Chapter Two
Moonlight and Stars
I pick up my phone off the bedside table and flip it over.
It’s half past two.
It’s now in the early hours of Monday morning, and I haven’t slept at all. I’ve tossed and turned and tried to ignore the cold feeling that has formed in the pit of my stomach. Thoughts are racing in my head, all of them worrying and anxious.
I swallow hard as I face the root of the anxiety and fear that is keeping me up all night.
I made a major mistake in agreeing to a date with Noah Darby.
And I have to get out of it.
I get up out of my bed and go to the window, pushing the heavy blackout curtain aside. The moonlight streams across the formal gardens of Wintersmith Hall, bathing it in a soft glow of light. Thousands of stars twinkle overhead in the inky sky.
It was under this moonlight and stars that I first noticed Noah. I mean, not that I didn’t notice him—he’s absolutely gorgeous—but he mentioned that he liked pick and mix as we were sitting around the table in the garden, having a magnificent dinner.
This is so me. The second I heard that, I knew I had found a kindred spirit. Okay, yes, it might have been because he could discuss pink mice and milk teeth, but I felt this spark. That there was a fun, quirky side underneath that fit exterior.
A side that I found not only sexy, but endearing and sweet.
And I found myself spellbound.
I sit down on the window seat, tucking my legs up underneath me, pressing my head against the cool glass of the windowpane. My mind immediately goes back to Saturday night and how I sat with Noah in that very garden below.
I remember staring at his handsome face, hardly believing this shy, sensitive, quirky footballer was interested in me—and I got wrapped up in the fantasy. I couldn’t say yes fast enough when he asked me if he could take me on a date next weekend. I went to bed last night on a cloud, thinking it had been a long, long time since I stayed up all night because I was too excited to sleep. We talked at breakfast, then he left with his teammate, Camden Tremblay, and Bella York, whom I’ve recently befriended. He said he would text me this week to set something up, and I secretly hoped he would text me sooner.
But once all our guests were gone, I eagerly retreated to my room, fired up my laptop, and did the deep dive I had been anxious to do since we hit it off in the garden during dinner on Friday night.
I googled him.
And as soon as I did, I realised I was in way over my head.
I wince as I see the articles about him flip through my mind. They all talked about what an incredible football IQ he has. That he has grown up in the Stonebridge United system and is “one of their own.” He played in Spain on loan, and once he knew he was going there, immersed himself in the Spanish language so he could communicate in his new country. I read that Noah knew very early on he wanted to be a footballer, took it seriously, and dedicated his life to becoming a top striker in the Premier League. He’s known for his determination, his quiet demeanour, and his seriousness on the pitch.
I swallow hard. Noah is everything I’m not.
And I’m embarrassed by that.
I bite my lip. Nobody has ever taken me seriously. Not even my parents. How could they? Nicholas is the smart, driven one. He’s like Noah in the sense that he knew he would inherit this estate one day and he dedicated his whole time at uni to prepare for it. Nicholas loves the estate, he loves this house, he knows exactly what he would like to do to improve it—if only he were given the chance.
But I’ve never been like that.
I’ve always had a variety of interests, and I ended up studying art history at St. Andrews. I did well, but I certainly didn’t make the grades Nicholas did. And whilst my friends were zeroing in on what they wanted to do for a living, I felt pressure.
Pressure to find my purpose.
Pressure to figure out my career.
Pressure to be as good as Nicholas.
Throughout my life, Nicholas has been the serious twin. I keep trying to find new things, keep trying to find my place, but instead people see me as noncommittal. Or like a butterfly, flitting from flower to flower, never landing in one spot.
If they only knew the truth.
If I can’t do something perfectly, I won’t do it. Because I’m afraid to fail.
And all of this brings me back to Noah.
Noah is like Nicholas on steroids. He’s known what he’s wanted since he was a child. He’s achieved it, and he’s continuing to achieve, achieve, achieve.
I’m no match for a man like that.
A heaviness descends upon me in response to this realisation. Noah said he understood that I’m trying to find my direction, but he doesn’t understand the reality of my situation. Would he truly want the woman who is folding tea towels in the family estate’s gift shop in Dorset because she’s too afraid to do anything else? Because if she can’t do it perfectly, she becomes paralysed with fear? My cheeks begin to burn in shame. Normally I’m better than this. I never would have engaged with Noah until he brought up the stupid pick and mix.
Because in that moment, he seemed like the perfect man for me.
I manage a twisted smile. Noah might be absolutely perfect for me. He seemed so this whole weekend. We talked easily at the beach. He looked me in the eyes when I spoke, and no matter what I said, he took me seriously.
Nobody ever takes me seriously.
But Noah did.
That’s why I allowed myself to be swept away in the beginnings of a strong crush. I got goosebumps whenever I was near him. I found myself looking forward to dinner so I could continue to talk to him. And when he stole me away for a walk in the garden, I hoped he would kiss me.
Noah wanted to. But he was too much of a gentleman to do so.
He’s the perfect man.
And if I go out with him, it will lead to nothing but heartbreak for me.
Text him now,I tell myself. Treat it like a plaster you have to rip off. Tell him it won’t work, wish him well in the football preseason, and never talk to him again.
So if this is the thing that is supposed to be the least painful option, why does my stomach hurt even worse as I think of doing it?
“Just do it, Violet,” I tell myself.
In fact, I should do it now, in a move of supreme cowardice. Noah is probably asleep. I can text him and be done with it.
I get up and go to my bedside table to retrieve my phone off the charger. I tap the screen and it immediately illuminates my room, the glow of it providing some light. To my surprise, I see I have a new text.
From Noah.
I gasp when I see his name, and now I’m full of anxiety as I open the message. He sent this whilst I was sitting here at the window, because this wasn’t there when I checked the time before getting out of bed. I find myself holding my breath as I read:
Violet—I’m going to assume you’re going to read this in the morning, so good morning. Right now, it’s after two and I can’t sleep. I’m blaming you, Lady Violet Banfield. I can’t stop thinking about you and can’t wait for our date in London next week. You should be flattered—I’ve never felt this way before.
To my surprise, I feel a lump swell in my throat. Why am I getting upset? I don’t really know Noah. We haven’t had a date. I shouldn’t be reacting like this.
But I know why I am. Noah is special, and I’m about to shove him away.
Even if it’s for the best in the long run, even if I’m sparing myself a train wreck in the future, this is hurting my heart at the moment.
I begin to reply to his message, and my hands are shaking.
“God, Violet, stop acting like a lovesick idiot,” I whisper to myself. I start typing:
Hi, Noah, I’m up, too. But I’ve been thinking about our date next week, and I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I got caught up in the weekend, and I really think it’s best that we stay friends. I have my life in Dorset, you’re going to have the season coming up and you’ll be in Surrey/travelling, and I think this is the best for both of us. I’m sorry I didn’t think this through before I accepted your date. Wish you all the best, Violet.
My finger hovers over the send button.
Don’t do it,my heart suddenly shouts at me. You’ll regret it if you do.
I will my heart to shut up and then I hit send.
“Shit!” I immediately gasp as I do.
What am I doing? Do I really want to do this without even giving it a try? Maybe Noah doesn’t care about everything I’m worrying about. May—
Noah Darby is typing …
I hold my breath as I wait for his text to come through, and finally, it does:
Understood.
I stare at the one word that is on my screen.
And to my surprise, I begin to cry.
* * *
I don’t wake up until later on Monday morning, and when I finally drag myself out of bed and downstairs, I find two painters in our den. Mum was changing the colour scheme here, and today is the day they are going to be here working. I say hello, noticing they have Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie” cranked up—which is an interesting choice for painting, I’ll give them that—and continue on my way to the kitchen.
Mum and Dad headed out early this morning to look at some furniture. They plan to be back by noon. There’s no sign of Nicholas or Amelia, his girlfriend who works alongside him here at Wintersmith Hall.
My thoughts are distracted for a moment when I think of Nicholas and Amelia, and it brings a smile to my face. Amelia came to me seeking an opportunity to start a bridal business here at Wintersmith Hall—and Nicholas said he would entertain supporting the idea to Dad and Mum as long as Amelia worked alongside him to learn estate management first. It’s an interesting situation. Amelia lives nearby at Swallowhedge, one of the grandest estates in all of England—but her parents have zero interest in opening the home to the public, let alone having a bridal boutique and hosting weddings on-site.
I always knew Nicholas was madly in love with Amelia from when we were all teenagers, but something happened to keep them from becoming romantically involved. They had some kind of falling out—Nicholas would never speak of it—and went from being the best of friends to despising each other. This nonsense went on for years, but now?
They’ve decided they’d rather date instead.
And from the way they look at each other? I know they’re in love.
I reach the kitchen, thinking about how they found each other, and as I open a packet of crumpets and put one into the toaster, Noah comes back to the forefront of my mind. Bits of our conversations float back to me, and I can see the way he looked at me with those deep brown eyes of his as if I were the most interesting woman he’d ever spoken to. He actually listened to me, even though I talked endlessly. I know he did because he was actively engaged the whole time, responding to what I said or asking me questions.
Noah was different from any man I’d ever met.
And I threw away a chance to get to know this man.
My crumpet pops up, and I put it on a plate and take a seat at the table. I spread some butter and marmalade on it, but then I sit there, not hungry enough to eat. All I feel is a sense of heaviness and regret blanketing my whole body as I think of Noah.
“HA-KAWWWWWWWWWW!”
I bolt upright in my chair with a start, my hands flailing and sending my plate with my crumpet clattering and falling to the floor, shattering. My heart suddenly pounds inside my chest as a horrendous shriek fills the air.
What on earth?I rise from the table, and then I hear the screaming sound become louder. Then the sound of wings flapping.
I bolt from the kitchen and find Melanie and Cara, our housekeepers, cowering and screaming in terror in the hallway as two big peacocks swoop overhead, flying through the house and screaming at the top of their lungs.
Oh my God, Nicholas bought Amelia peacocks.
She has been trying to sell him on peacocks for the estate ever since she started working here—and Nicholas, being a grump about it, told his Peahen absolutely not, he was never buying peacocks—but obviously he did.
Whilst I’m thrilled with this development—because it means my twin is not only in love, but madly in love with Amelia for him to relent on this—I know it’s a disaster if they are in the house. Feathers are flying, and there’s bird poop all over the floor.
A peacock swoops past me, and I put my hands over my head in response, fearful of being pooped on.
“How did they get in here?” I shout to Melanie.
“How would I know? I didn’t even know we had peacocks!” she shouts back.
Then I watch in horror as they fly into the den. I hear the shouts of the painters—who come running out of the room. Then Nicholas races in from the back door, panting and following the wake of destruction to the den.
“Stay out!” he yells, running into the den and slamming the door behind him.
Then I hear all kinds of commotion coming from the den. As in banging, “HA-KAWWING,” and Nicholas swearing.
Soon Amelia is running through the house, her long jet-black hair flying behind her and a terrified look on her beautiful face. “Oh no!” she cries.
“We have peacocks flying in the house!” Melanie says loudly to her. “Scared me to death!”
“Amelia, what is going on?” I ask over the noise.
“Nicholas got me peacocks.”
A massive THUD comes from the den, and then Nicholas drops a string of choice swear words.
When I hear how angry my twin sounds, I grow fearful for Amelia. He’s been a grump about this, and now that he finally gives in with the birds and this is the result? Renegade peacocks raining down destruction of all kinds on the house?
“Oh my God. He’s going to kill you!” I blurt out without thinking.
“I know!” she shouts back over the sound of the birds.
Then she bravely opens the door and goes inside, and I hear more shouting and banging and the flapping of wings.
Then, like a figure from an action movie, Luke Ryan, our aviary expert and falconer, comes running through the house with nets.
“Den!” I shout, guiding him.
He runs past those of us in the hall and enters the den. Within minutes, it’s silent.
“Thank God,” Melanie says.
“That was the craziest thing I’ve ever seen!” Cara adds, her eyes wide.
We all stand still in the hallway, still stunned by the whole sequence of events. Soon Eric—a member of our gardening staff—comes down the hallway with a big cage.
“The den,” I say again.
“Thanks,” he says. Then he raps on the door. “Luke? I have the cage.”
“Brilliant,” Luke says. “Come in.”
Within a few minutes, Luke and Eric exit the den, with the criminal peacocks apprehended and in the cage.
I make my way into the den, and OH MY GOD, it’s a complete disaster. There’s peacock poop everywhere, feathers strewn about, and paint splattered all over the floor. And if the situation weren’t so dire, I’d burst out laughing at Nicholas, whose brown hair is sticking straight up with streaks of paint in it. Amelia is covered with paint as well, and they both look ridiculous.
“Shit, it’s as bad as it sounded,” I say.
“Yeah, it was,” Nicholas says in a defeated tone.
“Mum and Dad are supposed to be back before lunch,” I point out. “They were looking at furniture for this room.”
“I’ll deal with them when they get home,” Nicholas says grimly.
When I see the defeated look on my twin’s face, and the tortured look on Amelia’s, I know I need to leave them alone to discuss what to do about the den. I decide to use breakfast as an excuse to make my exit. Truth be told, I need to clean up the crumpet on the floor anyway.
“Listen, I’m going to finish my breakfast, but let me know if I can help,” I say.
Nicholas nods. “Thank you.”
I leave the room, and as soon as the door is shut behind me, I immediately turn to Melanie and Cara. “We’re going to need a lot of help to get this cleaned up. Can you rally every available hand you can think of? Like from the café or garden?”
“Yes, of course,” Cara says.
“I’m going to go upstairs and change,” I tell them. “We can start with the hallways. I just want to do as much as possible before Mum and Dad get home to minimise the fallout for Nicholas. But right now, he needs to talk to Amelia, so let’s give them that space in the den.”
A look of understanding flashes across both their faces. They’ve been with us for a long time, and both women know how hard Nicholas works on the estate.
“We’ll do everything we can to help Nicholas,” Melanie asserts. “We’ll get as much as we can cleaned up before the earl and countess return.”
I glance and see all the chaos awaiting clean up.
UGHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
“Yes, thank you. I don’t know how much of the damage we can undo, but anything has to be better than this.”
They disappear to get more help and gather cleaning supplies, and I head back upstairs. Shit. Shit. Mum and Dad will be home soon, and not only will they be furious that peacocks were purchased in the first place, but when they see the wake of destruction that our house has become?
I wince. Dad is not even going to let Nicholas pick up a bin and dump it, let alone oversee a project. I dash up the stairs and change into some old, torn jeans and a faded T-shirt, then I pull my hair up into a knot on the top of my head. I reach for my phone, and when I see I have a text message from Mum, my heart practically stops beating. With dread, I tap open her message:
Violet, Dad and I have decided to have a late breakfast at a café, and because we haven’t seen anything we like locally, we’re on our way to London. Going to spend the night there and come home tomorrow. Love you! X
I burst out laughing. I can’t believe our good luck! We’re going to be able to make all of this disappear, and Nicholas will only be on the hook for buying peacocks.
I run down the stairs and run into Melanie, who has a steam mop in her hand.
“I have great news! Mum and Dad won’t be home until tomorrow!’ I exclaim.
“Oh, Violet! That’s brilliant!” she exclaims. “We can get all of this cleaned up!”
“Yes. There’s no need for them to know this ever happened.”
Melanie’s eyes meet mine in a knowing look. She smiles slyly at me. “You know staffers don’t keep secrets,” she begins. “But when it involves Nicholas? I think for once you’ll find the staff acutely unaware of peacocks ever being near the house, let alone in it.”
“Thank you,” I say, touched by the loyalty to my twin. “I appreciate this so much, and Nicholas will be forever grateful.”
Melanie twists her fingers in front of her lips in a sealed lips gesture, and I hurry off down the hall. I stop right at the den and knock on the door.
“Nicholas?” I ask. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah,” he calls out.
I pop open the door, not sure if I’m walking in on an argument or not. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“Don’t worry,” Amelia says, grinning at me. “He’s not going to kill me.”
“Kill you? Is that why you looked so terrified?” Nicholas asks, furrowing his brow.
“I thought you’d be so angry with me,” she confesses.
“Why? Did you run around screaming and throwing paint all over this room? Is your name Roy or Carl? Of course I’m not mad at you.”
“Oh my God, you’ve totally taken the grump out of him, Amelia,” I say excitedly. “I thought he’d kill you, too. Anyway, I come bearing excellent news!”
“I should be offended that my own twin thought I’d murder my girlfriend, but please, go on.”
I ignore him and wave the phone in my hand. “Just heard from Mum. They’re having breakfast at a café, and on a whim, they’ve decided to go to London straightaway. Not only that, but they’re staying the night so they can shop tomorrow. We have at least twenty-four hours to clean this up. They might never know this happened!”
Amelia gasps. “This is brilliant!”
“Really?” Nicholas asks hopefully.
I nod.
“Shit. This is like one of those predictable teen movies where they get the break to hide disaster from the clueless parents,” he says.
“I know, right? This can work, Nicholas. I’ve already spoken to Melanie and Cara. Not only are they not going to say anything, but they want to help us clean up. They adore you, Nicholas. All the staff here do. Everyone wants to help you. Now, we need to get the painters sorted out—perhaps they can paint around where we have to clean. I’ll go talk to them and then I’ll be right back.”
“If I need to pay them out of pocket to not put overtime on the bill, let me know,” Nicholas says.
“No. I’ll pay for that, it’s my fault,” Amelia says.
“No, Peahen, you’re not paying for it, that’s ridiculous.”
“No, what is ridiculous is the fact that you had peacocks flying around your den and painting it, thanks to me—so I’ll handle the charges,” she insists.
“Okay, you two argue, but I’m going to see what I can work out with them.” Then I leave the room, shutting the door behind me and heaving a huge sigh of relief.
We’re going to be able to hide this episode.
And I have something to do now instead of thinking about Noah.
But as soon as I have that thought, I can’t help but wonder what his reaction would be to this story. He would laugh. Would his eyes light up in amusement as I gave him all the details? Would he tell me he wishes he could have seen it? Would I hear that laugh reverberate from his chest?
I exhale softly, and my chest physically aches inside as I think about this.
Because I’ll never have the opportunity to know.