Lizzie remained rigidly in place as the single red rose landed on the coffin. She didn’t turn to see who had dropped it onto the polished mahogany casket. Every sense she possessed gave her the answer to that question. She was glad to have Chico’s reassuring presence close by. She had expected the ceremony to be smaller and more private. Discovering her grandmother had done so many kind deeds for people over the years made her loss even harder to bear and the grief keener. Lizzie had hoped she could hide away and contain her sadness, but that had not been possible. The people had decided that her grandmother would be sent off with a skirl of the pipes and a chorus of happy songs from the local school children. And she was proud and happy for her grandmother, if lost and grief-stricken for herself. But none of this could show. She still had an estate to save. As her grandmother would have done, she lifted her chin and stared into a future that was hers to mould. Feeling Chico at her side as the final ceremony drew to a close, she turned to face him and felt the familiar tug of longing as she did so.
‘Thank you for coming.’
His concerned gaze was steady on her face. He turned to the older woman at his side. ‘You remember Maria?’
‘Yes, of course I do.’ Lizzie smiled warmly. ‘It’s very good of you to come all this way.’
‘I had to be here.’ Maria gave her a hug of the same calibre as Annie’s, and if anything could bring tears to Lizzie’s eyes, it was that warmth, that genuine affection.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss, Lizzie,’ Maria said gently, letting go of her hands. ‘I’m so glad I could be here to celebrate your grandmother’s life with you. Chico tells me she was a remarkable lady.’
‘She was,’ Lizzie confirmed softly.
‘Ah, there’s Annie,’ Maria said. ‘Will you both excuse me? I promised to help at the house when everyone arrives.’
‘Of course.’
Now they were alone again, Chico’s dark stare reached down into her soul, grabbed it tight and squeezed it hard. She was a lost cause where Chico was concerned, Lizzie concluded ruefully. ‘I have to stay and thank everyone,’ she explained. ‘There’s no point in you standing here freezing.’
‘And if I want to stand here freezing?’
‘Then, I can’t stop you, but don’t you ever tire of playing the white knight?’
‘I can be bad.’
Heat coursed through her. No one knew that better than she did.
Chico remained at her side until she had thanked the last mourner. He was like a brazier of moral warmth: strong, firm, and reassuring. If she closed her mind to all the financial problems she was facing, she could almost believe everything would be all right. She would save the estate—convince the bank to back her, and the heritage society to take on the responsibility of Rottingdean House to protect it from greedy developers—
But, would it? Would it be all right?
She had to put all that out of her mind as the minister of the small village kirk came to offer his support and Chico took that as his cue to leave.
‘Won’t you come back to the house?’
He turned to look at her and her heart squeezed tight. Wind-whipped and resolute, Chico was so brazenly strong and piratical, his dark eyes and swarthy skin so violently at odds with the fair Celts surrounding him.