Chapter Twenty-Two
By the time the last guest wandered off to their suite, the terrace was like the aftermath of a very glamorous battle, half-empty wine glasses glinting, wrinkled napkins slumped in surrender, candles burning low.
“That went well,” Noah said while stacking the chairs.
“Well?” I said, grabbing a few abandoned menus. “No one cried, fainted, or set fire to a floral arrangement. That’s a resounding success in my line of work.”
He gave me a sideways look, amused.
The night air was cooler now, tinged with the smell of cut grass and wine. Somewhere out in the vines, frogs were starting up their midnight chorus.
I leaned against one of the tables, watching Noah work. “That speech from Ethan…”
“…was something,” he finished, lips twitching.
“Yeah,” I said, grinning. “Something awkward.”
We both laughed, the kind that comes when you’re too tired to care and too relieved to stop.
And that’s when I heard it. An angry voice carried up from the garden.
Noah paused mid-stack, his head tilting slightly.
“That’s James.”
I nodded, heart suddenly thudding. “And the other one?”
We both knew before he said it.
“Ethan.”
My eyes widened before I could stop myself, the memory of Ethan’s speech flashing back, that pause, the way James’s jaw had set like concrete.
Noah caught my look instantly. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.
“That we’re about to witness the first-ever rehearsal-dinner brawl in Langston’s history?”
“Something like that.”
The voices carried up to us again, sharp, too close. Not the polite kind of disagreement that people have when they’re aware of other ears. This had that clipped, angry rhythm that only comes from something real.
We both froze.
“Should we…?” I whispered, nodding towards the sound.
He hesitated, then sighed. “Just a peek.”
We crept towards the edge of the terrace, the gravel crunching far too loudly underfoot. I crouched beside a row of empty wine barrels, feeling half ridiculous, half thrilled.
From here, we could just make them out, two dark silhouettes near the end of the path, facing each other.
James’s voice rose, angry and tight. Ethans was lower, steadier, but no less dangerous.
Noah leaned closer. “This is bad.”
“This is front-page, trending-hashtag bad.” I whispered.
“I’m asking you a question,” James said loudly. “How long have you been in love with her?”
Ethan’s voice came out patronising. “You’ve had a few drinks. Let’s not do this, mate.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Because it’s not a fair question, you know we dated at University.”
“Oh, come on,” James snapped. “Don’t give me that moral high ground crap. You discarded her. But I see the way you look at her. Everyone can see how you look at her.”
“I look at her,” Ethan said, “like someone I respect. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
I could hear the sound of footsteps, slow and deliberate.
James’s tone hardened. “Don’t start pretending you’re better than me. You’ve been waiting, haven’t you? Sitting back, playing the loyal friend.”
“That’s not…”
“Don’t lie to me, Ethan. I’ve known you for fifteen years. You go quiet whenever she walks in. You think no one notices?”
Ethan’s silence said everything.
When he finally spoke, his voice was tempered, but the restraint was cracking. “You don’t need me to tell you what’s wrong, James. You already know. You’ve been trying to make this work for months and it’s breaking her.”
“Fuck off, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I do. Because she actually talks to me.”
That landed like a punch.
James huffed a laugh once, short, breathless, dangerous. “Right. And what does she say, then? That she’s made a mistake? That she wants to run away with you?”
Ethan didn’t answer.
“Christ,” James said, voice rising now. “You actually think she’d choose you, don’t you?”
“I don’t think anything,” Ethan said evenly. “I just know she deserves to be happy.”
“She is happy,” James snapped.
“Then why are you out here shouting at me in the dark?”
That stopped him.
For a few seconds, all we could hear was the wind in the vines, and the clicking of frogs in the distance.
Then James swore loudly. The sound of something hitting the gravel, a glass, maybe. “You’re ruining everything,” he said finally, his voice shaking. “You just couldn’t leave it alone.”
Ethan stepped forward. “I haven’t done anything.”
“Exactly,” James said. “You should’ve said something years ago. Not now. Not a few nights before I marry her.”
Ethan’s voice cracked as he spoke. “She has the right to know.”
James didn’t answer. Just turned and walked off with clenched fists, his footsteps fading into the dark.
Ethan stayed where he was, breathing hard, his hands on his hips. Then he turned away towards the vines, and even from here, under the glow of the lights, I could see the exhaustion in his eyes.
I exhaled slowly. “Bloody hell. For a moment there, I thought they were going to get physical”.
“Mm.” Noah agreed, still staring towards the vines. “Does this happen at every wedding?”
“Only the expensive ones,” I responded dryly.
We stood there for another minute, not talking, just watching Ethan in the half-light. So calm. So careful. And anything but restrained right now. I sighed. “Well. Tomorrow’s going to be interesting.”
Noah hummed without humour. “Interesting’s one word for it.”
I nodded towards the vineyard. “You think this is just about Caroline, or something else?”
He hesitated. “Honestly? It feels like everyone has a secret.”
The vines rustled before us softly, as if agreeing.
We tiptoed back to the terrace, careful not to make a sound.
The drawing room felt oddly hushed when we stepped inside, the sort of stillness that settles after a long day of people talking over one another. The terrace doors clicked shut behind us, muting the crickets and the distant hum of the Estate.
I breathed out with half a laugh, half disbelief. “Well,” I said, “that wasn’t on the schedule.”
Noah rubbed a hand over his face, still half smiling. “I don’t think you can plan for that sort of thing.”
“You’d be surprised,” I said. “I once spent forty minutes talking a groom out of cancelling his wedding because his future father-in-law called him ‘sport’ in the wrong tone. I’m practically a crisis manager at this point.”
He grinned, the corners of his mouth curving in that slow, understated way that made it impossible not to smile back. “Still, I wasn’t expecting those two to be arguing like that.”
The drawing room was low-lit, the faint smell of woodsmoke and old oak barrels lingering in the air. I kicked off my heels without thinking; my feet were throbbing after twelve hours of pretending to glide.
Noah leaned against the mantel, eyes still on me. “Do you think they’re okay?”
“James and Ethan?” I shrugged. “They’ll either make up or one of them will fake food poisoning before breakfast. My money’s on Ethan. He’s too composed to punch someone, but he won’t ignore it either.”
Noah’s brow lifted. “You think he’s capable of messing things up on purpose?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know. But I’ve seen people do stupid things under wedding pressure. It’s like a magnet for bad decisions.”
He chuckled. “Sometimes it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch.”
I let that thought swirl around for a bit, then glanced around the room. The faint gleam of the family portraits, the creak of the old timber floors, it all felt heavier in a way, layered with too much history.
My mind started ticking. “Noah, what if it’s connected? The brooch, the argument… all of it. Maybe Ethan knows something.”
He tilted his head, studying me. “You think he’d actually steal it?”
I shrugged. “He’s the only one who wouldn’t exactly lose if this wedding fell apart.”
“So, you think Ethan swiped the brooch to sabotage the whole thing?” His tone was half-teasing, half-serious.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “But I’m done guessing. If that brooch’s still here, I’m finding it before the next disaster hits.”
A small smile tugged at his mouth. “You’re determined.”
“Determined,” I said, reaching for my planner, “and slightly terrified of Margaret. Which turns out to be excellent motivation.”
I turned back towards the window, where the vines shimmered faintly under the moonlight. “I think it’s all connected somehow,” I said.
Noah watched me, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Then maybe,” he said, nodding towards the stack of old papers on the sideboard, “we should read the next letter.”
I stared at him. “Now?”
He shrugged, casual but with that glint of mischief in his eyes. “Why not? You said you wanted answers. Maybe Edward left us one.”
I hesitated for a second, then reached for the envelope he offered me. The paper was brittle, edges curled, the ink faded to brown.
I eased the envelope open, the wax seal flaking to dust beneath my thumb. The paper inside was thin, browned at the edges, the ink faded but still elegant.
Noah shifted closer, his shoulder brushing mine. “Go on, read it out loud,” he urged.
I took a breath that was, obviously, purely for oxygen-related reasons and absolutely not because he’d just moved near enough for me to become weirdly aware of his cologne. Then I started reading.
"My dearest Edward,
Father’s suspicions have grown unbearable. He calls me into his study each evening to ask where I have been, why I seem distant. I have told him I am unwell, that the summer heat unsettles me, but he does not believe it.
Mother, too, has begun to question the long walks. She says my absences are unbecoming of a daughter with a future to protect. I fear she knows. Perhaps they both do.
I cannot sleep for the dread of discovery. Yesterday, Father sent one of the grooms to follow me. If not for the mist over the orchard, he might have seen us.
Dearest, I do not regret a single moment, but I beg you, no more meetings near the house. If they learn what we have done, they will cast me out and ruin you. I would rather be thought strange and melancholy than to never be able to see you again.
Always yours, T."
When I finished, the fire cracked sharply, as if the letter itself had unsettled the room.
Noah eyes were big. “It was an affair.”
I nodded, studying the curling script. “Her family didn’t approve of their relationship. She sounds so young. Scared but … in love.”
He leaned back, glancing around the panelled room. “You can almost feel it, that weight of being watched. Like it’s seeped into the walls.”
Before I could reply, footsteps echoed faintly in the corridor, measured, deliberate.
We both froze.
The door handle turned.
I quickly shoved the letter back into its envelope and slid it beneath a stack of old menus on the table just as the door opened.
Lady Beaumont appeared, immaculate in a silk dressing gown the colour of champagne. Her expression was polite in the way a blade is sharp.
“Holly?” she said lightly. “Still awake?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I was just finishing the final notes from the dinner.”
Her gaze flicked to Noah, then to the papers scattered across the table. “Quite the midnight strategy session.”
“Just making sure tomorrow runs smoothly,” Noah said, his tone smooth, deferential.
Lady Beaumont smiled, the kind of smile that never reached her eyes. “I do appreciate your dedication. But perhaps it’s time both of you rested. The household rises early.”
“Of course,” I said quickly, stacking a few random sheets over the envelope.
She paused, her gaze lingering for a moment on the papers. “Well, good night then, to both of you.”
I forced a polite nod. “Good night, Lady Beaumont.”
With that, she drifted back into the corridor, closing the door behind her with a sharp click.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. The sound of her footsteps faded down the hall, followed by the faint creak of another door opening somewhere upstairs.
Noah let out a breath of laughter. “That was close.”
“Too close,” I blinked at him, pressing a hand to my chest. “If she’d come in any further…”
“She’d have thought we were conspiring.”
I gave him a look and smiled. “We sort of are.”
His grin lingered this time, and for one dangerous second the room felt very small again.
I looked down at the hidden envelope, then back at him. “Maybe history really does have a sense of humour.”