Page 129 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘Magnus is right, we need to let them go. It’s the responsible thing to do.’

‘I don’t want to fail them.’

‘Doing the right thing doesn’t mean failure.’

Sammy shook her head, as if that might dislodge the idea. ‘They follow us. They . . .’ She stopped, pressing her lips together. ‘They trust us.’

‘They do,’ he said.

‘And now we . . . what? Abandon them?’ Her voice sounded thinner. ‘They wouldn’t last one night outside that hut.’

Nate came closer, his hand light against her sleeve. ‘They trust us,’ he said. ‘So, we do it properly. Not here on the estate – up on Exmoor.’

‘It still feels like . . .’

‘I know.’

That stopped her protests.

‘Sometimes you don’t get a version of life that feels good,’ he said.

One of the ducklings clambered onto her foot, its own tiny feet pressing into her instep. ‘I keep getting it wrong,’ she said. The tears came from nowhere.

A scrape of shoes on the gravel, then he put his arms around her, drawing her in, close enough that she felt the warmth of his breath against her skin. ‘You’re not,’ he said.

She lifted her head.

The scrape of his stubble caught lightly against her cheek. And then he kissed her.

Sammy held onto him, one hand tightening on his shirt, the other at his neck, pulling him closer before she could think better of it. It settled into something deeper – something that had been below the surface just . . . waiting.

He stepped back first. A half step, still close enough to smell his musky scent, her hand still caught in his shirt. ‘Come to the pub with me, later,’ he said.

‘Tonight?’

‘Yes tonight.’ Almost as an afterthought, he added. ‘No Chloe. Just us.’

Sammy lifted her eyes to his – the colour of fresh spring leaves and suddenly hope didn’t feel like a reckless thing.

Thirty-one

The pub seemed different with Nate beside her. Rose still barked orders, servers weaved between packed tables balancing plates; the same smell of rich gravy, and salt-damp coats by the door. But when Nate’s hand rested at the small of her back as they stepped inside, her heart turned over on itself.

Mabel and the tall vicar were sitting together. Mabel’s gaze was inquisitive. Victor gave a small smile.

At Nate’s suggestion, they chose a table by the window, with the harbour visible beyond, the water darkening. There was only enough room for their drinks and a candle on the table, the flame dancing between them.

For the first ten minutes they talked about the ducklings, then the recent delivery of trees Nate would plant in the orchard, which led to diploids and triploids and them laughing at Magnus’s expense. ‘I shouldn’t have teased him,’ said Nate.

‘But you had to . . . that man’s begging to be teased.’

Their gaze met over the candle flame, and her heart skidded.

His eyes slipped past hers and sharpened slightly as he looked out toward the harbour.

‘I saw Jimmy’s car outside your cottage.’

With effort Sammy kept her expression still. So, he had seen it, but living next door, there was very little chance he wouldn’t notice. She lifted her wine. ‘Did you.’