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“Do you like it? Riding?”
Lyon nuzzled Petrie. “Yeah, it’s cool. I was scared at first. Almost crying. But—and this doesn’t mean he’s my new best friend or anything,”—he scoffed—“but Darcy was kind and patient. He suggested I ask Wiremu if I could try on Petrie instead of one of his horses because then I’d be used to him when I wanted to go with you. I guess he taught all his kids. It’s a teeny tiny bit of a pity he’s not around anymore.”
Bennet pressed his forehead against Doll’s neck and breathed in her musky scent.
“So, are we going for a ride or what? I want that seven-tiered rainbow cake that’s in the fridge.”
He let out a long, deep breath. “Yeah, Lyon. Let’s ride.”
The first weekend in February crept up on Bennet. He’d gotten so used to visiting Charlie at the pub, having him around, that it punched him in the gut the morning they packed and drove Charlie’s things to Port Ratapu. Restless the whole drive, he tried to keep the mood light even though his stomach felt heavy.
Lyon, who had opted to stay in Cubworthy, sounded like he was having far too much fun when Bennet called him.
He leaned against the emptied truck and stared out over the view, the valley below, and Darcy’s property on the mirroring hill. “Please tell me you’re being responsible and I don’t have to bus back today.”
“I’m hanging out with some mates.” He could almost hear Lyon’s eye roll. “I’m fine.”
Bennet sure hoped so.
Inside, Charlie and Olivia were laughing as they debated the fate of Charlie’s belongings. Bennet left them to it and changed out of his sweaty T-shirt and pants into his favorite Liberty-print button-down and skin-hugging jeans.
Afternoon sun settled warmly over Port Ratapu and Bennet, determined to re-center himself, took a long walk into town. He visited the local café, bought a book from Cracked Spine, then found himself walking up to the town belt and over dirt paths into the hills.
He probably should turn back.
It distressed him that he couldn’t stop himself.
His chest fluttered. There it was.
Beautiful stone walls, gnarly gargoyles on every pillar, a wrought-iron gate.
The charming neo-gothic mansion, shrouded by thick pines, was bigger and more picturesque than he’d expected.
He ran his fingers over the rough wall and breathed in the coolness of the stone. Something about the quality of the air reminded him of Darcy’s scent. Darcy living here felt right.
He drew nearer, admiring the grandeur. Imagine coming home to this every day!
God, what was he doing?
He hadn’t spoken to Darcy in weeks. This was beyond juvenile.
“Bennet?”
His heart jumped into his throat. Georgie and her wild curly hair rolled toward the gates. Thank God it wasn’t Darcy, but this wasn’t much better. Nothing for it now . . .
He smiled self-deprecatingly. “Caught me.”
She raised a brow.
“I’ve heard a lot about this place. I wanted a firsthand look.”
“You won’t see much on that side of the fence. Come in. I’ll give you a tour.”
He wanted to. He really wanted to, but—“Darcy can’t see me here. Not uninvited. I should go.”
“I’m inviting you. Dad’s at work, he won’t be back for hours.” She grinned at him. “It’s a fascinating house, and I totally won’t tell him. If you like?”
Bennet hesitated. He shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he—“It does look amazing.”
“Come this way.”
They walked through beautiful gardens and a dramatic cemetery but it was the mansion that stole Bennet’s breath. Beautifully ornate doorways, high ceilings, sweeping staircases, a ballroom. Archways and nooks and a library.
Every inch was decked with elegant gothic furniture, rich textured wallpapers and upholstery.
He’d thought the farmhouse was grand but it had nothing on this.
The views over the garden, the town, and the mirroring hill where Charlie now lived were breathtaking.
“This floor is Dad’s. The stained-glass windows here are the oldest in the country. Originally they came from a chapel somewhere in rural England and when the family first immigrated, they brought the glass with them. Dad’s room has the best piece. Take a peek.”
“In his room?”
“A sneaky peek. You won’t regret it, follow me.”
Georgie opened a heavy wooden door and rolled inside. Bennet’s stomach rose to his fluttering chest.
The room was large, and spacious. Less furniture than the other rooms. A dark, low chest of drawers with a gilded arched mirror, a walk-in wardrobe, an ensuite bathroom, a chaise between the impressive windows, and a four-poster bed with matching sideboards.
Everything was forest green, polished wood, and heavy fabrics with delicate golden designs. Bennet imagined sprawling out on that bed, those pillows surrounding him, Darcy naked over him with a dark twinkle in his eye. To think that might have been possible . . .
But it would have been affection that could only be shown within these walls. To be unacknowledged out of them . . .
No matter how pretty the walls, it wasn’t what he wanted.
