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‘Did you lock the door?’
‘Bolted it.’
‘Good, wouldn’t want the ghost of a regency rake surprising you in the middle of the night.’
Daisy wandered over to the kettle and filled it. Such a normal everyday thing to do—and yet such a big step at the same time. ‘I’m sure bolts are no barrier to any decent ghosts, not rakish-type ones anyway. Coffee?’
‘All set, thanks.’ He nodded at the large mug at his elbow. The scene was very domestic in a formal, polite kind of way.
Daisy sniffed the several herbal teas she had brought with her and pulled a face. ‘I miss coffee. I don’t mind giving up alcohol and I hate blue cheese anyway but waking up without a skinny latte is a cruel and unusual punishment.’
‘We could get some decaf.’ Seb grabbed two plates and spooned the eggs and bacon onto them.
‘I think you’re missing the whole point of coffee. I’ll give liquorice a try.’ She made the hot drink and carried the mug over to the table, eying up the heaped plate of food with much greater enthusiasm. ‘This looks great, thanks.’
‘I thought we might need sustenance for the day ahead. Registrar at ten and I booked you into the doctor’s here for eleven. I hope that’s okay. And then we’d better let the staff and volunteers know our news, begin to make some plans.’
‘Fine.’ A loud peal rang through the house causing a slight vibration, and Daisy jumped, the eggs piled up on her fork tumbling back onto the plate. ‘What on earth is that?’
Seb pushed his chair back and tried not to look too longingly at his uneaten breakfast. It was a long way from the kitchen to the door, plenty of time for his breakfast to cool. ‘Doorbell. It’s a little dramatic admittedly but the house is so big it’s the only way to know if there’s a visitor—and it’s less obtrusive than a butler. Cheaper too.’
‘Is it the gorgon? If I get turned to stone I expect you to rescue me.’
He tried not to let his mouth quirk at the apt nickname. There was definitely a heart of gold buried deep somewhere underneath Mrs Suffolk’s chilly exterior but it took a long time to find and appreciate it. ‘The volunteers have a key for the back door—there’s only two working doors between the offices and the main house and I lock them both at night.’
‘Good to know. I don’t fancy being petrified in my bed.’ Her words floated after him as he exited the kitchen and headed towards the front of the house.
Once, of course, the kitchen would have been part of the servants’ quarters; it was still set discreetly behind a baize door, connected to the offices through a short passageway and one of the lockable doors that defined the partition between his personal space and the work space. But even his oh-so-formal grandparents had dispensed with live-in servants during the nineties and started to use the old kitchen themselves. For supper and breakfast at least.
His parents had brought their servants with them during the four years they had mismanaged Hawksley. Not that they had ever stayed at the castle for longer than a week.
The doorbell pealed again, the deep tone melodic.
‘On my way.’ Seb pulled back the three bolts and twisted the giant iron key, making a mental note to oil the creaking lock. He swung open the giant door to be confronted with the sight of his future mother-in-law, a huge and ominously full bag thrown over one shoulder, a newspaper in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.
Seb blinked. Then blinked again.
‘Goodness, Seb, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.’ She thrust the champagne and the newspaper at him, muttering cryptically, ‘Page five, darling. Where is Daisy?’
‘Good morning, Mrs Huntingdon...’
‘Sherry.’ She swept past him. ‘“Mrs” makes me feel so old. And we are going to be family after all.’
Family. Not something he knew huge amounts about but he was pretty sure the tall, glamorous woman opposite wasn’t a typical mother-in-law. ‘Right, yes. This way. She’s just eating breakfast.’
He led the supermodel through the hallway, wincing as he noticed her assess every dusty cornice, every scrap of peeling paper. ‘My grandparents rather let the place go.’
‘It’s like a museum. Apt for you in your job, I suppose.’ It didn’t sound like a compliment.
They reached the kitchen and Sherry swept by him to enfold a startled-looking Daisy in her arms. ‘Bacon? Oh, Daisy darling, the chances of you fitting sample sizes were small anyway but you’ll never do it if you eat fried food. No, none for me, thank you. I don’t eat breakfast.’
