‘You may be lucky and escape it altogether. How did you sleep?’
‘Good, thanks. Turns out five-hundred-year-old beds are surprisingly comfy.’
The problem of where to put Daisy had haunted him since she had agreed to move in. To make this work, to fulfil her criteria as far as he could, meant he couldn’t treat her like a guest and yet he wasn’t ready to share his space with anyone.
Even though part of him couldn’t help wondering what it would be like lying next to those long, silky limbs.
Luckily Georgian houses were built with this kind of dilemma in mind. When he first took a leave of absence and returned to Hawksley six months ago to try and untangle the complicated mess his father had left, he’d moved into his grandparents’ old rooms, not his own boyhood bedroom on the second floor.
There was a suite adjoining, the old countess’ suite, a throwback to not so long ago when the married couple weren’t expected to regularly share a bed, a room or a bathroom. The large bedroom, small study, dressing room and bathroom occupied a corner at the back of the house with views over the lake to the woods and fields beyond. The suite was rather faded, last decorated some time around the middle of the previous century and filled with furniture of much older heritage but charming for all that.
‘There is a door here,’ he had said, showing her a small door discreetly set into the wall near the bed. ‘It leads into my room. You can lock it if you would rather, but I don’t bother.’
The words had hung in the air. Were they an invitation? A warning? He wasn’t entirely sure.
It was odd, he had never really noticed the door before yet last night it had loomed in his eyeline, the unwanted focal point of his own room. He had known she was on the other side, just one turn of the handle away. Seb’s jaw tightened as he flipped the bacon. He could visualise it now as if it were set before him. Small, wooden, nondescript.
‘Did you lock the door?’
‘Bolted it.’
‘Good, wouldn’t want the ghost of a regency rake surprising you in the middle of the night.’
Daisy wandered over to the kettle and filled it. Such a normal everyday thing to do—and yet such a big step at the same time. ‘I’m sure bolts are no barrier to any decent ghosts, not rakish-type ones anyway. Coffee?’
‘All set, thanks.’ He nodded at the large mug at his elbow. The scene was very domestic in a formal, polite kind of way.
Daisy sniffed the several herbal teas she had brought with her and pulled a face. ‘I miss coffee. I don’t mind giving up alcohol and I hate blue cheese anyway but waking up without a skinny latte is a cruel and unusual punishment.’
‘We could get some decaf.’ Seb grabbed two plates and spooned the eggs and bacon onto them.
‘I think you’re missing the whole point of coffee. I’ll give liquorice a try.’ She made the hot drink and carried the mug over to the table, eying up the heaped plate of food with much greater enthusiasm. ‘This looks great, thanks.’
‘I thought we might need sustenance for the day ahead. Registrar at ten and I booked you into the doctor’s here for eleven. I hope that’s okay. And then we’d better let the staff and volunteers know our news, begin to make some plans.’
‘Fine.’ A loud peal rang through the house causing a slight vibration, and Daisy jumped, the eggs piled up on her fork tumbling back onto the plate. ‘What on earth is that?’
Seb pushed his chair back and tried not to look too longingly at his uneaten breakfast. It was a long way from the kitchen to the door, plenty of time for his breakfast to cool. ‘Doorbell. It’s a little dramatic admittedly but the house is so big it’s the only way to know if there’s a visitor—and it’s less obtrusive than a butler. Cheaper too.’
‘Is it the gorgon? If I get turned to stone I expect you to rescue me.’
He tried not to let his mouth quirk at the apt nickname. There was definitely a heart of gold buried deep somewhere underneath Mrs Suffolk’s chilly exterior but it took a long time to find and appreciate it. ‘The volunteers have a key for the back door—there’s only two working doors between the offices and the main house and I lock them both at night.’
‘Good to know. I don’t fancy being petrified in my bed.’ Her words floated after him as he exited the kitchen and headed towards the front of the house.
Once, of course, the kitchen would have been part of the servants’ quarters; it was still set discreetly behind a baize door, connected to the offices through a short passageway and one of the lockable doors that defined the partition between his personal space and the work space. But even his oh-so-formal grandparents had dispensed with live-in servants during the nineties and started to use the old kitchen themselves. For supper and breakfast at least.
His parents had brought their servants with them during the four years they had mismanaged Hawksley. Not that they had ever stayed at the castle for longer than a week.
The doorbell pealed again, the deep tone melodic.
‘On my way.’ Seb pulled back the three bolts and twisted the giant iron key, making a mental note to oil the creaking lock. He swung open the giant door to be confronted with the sight of his future mother-in-law, a huge and ominously full bag thrown over one shoulder, a newspaper in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.
Seb blinked. Then blinked again.
‘Goodness, Seb, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ She thrust the champagne and the newspaper at him, muttering cryptically, ‘Page five, darling. Where is Daisy?’
‘Good morning, Mrs Huntingdon...’
‘Sherry.’ She swept past him. ‘“Mrs” makes me feel so old. And we are going to be family after all.’
Family. Not something he knew huge amounts about but he was pretty sure the tall, glamorous woman opposite wasn’t a typical mother-in-law. ‘Right, yes. This way. She’s just eating breakfast.’
He led the supermodel through the hallway, wincing as he noticed her assess every dusty cornice, every scrap of peeling paper. ‘My grandparents rather let the place go.’
‘It’s like a museum. Apt for you in your job, I suppose.’ It didn’t sound like a compliment.
They reached the kitchen and Sherry swept by him to enfold a startled-looking Daisy in her arms. ‘Bacon? Oh, Daisy darling, the chances of you fitting sample sizes were small anyway but you’ll never do it if you eat fried food. No, none for me, thank you. I don’t eat breakfast.’
‘Mum? What are you doing here?’
Seb couldn’t help smiling at Daisy’s face. She looked exactly as he felt: surprise mixed with wariness and shock.
‘Darling, we have a wedding to plan and no time at all. Where else would I be? Now hurry up and eat that. We’ll get you some nice fruit while we’re out. Page five, Seb.’
Seb glanced down at the tabloid newspaper Sherry had handed him and opened it slowly, his heart hammering. Surely not, not yet...
He dropped it on the table, a huge picture of Daisy and himself smiling up from the smudged newsprint. ‘Hot Prof Earl and Wild Child to Wed’ screamed the headline. He stepped back, horror churning in the pit of his stomach, his hands clammy.
‘I knew it.’ Daisy’s outraged voice cut into his stupor. ‘They mentioned the expulsion. Why not my first in photography or my successful business?’
‘I expect they also mentioned my parents’ divorces, remarriages, drinking, drug taking and untimely deaths.’ He knew he sounded cold, bitter and inhaled, trying to calm the inner tumult.
‘Yes.’ Her voice sounded small and Seb breathed in again, trying to calm the swirling anger. It wasn’t her fault.
Although if she wasn’t who she was then would they be so interested?
‘I’m sorry,’ she added and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to lay a hand upon her shoulder.
‘Don’t be silly, Daisy,
of course they’re interested. Seb is just as big a draw as you, more so probably.’ Sherry’s blue eyes were sharp, assessing.
‘Yes,’ he agreed tonelessly. ‘We knew there would be publicity. I just thought we would have more time.’
If Daisy hadn’t gone to Huntingdon Hall, hadn’t involved her parents...
‘The best thing to do is ignore it. Come along, darling. Show me the wedding venue. I don’t have all day.’
Daisy sat for a moment, her head still bowed, cheeks pale. ‘We have appointments at ten, Mum, so I only have half an hour. If you’d warned us you were coming I could have told you this morning was already booked up.’
‘You two head off, I’ll be fine here. There’s plenty to do, just show me the venue.’
‘Honestly, Mum. I can organise this quite easily. I really don’t need you to do it.’ There was a hint of desperation in Daisy’s voice as she attempted to reason with her mother.
‘I know very well that you prefer to do everything alone, Daisy. You make that quite clear.’
Daisy pushed her half-eaten breakfast away and, with an apologetic glance at Seb, took her mother’s arm. ‘Okay, you win. Seb, I put your breakfast back in the pan to keep warm. Come along, Mother. I don’t think even you can fault the Tudor Hall.’
Seb watched them go before sliding his gaze back to the open newspaper. He focused on the picture. He was driving and Daisy was looking back, smiling. It must have been snapped as they left the hall. How hadn’t he noticed the photographer?
Was this how their lives would be from now on? Every step, every conversation, every outing watched, scrutinised and reported on.
With one vicious movement he grabbed the paper and tore the article from it, screwing it into a ball and dropping it in the bin, his breath coming in fast pants. He wouldn’t, couldn’t be hounded. Cameras trained on him, crowds waiting outside the gate, microphones thrust into his face. He had been five the first time, as motorcycles and cars chased them down the country lanes.
His father had driven faster, recklessly. His mother had laughed.
The tantalising aroma of cooking bacon wafted through the air, breaking into his thoughts. Seb walked over to the stove, his movements slow and stiff. The frying pan was covered, the heat set to low and inside, warmed through to perfection, was his breakfast. Saved, put aside and kept for him.
When was the last time someone had done something, anything for him that they weren’t paid to do?
It was just some breakfast, food he had actually cooked, put aside. So why did his chest ache as he spooned it back onto his plate?
* * *
Daisy had to work hard to stop from laughing at the look on Seb’s face. He stood in the Great Hall, staring about him as if he had been kidnapped by aliens and transported to an alternate universe.
And in some ways, he had.
Her mother had wasted no time in making herself at home, somehow rounding up two bemused if bedazzled volunteers to help her set up office in the Great Hall. Three tables in a U-shape and several chairs were flanked by a white board and a pin board on trestles with several sticky notes already attached to each. A seamstress’s dummy stood to attention behind the biggest chair, a wreath of flowers on its head.
A carafe of water, a glass and a vase of flowers had been procured from somewhere and set upon the table and Sherry had proceeded to empty her huge bag in a Mary Poppins manner setting out two phones, a lever arch file already divided into labelled sections, a stack of wedding magazines and—Daisy groaned in horror—her own scrapbooks and what looked like her own Pinterest mood boards printed out and laminated.
So she planned weddings online? She was a wedding photographer! It was her job to get ideas and inspiration.
If Sherry Huntingdon ever turned her formidable mind towards something other than fashion then who knew what she’d achieve? World peace? An end to poverty? Daisy winced. That wasn’t entirely fair; both her parents did a huge amount for charity, most of it anonymously. The Benefit Concert might be the most high-profile event but it was just the tip of the iceberg.
‘There you are, Seb.’ Sherry was pacing around the Great Hall, looking at the panelling and the other period details with approval. ‘Before you whisk Daisy away I need a bit of information.’
‘Whatever you need.’ His eyes flickered towards the arsenal of paper, pens and planning materials set out with precision on the tables and a muscle began to beat in his stubbled jaw as his hands slowly clenched. ‘Good to see that you’ve made yourself at home.’
‘I think it’s helpful to be right in the centre of things,’ Sherry agreed, missing—or ignoring—his sarcastic undertone. ‘Your nice man on the gate tells me that there are weddings booked in both weekends so I can’t leave everything set up but we’ll have the hall to ourselves for the four days before the wedding so I can make sure everything is perfect.’
Daisy noticed Seb’s tense stance, the rigidity in his shoulders, and interrupted. ‘It won’t take four days to set up for a few family and friends—and it’s such short notice I’m sure most people will have plans already.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course they’ll come. It’ll be the wedding of the year—rock aristocracy to real aristocracy? They’ll cancel whatever other plans they have, you mark my words. Now, the nice young man tells me the hall will seat two hundred so I’ll need your list as soon as possible, Seb.’
‘List?’ The muscle was still beating. Daisy couldn’t take her eyes off it. She wanted to walk over there, lay a hand on the tense shoulder and soothe the stress out of it, run a hand across his firm jawline and kiss the muscle into quiet acquiescence. She curled her fingers into her palms, allowing her nails to bite into her flesh, the sharp sting reminding her not to cross the line. To remain businesslike.
‘I already did you a list, Daisy.’ Of course she had. Numbly Daisy took the sheet of neatly typed names her mother handed her and scanned it expecting to see the usual mixture of relatives, her parents’ friends and business associates and the group of people her age that her parents liked to socialise with: a few actors, singers and other cool, media-friendly twenty-somethings she had absolutely nothing in common with.
And yet... Daisy swallowed, heat burning the backs of her eyes. The names she read through rapidly blurring eyes were exactly—almost exactly—those she would have written herself. It was like a This Is Your Life recap: school friends, college friends, work associates, London friends plus of course the usual relatives and some of the older villagers, people she had known her entire life.
‘This is perfect. How did you know?’ Blinking furiously, Daisy forced back the threatening tears; all her life she had felt like the odd one out, the funny little addition at the end of the family, more a pampered plaything than a card-carrying, fully paid-up adult member of the family, a person who really mattered.
A person who they knew, who they understood. Maybe they understood her better than she had ever realised.
‘Vi helped me.’ Her mother’s voice was a little gruff and there was a telltale sheen in her eyes. ‘Is it right?’
‘Almost perfect.’ There were just a few amendments. Daisy swiftly added several new names, recent friends her family had yet to meet.
Seb moved, just a small rustle but enough to bring her back to the present, to the reality that was this wedding. What was she thinking?
Her hand shook a little bit as she reread the top lines. These were exactly the people she would want to share her wedding day with. Only...
‘The thing is we did agree on a small wedding.’ She tried to keep all emotion out of her voice, not wanting her mother to hear her disappointment or Seb to feel cornered. ‘If we invited all these it would be a huge affair. I’ll take a look at it and single out the most important friends. What do you think? Immediate family and maybe five extra guests each?’ She
looked around at the long hall, the vast timbered ceiling rearing overhead. They would rattle around in here like a Chihuahua in a Great Dane’s pen.
But it was still a substantially larger affair than Seb wanted. Daisy allowed the piece of paper to float down onto the desk as if the thought of striking out the majority of the names didn’t make her throat tighten.
Seb had moved, so silently she hadn’t noticed, reaching over her shoulder to deftly catch the paper mid-fall. ‘The problem is I don’t actually have any immediate family.’
Daisy automatically opened her mouth to say something inane, something to smooth over the chasm his words opened up. Then she closed it again. What good were platitudes? But understanding shivered over her. No wonder this marriage was important to him. The baby was more than a potential heir; it would be all that he had. Responsibility crushed down on her. She had been so naïve, so happy at the thought of having a person in her life who needed her, depended on her. But the baby wasn’t just hers. It was theirs.
‘There are school friends.’ He was scribbling away on the back of the list, his handwriting sure and firm. ‘Other academics, publishing colleagues, staff and volunteers here and villagers I have known all my life. I think I will need eighty places including the plus ones but, if you agree, I propose a hog roast in a marquee in the courtyard in the evening and invite the whole village. Noblesse oblige I know but it’s a tied village and expected.’
‘Do you have a marquee?’ Thank goodness her mother was on the ball because Daisy couldn’t have spoken if her life had depended on it. He didn’t want this, she knew that. People, publicity, fuss, photos and the inevitable press. The only answer, the only possible reason was that he was doing this for her.
She slipped her hand into his without thought or plan and his fingers curled around hers.
Maybe, just maybe this could work after all.
‘Weddings here are all run and catered for by The Blue Boar, that’s the village pub, and yes, they have several marquees of all sizes. Paul—’ he smiled slightly, that devastating half-lift of his mouth ‘—the helpful man on the gate, he can give you all the details you need.’
Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set Page 26