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Seb retraced his steps, anticipating the moment his steps would lead him out of the wood and over the hill, that first glimpse of Hawksley Castle standing, majestic, by the lake edge. The Norman keep, grey, watchful, looking out over the water flanked by the white plaster and timbered Tudor hall, picturesque with the light reflected off the lead-paned windows. Finally the house itself, a perfect example of neoclassical Georgian architecture.
Daisy was right: it would make a wonderful setting for a TV series.
Seb’s heart twisted. Painfully.
What if she didn’t come back? How would he explain her absence to her mother? The guests already beginning to arrive in the village and in neighbouring hotels? If the wedding was called off the resulting publicity would be incredible, every detail of his own parents’ doomed marriage exhumed and re-examined over and over.
The usual nausea swirled, sweat beading at his forehead, but it wasn’t at the prospect of the screaming headlines and taunting comments. No, Seb realised. It was at the thought of the wedding being called off.
Slowly he wandered back towards the castle barely noticing the spring sunshine warming his shoulders. No wedding. It wasn’t as if he had wanted this grand, showy affair anyway. It was a compromise he had had to make for the baby, wasn’t it?
Or was it?
The truth was he hadn’t hesitated. He’d taken one look at Daisy’s face as she’d read through that long list of names and known he couldn’t deny her the wedding of her dreams.
Truth was he couldn’t deny her anything.
He wanted to give her everything—not that she’d take it, absurdly proud as she was.
She was hardworking, earnest and underestimated herself so much she allowed everybody else to underestimate her too, hiding behind her red lipstick, her quirky style and her camera.
He knew how she put herself down, made light of her own perceived failures, preempting the judgement she was sure would come. What must it have taken to put that presentation together, to show him her work—and yet he had thrown all her enthusiasm, all her help back in her face.
Shame washed over him, hot and tight. He hadn’t wanted to listen, to accept that a fresh pair of eyes could ever see anything in Hawksley that he couldn’t see. Hadn’t wanted to accept that he was stuck on the wrong path.
He had spent so long ensuring he was nothing like his spoilt, immoral parents he had turned himself into his grandfather: upstanding sure, also rigid, a relic from a time long dead, refusing to accept the world had changed even as his staff and income shrank and his bills multiplied.
It seemed a long way back to the castle, weighted down with guilt and shame. The truth was Daisy was right: he did need to make some changes and fast.
Starting with the estate. Much as he wanted to jump in his car, find her, beg her forgiveness he had to make the much-needed changes first. That way he could show her.
Show her that he had listened, show her that her work had value.
That he valued her.
Seb stood still, feeling his heart beat impossibly hard, impossibly loud.
Was this valuing her? This nausea, this knot of worry, this urge to do whatever it took to show her?
Or was it something more? Was it love?
It was messy and painful, just as he had feared, but it was more than that.
It was miraculous.
She made him a better person. It was up to him to repay that gift, even though it would take him the rest of his life.
The estate office was, as usual, a mess, cold and cluttered, an unattractive tangle of paperwork, old furniture, tools and filing cabinets. It felt unloved, impermanent. Seb sank down into the creaking old office chair and looked about at the utilitarian shelves, filled with broken bits of machinery and rusting tools. This was no way to run a place the size of Hawksley.
He picked up a notebook and flipped it open to a fresh white page. It mocked him with the unwritten possibilities and he sat for a moment, paralysed by how much he had to do, how sweeping the changes ahead.
But this wasn’t about him, not any more. It was about his child, about his heritage, about the man he was—and the man he should be.
It was about his future wife.
The first thing he needed to do was admit he needed some help, he couldn’t do it all on his own no matter how much he wanted to.
He uncapped his fountain pen and began to write.
1. Resign from college
Seb sat back and looked at the words, waited to feel sad, resentful, to feel the weight of failure. He still had so much more to achieve; the visiting professorship at Harvard for one. Was he ready to give up his academic career? He could produce another ten bestselling books but without his college credentials they would mean nothing, not to his colleagues.
But the expected emotions didn’t materialise; instead the burden on his shoulders lessened.
