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Daisy’s father was so familiar it seemed odd that he was a stranger; the craggy face, wild hair and skinny frame were timeless. Rick Cross had burst onto the music scene at twenty and never left. Age had definitely not withered him; he still toured, released and dominated the headlines although these days it was philanthropy not wild antics that kept him there.
‘Beresford? I’ve read your books. Good to meet you.’
Daisy slipped an arm around Seb and he obediently held her close as she beamed at her family. ‘We’ve got some news. Mum, Dad, Vi. Seb and I are engaged. We’re going to get married!’
* * *
It was exhausting, pretending. Hanging on Seb’s arm, smiling, showing off the admittedly beautiful but somewhat soulless solitaire on her third finger as her family crowded around with congratulations and calls for champagne.
A glass of champagne Daisy pretended to sip. If her parents suspected for one single second the real reason for her marriage they would be so disappointed. Not in her, for her.
And she absolutely couldn’t bear that. To let them down again.
They knew how much she wanted to fall in love, to be loved.
Vi hung back a little, her eyes suspicious even as her mouth smiled. Her sister had been so badly burned, it was hard for her to trust. And Daisy was lying after all.
‘I’ll call the vicar right away.’ Her mother had swung into action with alarming haste. ‘You’ll want spring naturally, Daisy darling, next year or the year after? I think next year. A long engagement is so dreadfully dreary.’
Daisy looked at Seb for help but he had been drawn into a conversation with her father about guitar chords. Did Seb know anything about guitars or chords? She had no idea.
No idea what his favourite food was, his favourite memory, band, song, poem, book, film, TV programme. If he played a musical instrument, liked to run, watched football, rugby or both...
‘Daisy, stop daydreaming,’ her mother scolded as she had so many times before. ‘Next year, darling?’
Daisy tugged her hat back into place. ‘Sorry.’ She put on her widest smile and did her best to look as if her heart weren’t shattering into ever smaller fragments with every word. ‘We’re not getting married here.’
The rest of her family fell silent and Daisy could feel three sets of eyes boring into her. ‘Not getting married here?’
‘It’s all you have ever wanted.’
‘Don’t be silly, Daisy girl. Where else would you get married?’
‘It’s my fault, I’m afraid.’ Seb had stepped behind her and Daisy leant back into the lean, hard body with a hastily concealed sob of relief. ‘I, ah, I own a licensed property and we rather thought we would get married there. I hope you’re not too disappointed.’
‘A licensed venue?’ Vi, of course. ‘Like a pub?’
‘No, well, actually yes, there is a pub in the village. It’s a tied village, so technically it belongs to me but I don’t run it.’
So much for Seb rescuing her, although Daisy would bet her favourite lens that Mr Darcy would quail faced with her entire family. If Rose were here as well to complete the interrogation then Seb would be running for the hills, his precious heir forgotten.
‘Seb owns Hawksley Castle, we’re getting married there and it won’t be next spring.’ It was time to act as she had never acted before. Daisy nuzzled in closer to Seb, one arm around his neck, and kissed him. Just a short, quick kiss, his mouth hard under hers.
Heat shimmered through her, low and intense and she quivered, grabbing for words to hide behind, hoping Seb hadn’t noticed how he had affected her. ‘We’re getting married this month, in just over three weeks. Excited?’
‘Why the rush?’ Vi’s eyes flickered over Daisy’s belly and she resisted the urge to breathe in.
‘Why not?’ Keeping her voice as light and insouciant as possible, Daisy pressed even closer to Seb, his arm tight around her. It might just be for show but she was grateful for the support both physically and mentally. ‘After all, Mum and Dad, what do you always say? When you know, you know. You only knew each other for a weekend before you got married.’
‘But, Daisy, darling that was the late seventies and we were in Vegas.’
‘It’s true though, honey.’ Rick Cross’s voice had softened to the besotted tones he still used whenever he spoke to his wife, the intimate voice that excluded everyone else, even their three daughters. ‘We only needed that weekend to know we were meant to be. Maybe Daisy girl has been as lucky as we were?’
The ever-present ache intensified. ‘I am, Dad. Be happy for me?’
