Chapter Thirty-Five
The reception had spilled out onto the lawn in glittering pockets, guests milling near the lanterns, couples swaying lazily to the band’s slower numbers, children running in feral packs fuelled by sugar and minimal supervision.
The air smelled of grass, eucalyptus, wine, and the faint smoke of the outdoor heaters.
Sophie stood near the edge of the vines, just apart from the crowd. Lucas was beside her, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his bow tie hanging loose. They were chatting together, fingers almost touching, not quite.
I stopped a few paces away.
“I should probably… let you do this alone,” I murmured.
He shook his head. “Stay.”
My heart did a strange little lurch. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’ve been here for… all of it.” His mouth twisted. “Consider this part of your package deal.”
Before I could respond, Sophie turned. Her green eyes widened when she saw us, then darted between Noah and Lady Beaumont’s figure moving slowly across the lawn behind us.
Lucas straightened, his usual lazy charm fading into something more serious.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
Noah slipped his hands into his pockets, the letter tucked safely inside his jacket.
“A letter has been found,” he said. “From Edward. To my dad.”
Sophie went completely still.
Her fingers gripped the stem of her wine glass. “What… what did it say?”
“It said,” he began slowly, “that he believed he and your grandmother had a child they were never allowed to claim. That if that child, or their children, ever appeared, they were as much the Langston family as I am.”
Sophie’s face crumpled with emotion.
“And it said,” he went on, “that while he left Langston Estate to my dad, he wanted the other branch of the family honoured.”
Sophie made a small choked sound. Lucas shifted closer, his hand brushing her back lightly.
“So,” Noah said, voice thick, “Your father may not have known. But Edward did. Your grandfather knew. And he wanted you to be part of his family.”
Tears spilled over in Sophie’s eyes, sliding down her cheeks unchecked.
“I don’t… I don’t want to take anything from you,” she whispered. “I never did.”
“I know,” Noah said. “And you’re not taking anything. That’s not what this is.”
He nodded towards the dark outline of a small building at the far end of the vines, a squat stone structure surrounded by old fig trees.
“Do you see that cottage?” he asked kindly. “The one by the north ridge?”
Sophie wiped her cheeks, squinting. “The… the one the staff use for storage? With the pretty windows?”
“That was my grandmother’s place once,” Noah said. “She used to paint there before the estate swamped her time. The light there is incredible. Edward always said it was wasted on ledger books and old equipment.”
He turned back to Sophie, his gaze warm.
“If you’ll take it,” he said, “I’d like it to be yours. Properly. Not as a guest, not as a borrowed corner. Yours. An art studio. A space that belongs to you and your work. And…”
He hesitated, swallowing.
“And I want you to design the labels for our future releases. Officially. As the in-house artist. We’ll put your name on them. ‘Sophie Beaumont for Langston Estate.’”
Sophie stared at him, and then openly wept a little more.
“That’s… that’s too much,” she managed. “You don’t have to…”
“It’s not enough,” he said gently. “But it’s a start. Edward wanted you at the table. This is me pulling out a chair.”
Lucas made a small, reverent noise. “Mate,” he said hoarsely, “that’s… actually quite cool.”
“Don’t sound so shocked,” Noah muttered with a smile.
Sophie let out a watery laugh that turned into a hiccup. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll think about it Cousin,” Noah said. “And then say yes.”
She nodded quickly. “Yes. Of course, yes. I… Noah, thank you. I love this place so much. I love that cottage. I’ve been sketching it for days like some kind of creep.”
“Artist,” Lucas corrected. “Like some kind of very talented artist.”
He slid his hand into hers without seeming to realise he’d done it.
I watched Lady Beaumont from the corner of my eye. She stood a little distance away, hands clasped, eyes shining as she watched her granddaughter being folded into the legacy she’d been denied.
She looked almost content.
Sophie wiped her cheeks again and then, in a rush of impulse, ran up and threw her arms around Noah. He stiffened in surprise and then hugged her back, one big hand cradling the back of her head the way you do with someone who is both fragile and fiercely loved.
“Thank you,” she whispered into his shoulder. “Thank you for not hating me.”
Lucas cleared his throat. “And for what it’s worth,” he said, “I think the cottage is a great idea. I’d be more than happy to visit. You know… to make sure she’s settling in.”
He added looking nervously over at Lady Beaumont.
Lady Beaumont lifted her chin a fraction, that regal micro-movement she’d honed over decades of intimidating entire rooms into silence.
Her eyes moved between Sophie and Lucas, slowly, deliberately, like she’d been watching them with a magnifying glass all week and had finally reached her verdict.
“My dears,” she said, voice crisp enough to slice through cake, “please stop pretending.”
Sophie froze. Lucas froze. Honestly, I’m fairly sure my soul briefly left my body.
“P-pretending what?” Lucas attempted, which was bold, considering his ears immediately went pink.
Lady Beaumont blinked once. Slowly. With great disappointment.
“Lucas,” she said, “I am eighty-six years old. I raised three children, guided six grandchildren, survived the fall of the British aristocracy, a duke for a husband, and a decade of Margaret’s book club.
Do you truly believe I would fail to notice the two of you making eyes at each other across every room like characters in a poorly funded BBC period drama? ”
Sophie squeaked.
Lucas opened his mouth. Closed it. Then pointed vaguely at the reception. “But… I flirt with… everyone?”
“Yes,” Lady Beaumont said, folding her hands, “which is precisely the problem. You have been over-compensating at a level that suggests a head injury.”
I choked on my own spit.
Even Noah's composure slipped.
Lady Beaumont continued, unmoved. “You may hide your engagement from the other’s if you wish. But don’t insult my intelligence by pretending you are not in love.”
Sophie let out a mortified groan.
Lucas, who had been leaning on swagger for thirty-odd years, just sagged, shoulders dropping in defeat. “So does that mean you… approve?”
Lady Beaumont’s expression changed, elegantly, carefully, as though affection was a delicate scarf she only wore on special occasions.
“I do,” she said. “I have had the privilege of watching over Sophie and her mother after Thomas passed, and she deserves someone who adores her. And you…” She tilted her head, studying him. “You appear to adore her so loudly that even the kitchen staff are aware.”
Sophie’s hand flew to her lips. “Grandmother…”
“I only ask,” Lady Beaumont added, tone sharpening again, “that you cease attempting to seduce half the guest list as a cover. It is unbecoming, unnecessary, and deeply confusing for Mrs Carmichael from table fourteen.”
Lucas actually winced. “I thought she seemed pleased.”
“She was,” Lady Beaumont confirmed. “Stop it.”
He nodded like a schoolboy caught stealing biscuits.
Then she turned to Sophie. “And you, my love… you may announce it properly when you are ready. I will not have the woman you become shaped by fear of the woman I was.”
Sophie burst into tears, the sort that arrive without warning and make absolutely no effort to be ladylike.
Lucas immediately pulled her into his side and kissed the top of her hair. No theatre now.
Lady Beaumont watched them for a bit, nodded once, like the queen approving a treaty, and turned back towards the crowd.
“As for the two of you,” she said, sweeping past Noah and me with a knowing look that made my neck flush, “I expect honesty. And… I detest being the last to know.”
My stomach dropped to my shoes.
And then she was gone.
Leaving Sophie crying into Lucas’s lapel while he whispered promises into her hair…
…and me staring at Noah, wondering just how much Lady Beaumont had seen.
The music floated across the lawn.
“Well,” I said awkwardly. “That was… a lot.”
He let out a short breath that sounded like it came from somewhere deep. “That’s one word for it.”
“How do you feel?” I asked.
He stood for a second, thinking.
“Lighter,” he said at last. “And… heavier. At the same time.”
“That’s confusing,” I said.
“Welcome to my world,” he replied.
We stood there in silence for a few seconds. The reception carried on without a care in the world. Music, laughter, the occasional enthusiastic dance move visible through the marquee opening. Someone inside whooped at what I suspected was the start of a Grease medley.
“You’re the person he chose,” I said. “Edward. He made that clear.”
Noah nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
His eyes flicked to mine, sharp and searching.
“Holly…” he said quietly. He took a half step closer, and there it was again, that spark of something that made my heart beat faster.
But then a shout floated across the lawn. James was waving wildly from over in the marquee.
“Noah— mate! Cake! Photos!”
Noah groaned. “Crap. Duty calls.”
He turned back to me. For a moment, it felt like he might step closer. Might say something else. Might reach for me again in that way that made the world drop away.
“Thank you,” he said, nudging my arm. “For… everything. The brooch. The letters. For being here. All of it.”
“Happy to help,” I said. It came out rougher than I meant.
His mouth curved, not quite smiling.
Before I could reply, he turned and walked back towards the light, his silhouette folding into the welcoming glow of the marquee.
I watched him go, heart thudding painfully.
His legacy was solid now. His history had been untangled, his place on the land secured, his guilt eased.
He had a future here that made sense again, one that included Sophie, honoured Edward’s wishes, and finally allowed him to look forward instead of back.
But as I stood there in the half-dark with the music drifting over the grass, I couldn’t help wondering:
Now that his world wasn’t crumbling beneath him…
Did he still want me?
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of the cool night air against my skin.
Then I straightened up, smoothed down my skirt, and walked back towards the celebration, back into the whirl of candles and dancing and carefully plated desserts.
I had a reception to run.
And absolutely no time, I told myself firmly, to think about Noah Langston. Or the inconvenient fact that somewhere along the way, I’d fallen for him.