The shock on his face was almost comical. ‘It hadn’t even occurred to me! Maybe I should go to the local pub for a couple of drinks—just to add convincing detail to the wedding.’
‘What a method actor you are.’ But the rest of her conversation with Violet was running through her mind. ‘Vi also asked about the honeymoon.’
Seb froze; she could see his knuckles turn white and hurried on. ‘I said that we were planning something later on and were too busy right now. I don’t think she’s wholly convinced but when I tell them about the baby I’m sure they’ll forget all about whether we did or did not go away.’
‘Do you want a honeymoon?’
To her horror Daisy felt her mouth quiver. She gulped down an unexpected sob as it tried to force its way out. She had told herself so many times that she was at peace with her decision, that she was almost happy with her situation—and then she’d be derailed and have to start convincing herself all over again. ‘Of course not.’ She could hear the shakiness of her voice. ‘I think we’re doing brilliantly under the circumstances but a honeymoon might be a bit too much pressure.’
‘Are you sure?’
She nodded, hoping he wasn’t looking too closely. That he didn’t see the suspicious shine in her eyes as she blinked back tears. ‘Besides, I’m pregnant. No cocktails on the beach or exotic climates for me.’
‘Is that what you would want?’
Yes. Of course it was. That was what people did, wasn’t it? Flew to beautiful islands and drank rum and snorkelled in the sun, making love all night in a tangle of white sheets on mahogany beds.
Lovely in theory. Would the reality live up? ‘Actually, I think I would want something a little less clichéd. Amazing scenery I could photograph, good food. History. The Alps maybe, Greece, the Italian coast.’
‘A friend of mine has a villa on Lake Garda, right on the water’s edge. I could see if it’s free?’
For one moment she wavered. The Italian lakes. A private villa overlooking the lake sounded sublime. But they would still be pretending and without their work, without the routine of their everyday lives, how would they manage? ‘No.’ Her voice was stronger. ‘Honestly. I’m absolutely fine.’
To her relief as she said the words the lights went down and Seb leaned forward, all his attention on the stage in front, leaving Daisy free to imagine a different kind of honeymoon. One where both parties wanted to be there, were so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t need anyone or anything else. The kind of honeymoon she had always dreamed of and now knew she would never have.
* * *
It just wasn’t adding up.
The Georgian part of the castle needed a new roof, ideally rewiring and, with the baby due before Christmas, Seb really should sort out some of the ancient plumbing problems as well.
The work he had been doing on the estate land was already paying dividends and the farms and forests were looking healthy. It was just the castle.
Just. Just one thousand years of history, family pride and heritage. No big deal.
Seb tried to avoid his grandfather’s eye, staring balefully out of a portrait on the far wall. He knew how much his grandfather had hated the idea of using the castle for profit—but surely he would have hated it falling around his ears much more.
But how far could Seb go? He was allowing a location agency to put the castle on their books, ready to hire it out for films and TV sets. It felt like a momentous step.
But not a big enough one.
Meanwhile there was the book to finish researching—and he was already halfway through his sabbatical. Just returning to Oxford for a day had reminded him how time consuming his teaching and administrative duties were.
Something was going to have to give and soon. It wasn’t an easy decision.
‘Seb, darling?’ Sherry had materialised by his side. How on earth was the woman so dammed soft-footed? It was most unnerving.
Seb gripped the edge of his desk and took a deep breath, trying not to show his irritation. There were still three days to go until the wedding and he hadn’t had ten uninterrupted minutes since breakfast. ‘I have no idea, ask Daisy.’ Whatever the question she was bound to know the answer.
‘I haven’t seen Daisy all morning.’ Sherry frowned. ‘Really, Seb. It would be helpful if one of you took an interest. These details may seem unimportant but they matter. A high bow at the top of the chair can be smart but rather showy. A lower one is classier maybe but can be lost. Especially with the pale yellow you’ve chosen.’
He’d chosen? Things might have changed at an alarming speed but there was one thing Seb knew for sure—he had had nothing whatsoever to do with choosing the colour of ribbons for the backs of chairs.
‘Let’s go for classy.’ He rubbed his eyes. If anyone had suggested a month ago that he would be sitting in his library discussing bows with a supermodel he would have poured them a stiff brandy and suggested a lie-down. Yet here he was—and this particular supermodel wasn’t going anywhere until he gave her the answer she wanted.
‘You’re probably right.’ She reached over and ruffled his hair in a maternal way, incongrous coming from the glamorous Sherry Huntingdon. ‘Classy is always best. Less is more, as I told the girls when they were growing up.’
‘Wise advice.’ But something she had said earlier was nagging at him. ‘Where’s Daisy gone?’
‘I have no idea. She said she was tired after last night and wandered off. She did look peaky. There’s a lovely picture of you two on the Chronicle Online. You do scrub up nicely, Seb. It’s good to see you make an effort. There’s no need to take the absent-minded-academic thing quite so seriously, you know.’ Sherry gave his old worn shirt a pointed look.
‘Hmm?’ But he had already reached for the phone she was holding out, stomach lurching as he scrolled through the Chronicle’s long list of celebrity sightings and pictures. There they were entering the concert venue last night: Daisy long-legged in black shorts and a red T-shirt, her lipstick as bright as her top and her favourite trilby pushed back on her head. Seb had been unsure what to wear and had plumped for black trousers and a charcoal-grey shirt. Daisy’s arm was linked through his and she was laughing. To a casual observer—and to the headline writer—they looked very much the happy couple.
He thrust the phone back at Sherry. ‘Why are they even interested? So we go to a concert, what’s the big deal?’
‘You have to admit it’s a fairy-tale romance, rock star’s daughter marrying an earl after just a few weeks.’ Her voice was calm but the sharp gleam in her eyes showed her own curiosity. ‘Of course they’re interested. It’ll die down.’
‘Will it?’ He could hear the bitter note in his voice and made an effort to speak more normally. ‘I hope so.’
With in-laws like the ones he would shortly be acquiring, any chance of anonymity seemed very far away.
Sherry drifted away, her long list wafting from one elegant hand, and Seb tried to turn his attention back to his laptop. But once again his attention wandered. Where was Daisy?
She had slept in her own room last night citing tiredness. His own bed had seemed so huge, empty. Cold. At one point he had rolled over, ready to pull her into his arms—only she hadn’t been there. It was odd how her absence had loomed through the long, almost sleepless night.
Odd how quickly he had grown accustomed to her presence; the low, even breathing, the warmth of her. The way she woke up spooned into him, the long hair spread over both pillows.
Odd how right it felt.
She hadn’t shown up for breakfast either. Seb drummed his fingers on the desktop, the leather soft under his persistent touch. She had looked so vibrant in the photo but at some point in the evening her usual exuberance had dimmed and she had hardly said a word on the way back to Hawksley.
He cast his mind back, try
ing to remember the conversation of the night before. What had they talked about?
Had it been the mention of the honeymoon? The honeymoon she didn’t want.
The honeymoon she didn’t want to take with him.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe they needed this, time away from the pressures of work and family, time away from putting on their best manners and working hard to fit their lives together—maybe it was time to find out how they operated as a couple. He would discuss it again with her.
Only... His fingers drummed a little harder as he thought. She had surprised him last night and it had been one of the most thoughtful things anyone had ever done for him. Maybe it was time for Seb to return the favour.
He pulled the laptop towards him, not allowing himself time to think things through and change his mind, quickly typing in Gianni’s email address. Subject heading ‘Lake Garda’.
He might not be her dream fiancé but Daisy deserved the perfect honeymoon and he was going to make sure she had it. It was the least he could do.
* * *
He had expected to find her in the kitchen. Daisy had been forbidden from doing any of the actual sanding herself. Seb was pretty sure all the dust wasn’t good for the baby, but it didn’t stop her superintending every job. Under her instructions the walls had been repainted a creamy white, the sanded and restored cupboards, cabinets and dresser a pale grey. He’d been sceptical about the colour but, walking into the warm, soothing space, he had to admit she was right.
The estate joiner had been hard at work planing and oiling wood from one of the old oaks that had fallen in the winter storms, creating counter tops from the venerable old tree. It seemed fitting that a tree that had stood sentry in the grounds for so many generations should be brought inside and used for the changing of the guard.
Daisy had found an old clothes rack in one of the outbuildings and had arranged for it to be suspended from the ceiling, hanging the old copper saucepans from it. She had unearthed his great-grandmother’s tea set from the attic and arranged it on the shelves, the old-fashioned forget-me-not pattern blending timelessly with the creams and greys. The overall effect was of useful comfort. A warm, family kitchen, a place for work and conversation. For sweet smells and savoury concoctions, for taking stock of the day while planning the next.
The kitchen had been changing day by day and yet he hadn’t really taken in the scale of her efforts. It wasn’t just that the kitchen was freshly restored, nor that it was scrupulously clean. It wasn’t just the new details like the pictures on the wall, old landscapes of the grounds and the castle, the newly installed sofa by the Aga and the warm rug Monty had claimed for his own. It was the feeling. Of care, of love.
The same feeling that hit him when he walked into her rooms, cluttered, sweet-smelling and alive. The same feeling she had created in the morning room and in the library where she had removed some of the heavier furniture and covered the backs of his chairs with warm, bright throws, heaped the window seats high with cushions.
His home was metamorphosing under his eyes and yet he’d barely noticed.
He should tell her he liked the changes.
Seb poured himself a glass of water and sat at the table, thinking of all the places she could have disappeared to. He didn’t blame her for wanting some breathing space before the wedding; but if even Sherry couldn’t run her to earth Daisy must have chosen her hiding space with care.
Neatly piled on the tabletop were some of the old scrapbooks and pictures Sherry had printed out from Daisy’s website and internet pin boards. Seb reached out curiously and began to leaf through them. He expected to see a little girl’s fantasy, all meringues and Cinderella coaches.
Instead he was confronted by details: a single flower bound in ribbon, a close-up of an intricate piece of lace, an embellished candle. Simple, thoughtful yet with a quirky twist. Like Daisy herself.
A piece of paper fell out and he picked it up. It was a printed-out picture of a ring: twisted pieces of fine gold wire embellished with fiery stones. A million miles away from the classic solitaire he had presented her with.
A solitaire she rarely wore. She was worried she’d lose it, she said. But it wasn’t just that; he could see it in her eyes.
He hadn’t known her at all when he’d bought it for her. Picked out a generic ring, expensive, sure, flawless—but nothing special, nothing unique. He could have given that ring to anyone.
And Daisy was definitely not just anyone.
Seb leant back, the picture in his hand. He really should show her just how much he appreciated all that she had done.
She was so busy trying to fit in with him, to turn his old house into a home. It was time he gave something back. The wedding of her dreams, the honeymoon of her dreams.
The ring of her dreams.
It wasn’t the full package, he was all too aware of that. But it was all he had, wasn’t it? It would have to do.
He just hoped it would be enough.
CHAPTER TEN
THERE IT WAS. Daisy sucked in a long breath, forcing herself to stay low and remain still, remain quiet despite every nerve fizzing with excitement. Slowly, carefully, she focused the zoom lens.
Click.
The otter didn’t know it was being photographed—much like Daisy herself last night. Would the otter feel as violated, as sick to its stomach if she published the shot on her website?
Had Seb seen it? Each time a photo of them appeared in the press he got a little colder, a little more withdrawn and she could feel herself wither with each snap too.
Was it the intrusion itself she minded—or the image portrayed in the pictures? They looked so happy last night, hands clasped, heads turned towards each other, as if they were wrapped up in their own world, totally complete together.
And they said the camera never lied...
Daisy shook off the thought, allowing her own camera to follow the sleek mammal as it swam up the river, turning giddy somersaults in the water, playing some game she longed to understand. Was it lonely, swimming all by itself? Maybe by the summer it would have cubs to play with. She hoped so.
Her mind drifted down to the new life inside her. Still so small, only perceptible by the swelling in her breasts and sensitivity to certain smells and yet strong, growing, alive. ‘Will I be less lonely when you’re here?’ she whispered.
It was a terrible burden to put on a baby. Happiness and self-fulfilment. Daisy focused again on the gliding otter. She had her camera, her work, her family. That was enough. It had to be enough.
Only. What if it wasn’t? She was trying so hard. Trying to be calm and sensible and fit in with the slow and steady pace of life at Hawksley she glimpsed between wedding preparations: Seb with his research, Seb out in the fields, talking to tenants, the weekend tourists herded around the small areas open to the public. It was as distant from her busy London life as the otter’s life was from an urban fox’s streetwise existence.
She was making a list of the most immediate refurbishments needed in the house and was happily delving deep into the crammed attics. But despite everything Seb said she didn’t feel as if she had a right to start making changes; it felt as if she were playing at being the lady of the house. She was still a visitor, just a momentary imprint in the house’s long history.
And although Seb hadn’t gone into great detail she knew that money was tight, the trust set up to keep the castle depleted, ransacked in return for a jet-set existence. Seb had to wait for probate before he could start to sell off all the luxury items his parents had lavished their money on. Until they were sold it was impossible to know just how much she could draw on. Right now she was doing her best with things scavenged from the attic, materials she could turn into cushions or curtains, pictures that just needed a polish.
Hawksley needed far more work than easy cosmetic
fixes. How could she plan the renovations it needed when she knew full well the cost would be exorbitant?
It was hard to grasp how life would be afterwards. The wedding overshadowed everything, created buzz and fuss and work and life. Once Sherry left for good, the vows were said and the marquee tidied away what would be left for her? Would she find herself desperate to shout out loud, to stand in the middle of the courtyard and scream, to tear the calm curtain of civility open? To get some reaction somehow.
The wedding was just a day. She had the rest of her life here to navigate.
And there was nobody to discuss it with. Seb didn’t want emotions in his life and she had agreed to respect that. This fear of loneliness, emotions stretching to breaking point, was exactly the kind of thing he abhorred.
And of course, where there wasn’t emotion there couldn’t be love. Could there?
Daisy got slowly to her feet, careful not to disturb the still-basking otter. Love? Where had that come from? She knew full well that love wasn’t on offer in this pact of theirs. It was just...
There was passion behind that serious, intellectual face. She had known it that very first night. Had seen it again time after time. Not just in bed but in his work, his attachment to his home. And passion was emotion...
Seb might not think that he did emotion but he did. His books were bestsellers because they brought the past alive. No one could write with such sensual sensitivity about the lusts of the Stuart court without feeling the hunger himself.
There were times when the almost glacial green eyes heated up, darkened with need. Times when the measured voice grew deeper, huskier. Times when sense was tossed aside for immediacy. Seb desired her, she knew that. Desire was an emotion.
Of course he was capable of love! Just not for her. Maybe, if she hadn’t interrupted the steady pace of his life, he would have met somebody suitable. Someone who shared his love for the past, who would have known how to overcome his fears, helped to heal his hurts.
He’d been robbed of his chance for love just as she had. They were in this together.
Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set Page 32