I have signed the papers the solicitor put in front of me. The lawyers will tell you the legalities; you know how I am with forms, I would rather prune a thousand vines than deal with a single document. But I want you to know my thoughts on this, because law and heart do not always agree.”
He swallowed, and I saw his knuckles whiten around the page.
“I have left Langston Estate to you, Michael. Not because you are my son, but because you are the one who walked this land with me, who rose before dawn, who stayed in the frost and the rain and the long summers when the grapes were stubborn and the bills were worse. You and Noah are the ones who love this place as I do. In truth, the land chooses its caretaker long before any of us pretend we are doing the choosing.”
My chest ached. I could feel Noah’s pain and relief tangling together like vines.
“That said,”he read, voice hushed,“if ever it comes to light that I have another child, I ask that you honour them as part of this family. I ask that you give them something that says, ‘youbelong to this story too’. An acknowledgement that bloodlines do not only run like straight lines down a page.”
I glanced at Lady Beaumont.
Tears slid silently down her cheeks.
“Finally,”Noah read,“this is what I most want you to remember: Land is not meant to be hoarded like treasure. It is meant to be cared for. If the day ever comes when you no longer love this place, if it is only a weight on your shoulders, I would rather you let it go than let it rot under reluctant hands.
I trust you, my boy. I trust that you will make decisions that honour both this soil and whatever family we are lucky enough to have.
If I have failed you in not speaking sooner, I am sorry.Some memories are carried quietly for so long that silence begins to feel easier than truth.
With love,
Your father, Edward.”
When he finished, the room was utterly still.
Noah stared at the last line, his hands shaking almost imperceptibly. The letter trembled in his hands.
“I’ve been ripping myself apart,” he said, barely more than a whisper. “Thinking I’d taken something that wasn’t mine. And all this time…”
“All this time,” Lady Beaumont said gently, “he meant it for your father, and for you.”
She rose slowly, moving towards him as though approaching a wounded animal. Her hand hovered near his arm but didn’t quite touch it.
“He also meant,” she went on, “for Thomas, and now Sophie, to be seen. You asked this morning why he didn’t leave a will. It seems he did. In this letter. To his son. In his own way.”
Noah looked at her, eyes glazed with grief and something like relief.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding.
“So,” I said slowly, “if this letter is treated as his wishes, the estate, legally, stays with Noah. But he can choose to honour something for Sophie.”
“Exactly,” Lady Beaumont said. “The law says one thing. Edward’s heart says another. You, Noah, are in the unique position of being able to honour both.”
He stared down at the letter again. Then, very carefully, he folded it and slipped it back into the envelope, as if putting away something sacred.
“I need to talk to Sophie,” he said at last.
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.”
