HARRY WOKE EARLY—even though he’d had very little sleep.
Penelope had managed to gather herself by the time he’d taken her home. She was starting to get angry, and he didn’t blame her.
He was glad she’d called. Glad he’d been able to help her out. He knew he would do it again in a heartbeat.
But coming home to an empty bed made him feel odd. He’d gotten so used to having Esther here that now it seemed off when she wasn’t. He loved the heat from her body and the way her skin seemed to mould against his.
Waking up now made the town house just feel...empty.
He froze.
Empty had been pretty much how his life had felt for a long time. It wasn’t just that he didn’t form relationships with other people; it was just that he had been brought up that way. It wasn’t the norm for him.
He’d never opened up to another person the way he had with Esther. He’d never shared with someone else the way he had with Esther. Of course he had friends, colleagues and a scattered extended family.
But who was really there to think about him? To consider him?
He thought back to the night he’d received the call about his father. Regret swamped him. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t almost hated his father. But, as an adult, he regretted the opportunity that he’d missed to have one final talk. His father had collapsed and died quickly. He hadn’t had some painful disease. There had been no suffering. Harry had thought the old man might actually have lived until he was a hundred.
But the last few weeks, seeing the strong relationship Esther had with her mother filled him with regret. His father might have always remained an opinionated, self-centred, hateful man. Or maybe, if he’d been ill or sick, there might have been some regrets.
And that’s what left Harry with a hole in his heart. There was no sense of closure. He wished he’d driven down to the country estate at least one time in the five years before his father had died. Even if it had resulted in yet another fight, it might have made him feel a little more sure about his complete avoidance of his father in the last few years of his life.
Maybe it was just his own idea of a fairy tale—that his father would have lived to regret the wasted years between them. The way he’d treated Harry, the way he’d ignored him. That there could have been some last-minute kind of reconciliation. He’d spent his life feeling so isolated. So alone.
Being around Esther had broken down a whole host of barriers he’d spent his life reinforcing. She challenged him. She excited him. She celebrated and commiserated with him. When he sat on the sofa at night now, he didn’t feel comfortable unless she was perched alongside him.
It hadn’t even been that long, and maybe he was crazy, but it felt like his life had changed immeasurably.
She was helping him fill out the little parts of himself that had always felt as if they were missing. The parts that his parents had stolen from him, and he’d never had a chance to steal back.
Seeing her relationship with her mother had taught him it was all right to have regrets about how things had turned out with his father. There had never been a good relationship between him and his father in the first place. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t secretly wished for it. He would have loved to have the kind of relationship with his dad that Esther had with her mum. The love, the mutual respect—even the genuine interest in each other—was something he’d spent most of life yearning for, just not letting himself admit to. He’d never allowed himself to feel that way before. He could now wish things had been different—even if it was much too late. It didn’t make him weak. It just made him human.
She would be finishing at work soon. If he got ready and left now, he could meet her with her favourite coffee before she left for home—his home.
Their home.
He swallowed. He hadn’t asked her yet.
He’d been letting the idea float around his brain for a few days while he got comfortable with it.
No, actually, that was a lie. He was comfortable with it as soon as it first got there. But what he didn’t want to do was scare her off and send her running for the hills.
Was it normal to ask someone if they wanted to move in permanently after a few short weeks?
For the first time in his life Harry had found something he wanted to keep hold of. Found something he wanted to build and nurture. Last thing he wanted to do was ask the question and watch her squirm as she struggled to find a way to say no.
He also had a secret to tell her that could help their budding relationship.
His brain played with the thoughts all the way to the Queen Victoria. He noticed his hand was trembling as he paid for the coffee and it made him smile.
He liked these nerves. They felt like good nerves. Maybe asking Esther to move in with him after a night shift wasn’t the best idea on the planet—he could probably time it better, arrange a more romantic setting than the hospital entrance—but all he knew was he didn’t want to wait.
He wanted to ask her now. Ask her while things felt so good between them, so right.
He glanced at his watch. The shift handover was taking longer than normal. He’d just go on up to NICU. He had patients to check on anyway.
He swung the doors open with a cheery ‘Good morning,’ only to be met by silence.
He strode across the entrance way and sat the coffee cups down on the desk. ‘Where’s Esther?’ he asked. He knew who she’d been working with last night and the rest of the staff was still there.
One of the older midwives closest to him sucked in her breath through her teeth. Another midwife shot him a dagger-like glare. Two others just pointedly ignored him as if he hadn’t spoken at all.
He turned to the woman beside him. ‘Caroline, what’s going on—is Esther okay?’
Caroline pressed her lips together for a few seconds as panic started to grip at his chest. He could tell she was considering what to tell him. She kept her voice low. ‘She got a call last night from her mother. It was an emergency. There was a fire at her mother’s house and she had to go back to Scotland.’
‘What?’ He nearly dropped the coffee that he’d picked back up. He yanked his phone from his pocket. ‘But she would have called, she would have texted.’ He stared at the blank screen.
Another voice cut in behind him. ‘Hey, you, Mr Flighty, my office, now.’ The thick Irish accent was curt.
He turned around to face Oona, shaking his head. ‘No, I can’t. I need to talk to Esther.’
The small, burly woman stepped closer, barely an inch from his face. ‘It wasn’t a request.’
Harry was taken aback, his fingers already pressing the buttons on his phone to dial Esther, but he followed her into her office, watching in bewilderment as she closed the door with a kick.
Oona folded her arms across her chest. ‘Don’t bet on Esther answering your calls.’
‘What?’ He looked up from his phone screen.
‘After your shenanigans last night, I doubt she’ll talk to you again.’
He frowned as a text beeped on his phone. Penelope. He could see the first line of the text. Oh no.
He shook his head as he tried to work out what on earth was going on. ‘What...shenanigans?’ He didn’t even like saying the word. Harry and shenanigans had never been in the same sentence before.
Oona waved one hand. ‘Had a good night, did you?’
He wrinkled his brow. ‘What?’
She gave him a hard stare. ‘You’re looking remarkably fresh for someone who was out until two in the morning.’
Something prickled at the back of his brain—and it wasn’t good.
‘How do you know that?’
She gave him a look of disgust. ‘The whole world knows that, Harry. If you’re going to play away, have the decency not to be so public about it.’
He took a deep breath. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’ He resisted the temptation to pull up the rest of Penelope’s message.
Oona’s look of disgust stayed firmly in place. ‘I’d like to use words that would be deemed “unprofessional,” so I won’t. But this is my unit, my NICU, Harry, and I expect my staff to be treated with respect. Maybe no one warned you about mixing business with pleasure, but when things get messy like this, the atmosphere can affect everyone who is in here. Staff, patients and relatives. Humiliating a member of my staff in public is hardly going to result in an atmosphere for babies that’s conducive to healing, is it?’
He was beginning to get mad. Esther’s phone was just ringing out. Perhaps she was on the plane?
‘Why don’t you explain exactly what you think I’ve done, Oona, and stop speaking in riddles.’
She gritted her teeth and pulled her phone from her tunic, turning it to face him. ‘You—and your apparent potential bride—are all over social media since the early hours, after falling out of some club together. And yes. Esther’s seen it. Which is why I doubt very much she’ll answer any of your calls.’ Oona shook her head. ‘You really couldn’t have timed this any worse.’
Dread swept over him. The headline above the photo of him and Penelope was bad enough. Will Penelope Brackenridge Be the New Duchess of Montrose?
But the photo certainly didn’t help. It looked...kind of compromising, even from his gaze. It didn’t matter that he knew what had happened. It didn’t matter that he knew there was absolutely nothing in it. He knew exactly what the press were like. And his heart sunk at the thought of Esther being confronted with this last night in the midst of the bad news from back home.
He straightened his back and looked Oona straight in the eye. ‘That picture is not what you think. Penelope is my friend, has been since we were five. She phoned me last night when she felt threatened. I picked her up and took her home.’ Anger was rising in him. He didn’t need to give Oona an explanation of his behaviour, but he wanted to—for Esther’s sake. At least Oona had been up front with him; now he knew exactly what was going on and why Esther hadn’t answered his calls. He turned to walk away. He had things to sort; he needed to find cover for today, and probably tomorrow too. Then he’d need to try and find a flight.
His hand was on the doorknob when he turned back around. It was like every little light had taken fire in his brain at once. He could explain this to Esther, of course he could. But more than that, he wanted to be by her side. She’d be devastated over what had happened back in Scotland and he didn’t want her to go through that alone. She shouldn’t have to, and she didn’t need to.
He turned back to Oona. ‘Just so you know, I would do it again—in a heartbeat—for any friend, male or female, who told me they felt unsafe.’ Then his expression softened. ‘And why on earth would anyone think that I’d cheat on Esther—the woman that I love?’
He watched as Oona’s eyes widened as he stepped out of the office and picked up the phone. He had no surgeries scheduled in the next few days, but a couple of babies who would require surgery when delivered. He made sure his contact details were available for the responsible hospitals as he knew that even with the best-laid plans, babies sometimes had ideas of their own.
Francesca appeared at his side. ‘You okay?’
‘No,’ he said honestly. ‘But I will be.’
She didn’t ask questions, just gave his arm a squeeze. ‘You know you can leave any instructions with me.’
He pulled his notes from a pad. ‘And I was just doing that.’ He gave her a hug. ‘Thank you for this, and phone me if there’s anything at all.’
She nodded slowly and pressed her lips together. ‘I’ll try my best not to.’
He wasn’t worried about the hushed atmosphere around him now. Oona would spread the news in his absence, and gossip like this would fly through the hospital like a firework.
He’d just declared his love for Esther.
He hadn’t even known until that second that he was going to say those words.
But right now, he needed to tell them to the person who mattered most.
And that was exactly what he planned to do.