Henry didn’t do weeds. He hadn’t since he’d seen it as his father’s punishment for rude behaviour years before. But what had begun in anger and frustration, soon morphed into a rhythm and he’d reached for the gloves and trowel in a little wooden box he’d seen beside the door, getting stuck in and thinking nothing of the damp bite of earth as mud seeped into the knees of his expensive jeans.

Henry was still at it about an hour after she left, when his phone rang, and peeling off the tiny, presumably Lily-Atwell-sized gloves he clamped the phone to his ear to speak to the estate agent managing what he hoped would be the sale of this godforsaken estate.

‘Mr Hawkesbury?’

He nearly didn’t answer. Mr Hawkesbury was his father. Not him.

‘Yes?’

‘I have great news,’ exclaimed the efficient real estate agent.

Henry listened with only half an ear as the man described a buyer who was apparently very interested in the property and more so in a quick sale. He thought he would be more excited about the prospect. He was, in fact, until the agent explained that they wanted a tour of the estate in a few days’ time.

‘The full works. And if you could arrange for a tasting, I really think that could swing it in your favour.’

Henry bit back the groan rising in his throat. ‘Of course. I’ll see to it.’

But when he hung up the call and put the phone in his back pocket, all he could see was Lily Atwell. And how he was going to have to grovel. Hard. And he had an awful feeling he knew exactly what price she’d demand in return.

Having sent everyone else away, she was the only person who might actually be able to give the tour. Instinctively he knew that there was no way he could tell her what the tour was for. He was sure that she wouldn’t actively sabotage it, but he just couldn’t take the risk.

He was absolutely within his rights to sell the damn place and he didn’t have to justify his actions to her or anyone. Even if, somewhere deep down, his conscience was chiding him. Warning him that he was sounding a little too much like the old Henry. The Henry who had run from this place and not looked back.

Despite knowing that he would have to see Lily eventually, he put it off. But as he paced between the rooms of the estate, the impressively decorated suits, the large dining area that had once been a grand living room, the entrance hall that had been turned into a reception and on towards the back of the estate, the large gleaming professional kitchen, he couldn’t help but wonder just how much Lily had been involved in these decisions.