Expecting the Earl's Baby. Jessica Gilmore
hand from trembling as she double-locked the door.
Did Seb have similar doubts? If so he hid them well; he was the epitome of calm as they exited the building and walked to the car. He had brought one of the estate Land Rovers ready to transport her stuff; it might be parked with the other North London four-by-fours but its mud-splattered bumpers and utilitarian inside proclaimed it country bumpkin. She doubted any of its gleaming, leather-interior neighbours ever saw anything but urban roads and motorways.
‘Once we have registered we have to wait sixteen days. At least we don’t have to worry about a venue. The Tudor hall is licensed and I don’t allow weekday weddings so we can get married—’ he pulled out his phone ‘—two weeks on Friday. Do you want to invite anyone?’ He dropped his phone back into his pocket, opening the car door and hefting her bags into the boot.
Daisy was frozen, one arm protectively around her camera bag. How could he sound so matter-of-fact? They were talking about their wedding. About commitment and promises and joining together. Okay, they were practically strangers but it should still mean something.
‘Can we make it three weeks? Just to make sure? Plus I want my parents and sisters there and I need to give Rose enough notice to get back from New York.’
‘You want your whole family to come?’ He held the door open for her, a faint look of surprise on his face.
Daisy put one foot on the step, hesitated and turned to face him. ‘You promised we would at least pretend this was a real marriage. Of course my family needs to be there.’ This was non-negotiable.
‘Fine.’
Daisy’s mouth had been open, ready to argue her point and she was taken aback at his one-word agreement, almost disappointed by his acquiescence. He was so calm about everything. What was going on underneath the surface? Maybe she’d never find out. She stood for a second, gaping, before closing her mouth with a snap and climbing into the passenger seat. Seb closed the door behind her and a moment later he swung himself into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
Daisy wound her window down a little then leant back against the headrest watching as Seb navigated the narrow streets, taking her further and further from her home.
Married in just over three weeks. A whirlwind romance, that was what people would think; that was what she would tell them.
‘That was a deep sigh.’
‘Sorry, it’s just...’ She hesitated, pulling down the sun visor to check the angle of her hat, feeling oddly vulnerable at the thought of telling him something personal. ‘I always knew exactly how I wanted my wedding to be. I know it’s silly, that they were just daydreams...’ With all the changes happening right now, mourning the loss of her ideal wedding seemed ridiculously self-indulgent.
‘Beach at sunset? Swanky hotel? Westminster Abbey and Prince Harry in a dress uniform?’
‘No, well, only sometimes.’ She stole a glance at him. His eyes were focused on the road ahead and somehow the lack of eye contact made it easier to admit just how many plans she had made. She could picture it so clearly. ‘My parents live just down the lane from the village church. I always thought I’d get married there, walk to my wedding surrounded by my family and then afterwards walk back hand in hand with my new husband and have a garden party. Nothing too fancy, although Dad’s band would play, of course.’
‘Of course.’ But he was smiling.
Daisy bit her lip as the rest of her daydream slid through her mind like an internal movie. She would be in something lacy, straight, deceptively simple. The sun would shine casting a golden glow over the soft Cotswold stone. And she would be complete.
There had been a faint ache in her chest since the day before, a swelling as if her heart were bruised. As the familiar daydream slipped away the ache intensified, her heart hammering. She was doing the right thing. Wasn’t she?
It’s not just about you any more, she told herself as firmly as possible.
She just wished she had had a chance to talk her options over with someone else. But who?
Her sisters? They would immediately go into emergency-planning mode, try and take over, alternately scolding her and coddling her, reducing her back to a tiresome little girl in the process.
Her parents? But no, she still had her pride if nothing else. Daisy swallowed hard, wincing at the painful lump in her throat. She had worked so hard to make up for the mistakes of her past, worked so hard to be independent from her family, to show them that she was as capable as they were. How could she tell them that she was pregnant by a man she hardly knew?
Her parents would swing into damage-limitation mode. Want her to come back home, to buy her a house, to throw money at her as if that would make everything okay. And it would be so easy to let them.
Daisy sagged in her seat. She couldn’t tell them, she wouldn’t tell them, but all she wanted to hear was her dad’s comforting drawl and step into her mother’s embrace. She didn’t allow herself that luxury very often.
‘Actually, can we go to the registrar’s tomorrow? I don’t feel comfortable registering until we have told my parents. Would you mind if we visit them first?’
Daisy waited, her hands slippery with tense anticipation. It had been so long since she had consulted with someone else or needed consensus on any action.
‘Of course.’ Seb took his eyes from the road for one brief second, resting them appraisingly on her hands, twisting in her lap. ‘But if we’re going to tell your parents we’re engaged we should probably stop at a jeweller’s on the way. You need a ring.’
* * *
‘Daisy! Darling, what a lovely surprise.’
It was strange being face to face with someone as familiar, as famous as Sherry Huntingdon: model, muse and sometime actress. Her tall willowy figure, as taut and slender at over fifty as it had been at twenty, the blonde hair sweeping down her back seemingly as natural as her daughter’s.
‘And who’s this?’ The famously sleepy blue eyes were turned onto Seb, an unexpectedly shrewdly appraising look in them. Maybe not that unexpected—you didn’t stay at the top of your profession for over thirty years without brains as well as beauty.
‘Sebastian Beresford.’ He held his hand out and Daisy’s mother took it, slanting a look at him from under long black lashes.
‘What a treat.’ Her voice was low, almost a purr. ‘Daisy so seldom brings young men home. Come on in, the pair of you. Violet’s around somewhere and Rick’s in his studio—the Benefit Concert is creeping up on us again. Daisy, darling, you will be here to take some photos, won’t you?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it.’ Daisy linked her arm through her mother’s as they walked along the meandering path that led from the driveway around the house. It was a beautiful ivy-covered house, large by any standards—unless one happened to live in a castle—dating back to William and Mary with two gracefully symmetrical wings flanking the three-storey main building.
Unlike Hawksley it had been sympathetically updated and restored and, as they rounded the corner, Seb could see tennis courts in the distance and a cluster of stable buildings and other outbuildings all evidently restored and in use.
An unexpected stab of nostalgic pain hit him. Hawksley should have been as well cared for but his grandfather had taken a perverse pride in the discomfort of the crumbling building—and as for Seb’s father... He pushed the thought away, fists clenched with the unwanted anger that still flooded through him whenever he thought about his father’s criminal negligence.
Sherry came to a stop as they reached a large paved terrace with steps leading upwards to the French doors at the back of the house. Comfortably padded wooden furniture was arranged to take the best advantage of the gorgeous views. ‘I think it’s warm enough to sit outside.’ Sherry smiled at her daughter. ‘I’ll go get Rick. He’ll be so happy to see you, Daisy. He was saying the