Chapter 60
It was the night before the wedding. The whole of Treweham village was on high alert. The press had started to set up outside the Hall, and The Templar was heaving. As predicted, the media was keen to snap ‘the Heir and the Fox’ on such a momentous day. It was big news that Lord Cavendish-Blake was finally getting married after years of hellraising. His old chum Seamus was fulfilling his duty as best man. Megan was overwhelmed by the attention, choosing to stay behind closed doors until the next morning when the horse and carriage, with Dylan at the reins, was to collect her. She was determined to remain calm and enjoy the whole experience, however threatening it was. Her mum, dad and brother were staying at The Templar. Kate, her old work friend, was driving up that night, too. She hadn’t been able to get the day off work, so would be booking into The Templar much later. Tonight would be Megan’s last night in the cottage. Her mum and Finula were to spend the evening with her, tucked away from prying eyes and flashing cameras.
Megan couldn’t fail to see the articles and coverage that the impending wedding had attracted. Tobias’ history had once more been dragged up and splashed over the papers for all and sundry to read. Megan cringed at the tabloids’ headlines:
Playboy Lord Finally Weds
Lord Cavendish-Blake-the-Rake to Marry
She was beginning to comprehend what Tobias had had to tolerate, fully understanding his need to visit and prepare Carrie’s parents in France. Tobias knew exactly what to expect. He foresaw the reporters, with their cameras and microphones, intruding on the village, pestering the locals, desperate for any quick shot of him or Megan they could muster. Megan had been distressed initially, until Tobias had ramped up the security surrounding the Hall and her cottage. For the moment all was quiet.
The Templar was anything but quiet. Finula was breathless behind the bar, serving the jam-packed crowd. Luckily her dad had called in extra staff so she would be able to call in at Megan’s later. Finula didn’t want a late night, wanting to look her best as bridesmaid to Megan – and for all the press, she thought, daunted. There were so many faces tonight she didn’t recognise. This kind of wedding brought out all sorts of people, not just the starstruck and inquisitive, but neighbouring villagers, journalists and reporters. Treweham was no stranger to media coverage with the likes of Tobias, Seamus and Dylan here, but this surpassed anything they had previously experienced. Finula hoped Megan was coping. She saw a tall, dark man enter the pub carrying a camera. Another news reporter, no doubt, she thought. He made his way to the bar. He spoke in a soft Irish accent and instantly Finula knew his origin to be Roscommon, the same county in Ireland as her dad came from. He ordered a Guinness, which Dermot served, then chatted briefly, obviously remarking on their shared home turf. Finula strained to hear what they were saying, but couldn’t for the noise of the pub. Then she saw her dad hand over a room key. The man must be staying over.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked when at last there was a quiet moment. ‘Another reporter?’
‘No. He’s a producer. Nothing to do with the wedding.’
‘A producer?’ Finula was intrigued. ‘What kind of producer?’
‘Ask him yourself,’ Dermot tilted his head to the man who had reappeared at the bar and had evidently overheard Finula asking about him. She looked embarrassed; he smirked and raised an eyebrow. Finula blushed slightly and started to serve another customer.
*
Megan’s mum had discreetly left The Templar early and sneaked off to her daughter’s cottage. What a commotion. She never would have expected this for her daughter’s wedding. What with a lord for a future son-in-law, Treweham Hall Megan’s new home and now the media at full pelt, it was all a rum do. The main thing was that Megan was happy, which she undoubtedly was, thank goodness. Gone was the sad, empty girl who had been totally walked over by that wretched Adam. Then the poor girl had had to contend with the bombshell her grandmother had kindly dropped on her. Now she had to face the press and all the hullabaloo that entailed. Walking briskly against the chill in the air, she quickly made it to Bluebell Cottage. It was dusk, the early autumn nights had started to draw in. Knocking on the back door, she saw Megan sitting at the kitchen table with just a lamp on.
Megan saw her mum at the window and let her in. ‘Did anyone follow you?’ she asked.
‘No, don’t worry, love, no one saw me.’
‘I feel like a prisoner in my own home.’
‘I know, Megan, but once the wedding’s over, it’ll be fine.’ She looked at the kitchen table and noticed the Parma violet tin with the letters and photographs in it.
‘I’ve just been reading the letters again,’ explained Megan.
Her mum nodded. ‘Let’s light the fire in the lounge and put the kettle on. It’s nippy out there.’
Megan laughed. ‘That’s just what Gran would have said.’ Suddenly they were both filled with emotion.
‘She would,’ agreed her mum, and reached out for a hug. Together they embraced, tears tumbling down their faces.
‘I miss her so much,’ Megan choked.
‘I know, so do I,’ replied her mum, hugging her hard.
A knock at the door made them both jump. It was Finula.
‘Come in!’ called Megan.
Finula looked very bright eyed and excited. ‘Hi!’ She plonked down a bottle of wine. ‘Crack this open.’ Then, looking at Megan’s stomach, she quickly added, ‘For me and your mum, not you.’
‘Finula’s right, love, you save yourself for tomorrow, keep a clear head.’
Megan nodded and looked at Finula, and the two exchanged knowing smiles.
*
Tobias was almost at breaking point. He knew full well how the media operated and had put plans in place to cover all eventualities. His main concern was Megan and how she was managing the complete invasion in privacy. It was different for him, he’d grown up with it, learning to expect the lengths they went to to get a story. It had been a while since he’d been in the spotlight, but now he was about to take centre stage again. He cursed his position and how it had affected him at every stage in his life. Even when he had lost his fiancée the gutter press hadn’t relented. Bastards. He had called in extra security, contacted the police for assistance, and had hired a bodyguard to follow Megan and keep watch by her cottage. He only hoped this pressure wasn’t affecting her health, or their baby’s. The sooner they were away on honeymoon the better. He knew Megan thought him a control freak and was being secretive about where they were going, but truth be told he didn’t want it leaking in case they were followed. Megan might let it slip to Finula, and then the whole of Treweham would more than likely know. Better to keep it to himself. He knocked back a brandy.
