Pitch Imperfect by Elise Alden Page B

lowered her voice. “I never indulge in gossip myself, but I heard that Mr. Douglas was left at the altar. There he was, a young man waiting for his bride, rejected in front of friends and family. The poor lad insisted that his bride was coming until his brother sat him down and told him she was gone. Good riddance, I say. There are plenty of lasses around these parts who would love to have his ring on their finger. Why, if I were any younger I’d—”
    “What’s in that section over there?” Anjuli interrupted, turning her back. “Is that a chill-out area? It looks great.”
    Florinda followed her to the green zone. “It was the Carver lass who humiliated him. Not the loopy publican, mind, but the drug-addicted singer. Janet or Jules I think her name was. My neighbour told me about her. She was flighty at best, constantly picking causes to get riled up about and causing all sorts of trouble.”
    “Flighty?”
    Anjuli’s huff added fuel to Florinda’s fire. “Oh yes. It’s not surprising, really. The entire family is odd. The parents run a bizarre retreat in the hills. ‘The Centre for Life Studies’ they call it. It’s one of these mumbo-jumbo cults, you know, dancing around or hugging trees.”
    “It’s not a cult. It’s a spiritual pathway from India that—”
    “But Jules was the worst. She and one of the teachers here rode the village boundaries in the Common Riding Festival. Can you imagine? Ignoring our traditions just to prove a point.”
    “I hardly think that was the reason.”
    Florinda sniffed. “Shortly after that Jules snared Mr. Douglas and stomped all over his heart. Then she left him for somebody in New York who was in the music industry. And I hear she made a nasty scene at the pub on Monday. Bold as brass she was, accusing Mr. Douglas of foul play in front of the whole village. And when Councillor Hamish asked her to sing? She declared she’d never perform for the likes of us.
I
think she probably can’t sing at all. She’s young and beautiful so they put her on stage to mouth the words.”
    Anjuli stared at Florinda. Watching her talk was like watching a lion move in for the kill. Even though she wanted to look away from the blood and gore, from the utter enjoyment the beast had in chewing on its prey, she couldn’t. She had to let the attack run its course, eyes half-shut, looking sideways through her fingers.
    “...and then Jules bought that old manor in front of Heaverlock Castle even though the trust had a gentlemen’s agreement to sell it to Mr. Douglas. In she waltzed with a higher offer and just like that they accepted it.”
    “What?” Anjuli squeaked.
    Florinda looked pleased at her reaction. “I have it on good authority that she offered whatever they wanted as long as they didn’t sell to Rob Douglas. I know his secretary, an old biddy who should have retired years ago, and she confided that he’d already invested a lot of time and money, making drawings and paying for surveys based on his understanding with the sellers. He was furious when they pulled out. Nobody knew who the new owner was until Jules Carver announced it to the village, brazen as can be.”
    Anjuli made a garbled noise that spurred Florinda into more gossip, but she was no longer listening. No wonder Rob had been so tight-lipped and irritable! How was she supposed to know he was the other bidder for Castle Manor? Did he think she’d deliberately outbid him? Clinging to the idea of living in Castle Manor had been the only thing that had made her days bearable.
    She’d wanted the house so desperately she’d bid for it blind, instructing her solicitor to go over and above the recommended purchase price. No surveys or viewings and she would pay for it in cash. The vendors had jumped at her offer and she’d been ecstatic. That is, until she’d received the devastating news that Lordship Wealth Management had lost her fortune. She’d kept a relatively small amount in a separate savings account,