1
Megan read the gold, italic writing on the cream card:
‘Mr Dermot O’Grady, has the pleasure in inviting you to the marriage of his daughter, Miss Finula Dolores O’Grady, to Mr Marcus Devlin on the 23rd July, 1pm, at All Saints Church, Treweham.’
Seeing it in writing gave her an excited thrill. Finula, her best friend since moving to the village of Treweham over a year ago, was marrying the sexy, TV producer Marcus Devlin, who was also her brother-in-law, so it had recently transpired. Megan was adapting well to being a new mum and also Lady of Treweham Hall, her husband’s ancestral home, an impressive sandstone building with four corner turrets and sturdy buttresses, giving it a castle-like appearance.
It was a far cry from the modest, cosy cottage Megan had first moved into, after having inherited her gran’s home in Treweham. It hadn’t taken long for her to strike up a friendship with Finula whilst working behind the bar at The Templar, and even less for Tobias to spot the brunette with brown almond-shaped eyes and a shy smile. He had been captivated by Megan and within six months had married her. Having Edward had been the icing on the cake, not to mention being the much-awaited son and heir to the Treweham Hall estate.
Baby Edward was three months old now and had finally slipped into a routine of sleeping mostly through the night, giving Megan and Tobias a fairly decent rest. Megan had refused point blank to employ a nanny, although had almost succumbed after constantly dragging herself out of the warmth of their four-poster bed to the relentless cries of her son. Bobbing him up and down on her lap now and watching his cheeky face chuckle in delight made it all worthwhile. He was just adorable, with his twinkling green eyes and dark curls, just like his father. Megan kissed his cheek and received a playful slap in the face from his chubby, little hands.
‘Aah, you munchkin!’ Megan laughed, tickling him under his dribbling chin. She was interrupted by Henry, the butler.
‘Madam, Sir is asking you to join us all in his study.’
‘OK, thanks, Henry.’ On seeing Henry, Edward gurgled with joy, making the butler’s stiff upper lip curve into a smile. Even Henry, who was renowned for his rather pompous manner, couldn’t help but melt when it came to Master Edward. Hardly surprising, given that he had practically assisted in his arrival on finding Megan lying on the drawing room floor in agony. A bond had been made and Henry’s allegiance knew no bounds. ‘Come on, Edward, let’s see what Daddy wants.’ She scooped Edward up and followed Henry to Tobias’ study. On entering, she was greeted by a smiling team of estate workers sat round her husband’s desk. Tobias immediately rose to take his son who was reaching out for him.
‘Come here, you.’ He laughed as Edward snuggled into him. Megan took a seat next to him. ‘We’re discussing the opening times of the Hall,’ Tobias informed her, whilst clutching a wriggling Edward.
‘Right.’ Megan nodded. As a tour guide her opinion would matter.
‘Would you like a later start, bearing in mind you’ve this one to attend to?’ asked Tobias grinning.
‘Hmm, maybe, just on the two days I cover.’
‘Ten-thirty OK with you?’
‘Yes, that’s fine. It should give me enough time to hand him over to your mum.’
Lady Beatrice was more than happy to babysit her only grandchild, and would take over a lot more, given half the chance. Megan was pleased to act as a tour guide. It gave her a break and an opportunity to socialise with the rest of the staff. She still missed her best friend Finula terribly though, which made her all the more excited for her pending wedding. It would be great to have Finula back in Treweham for a short while.
‘Right. That’s settled then. Opening times ten o’clock Monday to Wednesday, ten-thirty Thursday and Fridays.’ He turned to a middle-aged lady sitting at the end of his desk. ‘All set to open next week, Mrs P?’
‘Yes, Lord Cavendish-Blake, all the catering’s been ordered and the tea shop rota’s been drawn up.’
‘Good.’ Tobias then looked towards the two men sat opposite him. ‘Security and car park at the ready?’
‘Yes, Sir, all the CCTV equipment has been serviced and the security and car park staff fully trained and updated.’ Tobias nodded his head in approval. ‘Henry, you will as always be extra diligent during opening hours, particularly to the South Wing.’ He was referring to the set of private rooms allocated to himself and Megan. Now his son and heir would be there too, which meant upping safety measures.
Megan took in the efficient, business-like way Tobias conducted himself. He was well respected, yet still approachable, making him popular amongst all the staff at Treweham Hall. Not to mention easy on the eye, with his long, dark hair, piercing green eyes and muscular build. Any wonder he’d been the subject of many a tabloid with his rakish good looks and devil-may-care past.
‘Right then, let’s do it,’ he said, cheerfully glancing round the room. Edward started to gurgle again, making everyone laugh.
2
Dermot O’Grady rubbed his hands together and surveyed The Templar. He’d arranged to have the pub thoroughly cleaned before proudly handing it over to the new owners. His eyes took in the freshly scrubbed stone floor, the large inglenook fire twinkling warmly, the rustic wooden tables with mismatched chairs and the clean, whitewashed lime walls. The lighting was subtle, creating a snug, intimate atmosphere. The Templar was a sixteenth-century former coach inn, oozing with character, and had been home to Dermot and his daughter, Finula, for over twenty years. Now it was to be someone else’s home.
On meeting the young couple, Dermot had recognised the same enthusiasm he had once felt whilst being shown round the pub. They, like him all those years ago, had instantly fallen in love with its history and charm. It was hard not to be enticed by its squeaky, uneven floorboards, old stone walls, beamed ceilings and open fires. A huge vase of fresh lilies stood on the bar next to a bucket of ice chilling a bottle of champagne, ready to be opened in celebration.
Stephen and Christie Newbury, the soon-to-be new owners, would be arriving any moment. Dermot couldn’t help but feel a touch emotional about handing over the keys to his pub, but was at the same time glad it was in safe hands, and not about to be taken over by a large brewery, which would no doubt rip out the heart and soul of the place. He’d witnessed first-hand how excited the Newburys appeared as they explored each room, discussing every nook and cranny of the place with eagerness. It felt right to be passing on The Templar to such young, vibrant people, ready to make a go of it.
Dermot had agreed to sell The Templar on the condition it would still host his daughter’s wedding and he would oversee all the arrangements. The Newburys were more than happy to agree to this, glad of the opportunity to learn the ropes from his valued experience. And he too had a new chapter in his life to look forward to. His comfy little cottage stood invitingly, waiting for him to enjoy the autumn of his life. His retirement was well earned and past due. Being landlord of a pub was heavy, relentless work and Dermot fully intended to embrace every minute of his retiring years. Besides, The Templar wasn’t the same without Finula; he was ready to move on.
His thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock at the door. It was mid-morning and the pub wouldn’t be opening until afternoon lunches were due to be served. Rubbing his hands together again, Dermot gave the room one last check before striding to answer. He unbolted the large, oak door and pushed it open with a bright, welcoming smile – only to be greeted by a woman standing there, alone and on the verge of tears. Dermot halted.