Let me begin by saying that I dearly love my granddaughter, Natalie. She’s a beautiful girl with a great capacity for love, equally at home whether riding to hounds or brewing the perfect pot of Darjeeling. She’s thoughtful and loyal and kind-hearted and, in my opinion at least, will make some lucky young man an excellent wife.

She also spends a shocking amount of money on nonsense like handbags and shoes. There was a time, not so long ago, when such expenditures would scarcely have mattered. Sadly, that is no longer the case. The Dashwood family has fallen on hard times. But…I digress.

Natalie has thrown away the last two years of her life on a regrettable, half-baked musician named Dominic Heath.  He’s achieved a certain amount of fame – and notoriety – as a rock singer. Natalie tells me he’s sold a multitude of records and is immensely popular with the Doc Martens-and-nose-ring set.

I shall have to take her word on that.

All I know with certainty is that she upended her life of privilege and comfort to go chasing after this leather-clad lothario, wading through mud at Glastonbury every summer, living out of a suitcase and traveling with him across Europe in Lear jets and custom-kitted buses.

For the life of me, I cannot understand it. Why would a well-brought up young woman like Natalie Dashwood throw an excellent education and upbringing aside to take up with a tattooed, guitar-slinging scoundrel like Dominic Heath?

Now the little shit (pardon my vulgarity, but I detest the man) has summarily – and publicly – cast my granddaughter aside. Natalie assures me she doesn’t care, but I know her pride is stung. I’m furious at Dominic, of course; but I’m more furious with myself, for allowing Natalie to behave in such a reckless, ill-considered fashion in the first place. I should never have permitted it.

Ever since her father’s death, her mother and I have indulged Natalie.  She isn’t spoilt, exactly; but she’s headstrong and accustomed to having her own way.  Nor does she like to be told what to do.

So I shan’t tell her what to do.  No; I’ll let Rhys Gordon do it in my stead.

I’ve hired Rhys, a man of sharp business acumen, to take the reins of the family’s financially troubled department stores, Dashwood and James, and reinvigorate them.  He’s saved failing businesses before. I have every confidence he can do it again.  I’ve given him the wherewithal to do whatever he must to make it happen…

…including offering him Natalie’s full-time assistance to do it.

Oh, I daresay she won’t like it.  She’ll fume, and shout, and refuse to work with Rhys.  But in the end, she’ll relent.  Because if she doesn’t, I shall take away her quarterly allowance and refuse to pay her ridiculous clothing bills any longer.

She must be made to see reason, my granddaughter.  And I’ve a feeling Rhys Gordon is just the man to do it.

God help him.

♥♥♥

Don’t miss Katie Oliver’s first book, Prada and Prejudice, coming in January 2014 from Carina UK/Harlequin and now available for pre-order on Amazon.