If only she could help Seb work out how to make it pay. Other estates managed it, even without an eminent historian occupying the master bedroom...
Her sister’s exasperated voice broke in on her thoughts. ‘Daisy, Rose isn’t getting here until the day of the wedding itself so as the only bridesmaid on the same continent it’s down to me. I’ve hinted, Mum’s hinted and you have been no help so I am asking you outright. Hen night. What are you wanting?’
Daisy straightened, the phone nearly falling out of her hand as she registered her sister’s words. ‘I forgot all about the hen night.’
‘Sure you did.’ Vi sounded sceptical. ‘I’ve seen your scrapbooks, Daise, remember? And lived through twenty-four years of your birthday treats. You’ve left it too late for the Barcelona weekend or the spa in Ischia. So spa day near here? Night out clubbing in London? We could manage a night in Paris if we book today. You’re cutting it awfully fine though. We should have gone yesterday.’
Daisy managed to interrupt her sister. ‘Nothing, honestly, Vi. I’m not expecting anything.’
‘Nothing?’
‘Nope.’
‘This isn’t a test?’ Vi sounded suspicious. ‘Like the time you said you didn’t want a birthday treat but we were supposed to know that you wanted us to surprise you with tickets to see Busted?’
‘I was twelve!’ Violet had to wheel that one out.
‘Seriously, Daisy. Mum will be so disappointed. She’s planned matching tracksuits with our names spelled out in diamanté.’
‘Mother wouldn’t be seen dead in matching tracksuits!’
‘But she will be disappointed. You’ll be telling me you’re not going on some exotic honeymoon next!’
Daisy stopped dead. Honeymoon? She hadn’t even thought about what would happen after the wedding and Seb hadn’t mentioned it.
The Maldives, Venice, a small secluded island in the Caribbean, a chateau in the south of France; the destinations of the brides and grooms she had photographed over the last couple of years floated through her mind.
They all sounded perfect—for a couple in love.
It was probably a good thing they had forgotten all about it. A week or two holed up together would be excruciating. Wouldn’t it? ‘It’s all been so quick, we haven’t actually thought about a honeymoon yet.’
There was an incredulous pause. ‘No hen night, no honeymoon. Daisy, what’s going on?’
Daisy thought rapidly. She couldn’t have a hen night. She couldn’t be around her friends and family pretending to be crazy in love, she couldn’t drink and her abstinence might have escaped their sharp eyes so far but nobody was going to believe that she wasn’t going to indulge in at least one glass of champagne on her own hen night.
Her eyes fell on the copy of Seb’s birth certificate lying on her desk; she’d put it in her bag after their visit to the register office and forgotten to return it to him. Name: Sebastian Adolphus Charles Beresford. How on earth had the Adolphus slipped past her attention? She hoped it wasn’t a family name he’d want for their son.
Her eyes flickered on. Date of birth. April twentieth. Hang on...
Why hadn’t he mentioned it? Right now she wasn’t going to think about that. Not when salvation was lying right in front of her.
‘The problem is, Vi, tomorrow’s Seb’s birthday and I’ve planned a surprise. And then it’s just a few days before the wedding and I don’t want a big night out before then. Besides,’ she added with an element of truth, ‘it wouldn’t feel right without Rose. We can do something afterwards.’
‘Wednesday night.’ Vi wasn’t giving up. ‘That gives you two days before the wedding and we can do something small. Just you, me and Mum and Skype Rose in. Films and face masks and manicures at your studio?’
That sounded blissful. Dangerous but blissful. ‘Okay. But low-key—and I won’t be drinking. I’m on a pre wedding detox. For my skin.’ That sounded plausible.
‘Done. I’ll source the girliest films and organise nibbles. Wholesome, vitamin filled, organic nibbles.’
‘Thanks, Vi.’ She meant it. An evening in with her mother and sister would be lovely. As long as she kept her guard up.
Meanwhile there was the small matter of Seb’s birthday and the surprise she was supposed to be organising. Once she had decided just what the surprise actually was.
* * *
Something was up.
Daisy was going around with a suppressed air of excitement as if she were holding a huge balloon inside that was going to burst any second.
It should have been annoying. Actually it was a little bit endearing.
Seb stretched out in his old leather wingchair, the vibrant red of the curtains catching his eye. Sherry had not received the Keep Out of My Library vibe and his sanctuary was looking as polished and fresh as the rest of the house. It was actually quite nice not to sneeze every time he pulled out a book although he had preferred the curtains unlaundered. They had been less glaringly bright then.
It wasn’t just Sherry. Daisy was quietly but firmly making changes as well: painting the kitchen, opening up the morning room and turning it into a cosy sitting room despite using little more than new curtains and cushions and replacing the rather macabre paintings of dead pheasants with some watercolour landscapes she had rescued from the attics. Although they still lived mainly in the kitchen or library, they had begun to spend their evenings in there reading, watching television or playing a long-running but vicious game of Monopoly.
It was almost homely.
But even as the castle began to take shape he was all too aware there still weren’t enough hours in the day. It would be much easier if he brought in a professional to manage the estate, leaving Seb to his teaching and research.
It wasn’t the Beresford way though. His grandfather had been very clear on that. A good owner managed his land, his people, his family and his home no matter what the sacrifice. And there had been many throughout the long centuries. There were times when Seb wondered if he would ever be able to return to Oxford and his real work.
Yet at the same time the pull of his ancestral home was so strong. He couldn’t carry on juggling both the estate and academia but making a final decision was unthinkable.
He looked up at the sound of a soft tap on the door, relieved to take his eyes off the blank laptop screen. He had barely achieved anything yet again, he noted wryly. Worries and thoughts circling round and round; even his research wasn’t distracting him the way it usually did. Money, Daisy, the baby, Hawksley, the book. In less than six months his whole life had turned upside down.
Although if he hadn’t allowed himself to be so distracted by his career maybe Hawksley at least wouldn’t be in such a state. He had his own culpability here.
The door opened and Daisy appeared bearing one of the massive silver tea trays. One mobile brow flew up as she looked at him. ‘That’s a terrifying scowl. Am I interrupting a crucial moment?’
‘You’re interrupting nothing but mental flailing and flagellation.’ He tried to smile. ‘Sorry if I scared you.’
‘Mental flagellation? Sounds painful. Anything I can help with?’ She carried the tray over to the table in the opposite corner and set it down with an audible thud.
‘Not unless you have a time machine.’
Seb regretted the words as soon as he uttered them; he didn’t need the flash of hurt to cross her face to show him how ill-judged they were. ‘Not you, not the baby.’ Not entirely. ‘Goodness knows, Daisy, out of all the crazy tangled mess my life has become the baby is the one bright spot. No, I was just thinking if I’d acted sooner then things would be a hell of a lot easier now.’
‘How so?’
He pushed his laptop away and sat back in the chair trying to straighten out his skein of thoughts and regrets. ‘Kids are selfish, ar
en’t they? I spent my holidays here, school and university—unless my mother was suffering one of her occasional fits of maternal solicitude, but I was so wrapped up in the past I never took an interest in the present. Never saw how Grandfather was struggling, never tried to help.’ He suppressed a deep sigh of regret.
‘History is all well and good but it’s not very practical, is it? Grandfather suggested I go to the local agricultural college and do estate management, come and work here. I brushed him off, convinced I was destined for higher things.’
‘You were right.’ She was perched on the arm of the old leather chair, legs crossed, and his eyes ran appreciably up the long bare limbs. She was wearing the black tweed shorts, this time teamed with a bright floral shirt and her trademark hat was a cap pulled low over her forehead.
‘Was I?’ He had been sure then, sure throughout his glittering career. But the past few months had shown just how flawed his ambition had been. ‘Hawksley needed new blood, Grandfather was struggling and my father was never going to step in. My grandfather was too proud to ask me directly and I was too busy to notice. But maybe I could have helped him turn things around—and been on the ground to stop my father’s gross negligence.’
It was more than negligence. His father’s wilful use of estate capital had been criminal.
‘How could you have stopped it?’
‘The money funding his extravagant lifestyle came from a family trust. It was never intended for private use, certainly not on his scale. Just one look at the accounts would have alerted me.’ And he could have stepped in.
‘I was far too busy chasing my own kind of fame.’ The taste in his mouth was bitter.
She swung her legs down and hopped to her feet. ‘Just because he suggested estate management doesn’t mean he was desperate for you to live and work here. He was proud of you no matter which path you chose.’
‘I wish I believed that.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I guess we’ll never know.’
‘I know.’ She went over to one of the shelves, pulling a hardback book out. ‘This is yours, isn’t it? The first one? Look how well read it is, the spine is almost broken. So unless you spend your evenings reading your own words I think your grandparents must have read it. Several times.’
He took the book from her outstretched hands. He had given it to them, signed it and handed it over unsure if they would ever read it. The hardback was battered, corners turned, the pages well thumbed. A swell of pride rose inside him. Maybe they had been proud of his chosen career. He looked over at Daisy. ‘Thank you.’
‘I knew this library was all for show. If you ever looked at a book you’d have seen it for yourself,’ but her eyes were bright and the corners of her full mouth upturned.
‘Anyway—’ she walked back to the tray ‘—I have a small bone to pick with you, my Lord. Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?’
Seb gaped at her in shock. ‘How did you know?’
‘Incredible detective skills and a handy copy of your birth certificate. In my family birthdays are a very big deal.’ She turned with a shy smile, her hands behind her back. ‘And I must warn you I have very high expectations for mine, just ask my sisters, so if we are going to be a family—’ the colour rose high on her cheeks and her eyes lowered as she said the words ‘—then your birthday has to be a big deal as well. So. Happy Birthday.’
With a flourish she pulled her arms from behind her back. One held a plate complete with a large cupcake, a lit candle on the top, the other a shiny silver envelope.
He stood, paralysed with surprise. ‘What’s this?’
‘It’s a card and cake. These are usual on birthdays.’ Her colour was still high but her voice was light. ‘You’re supposed to blow the candle out.’
He just stood there, unable to move a muscle, to process what she was saying. ‘I haven’t had a birthday cake since I was ten. I was always at school, you see.’
Her eyes softened. ‘The procedure hasn’t changed. You blow, the flame goes out, I clap and then we eat it. Simple.’
He made a huge effort to reach out and took the plate of cake, holding it gingerly as if it were a bomb about to explode. The small flame danced before his eyes. He didn’t want to blow it out; he wanted to watch it twist and turn for ever. ‘And the card?’
‘That you open. And then we get changed. I have a surprise for you. And I am quite convinced it is going to blow your socks off.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘HOW DID YOU KNOW that this is my favourite band?’ Seb, Daisy was learning, was not a huge one for words. If someone arranged a surprise for Daisy she found it hard to sit back and wait; instead she would be peppering them with questions, trying to guess where they were going, slightly anxious it wasn’t going to live up to her own fevered imaginings.
Seb had just looked bemused, as if the concept of a surprise trip was completely alien to him. Which was ridiculous. He might not want high emotions or romance but he’d had girlfriends before—had none of them ever organised a day out? To a special library or a site of special historical significance?
But even his slightly annoying calm and collected manner had disappeared when the taxi pulled into the concert venue.
‘Seriously, Daisy. You must be some kind of witch.’ His hand sought hers and squeezed, his touch tingling. For a brief moment she allowed herself to fantasise that this was real, that she was on a night out with someone she was mad about, with someone who was mad about her.
‘Yes, I am. My spells include listening to the music that people play and reading the labels on CD collections.’ She couldn’t help it, music had been such a huge part of her childhood she subconsciously noticed whatever music was playing although she didn’t play an instrument herself and rarely listened to music for pleasure, preferring silence as she worked.
But Seb liked background noise whether in the kitchen, his study or driving around and when she had been searching the internet, trying to find something to do tonight, the name had jumped out at her—it had been the CD he was playing that very first night. One call to her father later and VIP seats had been procured.
But it had evidently been the perfect gift. Daisy was torn between shame that all she had managed was a last-minute, hastily organised event and a sneaking fear that maybe she knew him better than she had realised, than she wanted to admit.
Knew exactly what would make him happy. That would involve caring. Was that part of their deal?
Seb was evidently not having any deep thoughts or misgivings. It was fun to see him enjoying every moment like a child set free in a toy shop as they were led through the plush VIP area. ‘A box? Seriously?’
‘You may have the title but I am rock aristocracy and this is how we experience concerts,’ she told him as they took their seats. ‘If you would prefer to stand on the beer-covered floor with all the other sweaty people then you can. Your wristband allows you access.’
She could tell he was tempted. Daisy had never understood the allure of the mosh pit herself.
‘Maybe later. You wouldn’t mind?’
She shook her head. ‘Knock yourself out.’
He looked around in fascination and Daisy tried to see it through his eyes, not her own jaded viewpoint. They were the only occupants of a box directly opposite the stage. Behind them was a private room complete with bar and cloakroom. The entire row was taken up with similar boxes for celebrities and friends and family of the band; corporates were restricted to the row above. Access to their coveted seats was strictly controlled.
‘This is crazy.’ Seb was staring at the aging rock star and his much-younger girlfriend enthusiastically making out in the next-door box. Daisy sat back; she hoped the rock star hadn’t seen her. She’d been flower girl at his third wedding—and his new girlfriend looked younger than Daisy herself. ‘I’ve been to plenty of events, litera
ry events, historical conferences, Oxford balls but never anything like this.
‘But I would have been just as happy on the beer-soaked floor with the other sweaty people,’ he said. He meant it too.
‘I’m spoiled,’ she admitted. ‘Dad gets tickets to everything and always took us along. I’d been to more concerts than films by the time I was ten. He drew the line at boy bands though. That’s probably why they remain my own guilty pleasure. But I haven’t done anything like this for ages.’
‘Why not? If I had free access to gigs I’d go to everything!’
He wouldn’t. Not with the high price tag. ‘I don’t usually like to ask for favours. Mum can get me anything, the new must-have bag or coat or dress—but the deal is you get photographed wearing it. If, like me, you want a quiet life then the price for a freebie is far too high. But tickets for this sold out months ago so it was best seats in the house or nothing!’
Daisy crossed her fingers, hoping that they weren’t papped while they were here. There were far more gossip-worthy couples out in force; hopefully the spotlight would be far from them.
‘Well, if we must sit in luxury while free drinks and food are pressed on us then I suppose we must. Seriously, Daisy. Thank you. This is incredibly thoughtful.’
Daisy shifted uncomfortably, guilt clamping her stomach. Not so much thoughtful as expedient. She hurriedly changed the subject. ‘I’m going to spend Wednesday night at the studio. Vi was insistent that I have some kind of hen night. Obviously I didn’t want anything big so it’s going to be a family-only films and pampering night. I’ve told her I’m not drinking for the sake of my skin. I must be more of a demanding bride than I realised. She completely bought it. I might stay there Thursday night too. It’s meant to be bad luck to spend the night before together.’
‘I guess we need all the luck we can get.’ His voice was dry.
‘Are you going to have a stag night?’
Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set Page 31