Oh, he’d really gone and done it now. Every good intention burned to dust on her tongue as Lily forgot all about Victoria’s wedding and her intentions to offer a truce, and instead realized that she was on the verge of being barred from the only haven she had other than her kitchen.

Anger. She latched onto it like a lifeline. She didn’t know what it was about Henry, but he was bringing out the worst in her. She was never like this. Never. She was the peace keeper. In London one chef told her she’d be better off in the UN than the kitchen. But the implication that she wasn’t wanted there had only made her work harder.

‘Henry Hawkesbury, I have been looking after this garden for nearly seven years, while you swanned off around the world with a trust fund in your back pocket, doing God knows what with God knows who—’

‘What and with whom I’ve been doing in the last few years is absolutely none of your business.’

‘But this estate has been my business. Blake and I built this herb garden together. It’s …’ Hot tears were pressing against the backs of her eyes, all the anger and grief swelled in her chest, because she’d wanted to say, it’s ours. But she couldn’t do that anymore, could she? Blake was gone. And Lily suddenly realized that all this time, she’d been focusing on what it meant for Victoria and the wedding now that Henry was back. But she had been avoiding how it would affect her.

‘Go on,’ Henry said, cutting through her thoughts. ‘Please.’ A wave of his arm gestured for her to continue. ‘Please tell me more about how remiss I’ve been in the last ten years. Tell me more about the glorious man who turned his back on his son when he needed him the most.’

Henry clamped his jaw shut. He’d revealed too much. In that one moment, Lily Atwell had managed to unearth the very thing he’d spent years running from. No. Not her. It was this damn place. A place he couldn’t wait to be rid of.

‘Henry …’

He looked into large brown eyes that were shining with sympathy. He feared for a moment that she might try and find some kind of excuse for Blake’s actions.

‘Don’t,’ he said, cutting her off before she could continue. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

He watched as she bit back whatever words may have been on her tongue and ducked behind the thick curtain of her hair. When she looked up, he noticed a smear of something that looked like flour across her cheek. It made her seem incredibly innocent and his gut clenched.