Chapter Twenty-Six
By late afternoon, the estate had settled into something almost resembling harmony.
For the first time all day, no one was crying, shouting, storming off, apologising, or frantically searching for someone. The courtyard was still. Even the vines looked relieved.
I stepped onto the terrace with the vague intention of “checking things”, which actually meant giving myself two glorious uninterrupted minutes away from everyone.
The familiar scuff of boots behind me tugged me out of my thoughts.
Noah walked out, his hair ruffled from the wind, holding a steaming cup in his hands.
“You forgot this earlier,” he said, offering it out.
“My tea?” I blinked.
He nodded, holding it out. When I reached for it, our fingers slid together, not a brush, not a tap, an actual, slow slide. Warm skin, rough fingertips, and a spark shot clean through me.
His eyes flicked to our hands before he let go, a tiny bit slower than he needed to.
Heat unfurled inside me like someone had struck a match.
“Thank you,” I said, and my voice came out lower than usual. Almost breathless.
We stood there looking out at the view, the vines rustling in the breeze, the workers finishing up for the day.
And all I could think about was how easy it would be to lean the slightest bit sideways, and my head would be resting on his shoulder.
Honestly, Holly. Get a grip.
I kept my eyes firmly on the vines.
“So,” he murmured after a moment, “everything seems… back to normal.”
“Suspiciously,” I said. “I’m almost afraid to speak it out loud.”
He turned his head towards me, and we were very close. He didn’t look away.
A heartbeat thudded in my ears. It might have been mine. It might have been his.
“You did well today,” he said, voice low, a little rough.
The compliment hit deeper than he probably intended. My breath caught, just a fraction, but enough for him to notice.
Izzy walked past the terrace, arms full of equipment, wine-stained apron and all. She flicked her eyes at Noah, then at me, then back to Noah again, her eyebrows lifting so dramatically they practically deserved their own soundtrack.
Noah gave her a look that very clearly said not now.
Izzy smirked like a woman receiving confirmation of absolutely everything she suspected and kept walking.
I pretended very, very hard that I hadn’t seen any of it. Unfortunately, my body chose that exact moment to betray me completely and suddenly I forgot how mouths worked.
A tiny dribble of tea escaped down the wrong side of my lip and landed on my top.
Oh fantastic. Sexy. Very elegant behaviour.
I swiped at it quickly with the back of my hand, which somehow only made me more aware of how hard I was blushing.
Noah’s mouth twitched. “You all right there?”
“Mm-hm,” I mumbled, despite very obviously not being all right there.
I cleared my throat like I was trying to dislodge a pebble. Or my remaining self-respect.
“Anyway, ah…” My fingers tightened around the cup. “There’s only one of your grandfather’s letters left.”
“Right.” Noah’s mouth still held the ghost of a grin, like he was far too entertained by my complete loss of composure a few minutes earlier. “We should probably read it then.”
I nodded, very deliberately focusing on the vineyard stretching beyond the terrace instead of on him. “If you’re ready.”
He exhaled slowly and glanced out towards the vines as well, one hand resting loosely against the railing. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” he admitted lightly. “But I’m definitely curious enough to ignore that.”
A small laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
His grin widened, which absolutely did not help my situation.
I turned towards the hallway, trying to gather what remained of my dignity, acutely aware of him falling into step beside me. Every now and then our arms brushed as we walked, each tiny touch sending an annoyingly noticeable spark through me.
As we reached the study, his eyes drifted to the desk where the letters were.
“Time to see what happens next,” he said quietly. “In his story.”
I nodded, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Maybe the last letter explains who T was. Why she had the brooch.”
Noah’s eyes flicked to mine. “And why he kept his relationship hidden.”
The room felt different this time.
Maybe it was the late-afternoon light slipping through the curtains.
Or maybe it was the way Noah and I settled onto the couch, closer than last time. Close enough that the warmth of his leg brushed mine when we shifted.
Noah reached for the weathered documents tied up with a ribbon. The last unread letter sat on top, edges soft from age, the handwriting elegant but trembling, like the person writing it had been scared or rushed.
Finally, he opened the letter.
The paper crackled, whisper thin. Noah read the first lines to himself, eyes scanning quickly, then slowing… and then stopping altogether.
“What?” I asked, leaning just slightly closer.
He looked up. “It’s another letter from her. From T.”
I felt his arm tense beneath my hand but didn’t move it.
He began reading aloud, voice low and uneven.
"My dearest Edward,
I hardly know how to write this without shaking. I haven’t slept. I can barely eat. But you deserve to know, I am with child. Our child. And everything has changed."
I sucked in a breath. This was turning into one hell of a family secret.
Noah paused. A muscle jumped in his jaw.
He continued.
"My parents discovered everything. They are furious, Edward. Beyond furious. They say I have disgraced them, disgraced our name. They have forbidden me from seeing you again.
They have arranged a marriage for me with B. He has agreed to raise the baby as his own. I am to become a wife in name only, and a mother in secret. I… I don’t know how to bear it.
They say it is for the best. For the child. For the family. For everyone.
I am not allowed to contact you again.
Not allowed to send another letter. They will read everything before it leaves this house, watch every step I take.
I am a prisoner in my own home, Edward, and the walls feel smaller each hour that passes.
This is goodbye, my love. Not because I choose it, but because they have chosen it for me.
Because the world we dreamed of, was never a world they would allow us to live in. But know this, I will carry you with me. In my thoughts. In my heart. In our child.
Always yours. T."
The last line tremored across the page like something once sobbed over.
Noah said nothing.
He just stared at the paper like it had taken the ground out from beneath him.
I felt him go completely still beside me, not in shock, but in real, bone-deep disorientation.
“Noah?” I asked.
He blinked, as if snapping back into himself. He folded the letter carefully, too carefully, and set it down on the box with trembling precision.
He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling a shaky breath that sounded more like disbelief than anything else.
“So he had a child,” he said slowly, as if the words didn’t feel real in his mouth. “A child my grandmother never knew about.”
I felt him go rigid beside me.
He kept staring at the folded letter like it might rearrange itself and make more sense the second time.
“My dad spent his whole life believing we were the only family Edward had,” he whispered. “That this place…” His gaze swept the study, the shelves, the estate beyond the windows. “…belonged to us because it always had.”
He shook his head, stunned. “But if Edward had a child with T… then someone out there has a stronger claim. Stronger than mine. Stronger than my father’s.”
The words landed heavy, sinking between us.
I turned towards him fully.
“Look, we don’t know what happened to this child.”
He blinked at me, eyes dazed. “Holly, don’t you understand? There could be a whole branch of the family out there. Someone who could walk in tomorrow and… take it all.”
He exhaled unevenly, the fear finally breaking the surface.
“The estate. The land. Everything.” His expression hardened as he snapped his fingers, “Just like that.”
I scooted closer without thinking, my knee pressing gently into his.
“Noah…” I said firmly, “no one is walking in here and taking anything from you.”
He shook his head once, not fully convinced.
“You don’t know that.” he whispered. “If this is real, then what? What happens to everything my dad sacrificed? What happens to everything I built?”
His voice cracked at the end, tiny but unmistakable.
He finally looked at me then, and for the first time since I met him, he wasn’t the confident, grounded man who steadied everyone else.
He wasn’t the owner of a thriving estate.
He was a man suddenly terrified of losing the only solid ground he’d ever had.
My mouth opened, ready to reassure, to comfort, to promise him everything would be okay, but the words… weren’t there.
Because I didn’t know what to say.
Nothing I could offer would change what he’d just learned.