'Do you really need that window open?' I asked as we flew down the motorway. Amanda was in the back seat beside me, her hair whipping around her face while she tried to read one of her sociology textbooks.

It had been a long drive from the airport, and my sister had spent much of that time being as annoying as possible. She may have been older than me, but she wasn't the more mature of us. It didn't bother her I was utterly miserable, nor that I hadn't ever wanted to step foot in England again after everything that had happened at Christmas. My mother, too, had been insensitive to my wishes to remain behind in Switzerland.

In fact, when I'd told her it would be kinder for me to stay with Chantelle and Charlie so that they weren't alone during the holidays, she'd insisted on them joining us at our country house.

'Are you suddenly allergic to fresh air?' Mandy asked.

'It's not fresh on a motorway. It's pollution.'

'Are you two going to argue for the entire journey?' Mum asked from the front seat.

Rather than call for a driver, she'd decided that she wanted to undertake the task herself. She was certainly an oddity with regard to social etiquette. Charlie and Chantelle had hired someone to bring them down when they joined us later. Mum didn't like wasting the money on such things when she was perfectly capable of driving.

I sank in my seat and pressed my knees into the back of the empty front passenger side chair. 'She started it.'

'You're not five,' Mandy reminded me. 'What's wrong with you these days? You're more miserable than you usually are, and that's saying something.'

'Oh, please, like Freddie hasn't already told you,' I scoffed.

'Fred?' A wicked smile crossed Mandy's lips. 'Is this about a girl?'

I sat bolt-upright. 'What makes you say it's about a girl?'

'When isn't it about a girl when Fred's involved?' Mandy asked.

I couldn't fault her logic. Not only was she right, but Freddie seldom got into any real trouble unless it involved a woman. I'd never imagined that I would have that in common with my cousin, but life moved us in strange directions at times.

'It's not about a girl,' I lied. 'I just don't see why we didn't enjoy the fresh air in Switzerland, that's all.'

'Because your father wanted us to use this house during school holidays,' Mum replied, 'and I have no intention of breaking that tradition just because he's not here anymore. With or without him, we're still a family. Try to remember that instead of bickering, won't you?'

I shuffled back down into my seat and folded my arms across my chest. I had no problem with the notion of tradition, or respecting anything that my late father had thought was important.

I just didn't feel ready to be back in the same country as Beth Bennett.

I also wasn't keen on spending prolonged periods of time in a car with a woman whose idea of travel music was to just play the Mamma Mia soundtrack on repeat, but apparently, it was the driver's privilege to choose the music.

And, so, to the resounding tune of Waterloo, we turned off the motorway and made our way into the quiet, peaceful corner of the country where our British holiday home resided.

Pemberley.

Our house stood apart in the vast, rolling green hills. It was a landscape designed for old-fashioned manors and farms, not for our modernist home with its straight lines and tall windows. Yet, it also blended seamlessly with the gardens once one was inside. The glass walls opened fully to welcome the outside in, turning the gardens into an extension of our living space. At one time, I believed that my father intended to make this our permanent home. Had he lived longer, he may well have succeeded in his plan. Visiting was now a bittersweet event; a constant reminder of his memory, but also of his lacking presence in our lives.

The staff arrived as we pulled up outside of the house and began to heave our bags from the boot. I'd have been happy to stay and help them with the luggage, but something was off about the place. It wasn't until I pushed open the door, holding it for my sister and our staff, that I realised what it was.

Music.

No one would have complained at the housekeeper for having the radio on if she was working in the building, but this didn't have that familiar crackle of a broadcast played through a speaker. It was too fresh, too imperfect, too near to be anything but a live performance.

'Do you think one of the maids has taken up the piano?' Mandy asked as she shrugged off her light jacket and draped it over the back of the sofa. 'I can't imagine it's James.'

'You never know,' Mum said as she followed us inside, 'he might have picked it up while we were away. Why don't you go take a look? I need to see what the situation is in the kitchen. I imagine it's not good, but we'll see.'

Given we'd not visited in over a year, I was inclined to agree. The staff would have bought enough food for themselves, but we wouldn't be able to cook a decent dinner. It would be a take-away situation from one of the local restaurants until someone went shopping. Mandy was already climbing the stairs while I was taking off my own jacket. I dropped it on top of hers and hurried up the stairs after her to the Fazioli which, to my recollection, hadn't been played since my father had been alive.

Before I was up the stairs, Mandy spoke, 'Not bad.'

There followed a thud and clatter. Whoever had been playing the piano was startled by my sister's sudden appearance. They stood, tripped over the stool, and fell backwards onto the floor. The moment that she swore, I knew who she was.

Beth Bennett.

I was in motion before I could stop myself, darting around my sister to offer my hand. Beth took it without question and I pulled her back to her feet. Only when our eyes met did she realise who'd helped her. The blood drained from her face, leaving her complexion positively ashen at the sight of me. It was hardly the reaction that I'd hoped for, but not wholly surprising given how we'd left things at Christmas.

'Jesus!' she exclaimed and shot backwards. 'What are you doing here?'

'This is my house,' I said, my voice stiff with the awkwardness of the situation.

'What?!'

'Our house,' Mandy corrected. 'It belongs to our family. Who are you?'

I groaned internally. It was such a blunt question but, of course, Mandy had no idea who this intruder was or that she was the person I hadn't been able to get out of my head for over months. If my sister had been more sensible of everything that had passed between us, she'd have been far more welcoming.

'I – I'm no one.' Beth shoved my hands down into my pockets like she truly believed that she wasn't anyone important. 'Sorry, I'll go.'

It wasn't like Beth to flee the scene. Usually, she'd have stood her ground and bickered with me until we were both hoarse. As she raced away, I realised that something had changed. That she didn't regard me with quite the same level of hatred as she had that night.

The only thing that I could think was that she had read my letter.

'Do you know her?' Mandy asked. Like a lightbulb igniting over her head, she asked excitedly, 'Is she the girl?'

'I need to go. She looked upset. I have to make sure she's not embarrassed,' I said, more to myself than to her, like I needed to give myself a reason to chase her down.

The only place Beth could have gone was out into the grounds. She didn't use the front door, but one of the servant's exits out of the building towards the garages. I assumed, then, that she had travelled to the house via that route. Fortunately, there weren't many places close to Pemberley that she could hide. The ground was relatively flat and she wasn't about to dive behind a tree to avoid me.

As I approached, I could see Beth begging an older man with some urgency. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I imagined that she was asking for an escape. Nearby was a beaten-up truck, and James was with them.

'Absolutely. I'm sure nothing's damaged, and if it is, the family won't be too upset by it. Ah, here is Master William, now,' I heard the older man say once I was within earshot.

Beth darted away like a startled deer and into the truck's cab. I couldn't see her head through the elevated window and decided not to push my luck. If she didn't want to talk to me, then I wasn't going to force a conversation. Instead, I approached the older man and extended a hand to him in greeting, 'You're Mr Bennett?' it was hardly a difficult leap to make; Beth looked a great deal like her father.

'Greg, if you're a friend of my daughter's.' He shook my hand. 'Nice to meet you, William.'

'I was surprised to see her here,' I said conversationally. I didn't want to betray my alarm, my racing heart, or how torn I was between fear and joy at the sight of her. 'Are you staying in this part of the country for long?'

Mr Bennett laughed, 'I should hope so!'

'Mr Bennett and his daughter live in the town,' James explained. 'They have a garage there. I called Mr Bennett to fix a piece of machinery. He was just on his way.'

'Will you stay for dinner?' I asked. 'We'd be happy if you did.'

And I would have a chance to apologise to Beth properly for how my sister had spoken to her. True, she shouldn't have been playing the piano in the home of a total stranger, but she wasn't to know that we were arriving early. Indeed, she wasn't to know that we were arriving at all. She'd made it clear enough that she had no idea we were the owners of the house.

'I don't think we can tonight,' her father said. My heart squeezed painfully but I hid it well. 'It's your first day here, and you should settle in. But here's my card...' He paused to rummage in his jacket and produced a dog-eared company card with his number and the address of his garage. 'Come by tomorrow at lunch. I'll make sure Beth's around.'

'Thank you, Sir. I'll do that.'

'Call me Greg.' Mr Bennett turned to shake James' hand. 'Until tomorrow, then. James, I'll call about the part.'

I watched him pack up and climb back into the truck without a single sign of Beth. As disappointing as it was not to talk to her again properly, I wouldn't have to wait long for another chance.

After all, I'd been waiting for my chance with her almost since the moment we'd met.

What was one more day?