“It’s a sign you’re good at your job.”
“Ugh, gross,” she said fondly, then darted off to fix something invisible.
Inside the marquee, Caroline and James glided across the dance floor, the string quartet replaced by that indie chart-topper band everyone pretended to have discovered early, now being paid an obscene amount of money to perform a very earnest Ed Sheeran cover.
Caroline’s gown shimmered every time she moved, the brooch catching the light like a little beacon of love and happiness. James stared at her like she was the only thing in his world.
I scanned the room automatically. Margaret gesturing at something Richard had said. Emma at the bar pretending not to flirt with the bartender. Sophie and Lucas in a shadowed corner, standing just a fraction too close for “just friends,” eyes sparking whenever they accidentally glanced at each other.
And then there was Noah.
He stood near one of the open sides of the marquee, half in shadow, half in the glow of the fairy lights. His jacket was unbuttoned now, his tie loosened, dark hair a little messier than it had been at the ceremony.
He was talking to one of the older guests, someone from the wine world, by the look of it, but there was a lightness around his eyes that hadn’t been there this morning.
Every so often, his gaze drifted out towards the vines, like he was checking they were still there.
My heart pinched.
As if summoned by the thought of his loss, someone cleared their throat beside me with delicate authority.
“Miss Sinclair.”
I turned.
Lady Beaumont stood there in a deep purple gown, her silver hair swept into its usual immaculate twist and held up with a diamond tiara. The diamonds at her ears glittered, but her faceseemed older than it had yesterday, like the confessions had carved new lines into it.
“Lady Beaumont,” I said, straightening instinctively. “Is everything all right? Do you need—”
“I need a word,” she said brusquely. “With you. And with Noah.” Her face softened, just a fraction. “If you can spare a few moments from the evening.”
My stomach did a small, anxious somersault. Nothing good ever followed that tone.
“Of course,” I said. “I’ll go get him.”
Noah spotted us before I reached him. His conversation with the wine man wrapped up neatly, polite handshake, professional smile.
Then he crossed the grass towards us, broad-shouldered and steady, though his eyes flicked from me to Lady Beaumont with guarded curiosity.
“Everything okay?” he asked.
Lady Beaumont folded her hands together, almost demure. “Noah, dear, would you and Miss Sinclair accompany me inside for a minute?”
He went very still.
“Now?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said gently. “Now. It will not take long.”
Something in Noah’s expression closed off, that familiar armour sliding into place. He stood there for a moment, as if weighing whether he had the energy for another emotional landslide.
I managed what I hoped was a reassuring nod.
“We’ve got ten minutes before the dessert and ice sculpture reveal,” I said lightly. “We can be back before anyone notices.”
It was a complete lie. People always noticed. But he seemed to appreciate the attempt.
“All right,” he said.
