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Had Seb seen it? Each time a photo of them appeared in the press he got a little colder, a little more withdrawn and she could feel herself wither with each snap too.
Was it the intrusion itself she minded—or the image portrayed in the pictures? They looked so happy last night, hands clasped, heads turned towards each other, as if they were wrapped up in their own world, totally complete together.
And they said the camera never lied...
Daisy shook off the thought, allowing her own camera to follow the sleek mammal as it swam up the river, turning giddy somersaults in the water, playing some game she longed to understand. Was it lonely, swimming all by itself? Maybe by the summer it would have cubs to play with. She hoped so.
Her mind drifted down to the new life inside her. Still so small, only perceptible by the swelling in her breasts and sensitivity to certain smells and yet strong, growing, alive. ‘Will I be less lonely when you’re here?’ she whispered.
It was a terrible burden to put on a baby. Happiness and self-fulfilment. Daisy focused again on the gliding otter. She had her camera, her work, her family. That was enough. It had to be enough.
Only. What if it wasn’t? She was trying so hard. Trying to be calm and sensible and fit in with the slow and steady pace of life at Hawksley she glimpsed between wedding preparations: Seb with his research, Seb out in the fields, talking to tenants, the weekend tourists herded around the small areas open to the public. It was as distant from her busy London life as the otter’s life was from an urban fox’s streetwise existence.
She was making a list of the most immediate refurbishments needed in the house and was happily delving deep into the crammed attics. But despite everything Seb said she didn’t feel as if she had a right to start making changes; it felt as if she were playing at being the lady of the house. She was still a visitor, just a momentary imprint in the house’s long history.
And although Seb hadn’t gone into great detail she knew that money was tight, the trust set up to keep the castle depleted, ransacked in return for a jet-set existence. Seb had to wait for probate before he could start to sell off all the luxury items his parents had lavished their money on. Until they were sold it was impossible to know just how much she could draw on. Right now she was doing her best with things scavenged from the attic, materials she could turn into cushions or curtains, pictures that just needed a polish.
Hawksley needed far more work than easy cosmetic fixes. How could she plan the renovations it needed when she knew full well the cost would be exorbitant?
It was hard to grasp how life would be afterwards. The wedding overshadowed everything, created buzz and fuss and work and life. Once Sherry left for good, the vows were said and the marquee tidied away what would be left for her? Would she find herself desperate to shout out loud, to stand in the middle of the courtyard and scream, to tear the calm curtain of civility open? To get some reaction somehow.
The wedding was just a day. She had the rest of her life here to navigate.
And there was nobody to discuss it with. Seb didn’t want emotions in his life and she had agreed to respect that. This fear of loneliness, emotions stretching to breaking point, was exactly the kind of thing he abhorred.
And of course, where there wasn’t emotion there couldn’t be love. Could there?
Daisy got slowly to her feet, careful not to disturb the still-basking otter. Love? Where had that come from? She knew full well that love wasn’t on offer in this pact of theirs. It was just...
There was passion behind that serious, intellectual face. She had known it that very first night. Had seen it again time after time. Not just in bed but in his work, his attachment to his home. And passion was emotion...
Seb might not think that he did emotion but he did. His books were bestsellers because they brought the past alive. No one could write with such sensual sensitivity about the lusts of the Stuart court without feeling the hunger himself.
There were times when the almost glacial green eyes heated up, darkened with need. Times when the measured voice grew deeper, huskier. Times when sense was tossed aside for immediacy. Seb desired her, she knew that. Desire was an emotion.
Of course he was capable of love! Just not for her. Maybe, if she hadn’t interrupted the steady pace of his life, he would have met somebody suitable. Someone who shared his love for the past, who would have known how to overcome his fears, helped to heal his hurts.
He’d been robbed of his chance for love just as she had. They were in this together.
And so she wouldn’t dwell on the way her stomach lurched every time he looked directly at her, on the way her skin fizzed at every causal touch. She wouldn’t allow herself to think about how he made her feel smart as well as sexy. As if she counted.
