They all turned to look at the cutout, her cardboard gaze as regal and impassive as ever, and burst out laughing.
‘She’s going nowhere!’ Betty declared firmly. ‘She’s staying right here with me. Someone has to keep this place in line while you’re gallivanting off to London.’
Clemmie felt a swell of gratitude for the love and support of the people around her. She hugged Betty tightly, then Amelia, before turning towards the door, ready to embrace whatever awaited her in London.
She stepped out onto Lighthouse Lane and glanced at the Bentley, its sleek black body gleaming like a jewel in the light. The chauffeur, a smartly dressed man with a polite smile, stepped forward as Clemmie approached. With practised ease, he reached for her suitcase, lifting it as if it weighed nothing at all. ‘Miss Rose,’ he said with a nod, his tone courteous and friendly. ‘Allow me.’
‘Thank you,’ Clemmie replied. She turned to glance back at the café, where Betty and Amelia were standing side by side in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.
‘You look like a film star,’ Amelia called out, cupping her hands around her mouth. ‘Don’t forget us little people when you’re sipping champagne with royalty!’
Betty, wiped a tear from her cheek and waved her tea towel in the air. ‘Don’t forget to call when you get there!’
The chauffeur opened the rear door and Clemmie slid into the plush leather seat, sinking into its comfort. The interior smelled faintly of fresh flowers and new car, and the polished wood trim gleamed in the sunlight streaming through the window. As the chauffeur closed the door behind her with a quiet click, Clemmie took one last look at her granny and Amelia, who were now waving enthusiastically. She gave them a final wave through the window as the Bentley began to glide forward, its engine purring softly. The car moved smoothly down Lighthouse Lane, heading towards the causeway that connected Puffin Island to the mainland, and as it picked up speed, Clemmie leaned back in her seat and smiled. This was something extraordinary.
Chapter Seventeen
Clemmie’s excitement bubbled over as the Bentley hummed smoothly through the countryside, bringing her closer to London with every passing mile. Soon they were driving up a secluded road lined with ancient trees whose canopies provided dappled shade. With the window open, the fresh air filtered into the car, offering a lovely breeze.
‘Are we nearly there?’ she finally asked the chauffeur, unable to contain her curiosity.
‘We’re almost there.’
The car slowed down and turned onto a long, winding driveway flanked by iron gates, each adorned with an intricate crest that Clemmie recognised as the royal insignia. With an almost regal grace, the gates swung open as though by magic, and the Bentley glided forward. Clemmie’s heart quickened as they passed into the estate, nestled in the midst of a sprawling expanse of countryside in all its untamed glory. Rolling hills and lush green meadows stretched out before her. The estate was a breathtaking blend of natural beauty and regal elegance.
She caught sight of deer grazing serenely beneath a canopy of ancient oaks, and rabbits darted playfully between bushes, their fluffy white tails flickering like tiny lanterns in the undergrowth.
As the Bentley ascended a gentle hill, Clemmie caught her first glimpse of Royalwood Cottage. Her eyes widened. It was like something out of a storybook. The lodge was an old stone manor, its exterior weathered but timelessly elegant. Ivy climbed its walls in graceful tendrils, and the windows, framed by charming wooden shutters, glowed softly in the waning light. The roof was steep and gabled, with clusters of chimneys poking out like the turrets of a miniature castle. Surrounding the lodge was a perfectly manicured garden bursting with roses, lavender and peonies.
‘Oh my goodness,’ Clemmie murmured. She could hardly believe her eyes. The lodge radiated history and charm.
The Bentley came to a halt in front of a grand stone archway adorned with ivy and flowers. Clemmie stepped out, the gravel crunching under her feet as she looked up in awe at the ornate wooden door. It was framed by carved stone, its design intricate and regal, with a brass knocker shaped like a lion’s head. Her suitcase was gently placed beside her, but she barely noticed, her eyes too busy drinking in the scenery.
‘Welcome to Royalwood Cottage, Miss Rose,’ the chauffeur said with a slight bow. ‘I hope you enjoy your stay.’
Clemmie thanked the chauffeur as she clutched the handle of her suitcase, her fingers trembling slightly as the grand wooden door creaked open. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw who was standing in the doorway.
Oliver.
He looked as handsome as ever, dressed in attire that struck the perfect balance between casual elegance and countryside charm: a tailored tweed jacket with leather elbow patches, a crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and dark trousers thatfit him with the kind of ease that suggested they were made just for him. His boots, polished yet practical, hinted at a man accustomed to striding across grand estates and cobblestone paths alike.
‘Welcome to Royalwood Cottage.’ He moved towards her and kissed her on both cheeks.
The brief contact sent a jolt through her body.
‘You live here?’ she asked with awe.
‘I wish! No, we’re just guests for the next couple of days.’
‘For a moment I thought you were going to tell me you were a secret undercover royal.’
He laughed as he picked up her suitcase.
‘It’s beautiful, like something out of a film.’
‘Let’s get you inside so I can show your around. My guess is you’re probably hungry, and thirsty, too.’
Clemmie nodded and followed him through the front door.
