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It’s all good.
We’re here together.
And I’m loving life right now.
Thanks to you. I love you.
Alessia feels the same, but she wishes he’d reconcile with Rowena because, deep down, she suspects he’s hurting.
* * *
Sitting at my desk, I read through my notes for the meeting this evening. I’m excited. Michael, our estate manager who’s in charge of the Home Farm, has lit a fire under me. My father was ahead of his time when he went organic. Michael’s father, Philip, who ran the Home Farm back then, helped persuade all our tenants to go the organic route too. Today, with Michael’s help, I hope to convince our local tenant farmers that regenerative farming is the next step in our ecological journey. Sustainable, regenerative farming is the way forward—it helps the estate, our producers, our land, the locale, and the planet. It feeds and repairs the soil, sequesters carbon and increases biodiversity. Through all my research, I’ve become a passionate fan. We have an advocate in a farmer from Worcestershire, Jem Gladwell, who will join us this evening. His substantial farm uses the latest regenerative techniques, and he’s enough of a convert that he wants to spread the word and talk to fellow farmers using language that they understand.
I’m looking forward to meeting him, and he’ll stay the night.
Our first guest!
And if tonight is a success, I hope we can repeat this process at Angwin and Tyok.
Once I finish my notes, I check my email, and my thoughts turn to Caroline, and from her to Kit’s journal. I have squirreled it into the safe and pocketed the key. I haven’t read any more pages, but I’m torn. I don’t know if I want to find out more or if I should leave Kit to his secrets. After all, he’s no longer with us.
I should let him rest.
But it gnaws at me… Caroline, faithless.
Is it any wonder we fucked when he died? I thought it was some grieving alchemy that got us together. It probably was, but as I look back, there was no restraint from either of us.
Hell.
Was she faithless throughout their marriage?
She said she loved him.
She was devastated when he died.
Devastated enough to sleep with me?
Fuck.
I hate that these thoughts plague me. Neither one of us behaved well.
Caro’s sent me her interior design ideas for the mansion blocks. There are three options, all of them good. But I haven’t picked up the phone to discuss them with her. Oliver wants the cheapest option, but that’s no surprise. We’ll be back in London for a few days from tomorrow evening—I’ll arrange to speak to her then.
There’s a soft tap on the door, and Melanie, one of Danny’s protégés from the village, peeks around the door.
“Good afternoon, your lordship. Sergeant Nancarrow is here to see you.”
What! Shit!
Anxiety rises like the tide in my chest. What does he want? To interview Alessia? On a Saturday? I thought we’d avoided all that.
“Offer him some refreshment and show him into the main drawing room. I’ll be with him shortly.”
“Yes, milord.”
I blow out a breath. What could he possibly want?
When I enter the room, Nancarrow is sipping a cup of tea and examining the family photographs displayed on one of the Queen Anne tables. Notes drift from the music room, where Alessia is at the piano.
Keep it together, dude.
“Sergeant Nancarrow. Good afternoon.”
He turns, and I extend my hand.
“My lord. It’s good to see you.” We shake, and I usher him over to where Melanie’s set up tea, and we both take a seat.
“Congratulations on your recent marriage,” he says and offers me a kind smile.
So far, so good.
“Thank you. What can I do for you?”
He blows out a quick breath and sets down his teacup, his expression now grim. “I’ve brought news, my lord. Unfortunate news. Earlier this week, the two men we apprehended at your rental property were murdered while on remand.”
My scalp tightens, and I’m suddenly a little dizzy; I’m sure all the blood is draining from my head.
What the fuck? “How?”
“Details haven’t yet been released,” he mutters, watching my expression intently.
I sit back, utterly stunned… and a memory of the Arsehole showing me the newspaper clipping looms large and ugly in my head.
“I thought I should come and inform you. The case against them will lie on file but neither you nor Lady Trevethick will need to testify in court.”
“Yes,” I breathe as my mind goes into overdrive.
Did Anatoli murder them?
Does he have that kind of capability?
Was it someone else at his behest?
Fucking hell. Should I tell Nancarrow?
“So I wanted to return this.” His voice has softened, and he hands me a large Tesco’s shopping bag. In it are my laptop and sound mixers.
“How did you come by these?”
“The gear was in the back of their car. The BMW. We were holding the car and these as evidence—but now the case is defunct.” He shrugs. “The serial numbers match those of your missing items. I thought I’d return them.”
