Chapter 54
‘She began now to comprehend he was exactly the man…’
It was the eve of the launch. Downstairs smelled faintly of fresh paint and waxed wood.
The chairs and tables were in position, and the last of the electricians’ gear had been shoved into a cupboard in the entrance hall.
Outside, the festoon lights in the courtyard glowed faintly in the dusk, waiting for tomorrow when the place would be full – tables set, glasses polished, and the grand opening of The Black Horse finally underway.
But tonight, it was just me and Rocky.
I sat on the floor of my new home, the manager’s flat, cross-legged with a mug of tea. I’d moved in that morning, ferrying over my boxes with the help of Igor.
The caravan had been hauled away a few hours ago, rattling down the lane in a cloud of dust. I’d watched it go with something between relief and pride. It had served its purpose, but it had always felt temporary, like camping. Now I had a place that felt solid and secure.
The small flat was simple but beautiful in a way that felt like me.
The walls were salt white, with sunlight shifting across them in golden squares through the sash windows.
The rug, unearthed from Alice’s garage, covered the uneven floorboards, and Grandad’s old velvet armchair from my parents’ attic sat by the window, which felt like the throne of my new world.
I’d lit a candle that smelled of cedar and oud, and the air hummed with that strange, quiet anticipation that comes just before a big event.
I looked around the room, taking it in. I’d chosen every detail, from the silver lamp on the side table to the battered stack of books in the corner. It was the first home I’d ever created for myself.
I pulled my notebook off the dresser, flipping through the pages. The lists of expenses, and endless to-do items now mostly ticked off. But at the back was the loose notebook page Alice had found a few months ago: The Darcy List itself, folded and faded, the ink slightly smudged.
I read it over, laughing quietly. Handsome but loyal. Witty but kind. Not a flirt. Loves horses or cars. Has friends who are cool. Teenage nonsense.
And yet, there was something in there, some thread of longing for a man who would listen, grow, and be there when it mattered.
The truth was, neither Jamie nor Chase had been that man. Not Jamie with his good looks and his mother’s icy disapproval. Not Chase with his curated charm and coke-fuelled highs.
If I was honest, I wasn’t sure a man like our Darcy existed. And if he did, maybe I didn’t need him.
Because I’d built something, formed my own foundation. Here I was. Alone. And, strangely, content. No perfect Darcy. Just me, a renovated pub, and a dog who snored like a tractor engine. Without needing anything more, it felt enough.
I got up and moved to the window. The garden stretched out below, the grass still wet from the afternoon rain.
The lanterns Dom had insisted on hanging from the old apple tree swung lightly in the breeze, throwing patches of soft light onto the gravel.
Tomorrow, there would be people here – locals, family, friends, and strangers.
They’d be drinking and dining in a place that had hosted generations gone by.
I thought of Lachlan.
I hadn’t heard from him in days, just a brief email from Mia saying that he was buried in the Dubai hotel project and wouldn’t be back in time for the opening.
‘Too much on his plate,’ Dom had told me, half-apologetic. ‘The guy’s juggling a hundred-million-pound build. He says he wishes he could make it, but you know… priorities.’
I’d smiled when Dom said it, like it didn’t matter.
Not really. Lachlan had been the architect, the voice of reason when I wanted to paint walls combat green or knock down supporting structures because they looked ‘in the way’.
He was brilliant, infuriating. Of course he wasn’t going to make it.
He had a life, another world of steel towers and corporate clients.
The night deepened. I curled up in the velvet armchair with Rocky asleep at my feet, his paws twitching in some dream. The candle burned low on the table, the shadows stretching across the walls.
For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what tomorrow might feel like – the chatter of people walking through the door, drinks flowing, and the sound of music floating through the old building. I thought of Alice, arriving in her glorious Austen-inspired gown.
I thought of Lachlan again and wondered what he’d say if he saw the place now. The last time he’d walked these rooms, the paint was barely dry and I was still arguing about tiles.
I found myself whispering, ‘You’d approve,’ into the quiet.
But the flat gave no answer.
Sometime after midnight, I climbed into bed. The sheets smelled faintly of lavender from the fabric spray Alice had insisted on gifting me, ‘so it smells like a proper hotel’.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling, and for with the noise of the past finally hushed, I felt… proud.
Not just of the pub, but of myself, surviving Jamie, and walking away from the Fuller family. I’d stood on my own two feet and not collapsed.
The phone buzzed just as I was drifting off. I reached for it, expecting a last-minute text from Dom about fire safety or signage.
Florence, good luck tomorrow. The Black Horse looks incredible. Wish I could see it in person. – Lachlan.