Libby skipped into her bedroom. Lacey followed and found herself in a room filled with more pink and purple than she’d known could exist in a few square feet. Toys and clothes were strewn across the floor, books were stacked in piles, and the pink wall was decorated with pictures and photos.
“Now we say goodnight to Daddy.” Libby picked up a picture of her with Anna and Cam from her nightstand and gave it a kiss, rosy lips smooshing against the glass covering her father’s face. “Night, Daddy. We miss you.”
Lacey sucked in a breath as the rawness of the moment almost sent her to her knees.
Libby held the photo out to her. “Your turn.”
Lacey crouched down, her heels wobbling on the carpet. Three grinning faces. It had been over six months, and it was still hard to believe one of them was gone. “Night, Cam.” She whispered the words. “She’s doing okay.”
“And a kiss.” Cam’s copper hair and green eyes lived on in the little girl shaking the photo at her.
Kissing a photo of her best friend’s dead husband felt wrong. Even at the behest of a bereaved four-year-old. So Lacey pressed her fingers to her lips then placed them on Cam’s cheek.
Libby climbed onto her bed, and sat with the photo on her lap, her little legs dangling over the side of the mattress. “Auntie Lacey?”
“Yes, Libby?”
Old soul eyes peered at her. “Do you think mommy will be happy one day again?”
Lacey felt the tears sting the back of her eyes. “I know you make her very happy.”
“But she’s still sad sometimes. Because Daddy is gone.” Libby’s bottom lip wobbled.
Lacey blinked rapidly. Forced herself to hold it together. “I know, sweet girl. Your mom loved your dad a lot. But you know what? She’s going to be okay because she has you. And you’re like a piece of your dad still here with her.”
“Do you think he remembers me? Up in heaven?”
Lacey had never cried about Cam’s death. At the time she’d been focused on Anna. But now tears trailed down her cheek. “Libby-Belle.” Her voice wobbled, and it took everything she could to pull herself together. “Your dad loved you and your mom more than anything else in the whole wide world. He would never ever forget you. Not ever. I promise.”
That much was true. Lacey had her own private doubts about the whole heaven thing, but if there was one thing she did know, it was that Cam had lived and breathed his family. The chances of any other man meeting the standard he had set were slim.
“Now you tuck me in, and we say prayers.” Libby carefully put the photo back on the bedside table, then shoved her feet under the covers and snuggled into her pillow.
Prayers. Lacey didn’t do praying, apart from the frantic ones she’d uttered to a God she didn’t engage with begging for Cam’s life. She’d certainly not said a prayer in the presence of another person for well over a decade.
Libby saved her by shutting her eyes. “Dear Jesus. Thank you for Auntie Lacey coming to visit. Thank you for Mommy and Auntie ’Achel and Gramma and Poppa and Grandy and Nan. And when you see Daddy, can you please tell him that we miss him, but we hope he’s having fun. Dear Jesus. Amen.”
Libby cranked open an eye and directed her gaze at Lacey. “Now your turn.”
Her turn? Anna hadn’t mentioned prayer in the job requirements. And she knew Lacey didn’t do praying. Or religion in general. “That was a beautiful prayer, baby girl. I’m sure I can’t do any better.
Knowing eyes flew open and looked at Lacey as if she’d said she didn’t like sparkles and rainbows. “You’re not going to pray for me?”
Ooookay, clearly that wasn’t an acceptable option. Lacey cleared her throat, her knees sinking into the carpet. “Jesus.” If he was listening, he’d just have to roll with her ham-fisted attempt. “Thank you for Libby. Please help her to have a good sleep.” What did people even pray with kids? She had no clue. “And thank you for her beautiful room and all her books and toys. And especially for her amazing mom. Amen.”
“Amen.” Libby opened her eyes and smiled at her.
“Goodnight, sweet girl. See you in the morning.” Lacey got to her feet and looked around. “Do you have a night light or anything?”
“No, you just leave the door a little bit open and the light on outside.” Libby had closed her eyes again, tucking her pillow between her head and shoulder.
“Love you, Auntie Lacey.” The sleepy words came as Lacey flicked off the light, and her breath caught. When was the last time anyone had said they loved her?
Driving from London to Oxford was soul-destroying on a Friday night, but Victor had figured he had might as well sit in traffic. He had nothing better to do.
The rest of the office had retreated to their local pub to speculate about Meredith’s plans for the company. Ordinarily, Victor would have joined them. The first rule of being an alcoholic working in London was the acceptance that you would always be surrounded by alcohol the same way Bodiam Castle was surrounded by a moat.
But between yesterday’s grilling by the sergeant and the news that his job might be under threat, he didn’t trust himself not to give in to the pull of a glass of good whisky. On the rocks.
Sitting in Friday night traffic for two hours with no access to liquor was the perfect solution. He’d made it past the gridlock that was the M40 and A40, and finally managed to get some speed as he covered the last twenty minutes to his parent’s home.
The scenery outside his window changed from a concrete jungle into the hedgerows and pastoral settings most people associated with the English countryside. Most people would probably also find the fields and greenery relaxing, but Victor’s fuse felt like it shortened a little more with every passing mile.
He was sober. He had a job. He led a functional—some might even say contributing—life. Yet returning home always felt like the return trip of the prodigal son.
Except, in his case, it was the younger brother who had stayed and never put a foot wrong. The brother who—if life was fair—would be heir to the Downley estate.
But there was one thing the archaic rules surrounding nobility had never been—fair.
His phone beeped from its hands-free attachment to the dashboard, and a message popped up on his screen from the team’s assistant saying he was busy researching Langham & Co.
By the time he got back into the office on Sunday, Sean will have probably assembled a dossier on their newly discovered American half-sister. It was like discovering you had a sibling no one had told you about. No doubt the feeling across the Atlantic was mutual. The arranged marriage nobody wanted.
His phone trilled, signaling an incoming call. Mark Holden. The conversation he had been chasing—dreading—since this whole debacle started. The account he’d been chasing for months. The one he’d work for free if that was what was required.
“Evening, Mark.” Victor slowed the car down and pulled onto the side of the road. His voice was steady, not belying how much rode on the next few minutes.
“Victor! Sorry, it’s taken me a while to get back to you.” The government relations manager of Enrite Pharmaceuticals sounded in a good mood.
“No problem at all. Sorry if there’s some background noise. I’m in the car.” As if on cue, a lorry roared past his window.