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He pulled the laptop towards him, not allowing himself time to think things through and change his mind, quickly typing in Gianni’s email address. Subject heading ‘Lake Garda’.
He might not be her dream fiancé but Daisy deserved the perfect honeymoon and he was going to make sure she had it. It was the least he could do.
* * *
He had expected to find her in the kitchen. Daisy had been forbidden from doing any of the actual sanding herself. Seb was pretty sure all the dust wasn’t good for the baby, but it didn’t stop her superintending every job. Under her instructions the walls had been repainted a creamy white, the sanded and restored cupboards, cabinets and dresser a pale grey. He’d been sceptical about the colour but, walking into the warm, soothing space, he had to admit she was right.
The estate joiner had been hard at work planing and oiling wood from one of the old oaks that had fallen in the winter storms, creating counter tops from the venerable old tree. It seemed fitting that a tree that had stood sentry in the grounds for so many generations should be brought inside and used for the changing of the guard.
Daisy had found an old clothes rack in one of the outbuildings and had arranged for it to be suspended from the ceiling, hanging the old copper saucepans from it. She had unearthed his great-grandmother’s tea set from the attic and arranged it on the shelves, the old-fashioned forget-me-not pattern blending timelessly with the creams and greys. The overall effect was of useful comfort. A warm, family kitchen, a place for work and conversation. For sweet smells and savoury concoctions, for taking stock of the day while planning the next.
The kitchen had been changing day by day and yet he hadn’t really taken in the scale of her efforts. It wasn’t just that the kitchen was freshly restored, nor that it was scrupulously clean. It wasn’t just the new details like the pictures on the wall, old landscapes of the grounds and the castle, the newly installed sofa by the Aga and the warm rug Monty had claimed for his own. It was the feeling. Of care, of love.
The same feeling that hit him when he walked into her rooms, cluttered, sweet-smelling and alive. The same feeling she had created in the morning room and in the library where she had removed some of the heavier furniture and covered the backs of his chairs with warm, bright throws, heaped the window seats high with cushions.
His home was metamorphosing under his eyes and yet he’d barely noticed.
He should tell her he liked the changes.
Seb poured himself a glass of water and sat at the table, thinking of all the places she could have disappeared to. He didn’t blame her for wanting some breathing space before the wedding; but if even Sherry couldn’t run her to earth Daisy must have chosen her hiding space with care.
Neatly piled on the tabletop were some of the old scrapbooks and pictures Sherry had printed out from Daisy’s website and internet pin boards. Seb reached out curiously and began to leaf through them. He expected to see a little girl’s fantasy, all meringues and Cinderella coaches.
Instead he was confronted by details: a single flower bound in ribbon, a close-up of an intricate piece of lace, an embellished candle. Simple, thoughtful yet with a quirky twist. Like Daisy herself.
A piece of paper fell out and he picked it up. It was a printed-out picture of a ring: twisted pieces of fine gold wire embellished with fiery stones. A million miles away from the classic solitaire he had presented her with.
A solitaire she rarely wore. She was worried she’d lose it, she said. But it wasn’t just that; he could see it in her eyes.
He hadn’t known her at all when he’d bought it for her. Picked out a generic ring, expensive, sure, flawless—but nothing special, nothing unique. He could have given that ring to anyone.
And Daisy was definitely not just anyone.
Seb leant back, the picture in his hand. He really should show her just how much he appreciated all that she had done.
She was so busy trying to fit in with him, to turn his old house into a home. It was time he gave something back. The wedding of her dreams, the honeymoon of her dreams.
The ring of her dreams.
It wasn’t the full package, he was all too aware of that. But it was all he had, wasn’t it? It would have to do.
He just hoped it would be enough.
CHAPTER TEN
THERE IT WAS. Daisy sucked in a long breath, forcing herself to stay low and remain still, remain quiet despite every nerve fizzing with excitement. Slowly, carefully, she focused the zoom lens.
Click.
The otter didn’t know it was being photographed—much like Daisy herself last night. Would the otter feel as violated, as sick to its stomach if she published the shot on her website?
