Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (25 page)

Seb stretched out in his old leather wingchair, the vibrant red of the curtains catching his eye. Sherry had not received the Keep Out of My Library vibe and his sanctuary was looking as polished and
fresh as the rest of the house. It was actually quite nice not to sneeze every time he pulled out a book although he had preferred the curtains unlaundered. They had been less glaringly bright then.

It wasn’t just Sherry. Daisy was quietly but firmly making changes as well: painting the kitchen, opening up the morning room and turning it into a cosy sitting room despite using little more
than new curtains and cushions and replacing the rather macabre paintings of dead pheasants with some watercolour landscapes she had rescued from the attics. Although they still lived mainly in the kitchen or library, they had begun to spend their evenings in there reading, watching television or playing a long-running but vicious game of Monopoly.

It was almost homely.

But even as the
castle began to take shape he was all too aware there still weren’t enough hours in the day. It would be much easier if he brought in a professional to manage the estate, leaving Seb to his teaching and research.

It wasn’t the Beresford way though. His grandfather had been very clear on that. A good owner managed his land, his people, his family and his home no matter what the sacrifice.
And there had been many throughout the long centuries. There were times when Seb wondered if he would ever be able to return to Oxford and his real work.

Yet at the same time the pull of his ancestral home was so strong. He couldn’t carry on juggling both the estate and academia but making a final decision was unthinkable.

He looked up at the sound of a soft tap on the door, relieved
to take his eyes off the blank laptop screen. He had barely achieved anything yet again, he noted wryly. Worries and thoughts circling round and round; even his research wasn’t distracting him the way it usually did. Money, Daisy, the baby, Hawksley, the book. In less than six months his whole life had turned upside down.

Although if he hadn’t allowed himself to be so distracted by his career
maybe Hawksley at least wouldn’t be in such a state. He had his own culpability here.

The door opened and Daisy appeared bearing one of the massive silver tea trays. One mobile brow flew up as she looked at him. ‘That’s a terrifying scowl. Am I interrupting a crucial moment?’

‘You’re interrupting nothing but mental flailing and flagellation.’ He tried to smile. ‘Sorry if I scared you.’

‘Mental flagellation? Sounds painful. Anything I can help with?’ She carried the tray over to the table in the opposite corner and set it down with an audible thud.

‘Not unless you have a time machine.’

Seb regretted the words as soon as he uttered them; he didn’t need the flash of hurt to cross her face to show him how ill-judged they were. ‘Not you, not the baby.’ Not entirely.
‘Goodness knows, Daisy, out of all the crazy tangled mess my life has become the baby is the one bright spot. No, I was just thinking if I’d acted sooner then things would be a hell of a lot easier now.’

‘How so?’

He pushed his laptop away and sat back in the chair trying to straighten out his skein of thoughts and regrets. ‘Kids are selfish, aren’t they? I spent my holidays here, school
and university—unless my mother was suffering one of her occasional fits of maternal solicitude, but I was so wrapped up in the past I never took an interest in the present. Never saw how Grandfather was struggling, never tried to help.’ He suppressed a deep sigh of regret.

‘History is all well and good but it’s not very practical, is it? Grandfather suggested I go to the local agricultural
college and do estate management, come and work here. I brushed him off, convinced I was destined for higher things.’

‘You were right.’ She was perched on the arm of the old leather chair, legs crossed, and his eyes ran appreciably up the long bare limbs. She was wearing the black tweed shorts, this time teamed with a bright floral shirt and her trademark hat was a cap pulled low over her
forehead.

‘Was I?’ He had been sure then, sure throughout his glittering career. But the past few months had shown just how flawed his ambition had been. ‘Hawksley needed new blood, Grandfather was struggling and my father was never going to step in. My grandfather was too proud to ask me directly and I was too busy to notice. But maybe I could have helped him turn things around—and been
on the ground to stop my father’s gross negligence.’

It was more than negligence. His father’s wilful use of estate capital had been criminal.

‘How could you have stopped it?’

‘The money funding his extravagant lifestyle came from a family trust. It was never intended for private use, certainly not on his scale. Just one look at the accounts would have alerted me.’ And he could
have stepped in.

‘I was far too busy chasing my own kind of fame.’ The taste in his mouth was bitter.

She swung her legs down and hopped to her feet. ‘Just because he suggested estate management doesn’t mean he was desperate for you to live and work here. He was proud of you no matter which path you chose.’

‘I wish I believed that.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I guess we’ll never know.’

‘I know.’ She went over to one of the shelves, pulling a hardback book out. ‘This is yours, isn’t it? The first one? Look how well read it is, the spine is almost broken. So unless you spend your evenings reading your own words I think your grandparents must have read it. Several times.’

He took the book from her outstretched hands. He had given it to them, signed it and handed it over
unsure if they would ever read it. The hardback was battered, corners turned, the pages well thumbed. A swell of pride rose inside him. Maybe they had been proud of his chosen career. He looked over at Daisy. ‘Thank you.’

‘I knew this library was all for show. If you ever looked at a book you’d have seen it for yourself,’ but her eyes were bright and the corners of her full mouth upturned.

‘Anyway—’ she walked back to the tray ‘—I have a small bone to pick with you, my Lord. Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday?’

Seb gaped at her in shock. ‘How did you know?’

‘Incredible detective skills and a handy copy of your birth certificate. In my family birthdays are a very big deal.’ She turned with a shy smile, her hands behind her back. ‘And I must warn you I have
very high expectations for mine, just ask my sisters, so if we are going to be a family—’ the colour rose high on her cheeks and her eyes lowered as she said the words ‘—then your birthday has to be a big deal as well. So. Happy Birthday.’

With a flourish she pulled her arms from behind her back. One held a plate complete with a large cupcake, a lit candle on the top, the other a shiny silver
envelope.

He stood, paralysed with surprise. ‘What’s this?’

‘It’s a card and cake. These are usual on birthdays.’ Her colour was still high but her voice was light. ‘You’re supposed to blow the candle out.’

He just stood there, unable to move a muscle, to process what she was saying. ‘I haven’t had a birthday cake since I was ten. I was always at school, you see.’

Her eyes
softened. ‘The procedure hasn’t changed. You blow, the flame goes out, I clap and then we eat it. Simple.’

He made a huge effort to reach out and took the plate of cake, holding it gingerly as if it were a bomb about to explode. The small flame danced before his eyes. He didn’t want to blow it out; he wanted to watch it twist and turn for ever. ‘And the card?’

‘That you open. And then
we get changed. I have a surprise for you. And I am quite convinced it is going to blow your socks off.’

CHAPTER NINE

‘H
OW
DID
YOU
KNOW
that this is my favourite band?’ Seb, Daisy was learning, was not a huge one for words. If someone arranged a surprise for Daisy she found it hard to sit back and wait; instead she would be peppering them with questions, trying to guess where they were going, slightly anxious it wasn’t going to live up to her own fevered imaginings.

Seb had just
looked bemused, as if the concept of a surprise trip was completely alien to him. Which was ridiculous. He might not want high emotions or romance but he’d had girlfriends before—had none of them ever organised a day out? To a special library or a site of special historical significance?

But even his slightly annoying calm and collected manner had disappeared when the taxi pulled into the
concert venue.

‘Seriously, Daisy. You must be some kind of witch.’ His hand sought hers and squeezed, his touch tingling. For a brief moment she allowed herself to fantasise that this was real, that she was on a night out with someone she was mad about, with someone who was mad about her.

‘Yes, I am. My spells include listening to the music that people play and reading the labels on
CD collections.’ She couldn’t help it, music had been such a huge part of her childhood she subconsciously noticed whatever music was playing although she didn’t play an instrument herself and rarely listened to music for pleasure, preferring silence as she worked.

But Seb liked background noise whether in the kitchen, his study or driving around and when she had been searching the internet,
trying to find something to do tonight, the name had jumped out at her—it had been the CD he was playing that very first night. One call to her father later and VIP seats had been procured.

But it had evidently been the perfect gift. Daisy was torn between shame that all she had managed was a last-minute, hastily organised event and a sneaking fear that maybe she knew him better than she
had realised, than she wanted to admit.

Knew exactly what would make him happy. That would involve caring. Was that part of their deal?

Seb was evidently not having any deep thoughts or misgivings. It was fun to see him enjoying every moment like a child set free in a toy shop as they were led through the plush VIP area. ‘A box? Seriously?’

‘You may have the title but I am rock
aristocracy and this is how we experience concerts,’ she told him as they took their seats. ‘If you would prefer to stand on the beer-covered floor with all the other sweaty people then you can. Your wristband allows you access.’

She could tell he was tempted. Daisy had never understood the allure of the mosh pit herself.

‘Maybe later. You wouldn’t mind?’

She shook her head. ‘Knock
yourself out.’

He looked around in fascination and Daisy tried to see it through his eyes, not her own jaded viewpoint. They were the only occupants of a box directly opposite the stage. Behind them was a private room complete with bar and cloakroom. The entire row was taken up with similar boxes for celebrities and friends and family of the band; corporates were restricted to the row above.
Access to their coveted seats was strictly controlled.

‘This is crazy.’ Seb was staring at the aging rock star and his much-younger girlfriend enthusiastically making out in the next-door box. Daisy sat back; she hoped the rock star hadn’t seen her. She’d been flower girl at his third wedding—and his new girlfriend looked younger than Daisy herself. ‘I’ve been to plenty of events, literary
events, historical conferences, Oxford balls but never anything like this.

‘But I would have been just as happy on the beer-soaked floor with the other sweaty people,’ he said. He meant it too.

‘I’m spoiled,’ she admitted. ‘Dad gets tickets to everything and always took us along. I’d been to more concerts than films by the time I was ten. He drew the line at boy bands though. That’s
probably why they remain my own guilty pleasure. But I haven’t done anything like this for ages.’

‘Why not? If I had free access to gigs I’d go to everything!’

He wouldn’t. Not with the high price tag. ‘I don’t usually like to ask for favours. Mum can get me anything, the new must-have bag or coat or dress—but the deal is you get photographed wearing it. If, like me, you want a quiet
life then the price for a freebie is far too high. But tickets for this sold out months ago so it was best seats in the house or nothing!’

Daisy crossed her fingers, hoping that they weren’t papped while they were here. There were far more gossip-worthy couples out in force; hopefully the spotlight would be far from them.

‘Well, if we must sit in luxury while free drinks and food are
pressed on us then I suppose we must. Seriously, Daisy. Thank you. This is incredibly thoughtful.’

Daisy shifted uncomfortably, guilt clamping her stomach. Not so much thoughtful as expedient. She hurriedly changed the subject. ‘I’m going to spend Wednesday night at the studio. Vi was insistent that I have some kind of hen night. Obviously I didn’t want anything big so it’s going to be a
family-only films and pampering night. I’ve told her I’m not drinking for the sake of my skin. I must be more of a demanding bride than I realised. She completely bought it. I might stay there Thursday night too. It’s meant to be bad luck to spend the night before together.’

‘I guess we need all the luck we can get.’ His voice was dry.

‘Are you going to have a stag night?’

The shock
on his face was almost comical. ‘It hadn’t even occurred to me! Maybe I should go to the local pub for a couple of drinks—just to add convincing detail to the wedding.’

‘What a method actor you are.’ But the rest of her conversation with Violet was running through her mind. ‘Vi also asked about the honeymoon.’

Seb froze; she could see his knuckles turn white and hurried on. ‘I said that
we were planning something later on and were too busy right now. I don’t think she’s wholly convinced but when I tell them about the baby I’m sure they’ll forget all about whether we did or did not go away.’

‘Do you want a honeymoon?’

To her horror Daisy felt her mouth quiver. She gulped down an unexpected sob as it tried to force its way out. She had told herself so many times that
she was at peace with her decision, that she was almost happy with her situation—and then she’d be derailed and have to start convincing herself all over again. ‘Of course not.’ She could hear the shakiness of her voice. ‘I think we’re doing brilliantly under the circumstances but a honeymoon might be a bit too much pressure.’

‘Are you sure?’

She nodded, hoping he wasn’t looking too
closely. That he didn’t see the suspicious shine in her eyes as she blinked back tears. ‘Besides, I’m pregnant. No cocktails on the beach or exotic climates for me.’

‘Is that what you would want?’

Yes. Of course it was. That was what people did, wasn’t it? Flew to beautiful islands and drank rum and snorkelled in the sun, making love all night in a tangle of white sheets on mahogany
beds.

Lovely in theory. Would the reality live up? ‘Actually, I think I would want something a little less clichéd. Amazing scenery I could photograph, good food. History. The Alps maybe, Greece, the Italian coast.’

‘A friend of mine has a villa on Lake Garda, right on the water’s edge. I could see if it’s free?’

For one moment she wavered. The Italian lakes. A private villa overlooking
the lake sounded sublime. But they would still be pretending and without their work, without the routine of their everyday lives, how would they manage? ‘No.’ Her voice was stronger. ‘Honestly. I’m absolutely fine.’

To her relief as she said the words the lights went down and Seb leaned forward, all his attention on the stage in front, leaving Daisy free to imagine a different kind of honeymoon.
One where both parties wanted to be there, were so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t need anyone or anything else. The kind of honeymoon she had always dreamed of and now knew she would never have.

* * *

It just wasn’t adding up.

The Georgian part of the castle needed a new roof, ideally rewiring and, with the baby due before Christmas, Seb really should sort out some of
the ancient plumbing problems as well.

The work he had been doing on the estate land was already paying dividends and the farms and forests were looking healthy. It was just the castle.

Just. Just one thousand years of history, family pride and heritage. No big deal.

Seb tried to avoid his grandfather’s eye, staring balefully out of a portrait on the far wall. He knew how much his
grandfather had hated the idea of using the castle for profit—but surely he would have hated it falling around his ears much more.

But how far could Seb go? He was allowing a location agency to put the castle on their books, ready to hire it out for films and TV sets. It felt like a momentous step.

But not a big enough one.

Meanwhile there was the book to finish researching—and
he was already halfway through his sabbatical. Just returning to Oxford for a day had reminded him how time consuming his teaching and administrative duties were.

Something was going to have to give and soon. It wasn’t an easy decision.

‘Seb, darling?’ Sherry had materialised by his side. How on earth was the woman so dammed soft-footed? It was most unnerving.

Seb gripped the edge
of his desk and took a deep breath, trying not to show his irritation. There were still three days to go until the wedding and he hadn’t had ten uninterrupted minutes since breakfast. ‘I have no idea, ask Daisy.’ Whatever the question she was bound to know the answer.

‘I haven’t seen Daisy all morning.’ Sherry frowned. ‘Really, Seb. It would be helpful if one of you took an interest. These
details may seem unimportant but they matter. A high bow at the top of the chair can be smart but rather showy. A lower one is classier maybe but can be lost. Especially with the pale yellow you’ve chosen.’

He’d chosen? Things might have changed at an alarming speed but there was one thing Seb knew for sure—he had had nothing whatsoever to do with choosing the colour of ribbons for the backs
of chairs.

‘Let’s go for classy.’ He rubbed his eyes. If anyone had suggested a month ago that he would be sitting in his library discussing bows with a supermodel he would have poured them a stiff brandy and suggested a lie-down. Yet here he was—and this particular supermodel wasn’t going anywhere until he gave her the answer she wanted.

‘You’re probably right.’ She reached over and
ruffled his hair in a maternal way, incongrous coming from the glamorous Sherry Huntingdon. ‘Classy is always best. Less is more, as I told the girls when they were growing up.’

‘Wise advice.’ But something she had said earlier was nagging at him. ‘Where’s Daisy gone?’

‘I have no idea. She said she was tired after last night and wandered off. She did look peaky. There’s a lovely picture
of you two on the
Chronicle Online
. You do scrub up nicely, Seb. It’s good to see you make an effort. There’s no need to take the absent-minded-academic thing quite so seriously, you know.’ Sherry gave his old worn shirt a pointed look.

‘Hmm?’ But he had already reached for the phone she was holding out, stomach lurching as he scrolled through the
Chronicle
’s long list of celebrity sightings
and pictures. There they were entering the concert venue last night: Daisy long-legged in black shorts and a red T-shirt, her lipstick as bright as her top and her favourite trilby pushed back on her head. Seb had been unsure what to wear and had plumped for black trousers and a charcoal-grey shirt. Daisy’s arm was linked through his and she was laughing. To a casual observer—and to the headline
writer—they looked very much the happy couple.

He thrust the phone back at Sherry. ‘Why are they even interested? So we go to a concert, what’s the big deal?’

‘You have to admit it’s a fairy-tale romance, rock star’s daughter marrying an earl after just a few weeks.’ Her voice was calm but the sharp gleam in her eyes showed her own curiosity. ‘Of course they’re interested. It’ll die
down.’

‘Will it?’ He could hear the bitter note in his voice and made an effort to speak more normally. ‘I hope so.’

With in-laws like the ones he would shortly be acquiring, any chance of anonymity seemed very far away.

Sherry drifted away, her long list wafting from one elegant hand, and Seb tried to turn his attention back to his laptop. But once again his attention wandered.
Where
was
Daisy?

She had slept in her own room last night citing tiredness. His own bed had seemed so huge, empty. Cold. At one point he had rolled over, ready to pull her into his arms—only she hadn’t been there. It was odd how her absence had loomed through the long, almost sleepless night.

Odd how quickly he had grown accustomed to her presence; the low, even breathing, the warmth
of her. The way she woke up spooned into him, the long hair spread over both pillows.

Odd how right it felt.

She hadn’t shown up for breakfast either. Seb drummed his fingers on the desktop, the leather soft under his persistent touch. She had looked so vibrant in the photo but at some point in the evening her usual exuberance had dimmed and she had hardly said a word on the way back
to Hawksley.

He cast his mind back, trying to remember the conversation of the night before. What had they talked about?

Had it been the mention of the honeymoon? The honeymoon she didn’t want.

The honeymoon she didn’t want to take with him.

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe they needed this, time away from the pressures of work and family, time away from putting on their best manners
and working hard to fit their lives together—maybe it was time to find out how they operated as a couple. He would discuss it again with her.

Only... His fingers drummed a little harder as he thought. She had surprised him last night and it had been one of the most thoughtful things anyone had ever done for him. Maybe it was time for Seb to return the favour.