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She spins to face me and at the same time clasps her hand to her chest. “Jesus, you gave me a heart attack.”
“What?” I say, and, tilting my head toward her, cup my hand around my ear, feigning deafness.
Chelsea elbows me playfully. “I did not shout that loud.”
I lower my arms and loop them around her back, pulling her in close. “Shout? No, wail would be more apt. I believe you’d give a banshee a run for her money.”
Chelsea smiles, but like mine it’s forced. I know she is nervous about today, though her reasons differ from mine. I’ve been so wrapped up in myself that I’ve completely overlooked how she’s feeling.
“We will stay for an hour, show our faces and make our excuses.”
Chelsea nods. “It’s fine. I’ll be by your side as long as you need.”
It’s over an hour’s drive from Surrey to Knightsbridge. I’m taken down memory lane as Albert passes the old terraced housing estate and the park we would pass as boys on the journey to and from boarding school. With Albert driving it’s like being thrown back in time. The park hasn’t changed—the ice cream van is in the same place, and a tyre swing still hangs from the old oak tree.
We pass the park and the set of traffic lights, and I know we’re getting closer. I squeeze Chelsea’s hand in mine as the estate begins taking shape.
She squeezes my hand in return. “Are you okay?”
No.
I nod and attempt to smile. “I’m fine.”
“When was the last time you came here?” Chelsea asks.
I don’t have to think about my answer. “The last time I visited Freesdon Hall was on my birthday. It’s tradition that my siblings and I come here on the anniversary of her death. We lay flowers under the tree she planted with us as boys, and we spend much of the day sharing childhood memories.”
“Oh, Lucian.” Chelsea shuffles closer toward me and places her arm around my shoulder.
Damn it, I love this girl. I capture her hand in my hand and kiss the backs of her fingers. My lips happen upon the engagement ring and her stare meets mine. She may be guarded as to what she says, and she may keep her feelings under lock and key, but there are so many emotions filling her crystal blues that I know there is more to us than a fake engagement.
Our stare is broken when the wrought-iron gates to the estate open and our car pulls in. There are two cars I don’t recognise and a catering van parked out front. It would seem my father was true to his word when he said he was arranging a buffet-style spread. He can’t do anything without alcohol and canapés. But food and drink only suggest one thing, and that is that we will be here for the duration of the day.
I look to the Georgian mansion and at the beautiful architectural design of the building. The front doors are open, and catering staff dressed in black are stepping inside.
The car stops, and the sound of the driver clearing his throat pulls me from my thoughts. The car door opens, and Chelsea slides out. A few seconds pass before Albert has made his way around the vehicle and opened the back passenger side door for me.
I don’t remember getting out, and I don’t remember walking up the asphalt driveway. It’s like I’m on autopilot as I enter the grand hall.
Room to room I walk, and I take the time to really look. I glance around. Everything is the same, yet different. All of Mother’s photographs and portraits have been taken down. The corner of the living room that was home to her grand piano lies empty. The only evidence of it ever being there is the flattened-down tread of the carpet. Colourful tapestries that once hung from the walls are gone. Ceilings with intricately designed patterns have been painted over. Furniture has been replaced and entire rooms changed around. It looks as though Father has already begun emptying the place, and that’s exactly how it feels. Empty.
“Excuse me, sir.” A red-haired woman carrying a silver tray approaches us. “Can I interest either of you in a chorizo, ham and cheese canapé?”
Chelsea smiles politely and reaches for a bite-sized treat.
“I need air,” I say, and take Chelsea’s hand before she has chance to take the canapé from the tray. Without a word I walk us toward the door.
“Lucian.”
I sigh. So much for having a few minutes to myself. I turn and catch sight of Gage making his way toward us. His arms are outstretched as though something has perplexed him. “What time do you call this? I have a Scotch in the gardens with your name on it.”
“Is it a double?” I muse, to which Chelsea elbows me.
“Triple if you like,” Gage says, his eyes alive with mischief.
Chelsea glowers at my brother, who holds his hands up in surrender. “Don’t worry, Chelsea. You have my word I won’t let him get shitfaced and spew up over Mother’s prized begonias.”
I pat my brother on the shoulder. “No, Gage, I believe that is a party trick unique to you.”
