Their Second Chance Miracle

It had been a long time since Finn Clifford last walked the cobbled streets of Wishcliffe village on a mission, but he had one now. One final step towards the goal that had driven him for the last decade.

Growing up at Clifford House, less than a mile away, his usual goals in Wishcliffe had to do with hanging out with his best friend Toby Blythe and trying to obtain illegal pints at the King’s Arms pub. But he was an adult now—a thirty-something even, as Toby, now his business partner, kept reminding him with a smirk. He had a purpose in life. He was a successful businessman, a force to be reckoned with, a world away from the boy he had been…

But he still winced when he saw the ancient bent form of John Yarrow sitting on his usual bench outside the King’s Arms, smoking his pipe.

‘Finn Clifford, as I live and breathe,’ John called out across the street, his breath misting in the cold air. ‘Been a while. Not looking for mischief, I hope?’

‘No mischief, sir,’ Finn called back. ‘I’m on a mission.’

‘Are you now?’ John’s gaze was assessing. ‘Sounds like it’s going to get you into trouble.’

‘Probably,’ Finn admitted. ‘But it’ll be worth it.’

‘Hmm.’ John sucked on his pipe, then nodded. ‘Get on with it, then.’

Finn picked up his pace.

The weak January sun had barely managed to make it above the rooftops of the cotton-candy-coloured cottages that lined the side streets leading down to the sea. In summer, the village would be bustling with locals, tourists and day-trippers from the surrounding towns, all looking for the coastal charm Wishcliffe provided in spades. But today the high street was empty, a number of the shops not even open for the day.

The shop he wanted was, though. From the cross at the centre of the village, where High Street and Water Street met, Finn could see the yellow glow of the lamps in the window and the rusting metal shop sign swaying in the breeze from the sea beyond.

He stalled for a moment, breathing in the salt air until his lungs felt cold. Part of him—not a small part either—wanted to turn around and head back to the tiny car park by the chapel where he’d left his car. But that wouldn’t be in keeping with his mission. And he’d come too far over the last few years to give up now, when he was so close.

This was the final stage of a decade-long plan of revenge. He couldn’t stop now, even if he wanted to.

Besides, the worst she could say was no, right?

Resolved, Finn headed down Water Street and pushed open the door to Wishcliffe Antiques and Collectibles without even pausing to glance through the window first.

Victoria looked up as the bell over the door jingled, and Finn felt a jolt as his heart jumped into his throat. In the yellowing light of the coloured glass lampshades dotted on the shelves around her, she appeared more beautiful than ever.

Her silky dark hair was caught up in a simple ponytail at the base of her neck, and her severe black jacket and top did nothing to accentuate the gorgeous figure he knew was hidden underneath. She was thinner than he remembered, her eyes a little large in her face, the shadows under them not quite hidden by make-up. But she’d never looked more beautiful to him.

Stop staring, he told himself fiercely. She’s Barnaby’s. She’ll always be Barnaby’s.

And because of that he would only ever be able to admire her from a distance, never letting her know how perfect he thought she was. He’d resigned himself to that years ago, that first summer Toby’s older brother Barnaby had brought her home to Wishcliffe after they met at university.

He’d fallen in love—or at least lust—on the spot. And known in that same instance that he could never do anything about it—least of all let Victoria know how he felt. So he hadn’t. Not in all the fifteen years that had followed. Barnaby had been like a big brother to Finn too. He would never do anything to betray that.

Not even now he was gone.

‘Finn!’ Victoria’s smile looked forced, but that wasn’t really a surprise. ‘How lovely. What can I do for you?’

That was her hostess voice, Finn recognised. The one she’d used as the lady of the manor, Viscountess Wishcliffe, before she was widowed. Before she’d been replaced last September, when Toby came home to inherit his older brother’s title as Viscount, and brought his new American bride, Autumn, with him.

She’d never used that tone with him, though. He’d always been family, before now.

‘Toby told me you were working here now,’ he said, not answering her question. Not yet. ‘I had to see it for myself to believe it.’

Victoria bristled at that. ‘I have a degree in art history and a master’s in art business, plus several years’ experience of working at auction houses. What’s so incredible about me working at an antiques shop?’

He’d set them off on the wrong foot already, which was sort of par for the course for him with Victoria. He’d never been able to keep his foot out of his mouth around her.

‘I’d forgotten about you working up in town.’ He hadn’t. Finn didn’t think he’d forgotten anything about Victoria from the moment they’d met.

She’d commuted into London from Wishcliffe, where she was already living with Barnaby, planning their grand wedding, and only quit after their son, Harry, was born. She’d planned to go back, he knew, but then Toby and Barnaby’s father died and Barnaby took up the title, and she’d had more than enough to do as Viscountess, keeping Wishcliffe from going under.

But that was Toby and Autumn’s job now, and here Victoria was. Getting back to her roots.

‘I wasn’t suggesting you weren’t qualified to be here,’ he said when she stayed silent. ‘I’d have thought you were over-qualified, if anything.’

‘I’ve been out of the antiques world a long time.’ She sounded faintly mollified. ‘This seemed like a good way to ease myself in, and Joanne needed the help in the shop, so it worked out for both of us.’

‘That’s…good.’ Finn perched himself on the corner of an old oak sideboard, until Victoria glared at him and he slid off again, hands in his pockets. ‘Actually it’s antiques I came to speak to you about.’

Her eyebrows jumped at that, surprise obvious on her face. ‘Antiques? I’ve seen your London flat, Finn. There’s not a thing older than last year in the whole place.’

A slight exaggeration, but he had to admit that he favoured a more modern aesthetic in his London home. ‘Ah, but this isn’t for the flat. It’s for Clifford House.’

Victoria’s eyes widened as she leant forward across the desk. ‘You really did it then? You bought back Clifford House?’

Nobody had thought he could, not even his closest friends, not really. But Clifford House was his by rights—by birth, by history, by inheritance. It had been passed down to the eldest son in the Clifford line for so many generations that they’d run out of room on the family tree. It was the place he’d been born, the place he’d grown up, the place that he’d always known would come to him.

The last place he’d seen his mother alive. The only place he had happy childhood memories with her.

Clifford House belonged to him, and he belonged to it. And now, finally, that was official in the eyes of the law again.

Pride filled him as he nodded. ‘I really did.’ It had taken him a decade to earn the money and orchestrate the sale. Ten years since the day he’d learned that his own father had sold his heritage, his home, purely to keep it from ever falling into Finn’s hands. Not just Clifford House itself, or the grounds that surrounded it, but every heirloom, every keepsake, every stick of furniture that went with it. ‘But that’s just the start.’

Because if his father’s aim had been to stop Finn from ever being Lord at Clifford House after his death, then he had failed. And Finn had every intention of rubbing his nose in that failure.

‘The start?’ Victoria asked. ‘What’s next?’

‘Next, I have to buy back all the heirlooms and antiques to fill the place. And that’s where you come in.’

*

Victoria stared at Finn, taking in the smirk on his lips and the fire in his eyes.

Of course. He’d only come to find her because he needed her help. That made sense.

Or maybe Toby had put him up to it—had him come up with a pity job to keep Poor Victoria busy now she’d handed the estate over to him and Autumn. Never mind that she’d wanted to leave.

She’d stayed on at Wishcliffe for a full year after the horrific sailing accident that took her husband and son from her. She’d lived in that big house full of all its memories, and she’d followed the plans that she and Barnaby had made together, to try and make the estate solvent. She’d given Toby the time he needed to tie up his business loose ends—and to get to a mental place where he was ready to take on the job as Viscount, something he’d never thought would fall to him.

Victoria had done everything she could and then she’d stepped back gracefully to let Autumn take her rightful place as Viscountess, while she’d helped and supported her from the sidelines. And when they were settled up at Wishcliffe House she’d moved out—even if it was only as far as her little cottage on the outskirts of the village, by the sea. She’d found herself a new job. She’d stepped into a new life. A quieter, safer, softer life than the one she’d thought she’d be living with Barnaby and Harry, but her life all the same.

She’d done everything properly. Everything right. Thinking of others all the way.

But that wasn’t enough, apparently. Toby and Autumn still insisted on dragging her back to the main house for dinner every week, still fretted that she wasn’t happy, that she needed more in her life. More people, more adventure, more challenge.

What none of them seemed to understand was that she’d had all that. She’d had true love, the fairy-tale prince—well, viscount in her case—the perfect family, the happily-ever-after.

It just seemed that ‘ever after’ didn’t last as long as it used to, that was all.

Victoria knew that her life had been blessed—from the moment she’d met Barnaby until the moment she’d lost him and their son at sea. She’d had all her good fortune and used it up fast. All she hoped for now was a quiet, settled, content existence, doing things she was good at. Was that so much to ask?

Apparently so, because now here was Finn, with a huge project that he just had to have her help for—as if there weren’t a hundred antiques dealers in London who would jump at the chance to take it on.

‘Toby put you up to this, didn’t he?’ she said accusingly.

Finn looked honestly taken aback. ‘No. I haven’t actually spoken to him about it yet—he’s meeting me at Clifford House later. I wanted to get you on board first.’

‘You really expect me to believe that after a year away you’ve come back completely without prompting to ask me to take on your little revenge shopping trip?’

‘It’s not a revenge shopping trip,’ Finn said with distaste. Victoria raised her eyebrows. ‘Fine, it is. But can we at least call it something else? Like a Heritage Restoration Project?’

He didn’t mention the year away. Victoria wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t the only friend who’d dropped out of her life once her circumstances changed. People weren’t sure how to deal with a thirty-three-year-old widow who’d lost not just her husband but her only child as well. It was too sad for them, so they stayed away.

Joanne, who owned the antiques shop, had helped her come to terms with that. She’d lost her husband in her late forties and moved to Wishcliffe to get away from the pitying looks and the blind date set-ups.

‘People start to panic that you’ll be on your own, you see,’ she’d said when Victoria had wandered in one day, three months after the funeral, looking for a distraction. ‘You’re an aberration. So they try to fix you. To find you a new life, before you’ve finished saying goodbye to your old one. Either that or they stay away, like what happened to you might be catching. They’re scared is all, and they’re thinking of themselves instead of you. You take your time, do what you need to do, and ignore all the rest, okay?’

Joanne had become a friend, long before she’d been her boss. Victoria credited her with helping her find her feet. Her own path towards what she wanted the rest of her life to be.

Peaceful mostly, she’d decided.

Finn Clifford’s life, Victoria knew, was anything but peaceful.

Even before his father had upped and sold Clifford House and all its contents, just to stop it falling into the hands of a son he regularly described as ‘degenerate’, the people of Wishcliffe and the surrounding area had all known of the drama playing out in the family. From Finn’s mother walking out when he was a child—only to die a year later in a car crash with her lover—to the knockdown, drag-out fights between father and son that had required the police to be called more than once, Finn’s life was definitely dramatic.

And that was something that Victoria wanted no part of.

‘It’ll be fun,’ he cajoled, obviously sensing he was about to get rejected. ‘Like a treasure hunt. That’s what we should call it! My Heritage Treasure Hunt. Buying back all the things my father sold and shoving our successes in his face. It’ll be great!’

‘For you, maybe.’ Victoria shook her head. ‘Do you even realise what you’re asking, Finn? It’ll be months of research, travel, work… I’m not up for that. And besides, I don’t think this focus on revenge is good for you. You’ve bought the house. Isn’t that enough?’

His whole adult life, that was what he’d been focused on, as far as Victoria could see. Being successful enough, earning enough, to buy back Clifford House after his father sold it when Finn was away at Oxford, in his last year of university.

And now he’d done it. Shouldn’t that be enough?

‘No,’ Finn said, his voice cold. ‘It’s not enough. But I need your help for the rest. Please, Victoria.’

The please almost broke her. That and the idea of being needed again. Having a purpose beyond living out her quiet, safe days.

But that wasn’t her plan for her future.

‘I’m sorry, Finn. I can’t.’ She shrugged apologetically. ‘I have obligations here, working for Joanne, apart from anything else. I can’t just up and run away on a treasure hunt with you.’

Even if a part of her wanted to. A small, secret part of her that had been quiet for such a long time, and was now stirring again at the thought of a new adventure.

His disappointment was clear on his face, but he didn’t press her any further.

‘I understand.’ Finn reached across the counter to place a palm against her shoulder. ‘Take care of yourself, Victoria. And let me know if you change your mind.’ He turned and walked away, back out into Water Street, heading for the cross.

‘I won’t,’ she whispered to herself as the door closed behind him.

*

‘I love what you haven’t done with the place, Finn.’

Finn started as his best friend’s voice echoed through the empty rooms of Clifford House. Turning away from the window, he gave Toby a wry smile as he joined him in what had always been the ballroom, a vast open space with wooden floors and huge windows leading out onto the terrace. Finn vaguely remembered a ball being held there once, but that must have been long before his mother had left, and he didn’t have so many memories left from that time. Just the impression of swirling dresses and music and staying up past his bedtime.

Most of his memories of Clifford House weren’t the happiest. But they were his, just like the house. And some of them, the earliest ones…

Sitting with his mother in her favourite garden, making up fairy tales together. Baking mince pies with her at Christmas. Curling up beside the fire after playing in the snow while she made him hot chocolate, and knowing that he was loved.

Those memories were what he forced himself to remember when he looked around Clifford House now. Not the others. They were the reason this place mattered.

Something else he wouldn’t let his father take away from him.

‘Well, you wanted to see it.’ Finn spread his arms wide to encompass the vast emptiness of the old Georgian-style manor house. ‘Here it is.’

‘Not quite as I remember it,’ Toby observed. ‘I seem to remember there being, oh, furniture, maybe?’

‘I’m working on it. Come on, I’ve got the kitchen up and running at least.’

He led Toby through the warren of corridors to the kitchen, ignoring the empty space where the old farmhouse table used to sit and directing him to one of the folding chairs beside a rickety picnic table instead. ‘Coffee? Or beer?’

‘Coffee’s fine,’ Toby replied, gazing around at the space. ‘So, what’s first on your agenda here?’

Finn flipped on the kettle. He really needed to get a proper coffee-maker set up in here. Coffee, then furniture, that was the actual plan—but probably not what Toby was asking.

‘That depends,’ he said. ‘I got lucky in that the most recent owners only got as far as making the place good and painting it all white before they ran out of funds and had to sell. Apparently this place has been a money pit for at least three other families since my father sold it.’

‘So you’ve got a blank canvas. You can really make this place your own.’ Toby sounded approving of that—maybe even a little jealous, Finn thought. ‘What I wouldn’t give sometimes to start over at Wishcliffe. I think there are spiders’ webs in some of the corners that are older than me.’

‘You don’t mean that.’ For Finn, Wishcliffe House had always been the perfect beacon of cosiness and welcoming warmth. With its roaring fire in the winter, apple cider fresh from the orchard and warm biscuits just out of the oven, it was the only place Finn had wanted to spend his school holidays after his mother was gone. Even when Clifford House had been filled with furniture, it had never been welcoming to him without her there. ‘Besides, I refuse to believe that Mrs Heath would suffer a spider to live on her watch.’

‘True.’ Toby gave a half smile at the reminder of his terrifyingly efficient housekeeper. ‘Still, do you know there’s not a single piece of furniture or decoration in that place that Autumn and I picked out ourselves? It’s all heirlooms. Whereas here…’ He trailed off, perhaps realising that he was treading on uncomfortable ground.

‘Here, my father sold all our family heirlooms, just so they’d never be mine,’ Finn said. ‘But the joke’s on him, because I’m going to buy them all back.’

Toby blinked. ‘What? All of them? Isn’t that a little…ambitious?’

Finn had a strong suspicion that ‘ambitious’ wasn’t his friend’s first choice of word to finish that sentence. ‘Fine. Maybe not all of them. But the important ones I want to track down and buy back. As for the rest of the house, I plan to find pieces as close as possible to the ones that were here before. I’m going to put this place back the way it was before my father lost his mind.’ And then he would bring the old man back to Clifford House and show him that he’d lost. That Finn had got everything he’d tried to deny him and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

Rubbing a hand over his forehead, Toby gave Finn a concerned look. ‘You don’t think that just buying back the house was enough? I mean, that’s what you were always focused on. What you’ve been working for all these years. Can’t you, I don’t know, just enjoy it?’

It hadn’t been enough for Lord Clifford to make his only son’s life miserable. He’d had to take away everything that was his by rights. To badmouth him to the whole of society. And to do it just as Finn had been poised to graduate, to step out into the world of work and make a life for himself. While the parents and families of his fellow students had been setting up opportunities for them, introducing them to people they needed to know, or at least helping them with job applications and housing them in the meantime, Lord Clifford had been systematically undermining Finn’s attempts to make his way in the world.

Every interview Finn had attended after Oxford had been met by a knowing look from someone on the other side of the desk—someone who knew his father or had heard the rumours. Finn Clifford was unreliable, a degenerate, a failure. It was a large part of why Finn had persuaded Toby that they should set up their own business—and then let Toby be the public face of the company, at least to start with.

His father had tried to ruin his whole life.

So, no. It wasn’t enough just to have the house back, even though that alone was a huge measure of his success. He had to show his father how utterly he’d undone everything Lord Clifford had strived to achieve. Turn back the clock to before his mother had left, to when Clifford House had actually felt like home.

Finn shook his head. ‘It’s not enough, Toby. You know it isn’t. You know what my father did. What he is. It’s not enough to have the house. I’ve got to beat him completely, or he’ll always feel like he’s won.’

‘Right.’ Toby sighed. ‘Okay, well, if we’re doing this, we’re going to need help.’

‘We?’

Toby shrugged. ‘You’re my best friend. You might sound kind of obsessive crazy right now, but if you didn’t turn your back on me when I accidentally got married to a woman I didn’t know in Vegas, I’m not abandoning you now.’

‘And look how well that Vegas thing worked out for you and Autumn,’ Finn pointed out. Not only were they still married, but they were planning a spring ceremony and party to celebrate it with all their friends in Wishcliffe. ‘Maybe this will be more successful than you think.’

‘Maybe.’ Toby didn’t sound convinced. ‘But you’re still going to need more help than me—I don’t know the first thing about antiques.’

Enlightenment hit him, and Finn watched as Toby caught up to where Finn had been since the moment he’d walked into his new old property and realised what his next steps needed to be. ‘Victoria! She’s the antiques expert. And honestly, I’ve been a bit worried about her lately. I know she says she likes working at the shop, but she’s used to running a whole estate. She’s got to be bored. And I don’t want her to just give up on life the way my mother did when Dad died. This could be the perfect project to get her engaged again!’

‘She said no,’ Finn said, and watched as Toby’s excitement deflated.

‘You already spoke to her?’

Finn nodded. ‘This morning. She’s not interested.’

Toby’s face darkened. ‘Because she’s not interested in anything any more. Autumn keeps trying to get her involved with the planning for our wedding celebration, and I’ve been asking her about playing a part in some of the new projects up on the estate, but she keeps making excuses not to get involved.’

Finn suspected that probably had more to do with Victoria wanting to draw a line between the life she’d lost and the one she was living, but he could see how worried Toby was about her, so he didn’t say so.

‘What do you think I should do, then?’

‘Keep at her,’ Toby said. ‘Don’t let her just give up on everything that used to matter to her. Okay? Keep asking until she says yes.’

Finn had always believed that when a lady said no he should accept that and walk away. But in this case he could almost see Toby’s point. Victoria was pulling away from the people who loved her right when she needed them most. And the life she was building for herself, alone…was it one she really wanted? Or the only thing she thought was open to her?

If Victoria had turned him down not because she didn’t want to help but because she thought that was what she should do as a widowed woman, then he at least had to give her a nudge, didn’t he?

Nothing at all to do with the fact that just the idea of spending more time with her made him smile.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Finn said. ‘First, do you have a number for Joanne Soames?’