Jessica Gilmore – Expecting the Earl's Baby (страница 8)

Instead she stood aside, holding the door half open, her knuckles white as she clung onto the door handle as if it anchored her to the safety of her old life. ‘Come in, I’m nearly ready.’

Seb stepped through and then stopped still, his eyes narrowing as he looked around slowly.

A converted loft, all exposed brickwork and steel girders, one wall dominated by five floor-to-ceiling windows through which the midday sun came flooding in. A galley kitchen at one end, built-in shelves crammed with books, ornaments and knick-knacks running along the side wall and the rest of the ground-floor space bare except for an old blue velvet sofa, a small bistro table and chairs and the lamps she used to light her subjects. The bulk of her personal belongings were on the overhanging mezzanine, which doubled as her bedroom and relaxing space.

Daisy adored her light-filled spacious studio and yet, compared to Seb’s home, steeped in history and stuffed with antiques, her flat felt sparse and achingly trendy.

‘Nice.’ Seb looked more at home than she had thought possible, maybe because he had ditched the fleece for a long-sleeved T-shirt in a soft grey cotton and newer, cleaner jeans. Maybe because he stood there confidently, unashamedly examining the room, looking at each one of the photos hung on every available bit of wall space. He turned, slowly, taking in every detail with that cool assessing gaze. ‘Wedding photography must pay better than I realised.’

‘It’s not mine unfortunately. I rent it from a friend. An artist.’ Daisy gestured over to the massive oil seascape dominating the far wall. ‘I used to share with four other students on the floor above and it got a little cramped—physically and mentally, all those artistic temperaments in one open-plan space! It was such a relief when John decided to move to Cornwall and asked if I was interested in renting the studio from him.’

‘Mates’ rates?’

‘Not quite.’ Daisy tried to swallow back her defensiveness at the assumption. Her parents would have loved to set her up in style but she had been determined to go it alone, no matter how difficult it was to find a suitable yet affordable studio. John’s offer had been the perfect solution. ‘I do pay rent but John’s turned into a bit of a hermit so I also handle all the London side of his business for him. It works well for us both.’

‘Handy. Are you leaving all that?’ He nodded towards the studio lights.

‘I’ll still use this as my workspace.’ Daisy might have agreed to move in with Seb straight away but she wasn’t ready to break her ties to her old life. Not yet, not until she knew how this new world would work out. ‘It’s only an hour’s drive. I’m all packed up. It’s over here.’

It wasn’t much, less than her mother took for a weekend away. A case containing her favourite cameras and lenses. Her Mac. A couple of bags filled with clothes and cosmetics. If this worked out she could move the rest of her things later: the books, prints, artwork, favourite vases and bowls. Her hat collection. How they would look in the museum-like surroundings of Hawksley Castle she couldn’t begin to imagine.

Seb cast a glance at the small pile. ‘Are you sure this is all you want to take? I want you to feel at home. You can make any changes you want, redecorate, rearrange.’

‘Even the library?’

His mouth quirked. ‘As long as it stays warm.’

‘Of course.’ Daisy walked over to the hatstand at the foot of the mezzanine staircase and, after a moment’s hesitation, picked up a dark pink cloche, accessorised with a diamanté brooch. It was one of her favourite hats, a car-boot-sale find. She settled it on top of her head and tugged it into place before turning to the mirror that hung behind it and coating her lips in a layer of her favourite red lipstick.

She was ready.

‘First stop the registry office.’ Seb had picked up both bags of clothes and Daisy swung her camera bag over her shoulder before picking up her laptop bag, her chest tight with apprehension.

She swivelled and looked back at the empty space. You’ll be back tomorrow, she told herself, but stepping out of the front door still felt momentous, not just leaving her home but a huge step into the unknown.

Deep breath, don’t cry and lock the door. Her stomach swooped as if it were dropping sixty storeys at the speed of light but she fought it, managing to stop her 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.