Chapter 37 #2
She leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut. Christina opened her mouth to tell him everything but realised she couldn’t. Not yet. She just wanted one more night when he loved her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, not sure quite what she was apologizing for.
‘Me too. I thought giving you space was what you needed.’ He traced the curve of her cheekbone, as if relearning her face.
‘I could see you were avoiding conflict – any kind of conflict. With me, with the family, even with Elspeth. You were trying to hold everything together by staying out of every fight, every argument, but darling . . . that’s not peace, that’s just silence.
’ He paused, his voice quieter now. ‘I tried to help; in the only way I knew how. Quoting Tudors who made the same mistake – Elizabeth dodging decisions until they exploded in her face, Thomas More pretending he could obfuscate his way past Henry’s commands.
I hoped you’d hear the warning in the history.
But all I did was bury us in lessons when what we needed was to talk properly, face to face. ’
She shut her eyes. ‘I thought I was protecting us,’ she murmured.
When she opened her eyes, they were bright with unshed tears.
Hamish studied her for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. ‘From what. Protecting us from what exactly?’
She hesitated. ‘My past. The truth.’
He gave a small slow pointed nod. ‘Well,’ he said quietly, ‘I suppose the truth has a way of catching up with all of us. Tell me—’
Her mouth trembled into a smile. ‘I’ve missed you,’ she whispered.
His hand tightened on hers, then she leaned up and kissed him.
The kiss was hesitant at first – soft, searching.
It felt like reaching for something precious in the dark and being surprised to find it still whole.
When Tina’s arms slid up around his shoulders, Hamish deepened the kiss, no longer asking but answering.
Later, standing outside their bedroom door, Hamish hesitated with his hand on the doorknob.
‘May I come in?’ he asked quietly.
Tina smiled, her heart clenching at the politeness in his voice – the same carefulness they’d wrapped around each other like armour for too long.
‘Please,’ she said, and her voice carried a tenderness that made the floor seem to melt beneath them.
They undressed in the dark, and when he kissed her, it wasn’t careful. It was passionate, deep and urgent. She answered in kind – not with words, but in the way her hands slid over his back, in the way she let herself soften into him.
As they came together, the space between them thinned. The silence filled with touch, with memory, with aching love that hadn’t died – only dulled. And with every movement their bodies gave, Christina felt the smallest pulse of belief return.
Afterwards, they lay tangled together in the sheets, limbs touching from shoulder to ankle. The old cottage settled around them with its usual creaks and groans.
Hamish traced lazy circles on her bare shoulder, his breath even, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm Tina knew better than any lullaby.
‘I love you,’ he murmured against her hair. ‘I never stopped.’
‘I know,’ Tina said, her voice a low hum of contentment. ‘I love you too.’
She shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then slipped from the bed, reaching for her dressing gown draped across the nearby chair.
Hamish shuffled towards her and his arm tightened around her waist. ‘You’re not leaving me to sleep alone, are you, darling?’
There was a note of uncertainty in his voice, like he wasn’t sure if she’d vanish again if he let her go.
Tina smiled, turned, leaned down and kissed him slowly, thoroughly, then pulled away just enough to speak. ‘I have something in the workshop I need to finish,’ she said.
She pushed herself off the bed, rose and tied her robe. With tousled hair and flushed cheeks, her eyes shone not with tears now, but with determination.
‘Can’t it wait?’ Hamish asked, sitting up. ‘Surely the client will understand, if you explain what happened with Elspeth—’
‘Nope,’ Tina cut in, already moving toward the door. She turned back with a half-smile and spoke firmly. ‘I promised the lady who commissioned this piece. I said I’d deliver, and I will. End of.’
Hamish blinked, caught between admiration and concern, and then grinned. ‘Nice to have you back,’ he said.
‘Damn right,’ Tina replied, already halfway down the hall.
As the first signs of dawn stirred, the little shed thrummed with purpose.
A sharp, chemical sting of flux laced the air.
Tina adjusted the angle of her headlamp and bent low over the table; the beam creating a private theatre of light and shadow for her hands and tools to perform their magic.
Beyond that glow, the rest of the shed receded into shadows, disturbed only by the soft patter of leaves brushing against the windows.
It was her finest work. And she was proud of it.
She had told herself – again – that this would be the last time.
Just this. One commission, one final ghostwritten masterpiece.
After tonight, she’d stop for good. This one wasn’t about the money.
It was about setting things right, giving the family something that might outlast the scandal of her past. She paused, her tool trembling faintly in her grip, then set it down, closed her eyes, and exhaled.
Even now, the afterglow of reconciliation lingered in her blood like wine – Hamish’s arms around her, his whispered I love you, the way his hands had moved over her skin. They’d found each other again. For those precious hours, it had felt like healing.
And now, here she was. Lying again.
He trusted her. After all the silence, the frost that had crept in between them, he’d looked at her tonight with love in his eyes. The thought of seeing that light go out – of watching him fold inward when the truth finally landed – made her chest tighten with a deep, aching dread.
She couldn’t bear it. What would shock him most? Her father’s story – the theft, the silence? Or would it be the terrible arithmetic of it: that his own family’s stolen money had paid for her university fees and expenses, forcing his mother to sell land to pay for his.
Or perhaps the most devastating thing for him to learn would be that someone had reduced her to creating beautiful lies in silver to pay off debts that weren’t even hers.
That the proceeds of her careful deceptions had been quietly flowing into his family’s accounts.
The irony would appeal to his historian’s mind, she thought bitterly.
Reparations. The Pemberton fortune had given her the education that enabled her to perfect her craft financing a lifestyle the family had taken for granted.
The silver gilt glowed beneath her lamp like it carried its own light.
She reached out and ran a fingertip across the surface – still warm from her touch, glinting with deceptive age.
She’d added the patina by hand; every mark placed with intent.
The hallmarks were subtle, almost lazy in their authenticity.
Only a handful of experts in the world would know to look deeper.
The work might even fool them.
Just like she’d been fooling herself, thinking she could carry her secrets forever without them crushing both her and her marriage.
She let out a slow breath, then rubbed her eyes. They felt gritty, sore. She hadn’t slept properly in days, probably not since Hamish had moved into the Manor. Not since the last time Hamish and she made love, when she’d dared to believe she might get her family back.
She turned back to her work. It was flawless. Immaculate. Heartbreakingly convincing. Her back ached, her hands stiff and silver dusted. Yet it was done.
Tina rose, striding to the corner and opening the cupboard.
She took out her jewellery tools, and the folder of her own original designs, carrying both to the bench, where she set them down.
Then she unlatched the door and stepped outside, letting the cool dawn air wash over her.
The Devon hills rolled away into mist, dew catching the pale gold light as the sky shifted from indigo to soft rose.
For a moment, standing in the quiet, Tina felt something close to peace.
This world – the birdsong, the silver-touched hills, the scent of honest earth.
The sight of her single tree peony unfurling a pink bud.
But even as she watched the sun break through, she knew the reckoning was coming.
Today. First, she would have to confess; the words she’d rehearsed would have to spill from her lips, no matter how they might shatter everything between them.
And then, the auction. Another reckoning.
Behind her, on the table, the silver caught the first rays of sunlight and gleamed – perfect, yet entirely false.
Tina closed the door, the sound of the bolt sliding home louder than it should have been, and said to herself: that’s the last silver I will ever fake.