‘Lils, seriously,’ Zoe cut in. ‘I love you. Completely. But I’m going to give you a week. If you haven’t got him to agree to hold the wedding at the estate, then we’re really going to have to let V know. The invitations have been sent out.’

‘I know, I know. But don’t worry. I’m going to fix it. I have a plan,’ Lily said resolutely, half an idea forming in her mind.

‘Which is …?’

‘Bring him to the table, discuss terms, and get him to agree to the most perfect, amazing, beautiful wedding EVER.’

As she hung up the phone, she thought through what she needed to do. She’d go to the estate and call a truce. And while she was there, she might as well get the herbs she wanted for the evening’s service. She hadn’t been back there since …

Lily couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words in her head. As she leaned in to knead the icing, she put a little more force and determination into her fists. Blake’s death had devastated her. It had severed one of the few anchoring points Lily had left.

Fearing that the tears pressing against the back of her eyes might escape, she brushed at her cheek, unknowingly leaving a dusty smear of icing powder in its wake, and gave the white mound a gentle pat before placing it in an airtight box.

She would get Henry Hawkesbury to agree, because she wanted Victoria’s wedding to be perfect.

It had to be.

Despite her thoughts, Lily couldn’t help but smile as she pulled her bicycle out on to the cobbled main street that bisected the small seaside town of Hawke’s Cove. She loved this time of year. An early summer’s sun crested over the hill in the distance, looking out and down on the port town below. The fishermen were not yet back from their morning haul, the tourists were not yet in full flow. It was … peaceful.

She pedalled past the ever-twitching curtain of Mrs Whittaker’s house, waving a cheery hand to the local busybody who would be sure to notice Lily’s bike ride towards the estate. Especially since it was the first time Lily had ventured back to the estate since Blake’s … funeral.

There. She’d said it.

To herself, at least.

Swerving the manhole that had never caught her unawares since the first and only time it had knocked her off her seat, she took a left at the fork in the road at the top of the hill and cycled along the flat path heading towards the forest that bordered the estate. Each rotation of the wheel felt harder and harder the closer she came.