—

Basil and Rupert rode into the O'Hara driveway, their horses' hooves echoing on the gravel as they approached the house. Meg and Taggie, just about to leave for errands, slowed in their steps, both turning to greet the newcomers. Rupert, effortlessly dismounting with the fluid grace of someone used to a saddle, called out with a teasing grin, "I haven't eaten since we last met." Meg's eyes widened, and she gasped with realization. "Oh, God, we still have your silverware, don't we?" she exclaimed, a mix of amusement and embarrassment in her voice. Rupert gave a nod, his lips curling into a knowing smile. "It's alright," he replied smoothly. "I needed to lose the Christmas weight." Meg chuckled softly, shaking her head at his easy charm. Taggie, standing slightly off to the side, watched the exchange with a fond smile before chiming in. "I'm catering at the Baddingham pheasant shoot next Saturday. And Aunt Meg's getting dragged along. Will you be there?" Rupert's eyes flicked from Meg to Taggie. "Sadly not," he said, his tone polite but with a hint of humor. "I haven't had an invitation to The Falconry since I introduced Paul Stratton to Monica's buffet table." The others laughed at his words and the memory it brought up. Rupert continued, "A real shame on this occasion." he stated, his gaze shifting back to Meg for a moment. The playful banter between Rupert and Meg still present, but the warmth they held for each other kept growing.

Declan chose that exact moment to walk out of the house. "Am I interrupting?" His voice cut through the tension, drawing all four sets of eyes to him. "No Dec, we borrowed Rupert's cutlery for the party." Meg replied quickly. Declan moved, his presence imposing as he positioned himself between his sister and daughter. "Well then, we should return it." He shot Taggie a pointed look, the kind that left little room for debate. Without a word, she retreated inside, her expression a mix of confusion and unease. Meg's gaze flicked between the two men, a knot of concern forming in her chest as she sensed the rising tension. Declan and Rupert were sizing each other up like predators circling, each waiting for the other to make a move. Rupert broke the silence, his voice smooth but with an edge. "Did I ever tell you how much I enjoy your show? Thrilling stuff. Once you get your teeth into someone, you don't let go. Do you?" Declan didn't flinch. "If you're such a fan, why don't you come on?" Meg, sensing where this was headed, tried to intervene, sending her brother a warning glance. "Probably the same reason I admire sharks," she said in a dry tone, "but don't go swimming with them." Declan forced a chuckle, but there was little warmth in it. Meg muttered under her breath, "I wasn't joking."

"You'd make a great guest" Declan said, leaning in slightly, his eyes cold and calculating. "I promise to be gentle." Rupert's lips curled into something between a smirk and a challenge. "The only evening I've got free in the near future is Valentine's Day," he said, his eyes appraising the woman standing next to him "And I doubt it'll stay that way for long." Declan's jaw tightened as he shot a sharp, warning look at his sister. Meg only stood there, frozen, staring up at Rupert with disbelief. Rupert clapped Declan on the shoulder, a condescending pat that made Declan stiffen. "Sorry to disappoint, old chap," he said with a smirk, before leaning in and kissing Meg on the cheek, lingering just a moment too long. "Goodbye, darling." Meg blinked, taking a second to compose herself, then turned to Basil, clearing her throat and calling out, "Good to see you, Bas." Basil's smile was a welcome reprieve from the tension, and he raised a hand in a casual goodbye. "Mags, looking lovely as always." The two men rode off leaving the siblings watching them go.

—

Taggie emerged from the house a moment later, silverware in hand, her brow furrowed in mild confusion as she held it up. The two men had barely left before Declan, his jaw clenched, muttered a low curse, "Cunt." Meg let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes. "That's great, Dec. Really," she snapped, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "You know, I just love a good pissing match. It really makes my day." Her irritation was clear, but she quickly turned to her niece, her expression softening. "Tag, are you ready to go?" Taggie, still holding the silverware awkwardly in front of her, glanced at her aunt with a raised brow. "Yah, just... what do I do with this?" She waved the cutlery around in the air. Meg took the silverware from her hands, tucking it into her bag with a brisk efficiency. "Here, it's fine," she said. "We'll drop it off some other time." Her eyes darted briefly back toward the path where Rupert and Basil had ridden off. She gave a slight shake of her head before turning and following her niece to the car.

—

The air was damp from the lingering rain, the cold seeping through the ground beneath their feet as everyone gathered in front of the Baddingham estate. Meg had always loved being outdoors—there was something about nature that grounded her, the open sky, the rough earth underfoot. It made her feel small in the best way. The cold didn't bother her either; in fact, she welcomed it. But hunting? That was another story entirely. She stood with her niece, her hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her coat. "Why are we here again?" Meg's voice carried a mix of exhaustion and irritation. Taggie gave her a knowing look. "Because I'm working, and you couldn't exactly turn down the invitation." Meg rolled her eyes. "Right. That." She kicked a small rock with the toe of her boot, sending it skittering across the wet ground. "I hate these things. It's just... standing around, watching innocent creatures getting slaughtered for sport." Her words were sharper than intended, her frustration bubbling over. She was a sociable person, someone who could navigate these situations with grace, but she felt no need to hold back with Taggie. Her rant was interrupted by the sound of Monica's voice, calling her name from across the drive. Meg shot her niece a glance. Taggie just shook her head, amused, and whispered, "Go." With a sigh, Meg gave her niece a brief nod before walking toward the group. Slipping a smile on her face to not let her hosts know about her discomfort with the event of the day. This wasn't about her—it was about Taggie, who still hadn't shaken the nerves from the Pavlova incident. As much as she hated this whole affair, her priority was making sure her niece was alright.

"Hello, Monica!" Meg greeted warmly, as they were now on a first-name basis with each other Monica's wide grin matched her own. "Margaret, dear," Monica cooed, gesturing to the couple beside her, "have you met Hermione and Henry?" Meg offered a polite smile and a nod. "Yes, we met at Rosie Davis' dinner last month... in Mayfair, I believe." The couple returned the greeting, nodding enthusiastically. "Yes, we did!" "Lovely to see you again, Margaret," Henry and Hermione said eagerly, both looking at Meg with the same unmistakable admiration others often expressed. Meg had a way about her that drew people in—grace, confidence, an effortless charm. As the conversation moved on, the sound of a red sports car's engine cut through the chill morning air. All heads turned toward the approaching vehicle. "Oh, he's here," Monica announced. "Finally," Tony muttered under his breath. While, Ginger raised an eyebrow and remarked, "Oh, look at that little number." Henry said from ."Yeah well, as long as he can shoot straight, I couldn't give a fuck." "That's the spirit," Tony replied. With a final grunt, Tony moved toward the guest of honor, arms wide in mock warmth. "You made it!" he called out, his voice carrying a note of genuine relief now that the guest had arrived. Freddie stepped out of the car and immediately opened his wife's door. Valerie greeted their host with a bright smile, "Tony, thank you so much for receiving us," "Of course," Tony answered, his tone warmer now as he turned to greet them. Valerie moved past him, gliding toward the small group. "Hello, Valerie." Monica and Meg greeted her. "Hello Margaret, Mon-Mon." Valerie replied before turning towards the third woman, "Lady Hermoine, so honored to make your acquaintance." "Mrs. Jones, I've heard so much about you." Hermoine said politely. Valerie offered a slight squeak of surprise and a large smile, thrilled that someone of Hermoine's status had 'heard' of her.

—

Meg stood beside Lizzie, eyes fixed on the men firing at the pheasants, her attention divided between the sharp reports of the shots and the conversation unfolding between Hermione and Monica "So, how long do you spend on a cock, hmm?" Meg, Lizzie, and Sarah struggled to suppress their grins, exchanging barely concealed glances at the unfortunate choice of words "Uh, well, generally speaking, I can finish one off in fifteen minutes or less. But, my hands aren't as quick as they used to be." Hermione nodded in agreement, her expression serious, while the other three women fought to stifle their ever growing laughter.

Freddie's voice rang out, challenging the group of women, "Any of you ladies fancy having a go?" Valerie shot back, a teasing edge in her tone, "Traditionally speaking, Fred-Fred, it's the men that shoot. We ladies are here merely to marvel at your prowess." Lizzie, without missing a beat, handed her gloves to Meg, her eyes flashing with determination. "I will." Valerie turned to her with surprise, "Oh, wow, she's actually doing it." "She's off," Meg muttered, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

—

Meg was trying to avoid Valerie, not because she disliked her—Valerie was a pleasant enough woman, who tried very hard—but today, Meg just didn't have the energy. She didn't feel she would be able to match Valerie's excitement as the woman invited her to visit the boutique again. As if on cue, Lizzie appeared at her side, a welcome companion. Meg's mood lightened immediately, grateful for the quiet familiarity of her friend. "So...Freddie?" she asked, her voice low, meant only for Lizzie's ears. Lizzie flushed, her cheeks tinting a delicate pink. "Yes, he's... very nice." Meg studied her closely, her gaze soft. There was a quiet warmth in Lizzie's voice, a shy hint of something more. Meg couldn't help but smile. "He is, isn't he?" she replied, full of understanding.

—

Meg stood between Lizzie and Basil, who had joined the hunting party along with Rupert. The group was already settling in when Tony arrived, his son trailing behind him. Freddie's voice cut through the air. "Ah, Tones, look who's here." Basil, holding a bottle of champagne, simply grinned. "Surprise!" Rupert, ever the provocateur, added with a smirk, "Hope you don't mind us dropping in." Tony masked his irritation with a thin smile, the banter flowing easily, but the edge in his voice was clear. "Of course not, I've shot two dozen pheasant, a jay, and a woodcock this morning. Why shouldn't I add a couple cuckoos to that tally?" The group chuckled, but the tension simmered beneath the surface, especially when Rupert added with a wicked grin. "Well for a start, I wouldn't be able to appear on your chat show." The crowd let out an appreciative "ooh," sensing the sparring match they'd been waiting for, but Tony wasn't done. His words were loaded with something darker now, aimed straight at Rupert. "Why shoot you now when I can wait and have you savaged by an Irish wolfhound?" Meg's eyes flickered, narrowing slightly. She didn't like the implication, the way Tony referred to her brother as little more than a dog under his control, waiting to do his bidding. With a dismissive gesture, Tony called out, "Ginger, please show our guests to their pegs for the next round." He turned leading the group on to their next shoot.

As Rupert neared, Meg fixed him with a pointed smile. "I can't believe you turned up uninvited." Rupert nudged her arm, "Don't always have to be invited, Meg." He scanned her for a moment, his eyes lingering a beat too long before he leaned in slightly. "But speaking of invitations, you've gotten one yet you haven't replied." Meg furrowed her brow, her confusion evident. Rupert's smile deepened. "Well, since Valentine's Day is off the table..." He referenced the comment he'd made in front of her brother last week. "...we'll need a new day. How do you feel about dinner?" Meg's eyes flared with surprise, then narrowed in suspicion. "You were serious?" Rupert chuckled, clearly enjoying her disorientation. "Was that your way of asking me on a date?" Meg arched an eyebrow, her arms crossing defensively. Her voice was accusatory but still very much entertained. "Oh, so you think using me as a pawn in your little game with my brother is the right move?" Rupert didn't flinch, his shrug casual, unbothered. "Seemed like the best way to get your attention. Messing with Declan was just a bonus." With that, he reached around her to grab a bottle of champagne, effortlessly turning to follow the group. As he walked backward, he threw out, "Good things seldom come to those who wait." Meg stood there, momentarily stunned by the audacity of it all. She shook her head, a disbelieving scoff escaping her lips. Meg raised a hand to block the sun from her eyes and called out after him. "You're not even going to wait and hear my response?" Rupert shrugged effortlessly, his grin widened. "I think we both know exactly what you're going to say." Meg couldn't help the wide smile forming on her face, as she moved to follow.

—

Meg helped Taggie haul all her things inside the house, her movements brisk but distracted. As they entered, Declan greeted them. "Ah, how was the shoot?" Meg answered easily, "Well, they killed loads of birds, but they loved Taggie's food." Taggie added on, "Oh, and Rupert stopped by." The twenty-year old hadn't heard the details of the conversation between Meg and Rupert earlier, but she could tell by the lingering giddiness in her aunt's mood that something had happened. A small smile tugged at Meg's lips, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared when Declan's voice sliced through the air, dripping with annoyance. "Oh, Jesus Christ, Is there no place free of that man?"

As the man left, Meg and Taggie exchanged a glance, both silently agreeing. With quiet urgency, they snuck into Declan's office, rifling through notes and newspaper clippings. They were deep in their search when the sound of footsteps froze them—Declan stood in the doorway, a mug in hand, his presence sudden and commanding. "Why are you two in here?" Taggie tried to defend the man she could see her aunt growing attached to. "What are you planning on doing to Rupert? He seems decent." Declan's response was swift, his tone sharp. "I raised you to be smarter than that." Meg stepped forward, thinking her brother was going too far. "Now, Declan..." "Oh don't even get me started on you Mags." Declan cut her off, his voice laced with frustration. "Have you lost your mind?" At the harsh look his sister gave him, Delcan tried to argue, "A story is a story." Taggie shot back with conviction. "It looks like it's all been said before." Declan's eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "No, it hasn't." Taggie fired back, "He doesn't deserve whatever you have planned for him." Declan watched her leave the room, the flicker of triumph in his gaze still present. "It's called journalism," he called after her, his voice a little too cold. Meg moved to follow her niece, her voice quiet but loaded with an unmistakable edge. "You can call it whatever you want. It's cruel, and we both know it."

—

Meg's knuckles rapped sharply against the heavy door of Penscombe. It swung open a moment later, and Rupert's surprised gaze fell on her. "Meg?" "Rupert," Meg replied, her smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She found his reaction amusing. Rupert cleared his throat, recovering from his shock. "Come in," he said, stepping aside. Meg passed him and was immediately swarmed by dogs, the golden retriever among them giving her particular attention, its nose nuzzling her hand. Rupert stood back, watching her. "I'll take any excuse I can to see you," he began, his tone light, though his gaze held something else beneath the surface. "But I get the feeling this is not just a social call." Meg tore her attention from the dogs and, with a small shift of her bag, produced the silverware she'd been holding onto for days now. She handed it to him with a smirk. "You forgot this." Rupert's fingers closed around the items. "Ah." He looked at her, and there was a brief silence between them. He didn't move immediately, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Have you thought about my proposal?" Meg raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. "I thought you already knew what my response would be." Rupert tilted his head, a subtle challenge in his gaze. "I do. But I'd still like to hear you say it." Meg paused, letting the silence stretch for just a moment longer than necessary before speaking with a quiet, deliberate smile. "I think dinner would be lovely."

Relief flickered across Rupert's face as he closed the distance between them, stepping closer, the space between them shrinking. Meg found herself leaning back against the wall, a quiet thrill running through her as his presence crowded her. "How about the 15th?" Rupert asked, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. Meg tilted her head, meeting his gaze with a wry smile. "Okay. That is if my brother doesn't destroy you before then." Rupert's lips quirked. "You have very little faith in my survival instincts." Meg hummed thoughtfully, eyes twinkling. "No, I think your instincts are quite sharp. But you only listen to them when it suits you." She shifted slightly, never breaking eye contact. "And I still think you shouldn't go on Declan's show." Rupert's response was calm, even casual. "I know." Rupert leaned in, one arm bracing against the wall beside her, the other sliding around her waist with slow deliberation. His fingers rested there, a firm but gentle pressure. "I was serious the other day, you know," Meg said, her voice softer now. "You and Declan—neither of you know when to quit when it comes to a worthy opponent. You both like the chase too much." Rupert's eyes flickered with something unreadable, the slightest softening before his lips curled into that familiar smile. Meg narrowed her eyes. "You're still going to do it, aren't you?" A low hum rumbled in his chest, his smile deepening in response.

Meg shook her head with a quiet sigh, "Rupert Campbell-Black. You really can't help yourself, can you?" Rupert leaned in even closer, his body a mere breath away from hers. She could feel the heat of him against her skin, his presence swallowing up the space between them. His breath was warm against her neck as he whispered, his voice low. "Margaret O'Hara... No, I can't." Meg's pulse skipped, blood rushing in her ears as she felt the unmistakable pull of his proximity. Her skin tingled. She felt his lips just barely graze her skin