Chapter 9 - The First Night at the CottageThe keeper’s cottage sat at the western perimeter of the estate, nestled right where the manicured lawns gave way to the wild, rolling expanse of the Yorkshire moors.
It was a charming, whitewashed stone structure with a sloping slate roof, diamond-paned windows, and a heavy wooden front door painted a deep, comforting forest green.
By nine o'clock that evening, the transition was complete.
The grand rooms of Wrenford Hall were dark and locked up behind them. The furniture in the cottage was simple—worn leather armchairs, a sturdy oak dining table, and shelves lined with old paperbacks left behind by the estate’s former gamekeeper.
A roaring fire crackled in the stone hearth of the kitchen, casting a warm, flickering orange glow across the low timber beams of the ceiling.
Persephone was fast asleep in the small attic bedroom upstairs beneath the eaves, wrapped in a thick quilt, clutching Barnaby tight. The rhythmic whistling of the moorland wind outside the window sounded like a lullaby rather than a threat.
Downstairs, Daniel and Mara sat on the old rug by the hearth, sharing a simple dinner of toasted cheese sandwiches and a single bottle of red wine Mara had found tucked away in the cellar.
"You realize," Mara said, taking a sip from her glass and looking into the fire, "that tomorrow morning, Alistair Vance at Barclays is going to open that letter and probably choke on his morning croissant."
Daniel chuckled, leaning his head back against the brickwork of the fireplace. "He's going to call my mobile within ten minutes. His executive assistant will probably ask if I've suffered a sudden neurological trauma."
"And what will you tell him?"
"I'll tell him he's welcome to send the receivers in whenever they like," Daniel said calmly. "We're done playing banker. We're done running a hotel."
Mara shifted closer, resting her head on his shoulder. The warmth of the fire washed over them. The heavy, suffocating pressure that had gripped their marriage for three agonizing years had entirely evaporated. They were broke, uncertain of where they would sleep in six months, and stripped of their social standing.
And yet, Daniel had never felt so wealthy.
"Do you regret it?" Mara whispered, her fingers tracing the patterns on his shirt cuff. "Giving it all up?"
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Daniel looked down at her, placing his hand over hers. He thought of Persephone’s radiant smile that morning in the kitchen. He thought of the terrifying shadow of St. Aldwyn's school vanishing into smoke.
"I regret that it took a seven iron and a terrified six-year-old to wake me up," Daniel said softly. "I don't regret a single second of this fire."
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