Father chuckle. Erm, Iâve always thought this, of course

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