Chapter Fourteen
The last of the cars had already crunched down the gravel drive, their headlights dancing through the trees before fading into the dark.
The welcome party was officially over, guests who weren’t staying on the estate had said their goodbyes, and the rest had drifted inside for nightcaps or polite yawns.
The terrace felt almost magical now that it was empty, the fairy lights still glowing, candles flickering in the warm breeze, linen napkins askew from too much laughter and Chardonnay.
I stepped outside for a break, pretending it was to double-check something. In truth, I needed just five minutes without anyone asking where the band’s bass player had gone or whether we had a backup corkscrew.
I stared out at the view. The stars were in proper show off mode tonight, scattered across the sky like someone had dropped a box of diamonds.
That’s when I saw Caroline, sitting on the steps, heels discarded beside her, an untouched glass of champagne at her elbow.
The glow from inside caught in her hair, turning it to pale copper, but the strain in her expression said the evening hadn’t gone as smoothly for her as it had seemed from the outside.
This is not a good sign.
This is, in fact, the opposite of a good sign.
I checked around for James but couldn’t spot him anywhere. Inside, the table he’d been sitting at earlier was now occupied only by Lucas, nursing a drink beside a small collection of abandoned glasses glittering in the candlelight like evidence of several questionable decisions.
“Mind if I join you?” I asked, stepping out onto the boards.
She startled slightly, then smiled, polite, practiced. “Of course not. I was just… getting some air.”
Her voice was steady, but her hands betrayed her, one thumb worrying the edge of her dress until the silk began to fray.
I lowered myself onto the step beside her, keeping a respectable distance. “It’s beautiful out here. The calm before the big day.”
She hummed gently, but it was a brittle sound. “Calm. That’s generous. I think my mother’s still inside editing my father’s speech, something about removing ‘unnecessary sentimentality.’”
“Margaret does seem to have a talent for logistics,” I said lightly.
“She has a talent for control,” Caroline corrected sharply, then immediately winced, as if she’d said too much. “Sorry. That sounded ungrateful.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Every family has its… dynamics.”
She stared out towards the dark horizon and took a sip of her champagne. “I know she means well. She always does. But sometimes I feel like the wedding is only another opportunity for her to impress my grandmother. And I’m just a guest who happens to be in the photos.”
I hesitated before asking, “Lady Beaumont?”
Caroline gave a small, humourless laugh. “Yes. The Lady Victoria Beaumont. She prefers the title, even though no one’s used it in years. She’s very formidable.”
There was an affection buried somewhere in her tone, but also something like fatigue.
She paused, running her thumb over her hand.
“It’s not even about the wedding itself.
It’s what it represents. My parents’ marriage has always been carefully maintained.
My father built the family name, but my mother has kept it spotless.
She learnt from my grandmother to treat reputation like a treasure.
If you don’t polish it, it dulls but polish it too much and it cracks. ”
Her tone lowered, reflective. “James doesn’t come from that world. He’s self-made, and proud of it. That makes him risky in my mother’s eyes. She keeps trying to guide him, to make sure he understands what’s expected. As if success only really counts if it comes with a pedigree.”
I watched the light from the dining room shimmer across her face.
Caroline stared down at her glass. “She’s trying to ensure that my decision to marry someone outside of the usual circle, doesn’t mean we’ve lost our standing. Every flower, every menu decision, even every word of my own father’s speech feels like part of the performance.”
Her voice was almost clinical, the tone of someone used to presenting evidence, even in her own defence.
I glanced at her hands, elegant and still now. “Well, you’re not the first to feel that way before a wedding.”
She smiled faintly. “You make it sound normal.”
“It is,” I said. “It’s a high-pressure production laced with emotional landmines and, in your case, the media. Honestly, it’s a miracle anyone makes it through a wedding without at least briefly considering setting fire to their own dress.”
That earned a real chortle this time, small but genuine. She took another small sip, so I went on.
“I once had a bride who called off her ceremony twenty minutes before walking down the aisle because her mother-in-law changed the floral arch at the last minute. The bride locked herself in the bathroom with a bottle of Prosecco and a cheese platter.”
Caroline blinked at me. “What happened?”
“Oh, she married him a month later. New flowers, no mother-in-law in sight. They’re still together. Though she did send me a Christmas card last year that just said, ‘Still not speaking to his mother, and the photos turned out great.’”
Caroline smiled into her glass. “I can see the appeal of eloping.”
“You wouldn’t be the first to consider it.
I had one couple who ran away mid-rehearsal dinner during an argument between their respective parents.
Posted a TikTok from Bali a week later. It said, ‘We figured this was the only way to keep everyone happy.’ Their parents still don’t speak to each other, but they seem blissfully fine. ”
She chortled again, “You’re full of horror stories.”
“Part of the deal I’m afraid,” I said lightly. “But it’s also why I can tell when something’s normal wedding stress and when it’s… not.”
That line hung between us for a few seconds. Her smile lingered but didn’t reach her eyes this time.
Then, softer: “I guess it’s not just the wedding. It’s James. He keeps telling me that we’ll laugh about all of this later. And maybe he’s right.” She hesitated, gaze flicking towards the light spilling from the dining room windows. “But what if he’s not?”
The air between us stilled.
“Well, what makes you think that?” I asked carefully.
She rubbed at her bare wrist where her bracelet had left a faint imprint. “He’s a good man. Kind. He grounds me. But lately, every conversation turns into an argument. I say I’m exhausted, and he tries to fix it. I tell him I need space, and he assumes he’s done something wrong.”
Her voice caught as she spoke. “I hate that we’re both trying so hard to make it perfect that we’ve forgotten to enjoy it together.”
I studied her profile, sharp, beautiful, composed even now. There it was: that fine crack beneath the polish. Not a collapse, just a fissure.
“Caroline,” I said kindly, “you’re not alone in this. Everyone here wants the same thing, for it to go well. But that doesn’t mean you have to carry all of it on your shoulders.”
She smiled, but her eyes were glassy. “You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not,” I admitted. “But sometimes it helps to remember this isn’t a courtroom. It’s your life.”
That earned me a genuine smile.
After a moment, she stood, slipping her heels back on. “I should go back in before Mother starts a search party.”
“Good idea. I’m not licensed for hostage negotiations after eleven p.m.”
That brought one more chuckle, faint but real. “Thank you, Holly. Really.”
I watched her disappear into the ambient light of the dining room, her posture straightening the moment she crossed the threshold, the performance resumed.
I lingered a moment longer, looking up at the stars again. Because I’d seen this before, the tiny cracks that start under pressure, invisible until the light hits just right.
Through one of the side windows, a lamp turned on, drawing my eye. James sat by the window, alone. His jacket was gone, his shirt unbuttoned halfway, a glass of wine balanced in his hand. The candle beside him had burned down to a pool of wax, its flame blinking weakly against the glass.
He rubbed at his temple, slow and deliberate, then leaned back in his chair. The candlelight caught his reflection in the window, pale and faint, layered over the darkness outside. In that moment, he seemed like two people at once, one visible, one fading.
When he turned, his eyes lifted towards the glass. I couldn’t tell if he saw me or if he was simply staring past his own reflection.
Either way, he smiled. Small. Polite.
The feeling I’d been trying to ignore nudged at me again. Whatever was happening between them wasn’t just a rough week or too many last-minute decisions.
Inside, the sound of laughter carried down the hall, Caroline’s voice among it, lighter now, as though she’d successfully stepped back into the part she was born to play.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out, expecting something ordinary.
Cleo’s message filled the screen:
“Tomorrow. Sunrise. Come alone. I found something.”