Page 72 of The Farmer Has a Wife

Hector rapped on the table. “Order, order,” he said. “Some of ushave a farm to run. Are you going to tell us why you called us all here or not?”

“It’s like at the end of Poirot when he gets everyone together to tell them who the murderer is,” said Tommy.

“You’ve not killed anyone, have you Tom?” Indi asked.

Hector cleared his throat.

“Sorry, sorry,” said both Indi and Tommy.

Danni leaned forward, planting both hands firmly on the table. “I’ve got you here because I need your help.”

Tommy groaned. “Oh no, not another one of your plans.”

“Excuse me, my plans are brilliant.”

“Your plans are chaotic,” corrected Indi. “And half the time they involve someone almost dying or at least getting covered in muck.”

Hector sighed. “Alright, fine, what did you need our help with?”

Danni grinned. “Just a little thing.”

“What little thing?” Indi asked suspiciously.

“A little plan that I’m calling Operation: Save Brewster Manor,” said Danni. “And it’s a doozy.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Isabella had said that whatever it was Eleanor had to do, it was obvious. Which bothered Eleanor as she walked slowly through the sprawling grounds of Brewster Manor, hands linked behind her back, shoes crunching on the summer-dry grass. The air was warm and heavy, tinged with the smell of mown grass and damp earth.

There was one obvious answer here, but Eleanor wasn’t exactly sure that it was the one her grandmother was suggesting.

She barely noticed where she was going. These grounds had been her world since she was a child. She turned toward the old gazebo, a place she’d always found oddly comforting, despite its obvious damp problem. It had been a retreat, a place to play make believe, and as she got older, a space she could read in, dream in.

It had been a place to hide, she realized now. A place where she could be anyone, not just the Lady Eleanor.

It had been an odd childhood, by most definitions. As she walked, her mind drifted back. She’d been an only child. More than that, she’d been the only child in a house that had echoed with emptiness. She’d been sent to boarding school when she was six, learning Latin, History, and how to mask her emotionsbehind a perfect smile.

Not that she hadn’t had friends. She had. Boarding school friendships were deep and lasting. But they also tended to stay at school. The only person she’d known in the area was Elizabeth, though she wasn’t sure if they’d been sent to the same school by design.

And then, as she got older, there had been relationships. Well, she’d thought of them as relationships. There’d been sex, of course. And outings. Dates. But it had always been… controlled. Safe.

Until Danni.

There was something so different about being with Danni. She only realized now that living with Danni was the first time she’d ever truly shared a space with someone else. The first time she’d fallen asleep to the sound of someone else’s breathing. The first time she’d fought over which way mugs should face in a cupboard.

The first time she had felt at home.

She reached the gazebo, her fingers grazing over the slowly rotting wood. The place needed renovating just as much as the house. And then she turned so that she could look back at the house, at its grandeur. It had stood there for centuries now, steeped in history, a testament to the family name. But what was it really? Just a house. A building. Something that could never love her back.

It had been her home. Except now she knew what home really was, and she’d walked away from it. How was that possible? How could she think that was the right thing to do?

Danni was home.

Her breath came sharp and uneven as she let the realization settle. Fear had driven her away, but was fear really a good enough reason to throw away something that had made her feel so alive? What if she wasn’t good at this? At love? What if she failed?

What if she didn’t?

Isabella had been right about one thing. There was more thanone way to protect Danni. She cast one last look over the house. And what she had to do was glaringly obvious.

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