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  ‘Thank you, Keir. But I don’t think even your amazing business eye could help me out of this.’

  ‘I dunno,’ he replies. I’ve been thinking. There are probably a couple of consortiums that’d take this place off your hands. And the place in Scotland has grouse and deer. You could turn it around quite easily. In a few years maybe even make a wee profit. By the time you settle down, ready to start a family you might—’

  ‘But that’s just it. I just have to face facts; I’m just another fuck up in a long line of fuck ups.’

  ‘You don’t really believe that.’

  ‘Don’t I?’ I reply sardonically. ‘Didn’t you hear me recently say I was a member of a sex club?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘A place where I find willing women, desperate to be demeaned.’

  ‘You want to demean them, and they want to be demeaned. That’s classic supply and demand,’ he says with a slight shrug. ‘I’m still not seeing any deep issues. It’s not like you’re some regency lord abusing the poor parlour maid. But coming back to the issue of Sadie for a minute—’

  ‘No one mentioned Sadie,’ I reply darkly. She’s not a problem or my joy. Not anymore.

  ‘Must be something wrong with your hearing, because I just did. Do you really want to give up the chance to be with her?’

  ‘I already did,’ I say, everything draining out of me. The will to play my part today. The desire to be congenial. The realisation that I’ll be doing this alone.

  ‘Coming back to my original point, you’ve never cared about any of the other girls I’ve known you to shag. So why go to all the trouble now? Why would you want to protect her, even if you thought you were protecting her from yourself. Which, by the way, is the daftest thing I’ve ever heard.’

  I keep my gaze resolutely ahead. Confirm nothing. Deny nothing. If I don’t say it out loud it can’t be the fucking truth. No one knows I’ve dreamed of our children, No one knows I’ve woken in the darkness to feel the physical loss. To watch them turning to smoke in my hands.

  ‘What is it you’re not telling me?’

  Such a lot, Keir. Such a lot.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  WILL

  Needing to escape the confines of the house and the condolences addressed to me I neither want nor deserve, I leave Keir in the cold and faded drawing room, stepping out of the French doors.

  The grass is spongey underfoot, moisture gluing the verdant blades to the leather of my highly polished shoes. I cross the lawn where the children are still playing, shove my hands in my pockets and jog down the steps to the gardens beyond. As a child, these gardens were my escape. I rode my bike, climbed trees, and shot all manner of things with my catapult. As a very small child my mother would accompany me—I suppose the lake was a hazard up until I learned to swim. I don’t often think of my mother, the happy memories I have of her are few, the rest tainted by my father. I think she loved him, in spite of his many faults. And in return, he belittled her when he drank heavily, which was most of the time, sold her jewellery to fund multiple mistresses over the years, and generally treated her like a dog.

  Worse than a dog. Our hounds were at least valued.

  And she took it. She never fought back, not like Sadie would.

  When my mother died, she didn’t fare any better in his opinions or memory, and he’d referred to her cancer like it was something she chosen for herself—something she’d plucked from a supermarket shelf. Why she stayed, I’ll never know. Perhaps it was for me. For family, or for duty. But she was wrong. It was a waste of life, and now she’s gone.

  Fuck, what a maudlin bastard I am.

  ‘Will?’

  I turn to the sound of Ella’s soft voice. She sits on an old stone bench under an ancient oak tree, the leaves moving like waves in the breeze.

  ‘Hello. What are you doing all the way down here?’ We’re at the edge of the lawn, beyond where she sits lies wilderness and the lake. A place a person could get easily lost. Or just as easily hide. I would know

  ‘I was just thinking, she says. ‘Funerals bring back the memories of my mum.’ I recall Mac telling me Ella was also a teenager when her mother passed. I sit on the bench next to her. Palms on the front of my thighs, I turn my face up to the clouds.

  ‘They certainly can be sad occasions, though I feel nothing today.’ Not even relief.

  ‘Those feelings will probably come in later,’ she says kindly.

  ‘Yes, no doubt when the tax bill comes in.’ I laugh without humour.

  ‘How are you doing, Will?’

  ‘I’m just the same. I was wandering around and just thinking about the past.’ She blinks back at me, no doubt due to my candid response. I don’t have it in me to pretend today.

  ‘You know, you aren’t your father,’ she says, placing her hand lightly on my arm.

  ‘I should hope not. He’s just been shoved in the ground.’ My gaze moves away, looking at anything but her. ‘I’m sorry, did I interrupt you?’ I ask, pointing to the phone I’ve just noticed lying on her lap.

  ‘No, I was on the phone, but I’m done.’

  ‘How are Louis and Juno?’

  ‘I wasn’t checking in on the kids. I was actually speaking to Sadie. Her fingers tighten on my arm for a moment as she murmurs softly, ‘She called to say goodbye.’

  ‘That’s not possible.’ Even as I say this, my mind begins to turn. ‘She still has weeks left.’ Weeks left for me to torture myself before she finally leaves.

  ‘I don’t know what to say to you, other than she asked me to tell you goodbye on her behalf. She said she couldn’t trust herself to speak to you. And there was one more thing I was supposed to say.’

  ‘What was it?’ I demand.

  ‘She said to tell you she understands. But I wasn’t supposed to tell you any of this until she’d gone.’

  ‘And when was that? I say, standing, preparing to leave the house already. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but I can’t just let her leave—that’s not how this story ends. I realise suddenly. It can’t be. Because when I think of her not being there, in Mo’s apartment right now, I feel physically ill. My feet start to carry me forward for a moment, stopping as a fist clenches round my heart. It . . . it hurts. Am I having a heart attack?

  ‘Will?’ Ella stands beside me, but I ignore her in order to take my pulse rate, running through my symptoms and indicators in my mind.

  Could be dyspepsia?

  A stomach ulcer?

  A panic attack?

  Fuck. No, I’m definitely in love.

  If I’m the latest in a long line of fuck ups and ne’re do wells, there’s only one thing for it. I need a woman who can keep me in check—a woman who can call me out on my bullshit and be the push to my shove for the rest of my life. And that woman is her. The girl with the old fashioned name and the timeless curves. The woman with the patience of a saint. Because she’d have to be to put up with me.

  My feet start to move again.

  ‘Will, where are you going?’ Ella calls after me. I stop and swing around to face her.

  ‘I have to see her. How long have I got?’

  ‘She flies out tonight.’

  I take off like a shot.

  I leave Keir in charge, who looks slightly terrified at the prospect of dealing with my family, with Andrews as his second in command. I don’t pack a bag, or even a toothbrush, but I do remember to stop by the safe in my childhood bedroom for something my mother gave to me the week before she died. Gave it to me, rather than allow my father to sell it. I grab my wallet and passport on my way to the car.

  At the airport, I pay a ridiculous amount for a one way ticket to Heathrow, then bring up all the possible flights on my phone that Ella might take to the States today.

  There are two flights that are the most likely, and only one I’ll make. So it has to be that one. Please. I call Mo, because she wouldn’t leave Sir Lancelot. She’s far too conscientious for that. Mo’s number goes to voicemail, so I
leave a rambling message asking him to call me back with Kallie’s number. And by the time I’ve landed in Heathrow and made my way to the correct terminal, I’ve been asked by no less than six people if I’m a runaway groom. I should’ve taken five minutes to change.

  I buy a first class ticket to Dulles at the airport itself, my travel visa still valid from a Vegas trip at the beginning of summer that I need to banish from my memory. Because a man on my mission isn’t interested in recollections of stripper poles.

  ‘The Right Honourable William Travers,’ says the uniformed drone at the check in desk. He looks me up and down from over his counter like he’s not sure the name fits.

  ‘Actually, it’s Lord Travers as of last week.’

  ‘Come again?’ he says, looking at me quizzically.

  ‘Never mind. Right Honourable will do.’

  ‘No luggage today, Mr Travers?’

  ‘None.’ There’s little point arguing he could call me Doctor Travers, too.

  ‘No checked bags? No carry on?’

  ‘Just myself. And for the record, I’m not being chased by a woman in a long white dress and veil.’

  Drone number whatever passes me my boarding card somewhat perplexed, though doesn’t forget to wish me a pleasant flight. I suddenly think it’ll be hard to do so if this all doesn’t go according to plan.

  Business and first and steerage all have separate boarding areas, so I don’t see Sadie as the flight is called, or as I make my way onboard.

  I don’t take my seat, instead walking through the cabin, scanning the sections for Sadie, my heart beating like a drum, fearing what I might find. Or not, as the case may be.

  My heart begins to sink as I get to the back of the plane without finding her. But then, in the very last row, I see her. I think my heart stops.

  Her butterscotch hair is piled on top of her head, her nose ignoring everything around in favour of a book. As I draw closer, I realise it isn’t a book she’s reading, but the emergency instructions leaflet.

  She hates heights. Maybe she also hates flying.

  I slide in next to her in the middle row of three, taking a seat. Someone else’s seat, obviously, but that won’t be an issue. As I settle in, Sadie doesn’t look up once, her eyes glued to the laminated manual that won’t do anyone any good if we’re going to crash. Best to not mention that. To get her attention, I spread my elbows across my chest knocking hers from the arm rest.

  ‘Do you mind—

  ‘Reading anything interesting,’ I drawl.

  ‘Will?’ She fills my name with incredulity, her whole body turning to face me. ‘What—why?’ Her mouth makes all manner of shapes, though not a lot of sound comes out.

  ‘What a coincidence,’ I state lightly. ‘Are you going this way, too?’

  ‘This is not a bus, Will’ she replies with sudden asperity. ‘We’re all going to the same place—and you have no business to be . . . to be . . .’ She gestures to the other seats and passengers, her mouth still a soft O shape.

  ‘Here?’ I slip my finger under her chin, tipping her mouth closed. ‘That’s better,’ I whisper, lowering my mouth to her ear. ‘That mouth is an invitation impossible to refuse.’ A man in an adjacent row begins to chuckle, smothering it quickly under Sadie’s glare. ‘And as for no business, that’s where you’re wrong.’

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ she demands.

  ‘I’m relocating. Moving to the land of opportunity and stuff.’

  ‘I think you have enough opportunity where you currently live.’ I don’t think I imagine the bite in her tone.

  ‘Yeah, but, there’s this girl. She’s all the opportunity I need.’

  ‘Will,’ Sadie says sternly. ‘Just get off the plane. Leave.’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that,’ I reply, settling further into my cramped and uncomfortable seat. I reach for the little bag in the pocket in front, pulling out the travel toothpaste and brush before shoving them back in and pulling out the sleeping mask. ‘Like you said, this isn’t a bus.’ I snap the elastic around the back of my head.

  ‘Will!’ This time my name sounds like it should be delivered with a stamp of feet.

  ‘Excuse me, I think you’re in my seat.’

  I peel the waxy mask from my right eye, then slide it onto my forehead.

  ‘Would you care to swap?’ I use my most persuasive voice on the jobs worth type standing at the mouth of our aisle. Who travels in a shirt and tie?

  Says the man in full morning dress, I suppose.

  ‘I-I don’t think that’s allowed,’ he stammers.

  ‘No, I don’t think it is, either,’ adds Sadie quickly, elbowing me in the ribs. ‘You should get out of the nice man’s seat.’

  ‘Oh, so you don’t want to swap for a seat in first class?’

  The man snaps my seat card out of my hand at the same moment as the steward arrives.

  ‘Is everything all right here, folks?’

  ‘Very,’ says the man scurrying away.

  ‘No, this strange man is harassing me,’ Sadie says. But she should’ve gone with tears, not shouting.

  ‘You catch more flies with honey, love,’ I say, leading in. ‘Look,’ I say a little louder. For the benefit of the peanut gallery. My name is Lord Travers, and this lovely lady next to me is Sadie. Now, you see my morning dress?’ I make a flourish of my hand indicating my penguin suit.

  The steward nods, several members of the cabin crew gathering around him as they find the aisle bottle necked. Some passengers stand, some lean over seats to better see.

  ‘This morning I was due to get married. Only, this little minx has decided to steal my heart and then steal away during the dead of night.’ Cue the sharp intakes of breath from those around us. ‘A cathedral full of guests were devastated this morning to find out that Sadie had planned to bugger off home.’

  Score one for Will.

  ‘Will!’

  ‘I know she loves me—she’s just told me so.’

  ‘I did no such thing,’ she says, snatching her hand out of mine. But not for long as I snatch it back. Never let truth come in the way of a good story, I say. ‘But she’s suffering from fear,’ I say solemnly. ‘And well, if she isn’t ready to become Lady Travers—or Lady Sadie, if you prefer, which does have a nice ring to it—and live in the life of luxury.’ It doesn’t matter if I’m piss poor, Sadie will always have extravagance as long as I’m around. ‘Then I’ll move to . . . ’ where was it again? Something beach? Not Bondi. Wrong continent. Virginia? ‘Ocean Beach!’ I almost yell, grasping the place from the recesses of my mind.

  Several people gasp, one or two titter quietly, someone even breaks out into applause, and the steward suddenly camps it up by clutching his chest.

  ‘Because I cannot live without her,’ I continue. ‘Or my heart.’

  ‘I can’t believe you,’ Sadie fumes, her body rigid as I pull her awkwardly into me.

  ‘I know, you didn’t want me to out you, my lovely purple faced plum, but you can’t send me away now.’

  Literally. She can’t. Cabin crew prepare for take off!

  The peanut gallery disperses as the pilot’s voice reminds them why they’re here.

  ‘You can’t ignore me for the whole eight hours.’

  ‘I beg to differ,’ she growls from between gritted teeth.

  ‘By the way, I phoned Kallie,’ I say, changing the direction of our conversation. ‘She told me she’d make up the horrid lumpy sofa in your apartment for me. Wasn’t that nice of her? I told her not to bother, of course,’ I add as her head slowly turns my way. ‘I said we’d be too busy fucking like bunnies to sleep.’

  I laugh as she makes a sound of extreme frustration as I take her hand in mine.

  ‘I’m sorry about your loss,’ she mutters almost mulishly.

  ‘Thank you, but don’t be.’ I rub my finger over her knuckles. ‘His death made me realise a few things.’ Her head lifts, interest piqued. ‘I’m not him. I won’t ever be. And that
I don’t have to deny myself.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that was ever a problem for you.’

  ‘You’re right and you’re wrong. But there was something else you were absolutely correct about, you insightful little thing.’ She doesn’t ask, though I sense her brace herself. ‘You can’t keep yourself safe from love. It just doesn’t work like that.’

  She blinks back at me and for a moment I think she’s going to cry. But instead she almost dislocates her jaw in a yawn.

  ‘Know what else I was right about,’ she says, her words a touch uneven and sleepy.

  ‘What? Are you okay?’ I take her wrist in between my fingers but she pulls it away.

  ‘I can ignore you for the whole flight, because I’ve taken this.’ From her pocket she pulls an amber medicine bottle, shoving it into my hand.

  ‘Herbal sleeping pills?’ I mentally slap myself; she’s afraid of heights.

  ‘They’re a knockout,’ she slurs, curling away from me. ‘N-night.’

  Epilogue

  SADIE

  Eighteen Months Later

  ‘Miss Evans?’

  I’m not Lady Sadie. At least, not yet.

  Mary, Will’s day shift nurse, who I’ve come to know very well over the last eighteen months, by telephone, at least, sticks her head around the door. Her hand curls in a rapid come hither motion.

  ‘Is he out?’ I ask quietly. He being Will.

  ‘Yes,’ he popped out to grab a quick sandwich for lunch,’ she whispers back. ‘He was really put out that the receptionist wasn’t about to do his bidding. He even suggested I go to the café for him, the cheeky fecker.’

  ‘It’s the title,’ I murmur. ‘It went straight to his head and stayed there.’ Will still works in the private sector half the week and is in demand now more than ever. Monied types from all over the globe want their babies delivered by a lord, it seems. But as he now has other responsibilities, his medical load is lighter.

  ‘Why are we whispering?’

  ‘Because we’re a little daft?’ Mary suggests in her Dublin accent, her volume still turned low. ‘Come on. Let’s get you into his room.’

  ‘I feel like I’m creeping into the principal’s office.’