*Sam gazed down at the twinkling sapphire, sitting between two small diamonds. The sapphire had belonged to his mother’s grandmother, and his mother had given it to him years ago, in something of an offhand manner.
“Sadly, the Penryns don’t have many jewels,” she’d told him, “so I’m afraid there’s no beautiful ring to pass down the generations. They sold most of their jewels over the years to pay for repairs to the castle—although I do believe there was a dastardly uncle somewhere in the line who absconded with a fair few of them. Pity.” She’d smiled in her vacant way and patted his hand, and Sam had wondered what on earth he was meant to do with a sapphire.
Now he knew.
He’d bought the two diamonds himself and visited a jeweller all the way in Lancaster to design the perfect ring, spending hours obsessing over the details—the white gold band, the cut of the diamonds, how many prongs for the setting. Amazing, really, how concerned he’d become about all the little details, but he so wanted to get this right.
He was going to ask Rose to marry him.
She had been at Casterglass for nearly three months now; it was mid-October and she’d just passed thirty-two weeks. She was enormous, a slender frame with a huge belly, and he loved her shape. He loved the two babies kicking inside her—they’d decided, in the end, not to find out whether they were having boys or girls. At the last scan, the smaller twin had been measuring nine days behind, which was a little worrying but not too much.
“They’re still growing,” the OB had assured them. “That’s the main thing. Their environment has not degraded; there’s still plenty of amniotic fluid.” She’d turned to Rose. “Let’s get you to thirty-six weeks if we can. But it might mean you stay off your feet a bit more.”
An instruction Rose had not welcomed but had still obeyed. After spending two months getting the café up and running, she was content to manage her little domain from one of the sofas. They’d hired a young woman from the village, Lizzy, to run the café most days, with Olivia, Althea, or Seph filling in as needed. Sometimes even Violet took a turn at the till, although by her own admission she was fairly hopeless about giving correct change.
All in all, though, things were going well. Really well. He and Rose had developed a routine they both liked—they had breakfast with the family, and then went their separate ways for work, with Rose to the café and Sam to his study, either to pick up some freelance work or to work on future plans for his part of the Casterglass Empire, as Althea liked to call it, only semi-jokingly. They checked in for lunch, and then spent an hour or two together in the afternoon, strolling through the gardens if the weather was fine or playing a game by the fire if it wasn’t. Sometimes they just sat on the sofa and read their books, and Rose had once joked, “We’re like an old married couple already.” Then she’d bitten her lip, looking semi-horrified. “I mean…not really.”
Sam had just smiled, not wanting to give the game away, but heartened that Rose had mentioned the M-word. Sometimes he didn’t know how much of her fiery free spirit remained; he liked her feistiness, but did it mean she wouldn’t want to settle down? He still wasn’t sure if she could envision Casterglass as her home, not just for now but forever. Her home with him.
Did she love him? He knew he loved her, the real her, not just the laughing girl she’d shown him in Tairua, although he’d fallen for that version of her, too. But he loved the Rose who was both strong and fragile, damaged yet healing, funny but tender, frightened but brave. He loved her in all her weakness and strength, her beauty and frailty. He just hoped that one day she might love him in the same way.
They hadn’t talked about love or marriage yet, although they’d skirted the topics, when they’d mused about their future, when the babies came. But it was all hazy and hopeful without actually involving any specific detail, and after two months together—not to mention the three months they’d had in New Zealand—Sam was ready to make it official.
He just had to ask.
He slid the ring back into the black velvet box and put in his pocket, just as someone tapped on the door of his study.
“Sam?”
It was his father. Sam tensed instinctively. In the five months since he’d been home, he and his father had maintained their polite yet distant relationship; everything had been so busy, establishing Casterglass, dealing with the reality of Rose’s pregnancy and its ensuing risks, that it hadn’t felt as if they’d been avoiding each other, even if they actually had.
“Yes?” he called, already feeling on the defensive although he knew he shouldn’t.
“Sam?” his father said again, popping his head around the door with that kindly and slightly befuddled smile that always made Sam want to grit his teeth. His father always looked at him like he was a problem he’d never been able to solve. “Is now a good time?” he asked, closing the door behind him.
Sam shrugged as he closed his laptop. “As good a time as any, I suppose.”
“Well.” Walter looked around the small, rather cluttered space Sam had used as his study for the last five months. “You’ve done wonders with the camping and things, haven’t you?”
You don’t need to sound so surprised, Sam thought, but he merely smiled. “Thanks.”
“You’ve settled in at Casterglass?” Walter asked. “You’re…happy here?”
Sam thought of Rose, the ring in his pocket. “Yes, I am.”
“I’m glad. I never thought to see the day when you were happy to take the reins.”
“I think it’s Althea who has taken the reins, actually.” Sam spoke lightly, but he was remembering, with some discomfort, just how firmly he’d told his father he had no intention of ever living at Casterglass, about two years ago. Walter had floated the idea of him taking over the estate, and Sam had been more or less horrified by the idea. Back then Casterglass had felt like a living hell, something that made him realise how much things had changed. Although, he knew, Casterglass hadn’t changed, not really. He had.
“Do you mind having us here?” he asked his father, the notion occurring to him for the first time. “It’s been just you and Mum and Seph for a long time. I suppose you’ve got used to the peace and quiet.”
“I’m delighted,” Walter assured him with the broadest smile Sam had ever seen him give. “I never could have imagined such a happy occurrence in all my days—to have all my children living back at Casterglass, and happily occupied doing so.”
“I don’t think I could have imagined it, either,” Sam admitted. All of them under one no-longer-leaky roof—although Althea would be moving to John’s farmhouse after their wedding in December. Perhaps Olivia would move in with Will too, if they got married, which seemed likely at this point, which would leave just him and Rose at the castle, along with his parents and Seph.
“Sam…” His father cleared his throat, his tone turning serious in a way Sam recognised. It was a tone that was laced with disappointment, with the deep sorrow his father never articulated. “I feel I have to ask…what are your intentions towards Rose?”
Sam stared at him. “What are my intentions?”
“Yes. Because she is the mother of your children…and I know you’ve said you will do your duty by them, but what about by her? She’s in a uniquely vulnerable position here, one I wonder if you can truly appreciate, and I cannot help but feel sorry for her—”
“Rose is not your worry, Dad.” Sam heard the anger bubbling beneath the words, and he knew his father heard it, as well. But his father’s question had felt like a rebuke, an accusation even, as if Sam was some sort of rake taking advantage of Rose, when nothing could be further from the truth.
“But I am worried,” Walter told him quietly. “I cannot help but be. It has been three months, and you seem content to leave things as they are. And as long as Rose lives under my roof—”
“Oh, your roof,” Sam retorted bitterly, while his father merely raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, my roof,” he said calmly. “I am the master and baron of Casterglass, Sam. One day you will be, but—”
“I’m not now—I get it.” Sam spun away, feeling like a child. Why did his father reduce him to acting like a mere boy? Why did he let him?
Walter sighed, the sound of disappointment. A sound Sam was all too used to. He pressed his fists to his eyes, wondering why he was letting his father get to him this way. Why he didn’t do anything to keep them from colliding—or really, missing each other, time and time again. He thought of shaking Steve Barwise’s hand, something he’d never thought he’d do, not in a million years.
His father was far less of an enemy than Steve had ever been. He was his father, his dad. Maybe they’d never seen eye to eye, never wrestled in the den or thrown a ball in the back garden, never even had a proper heart-to-heart, but still. He knew his dad loved him, didn’t he? And he loved his father. Those two truths had never changed, and yet…
Sam dropped his hands from his eyes. Slowly he turned around. “Dad,” he said, his voice steady although inside he was quaking, “you know why I’ve never wanted to come back to Casterglass?”
Walter blinked, looking surprised, discomfited, maybe even a bit alarmed. But then he rallied, straightening his shoulders, meeting his gaze head-on. “Why, Sam?” he asked quietly.
“Two reasons, really. The first one—because I was bullied by a couple of boys at the village primary. Really bullied. They made my life completely miserable for two years—once they nearly drowned me in the river. I was…affected by it, more than I ever let myself realise, for years.”
He didn’t feel the expected flushing of shame when he admitted this to his father, only release. The secret was out. The burden was finally laid down.
Walter looked shaken, his face pale. “Why did you never tell me? At the time, I mean—”
“Because I was ashamed. And I know that’s on me, not you,” Sam said quickly. “It was my problem—”
“No, Sam,” Walter replied with quiet force. “It was mine, too. I just didn’t know it.” He shook his head slowly. “You would have only been ten years old.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry,” his father said with the same quiet force. “You should not have felt you had to bear that alone.”
“I should have told you. I know that now. I knew that a long time ago. It just…” Sam took a breath, let it out slowly. This was the harder part to say. “I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me.” He paused. “Again.”
“Disappointed in you?” Now his father didn’t look merely shaken but stricken. “Sam…why would I be disappointed in you?”
“Why wouldn’t you be?” Sam couldn’t keep from replying, while his father just shook his head, looking so surprised, so sad, that for a second Sam wondered if he’d got everything wrong. But, no…all those sad, bemused looks…all those comments… Sam’s our least bookish child… He’s not much of one for school, it seems… Sam prefers the outdoors to books…
No. He hadn’t got it wrong. Had he?
Slowly Walter walked over to the chair in front of Sam’s desk and sat down. “Do you really think I would have been disappointed in you, to learn you’d been bullied?” he asked, and his voice was full of grief. “Even now?”
“Not now,” Sam allowed, “but then. Yes. I wasn’t…I know I wasn’t like you. Bookish and academic and smart. I felt like I failed you.”
“Sam.” Walter swivelled around to face him, his eyes clouded with grief. “I wasn’t like you.”
Sam shrugged. “It’s the same difference, isn’t it?”
“No. No. I…I always felt as if I were the disappointment. I wasn’t the kind of father who would throw a ball or go camping in the garden. I’ve never been the outdoorsy, athletic type, not even when I was young. I always felt as if I failed you in that regard…and I suppose it was easier to let you go your own way and for me to go mine rather than for both of us to keep butting up against our differences.” He paused, his expression turning reflective, sad. “That was my fault, not yours. As your father, the adult, I should have been bigger than my own insecurities and failings. I should have made more of an effort. Much more of an effort.”
Sam stared at him, his mind spinning. He’d never considered their relationship from his father’s perspective…how he might have felt like the disappointment, and not Sam. It was as if his whole world had turned upside down, or as if he were viewing things from the wrong end of a telescope.
“But…what about when I cheated on my A levels?” he asked in a low voice. In twelve years, they’d never truly talked about it. “I know you were disappointed in me then. You had to have been.”
“I was,” Walter agreed after a moment, his voice heavy. “As I know you were disappointed in yourself.” Sam bowed his head in silent acknowledgement. “But I was also disappointed that it had come to such a point…that you’d felt so pressured, that you hadn’t been able to talk to me about what was going on. I’d been fooling myself, I think, that we had a perfectly adequate relationship before that…but I felt the lack, then. In myself, as a father. I felt as if I’d failed, as much, if not more, than you had.” He paused. “And it only worsened when you took off to travel, and then seemed set on never coming back.”
He held up a hand to forestall Sam’s protest, although he wasn’t even sure what he might have said.
“I didn’t blame you. In fact, I understood. But I regretted all the events—spoken and unspoken—that had brought us to that.” Another pause, this one weightier. “To this.”
Sam was silent for a long moment, his mind reeling, his heart aching. He wished they’d had this conversation years, even decades earlier—and yet he also recognised that perhaps they couldn’t have. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been possible, with the way they’d been. The way he’d been. Rose had helped him, he knew, to let go of the past. Changed him, and so much for the better.
“I’m sorry,” he said, because they felt like the only words he could say, or at least the most important ones.
“So am I,” his father replied. “So much.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, the weight of the years lying heavily between them, and yet Sam had the sense they would get lighter with time. With effort. After a few moments, feeling it was the right thing to do, and more importantly wanting to do it, he put his hand into his pocket and drew out the black velvet box. Silently he handed it to his father, who took it with reverence.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“I think so.”
Walter opened the box, gazed at the ring with its sapphire flanked by diamonds with obvious admiration. “Sam, it’s beautiful.”
“The sapphire is meant to represent Casterglass,” Sam said, feeling a bit awkward and cheesy, but still wanting to say it. “And…and family. The diamonds are Rose and me.”
Sam’s throat thickened as he saw his father turn misty-eyed and blink a few times. He handed the box back. “It’s beautiful,” he said again, and then he took out an ancient, monogrammed handkerchief and blew his nose heartily. Sam grinned.
“I’m going to ask her as soon as we get a sunny day,” he told his father.
Walter let out a laugh that was half honk as he put his handkerchief back in his pocket. “Then you might be waiting a long time,” he warned, and Sam laughed, too.
*
In actuality, he had to wait a week. An endless week of scanning the skies, the box heavy in his pocket, his heart starting to skip a beat as soon as the clouds began to part. Then—a perfect day. Bright blue skies, a hint of warmth in the air even though it was October. Leaves the colour of rust and ochre, a hint of loss in the air that always came with autumn, but a thrill of hope, with the sunshine.
He found Rose, as usual, in the café. “How about a walk to the beach?” he asked brightly, his voice sounding a little strange, a little forced, because he was nervous.
She gave him an odd look. “A walk? More like a waddle.”
“We’ll take it slow. It’s such a lovely day…”
The smile she gave him was slow and full of affection. “How can I resist such a proposition?” she asked, and Sam hoped she had the same reaction to the far more important proposition he was going to ask in just a little while. He still didn’t feel entirely sure of her answer.
She lumbered up from the sofa, grimacing a little, one hand on the small of her back, her bump sticking way out. She really was huge, and he loved her for it. He loved her.
“Come on,” he said, and hand in hand they walked out of the café, through the courtyard, across the front of the walled garden and through the meadow, towards the sea.
They didn’t talk, which suited Sam because his heart had started beating rather hard and he was feeling more and more nervous. He’d been anticipating and dreaming this moment for weeks now, and yet it was still managing to take him by surprise. His throat was dry and all the things he’d been thinking of saying, all the flowery phrases and heartfelt sentiments—they’d evaporated, as if they’d been vaporised from his brain. His brain was completely, appalling empty, so all he could think of, all he could feel, was the beating of his heart, Rose’s hand in his, the wind on his face. Think…
“Sam,” Rose asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yes.” His voice came out in a croak. His heart was thudding. “Why do you ask?”
“Just, you’ve gone a little funny. Pale.” She eyed him in concern. “You’re not coming down with something, are you?”
“No.” Even croakier this time. “No, I’m definitely not.”
It was late afternoon and unlike the endless days of summer, the sun was already starting to set, sending long, golden rays over the placid surface of the sea. The tide was out and the beach was a long, flat stretch of damp sand. The air held a bite.
“It’s so beautiful here,” Rose said softly, staring out at the sea, and Sam knew there was nothing for it. He got down on one knee.
“Rose…” His voice trembled. She turned around. Her eyes widened as she saw him there on the wet beach on one knee, the black velvet box between his shaking fingers. “Rose…” He struggled to find the words, and then he realised he already knew them. They were written on his heart. “Rose, I love you. I was enchanted by you back in Tairua, but I’ve fallen in love with you in Cumbria. With who you really are, and not just who you pretend to be. I love your kindness, your strength, your sense of humour, and even your frailty. And if you think you can one day love me in the same way—love me not just for my good parts but my bad and my weak ones…” He trailed off because Rose was starting to look panicked.
He should have known, he thought miserably, only to screech to a halt when she clutched her bump.
“Sam…I think my waters have broken!”