Page 70 of The Farmer Has a Wife

Eleanor stared at the half-plastered wall of the kitchen, then looked back at her grandmother. Slowly, a plan began to form. If she wanted Danni back, she couldn’t just apologize. She had to prove that she was worthy of Danni’s love.

And if there was one thing about Lady Eleanor Brewster, it was that she never did anything by halves.

Chapter Thirty

Danni screeched the Land Rover into the big farmyard, kicking up a cloud of dust. She’d been meaning to get her mail redirected for months, but she supposed there was no point now. In fact, she wasn’t even sure why she was picking it up.

She banged through the front door, stopping at the big wooden table in the hall that held keys and syringes and letters and God knew what else. Probably only bills and crap about farming regulations, she thought, as she picked up a bundle clearly marked with her name. She shoved them into her coat pocket and was about to make her escape when a voice called her name.

“Danielle.”

Danni winced. There was only one person in the world that called her by her full name. Well, two if you counted the policeman that had once given her a speeding ticket. Assuming that Hector hadn’t decided to employ an ex-cop, that meant that there was only one other person standing behind her.

Turning slowly, as if delaying the inevitable, Danni finally found herself face to face with the woman that had given birth to her and then spent the following decades perfecting the art of disappointment. Her mother stood in the living room doorway, arms crossed, looking as formidable as ever.

“We need to talk.”

“Mum, I really don’t—”

“Now.”

Danni considered running. It was a solid option. She was in good shape, her mother was wearing slippers, she could probably make it. But then, her mother knew where she lived, so the long-term prospects of escape didn’t look promising.

In the end, she tossed her coat onto the hall table and followed her mother down the corridor toward the kitchen.

The old wooden table was scarred and scratched and, out of habit, Danni took the second chair on the right side. That had always been her seat when she lived at home. Not that this was home. Not anymore.

Her mother put a pot of tea on the table, poured two cups out of it, then sat down opposite her. Not her usual seat at the table.

Danni folded her arms and sighed. “Alright. What do you want?”

Her mother took a measured sip, then said, “I heard about what happened with this Eleanor.”

Danni stiffened. “Oh, yeah? And what of it? Want to gloat at me failing at marriage? Would that make you feel a bit better about yourself?”

For a second, her mother looked at her, then she shook her head. “Just wanted to say I’m sorry. Even if I never met the woman.”

“Why do you even care?” Danni scoffed.

Another moment of silence, then her mother sighed. “Because, despite everything, you’re still my daughter.”

That shut Danni up. It was a rare thing for her mother to say something so direct, so honest. Rarer still for her mother to admit anything that came even close to an emotion or a feeling.

“Look,” her mother continued. “I know we’re not close. We never have been, and I expect we never will be.”

“Well, that’s uplifting,” Danni muttered, grabbing hold of her mug of tea.

“Do you want to know why?”

Danni raised an eyebrow. “Oh, please, do tell.”

“We’re too much alike, you and I,” her mother said. “I look at you and I see me. And it’s not always a pleasant sight.”

“Did you get me in here just to fling insults around?” asked Danni, stung. She hadn’t spoken to her mother for months, and this, right here, was the reason why. Everything ended up being an argument.

“I wasn’t commenting on your appearance,” said her mother. “I’m simply saying that looking yourself in the eye isn’t always an easy thing to do. You see the mistakes you made, you see how you wanted to do things different.” She sighed. “And, if I’m being honest, I look at you and I get jealous. Always have been, I suppose.”

Danni nearly knocked her tea over. “What?”

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