In true Little Buckingham fashion, Lucy ordered a steak and ale pie and a pint of cider. I got the scampi because I knew that was also her favourite. I’d eaten enough times with the Mayweathers in the past to know what they all liked.
“How’s Mike?” I asked when our food arrived, and Lucy’s face lit up. She’d always adored her brother. We talked about life back home – Mike’s carpentry business (he made bespoke, high-end rustic pieces that sold for massive amounts), her mum, her old mates in Little Buckingham (I remembered Emily – she was a feisty kid and the opposite of Lucy, but they’d always been thick as thieves).
But, when we got onto the subject ofmyfamily, despite the warm fire, the cider and the comfort food, I clammed up. I didn’t want to bring the evening down by talking about them and all the reasons I hadn’t gone back to Little Buckingham for years. My father was a very successful corporate lawyer for one of my competitors. The only thing he really understood was money. I had hated him even before his seriousbetrayal five years ago, but since then I avoided him at all costs. So, I made damn sure that I built up my company into an empire which made his financial situation look like child’s play. I can still hear my dad’s sneering voice to me as a ten-year-old child:
“You’ll never make anything of yourself. No backbone. You have to be ruthless in this world, or you’ll get trampled over.”
Well, I’d proved him wrong. It was well known how ruthless I was. The amount of business my own father’s company had lost to mine was proof of that. But then, sitting here opposite Lucy, my dad’s voice faded, and another took its place:
“Aren’t we lucky?”
Henry Mayweather would say that sentence nearly every week. Even just on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon with his family and me squashed round the kitchen table, sharing a packet of ginger biscuits. And he meant it too. The Mayweathers didn’t have any money really. Henry was a gardener for my parents and for the Buckingham Estate; Hetty was my nanny. Neither job paid particularly well, but success and happiness for Henry wasn’t about that. It was about a tiny kitchen full of laughter and the people in it whom he loved.
I blinked at the sudden jolt of grief I felt for Henry Mayweather. Lucy tilted her head to the side as she looked over at me, but luckily, before she could probe any further, Ollie chose that moment to arrive.
“Well, this is cosy,” Ollie said from the side of our table, and Lucy jumped in surprise, dropping the scampi she’d been about to steal from my plate.
“Bucks,” I said, standing to do a man hug, back slap. Ollie’s official title was the Duke of Buckingham, but for as long as I could remember, I’d called him Bucks – everyone at school had. “Right.” I moved back and then around to Lucy who’d stood from the table and was looking between us with wide eyes. “Don’t paw her like the last time, you bastard.”
Ollie laughed and did pull Lucy into a brief hug, making me grind my teeth, but he didn’t push his luck as far as before.
“Hey, freckles,” Ollie said in a smooth tone, and I rolled my eyes. He’d always had a crazily powerful effect on women. In addition to the whole duke thing, there was the fact that even I could admit he was objectively good looking, and he had this innate charm that seemed to impress the opposite sex. He was well aware of it too, the cheeky sod. I wasn’t having him use his knicker-melting abilities on Lucy.
Lucy blinked up at him after he released her and then did something that made amusement chase away my jealousy. Holding the sides of her denim skirt and sinking so low that I thought, given her clumsiness, she would topple over, she performed some sort of weird curtsy. Ollie’s shoulders started shaking, and I had to hold back my own burst of laughter.
“Your Honour,” she said reverently, which was when I lost the battle with my amusement as I steadied her and pulled her into my side to laugh into her hair.
“Baby, you don’t have to curtsy to him.”
Lucy abruptly straightened, her face bright red as she scowled at me.
“You could have told me that before,” she whispered furiously. “Ollie’s a duke now, for God’s sake. What am Isupposedto do?” Ollie moved forward, having suppressed his own laughter but still with humour dancing in his eyes. He placed his hand on Lucy’s arm to get her attention, and I stiffened.
“It’s actuallyYour Grace,” he told her, and her mouth dropped open before he let out another laugh. “Joking! Please call me Ollie still.”
Lucy managed a small smile for him. “Right, okay, Ollie. If you’re sure I won’t get locked up in the Tower of London for insubordination.” Her expression softened. “I’m sorry about your dad, by the way.” Ollie only inherited the title after hisdad died of a heart attack five years ago. His eyes warmed as he looked down at her.
“Thanks,” he said softly, reaching up to give her arm a small squeeze. “But no more curtseying or Your Graces. I’m only thirty-fifth in line to the throne, you know. I’m not sure anyone cares what you call me. And even my cousins don’t expect curtsying.”
“Right, your cousins.Right,” Lucy breathed, a fair amount of awe in her tone. We all knew who Ollie’s cousins were. The whole world knew that. He still had his bloody hand on her arm. I moved her back with me so that he was forced to break contact. Ollie tucked his hands back into his pockets and tilted his head to the side, looking at us with curiosity. I didn’t blame him. I’d never been a very territorial guy in the past.
“Hello,” Vicky’s voice cut through the tension, and we all turned to her. She looked between the three of us, and her eyebrows went up. “Lucy. You’re here.”
“Er, hi,” Lucy replied with a small wave.
“Felix has his arm around you,” Vicky put in, and I cleared my throat. This seemed to be Vicky’s talent – uncomfortable observations. “Are you sleeping together?”
“Vicky,” Lottie made it over to us then, slightly out of breath. “Remember, we talked about questions that are okay.”
Vicky turned to Lottie. “But you want to know this too, correct? As far as we knew Felix wasnotsleeping with Lucy. But he’s here, and he has an arm around her. Why can’t I be direct?”
“Lucy’s embarrassed, hun,” Lottie said softly, touching Vicky’s wrist briefly. Vicky looked at me.
“Oh,” she said.
“You ask whatever questions you want to, Vics,” Ollie said in an irritated tone. He’d stepped next to Vicky and she looked up at him. When they made eye contact, he hesitated untilVicky gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then he hugged her. It was brief, but it was more affection than I’d seen Vicky accept in the past from anyone else. When he moved back, he gave Lottie a filthy look. “Don’t tell her what to do, Forest.”
Ollie’s hatred of Lottie was getting old now. The problem was that originally Lottie had worked for Ollie, not as his personal assistant… as his cleaner. And back then, he certainly hadn’t hated her, not by a long shot. I never got to the bottom of it, but one minute Ollie had been complaining about having a crush on his cleaner, then next he’d fired her, hated her guts. He was furious when Vicky, who’d met Lottie when she was working for Ollie, hired her after he fired her.
