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Saturday December 2nd - Seven-twenty p.m.
There were no last thoughts or words from Lady Estelle Gloria Elizabeth Foxbrooke as she plummeted towards certain death. No scream. No swearing. No internal cry at her own carelessness. Just a gasp, then whooshing panic as she toppled over the banister and headed straight for the tiled floor of Foxbrooke Manor’s entrance hall, thirty feet below.
Ten minutes earlier
‘Oh, no,’ Estelle muttered as the sound of barking dogs echoed towards her down the corridor. It was the night of the revamped Winter Ball at Foxbrooke Manor and her family couldn’t afford to have anything go wrong. Thanks to her wayward father, Arthur, the Duke of Somerset, the estate was on a financial precipice, and it only needed one more cock-up to send it over the edge.
The guests had arrived and were making their way from the bar areas to the two dining rooms. The corridor of her family home was empty, so Estelle tried to run towards the noise she knew could only spell trouble. However, her long legs were constrained by a tight turquoise dress that felt a size too small, and her feet were in heels that belonged in hell.
Both had been gifted to her by her aunt, Simone, a famous American fashion designer who’d settled in Paris thirty-five years previously. Lady Estelle Foxbrooke may have had the height and looks of a model, but she had no interest in following her mom onto the catwalk, or restricting her calories until she reached the required weight.
Up ahead, the barks were now interspersed with excited growls.
Kicking off her heels, she yanked the skirt of her dress to the top of her thighs and sprinted forward. Her stockinged feet slid on the tiles of the entrance hall and she grabbed at a coat rack to steady herself.
Dad! No!
Arthur Foxbrooke owned two black hellhounds: Caligula, a Great Dane, and Borgia, a Labrador Retriever. Both animals were more unmanageable than their master, which was saying something, and were now enjoying an orgy of destruction as they attempted to fight, eat, or shag each other, as well as all the decorations running up the stairs.
‘Heel!’
Her tone may have worked on her own dogs, as well as most people, however Caligula and Borgia were having none of it. They took one look at Estelle, then bounded up the stairs and away.
Clenching her hands into fists, she let out a cry of frustration. Despite her twin brother, Henry, returning to the family home a few months ago to help run the estate, their father always seemed to find a way to undo their good work. Neither she nor Henry could babysit Arthur or his pets twenty-four-seven and so, in a few brief minutes, two uncontrollable dogs had destroyed a day’s worth of work.
What a mess…
Winding up the banisters had been metres of lights, winter foliage, garlands of fragrant dried fruit, and loops of popcorn threaded on gold string. It had been a magnificent feast for the eyes as well as the nose, but now everything lay in tangled tatters.
Should I get Jack?
No.
Jack, one of her oldest friends, had just moved back to Foxbrooke and had spent the last few weeks helping to organise the Winter Ball. During that time, he’d also fallen in love with Eveline, Estelle’s best friend, and tonight was their first official outing as a couple. Estelle didn’t want to disturb them, or any of the staff who were rushed off their feet preparing for dinner. She could clear this up on her own.
Hands on her hips, she surveyed the scene. If she ignored the confetti of popcorn, leaves, and oranges studded with cloves that littered the floor, most of the decorations were still intact—just not in the right place. She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes until dinner was served. She could do this.
Dashing to the bottom of the stairs, Estelle began disentangling the lights from the greenery, popcorn and fruit garlands. The bulbs had gone off, but she didn’t care about fixing them. She just needed to get the overall appearance back to how it was and hope people were drunk enough not to notice.
And this is why I did a final check, she thought as she made her way up the stairs, looping the decorations around her arms. As with most matters relating to her family and their home, Estelle could never truly relax. It was like keeping an eye on a delinquent toddler centipede—having to be on constant alert as you waited for one of the hundred shoes to inevitably drop.
Tonight was meant to be the moment where everything came together and they made a decent profit. A night where she could relax and let her hair down. But no. Here she was, cleaning up her father’s mess, whilst he chugged champagne and partied with her two mothers elsewhere in the house.
Estelle paused and briefly closed her eyes as her throat tightened. Her three parents were still happily in love after over thirty years, Henry was smitten with his girlfriend, Libby, and now Eveline had found her perfect man in Jack. Despite her public protestations to the contrary, Estelle’s love life was non-existent and had been that way for years.
And no surprise. There’s no room or time for a boyfriend.
As well as managing the estate, Estelle ran a livery. Until Henry had returned, she’d been working fourteen-hour days, seven days a week, for years without a break. She had more time to herself now her twin was back, but the only man she was interested in didn’t seem interested in her.
Isaac Hayward was a brilliant yoga teacher, kind, and extremely hot. He had dark curly hair, emerald green eyes, seven-day-stubble, and the body of a gymnast. Yet despite Estelle inviting him to every event she could, he always declined.
No-one else makes me—
Another man’s face came to mind, sending a wave of heat crashing through her.
No, no, no. A thousand times no! NOT him!
