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He leant forward again.
2. Employ a professional estate manager
Daisy was right, damn her. What use was he to anyone, sitting up late, scrutinising crop-rotation plans and cattle lists? He had done his best but he still knew less than an apprentice cattle man. If he put in an estate manager he could free his time up for writing—and for the house itself. Which led to the third thing. Admitting that Hawksley wasn’t just his family home, it was a living legacy and he needed to start treating it as such.
3. Tidy and redecorate the offices to a professional standard
So that he could then...
4. Employ an events planner
5. Talk to the solicitor about breaking into the trust and investing in the estate
What was it Daisy had suggested? An internal structure in the Norman keep. That could work, maintain the integrity of the historical ruins while making it both safe and comfortable for weddings and parties. Seb winced. It looked as if the medieval-themed banquets might be unavoidable after all. As long as he wasn’t expected to wear tights and a jerkin...
What else? Holiday cottages, nature trails... He thought back. It had only been this morning. How was it possible that so few hours had passed? She had left her laptop behind. He needed to take a look, see what other ideas he had dismissed. But there was definitely one more thing to add to the list.
6. Tell my agent I am willing to consider TV ideas
* * *
Her room looked just as it always did, with no inkling that its mistress had fled. The usual jumble of scarves, the ever-increasing collection of hats. Seb stood at the door and inhaled the faint floral scent she always wore.
When had he begun to associate that smell with home?
He didn’t want her hidden away behind the discreet door, not any more. He wanted her with him; hats, scarves and whatever else she needed to make herself at home. Her rooms would make an incredible nursery.
If she would just come back.
He stepped past the neatly made bed and into the small chamber Daisy used as an office. Her laptop still stood open and, when he tentatively touched a key, it lit up, her PowerPoint presentation still on the screen. Seb took it back to the beginning and began to read.
Shame flared again. Searing as he flicked through the slides. She had put a lot of time into this. For him. She had only looked at comparable estates in terms of size and had got as much useful information as she could including entrance prices, numbers of staff, opening hours and affiliations to member organisations. It was invaluable data, the beginnings of a business plan right here.
He closed the file down and sat back, his chest tight. How could he make it up to her?
Seb was about to switch the laptop off when a file caught his eye. Saved to her desktop, it was simply titled Hawksley. Was it more research? Curious, he double clicked.
More photos. Of course. A smile curved his mouth as he looked at his beloved home from Daisy’s perspective: panoramic views, detailed close-ups, the volunteers at work, the farms. All the myriad details that made up Hawksley chronicled. She understood it as much as he did—possibly even more. She was so much more than the mother of his child, more than a fitting mistress for this huge, complicated and much-loved house.
She was perfect.
Another photo flashed up, black and white, grainy, an almost-sepia filter. It was Seb, sitting at his desk. His first instinct was to recoil, the way he always did when faced with a candid shot, the familiar churn of horror, of violation.
But then he looked again. He was reading, his forehead furrowed; he looked tired, a little stressed. It completely encapsulated the past few months, the toil they had taken on him.
Another image, Seb again, this one in full colour. He was outside, leaning against a tractor chatting to one of the tenant farmers. This time he looked relaxed, happy.
Another—Seb in Oxford, mid flow, gesticulating, eyes shining as he spoke. Another, another, another...
It wasn’t just Hawksley she understood, had got to the heart of. It was Seb himself.
He closed the laptop lid and sat back, images whirling about his brain. Not the ones she had captured but those images firmly stuck in his memory. The tall, earnest girl stuck in the snow, desperate to fulfil her promise to a couple she didn’t even know. That same girl later that night, eyes half closed in ecstasy, her long limbs wrapped around him.
The look in her eyes when she told him she was pregnant. Her reaction to his proposal. Her desperate plea for him to pretend he loved her. Her need to be loved. Wanted. Appreciated.
Did he love her enough? Want her enough? Appreciate her enough?
Did he deserve her?
Seb’s hands curled into fists. He liked having her here. He liked waking up next to her, liked listening to her take on life, liked the way she brought fresh air and life into his ancient home.
