Chapter Twenty-Three
The first thing I noticed when I walked into the breakfast room was that someone had set out a tray of pastries so beautiful they seemed like they’d been flown in from Paris. Which they probably had.
The staff moved around in the background, doing that discreet ballet they’d perfected for moments exactly like this, where everyone was pretending things were normal, even though they absolutely weren’t.
And there, positioned at the table with the best vantage point like he’d claimed it on instinct, was Lucas.
He was leaning forward just enough to look attentive, elbows nowhere near the linen, posture immaculate. His voice had that smooth, I’m-charming-you-without-even-trying quality he was born with, and he was using all of it on Lady Victoria Beaumont.
“…and of course the charity board insisted I take the speaking slot,” he was saying. “Apparently people listen better when they’re entertained.”
Lady Beaumont lifted her chin exactly one centimetre, unimpressed.
“Or distracted,” she said, dry as sandpaper. She returned to cutting her papaya.
Lucas blinked but rallied. “Well, either way, the donations were record-breaking.”
“Mm.” She did not look moved. “I’m sure people will donate generously to make you stop talking.”
Lucas gave a bright, hopeful laugh, as if she had just complimented him instead of… whatever that was.
Across the room, Sophie sat at a little table by the windows, keeping what she probably thought was a polite distance. She had her bowl of muesli in front of her, swirling the spoon around like she was contemplating the mysteries of the universe instead of, well, oats.
Every few seconds, though, her eyes flicked towards Lucas and Lady Beaumont. Not subtle. At all. Her spoon kept pausing mid-air whenever their voices lifted, like even her breakfast was following the plot.
Her sketchbook was open beside her, nothing dramatic, just a doodle of a leaf and something that could have been a wine glass or a heart or both.
She jumped a little when Lady Beaumont cut Lucas off with a crisp,
“Mr Scott, must you breathe quite so loudly?”
At a small table tucked beside the coffee machine, Noah and Izzy sat together, each with a mug of coffee, both watching the room like they were conducting a private, silent post-mortem.
Izzy took a slow sip and murmured, “He’s about three seconds from being a human sacrifice.”
Noah grinned, eyes still scanning the room, and he shrugged. “Better him than us.”
She nodded once in agreement. They made an oddly perfect team, Noah smoothing the edges while Izzy bulldozed straight through them.
His gaze drifted from Sophie’s not-at-all-subtle people-watching, to Lucas leaning in and turning on his most polished version of himself, to Lady Beaumont sharpening her sentences like weapons, and then to me.
One raised eyebrow.
A whole conversation in that tiny lift.
Then Emma came running in.
She practically skidded across the tiles towards me, her usually immaculate blonde braid shedding strands like it had slipped the leash.
Her oversized sunglasses sat crooked on her nose, her blazer unbuttoned in a way that suggested she’d dressed herself at high speed and abandoned the rest of her routine on the way.
“Emma?” I started, but she was already reaching me.
“Holly!” Her voice cracked before I even fully turned to face her. “Have you seen Caroline? Please tell me she’s with you.”
Everything inside me dipped, that planner part of my brain immediately flicking through every worst-case scenario like a deck of cards.
“What? No, no, I haven’t. Why? What’s happened?”
“She’s not in her room.” Emma’s breathing came in short, shallow bursts, her hands shaking so badly her phone rattled against her rings. “Her bed hasn’t been slept in. Her phone’s not on the dresser. She’s just… gone.”
The word gone seemed to suck the air out of the breakfast room.
It rippled through the space, across the neatly set tables, the untouched glasses of juice, the determined hum of the espresso machine, until even the staff slowed, sensing the shift.
For a brief second, no one spoke.
Then the whispers started, low and sharp-edged.
“Gone?”
“Did she leave?”
The worry spread through the group like a chill.
I stepped closer to Emma, ready to steady her, when the room shifted again, not from sound, but from presence.
James was standing behind us.
None of us had noticed him approach, not over Emma’s panic and the murmuring behind us. But there he was, rooted to the spot, face drained of colour, eyes fixed on Emma with a hollow kind of disbelief.
He had heard every word.
He was nothing like the polished groom from yesterday’s rehearsal dinner. He was wearing a branded T-shirt with jeans, hair sticking up in a way that suggested he’d either slept on a sofa or in the corner of the barn. Possibly both.
He scanned the room with frantic, darting eyes.
“What do you mean gone, Emma? Where is she?” he asked, voice low but sharp enough to cut straight through the rising chaos.
“James…” Emma whispered, turning towards him. “Her room, she’s not there.”
I saw the change hit him. It wasn’t dramatic; it was worse. His face drained so quickly it was like all the colour had been pulled out in one motion. He swayed a fraction, shoulders tightening as if bracing for impact.
Noah immediately rose from his seat beside Izzy, stepping instinctively to James’s side, not crowding him, just close enough to help him if needed.
“We, Caroline and I…” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, the words catching. “We had a stupid argument last night. After everyone went to bed.”
He didn’t look at any of us, only stared at the floor like the tiles might offer an explanation he couldn’t find.
“I thought she just needed space,” he said. “I thought giving her a night to cool off would…” His voice thinned, cracked. “God. What was I thinking?”
Lucas chose that very moment to attempt helpfulness.
“Okay!” he announced loudly, with a brightness no one appreciated. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe she’s doing… sunrise yoga? A juice cleanse? I read somewhere brides do that to expel toxins.”
Emma shot him a look so venomous I was surprised he didn’t burst into flames.
Izzy remained seated, watching with sharp, assessing eyes.
Then Margaret arrived.
She swept through the doorway in a cloud of expensive perfume and maternal purpose, her silk robe flaring behind her like she’d caught a favourable breeze, and Richard was right behind her.
She stopped dead when she saw the room, Emma pale and trembling, Lucas pacing in frantic circles, Sophie biting her nails.
Margaret’s eyes widened. “Good heavens, what’s happened now?”
No one answered quickly enough.
She gasped, clutching the back of a chair for balance she absolutely did not require. “Has something gone wrong? Tell me at once.”
She looked around, and then her attention snapped to Emma. “Is Caroline upset? Did someone distress her? I swear, if one more thing goes wrong this week…”
Lady Victoria Beaumont didn’t bother looking up from her tea.
“Margaret, do calm down. You’re frightening the staff.”
Margaret ignored her completely, scanning the room with growing alarm.
“Where is Caroline? Someone tell me what on earth is going on.”
Emma dragged in a slow breath. Her eyes filled, hands trembling like she was trying to hold herself together with sheer will.
“Emma?” Margaret pressed, stepping closer. “Where is she?”
Emma blinked rapidly, as if trying to force the words into existence.
“Mrs Harrington… she’s… well she’s not here.”
Margaret frowned, impatient. “Well obviously she’s not here, Emma. Is she still getting ready? Having a moment? What is it?”
Emma shook her head, her voice trembling. “She never came back to her room last night. Her bed wasn’t slept in, her phone’s gone, and I’ve tried calling her over and over, but it’s switched off.”
Margaret stared at her. “Emma… what are you saying?”
“I can’t find her.”
Richard, who had been standing behind her, set down his coffee cup with a deliberate clink. Margaret stumbled back a step, one hand flying to her chest. Richard caught her elbow before she lost her balance.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
“My baby…” Margaret whispered.
Then she lurched forward, gripping Emma’s shoulders
“Emma, good Lord! Why didn’t you come straight to us?”
Emma burst into tears. “Because I thought she’d just gone for a walk at first. Then I checked her room, looked outside, and started calling her, but her phone’s switched off. Her car’s still here. I didn’t want to panic anyone, but I… I just don’t know where she is!”
Margaret let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sob, stepping back from Emma as though physically pushed.
She pressed a hand to her forehead, swaying slightly.
“Oh, I feel faint. Truly, this is too much.”
“You won’t,” Lady Victoria replied without sympathy.
But the panic was real now, visible, contagious, spreading through the room in waves as the full meaning of Emma’s words settled over us.
Caroline was missing.
And none of us had the faintest idea where.
The room was descending into chaos.
But it was James who scared me.
“She should have been with me last night,” he said again, voice barely audible. “I should have checked on her. What if she… what if something happened?”
Before I could reassure him, though I wasn’t sure what reassurance I had, one of the younger housekeeping staff approached me, holding a clipboard like a shield.
“Ms Sinclair?” she said nervously. “I… I’m sorry to disturb but… the terrace door was unlocked when I came in at five.”
James flinched. Actually flinched. Like the word unlocked triggered a dozen horrible possibilities.
Margaret gasped so loudly I was sure someone in the kitchen dropped a pan.
“An unlocked door?” she cried. “She’s been abducted! Kidnapped! Taken by…”
“By her own common sense, perhaps,” Lady Victoria murmured, stirring her tea.
But James wasn’t listening to any of it. He took a step back, then forward again, like a man trying to find footing on a moving ship.
“Holly,” he said, eyes meeting mine with raw fear, “we need to find her. Now.”
The planner in me kicked in automatically, even while my brain spun in circles.
I nodded. “Okay. No more guessing. We split up and search the property.”
Behind me, Margaret wailed, “My daughter!”
And from the corner, Lady Victoria sighed, “If she left, she had her reasons. None of them flattering to you, Margaret.”
I clapped my hands sharply.
“Right. Let’s do this,” I said firmly.