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He could do that with her.

Sir Charles was very polite. He stayed for a drink after the service and wasn’t vulgar enough to mention he’d sent a location scout last week. He really was here for the right reasons.

‘I’ll remember him with great fondness,’ Sir Charles said as he came over to say farewell. ‘As I do when I think of your parents.’

‘Thank you.’ Gabe nodded. ‘And thank you for coming today.’

‘But of course.’

It was a draining day, long and difficult, and at the end of it he had a title he didn’t want, a massive estate now in his name.

And he had no one left in the world whom he loved.

Tomorrow, Gabe thought as he took a seat at the table, the thought that he had no one might come as a relief, for it freed him really. But looking out at the view his grandfather had loved, it hurt.

‘Conte Sant di Lavia…’ Maria’s voice as she walked towards him had him frown, for she knew his grandfather was gone. Perhaps it was grief? It took a moment to register that she was addressing him.

‘Gabe will do.’ He attempted a thin smile. ‘Or Gabriel.’

‘It’s important,’ she said. ‘I am proud to work for nobility.’

‘Of course.’ He regretted his terse response, understood that this place was steeped in tradition, and even if he didn’t want it to, it mattered to many.

‘These came…’ She held out a bouquet, but he had seen more flowers these past few days than he cared for.

‘They can be taken to the chapel tomorrow.’ He certainly wouldn’t be going; it was spooky enough looking at your own grave once! ‘If you can arrange that, please.’

‘No, they are for you.’ She placed them down. ‘They are addressed to Signor Rinaldi. It would seem the sender doesn’t know our ways either.’

He smiled at the little barb from Signora Maria and as she walked off he picked up his Scotch.

What the hell was going to happen to Signora Maria if he sold the place? To all the staff.

Would the new owners keep them on?

He did not want to be responsible for this damn place and nor did he want to care about others.

Yet tonight he did.

Trying not to think about it, he looked at the bouquet, a dozen white roses, and their simplicity was pleasing. He’d had enough of lilies and carnations and huge wreaths and, vaguely curious, or more that it was easier than thinking, he opened the card.

It was a printed card. Typed.

Dear Gabe,

I just heard about your grandfather.

I’m so pleased that I got to meet him. It was such a lovely night.

Stella

It really had been a lovely night.

And somehow, he did what he had been unable to do this entire day—quietly reminisce.

His grandfather laughing, how Stella had sat and patiently listened as his grandfather had spoken about days long gone. Grand parties and better times for the proud old man, who had also lost so many he’d loved.

And he wished that she were here, but discounted that.