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CHAPTER 25

C hapter 25

Sebastian had avoided The Red Lion for two days following his call to Tessa, which was roughly equivalent to a recovering addict avoiding their favorite bar. The formal acquisition offer had been delivered Wednesday morning by courier—impersonal, efficient, exactly as his father would have handled it.

And exactly as guaranteed to make you look like a complete villain.

He’d thrown himself into other projects, buried himself in meetings, organized his already-pristine office twice, and even considered taking up meditation. Anything to avoid thinking about the hurt in Tessa’s voice when she’d called him “Mr. Westfield” again, wielding his surname like a perfectly aimed dagger.

But Thursday afternoon found him returning despite himself, drawn to The Red Lion like a moth to a flame that was definitely going to burn him. The pretext was legitimate enough—Oliver had called, excited about discovering an old staff photograph that the historical society had unearthed. Sebastian told himself he was simply following up on a research lead.

Nothing to do with needing to see Tessa’s face again, even if she looks at you like you’ve personally kicked her puppy.

The pub was quiet when he arrived, the mid-afternoon lull leaving only a few regulars nursing pints in distant corners. Tessa stood behind the bar, and Sebastian’s heart performed an embarrassing little skip when she looked up.

Her expression cooled from surprised welcome to careful neutrality in approximately two seconds—a transformation Sebastian felt like a physical blow. She wore a forest green sweater that brought out her eyes, her dark hair pulled back in a way that revealed the elegant line of her neck.

“Sebastian,” she greeted him, voice professional but not icy. “Oliver’s already here. In my office.”

“Thank you,” he managed, grateful for the businesslike reception even as part of him mourned the easy warmth that had grown between them.

Oliver looked up from the small desk as Sebastian entered the cramped office, his expression brightening with discovery-fueled enthusiasm.

“Perfect timing!” Oliver announced. “Look what the historical society found.”

He pushed a protective sleeve across the desk with reverence. Inside was a faded black-and-white photograph, its edges yellowed with age. The image showed the staff of The Red Lion, circa 1940 according to the penciled notation on the back. About a dozen people posed outside the pub’s entrance, their faces serious in the manner of wartime photography.

“Back row, third from left,” Oliver directed. “That’s Will Donovan. The historical society confirmed it through their employment records.”

Sebastian studied the indicated figure—a young man with dark hair and a slight smile that managed to be both charming and mischievous despite the formal pose. Even in the grainy photograph, there was a liveliness to his eyes that suggested he was the type who made people laugh.

“And beside him,” Oliver continued, pointing to a young woman standing close to Will, “is someone identified only as ‘R.W.’ in the register.”

Sebastian examined the petite woman with carefully styled hair and a pressed uniform. Something about her features struck a chord—familiar in the way distant relatives sometimes were in old family photographs.

“Rebecca Williams,” Tessa said from the doorway, appearing with a tray holding three cups of tea. “It has to be.”

Sebastian’s chest tightened at the sound of her voice—warm when discussing the research, carefully neutral when she glanced his way. He wanted to say something to bridge the professional distance between them, but what could he say?

They moved to the main area of the pub, where a larger table allowed them to spread out their materials. Sebastian found himself seated beside Tessa—close enough that their elbows occasionally brushed as they examined the photograph, close enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume.

Neither acknowledged the contact, though Sebastian was acutely aware of each brush of her sleeve against his.

Alice arrived shortly after, her pregnancy more pronounced than when Sebastian had last seen her. She carried a folder with the determination of a woman on a mission, lowering herself carefully into her chair.

“Rebecca Williams was fascinating,” she announced. “After losing Will, she became involved in recording civilian experiences during the Blitz. She worked for the War Office documenting firsthand accounts.”

“That explains her contribution to the collection I found,” Sebastian said.

Alice nodded, laying out a family tree she’d constructed with professional thoroughness.”She married Kenneth Porter in 1952, becoming Rebecca Porter. They had three children, the oldest named William. After Kenneth died in 1970, she married my grandfather Harold Westfield two years later—she was in her fifties by then, but they had a beautiful late-in-life romance. That’s how she became Rebecca Westfield, my grandmother. But here’s where it gets interesting.” She pointed to a notation beside Rebecca’s death date in 1987. “Her obituary mentioned she was survived by her second husband, Harold Westfield, whom she married in 1972.”

Sebastian felt the words hit him like a physical blow. “Westfield?”

“Probably just coincidence,” Oliver suggested casually. “It’s not that uncommon a surname.”

But something nagged at Sebastian’s memory as he returned his attention to the photograph. The young woman—Rebecca—wore a simple uniform, but at her throat, partially visible beneath her collar, was a necklace that made his breath catch.

A heart-shaped locket with what appeared to be a small pearl inset.

Recognition struck him like lightning. He’d seen that exact locket before—in his mother’s jewelry box, nestled among her treasures. A family heirloom she cherished, passed down from her grandmother with stories about a woman of “remarkable spirit” who had lived through the war.

“Does anyone have a magnifying glass?” Sebastian asked, his voice sounding distant even to himself.

Tessa produced one from behind the bar, and Sebastian’s heart did that stupid skipping thing again when their fingers brushed as she handed it to him. He focused the glass on the locket with the intensity of a man whose worldview was about to shift.

There was no mistaking the distinctive shape and pearl detail—absolutely identical to the one his mother had shown him countless times as a child.

“Harold Westfield,” Sebastian said slowly, pieces clicking into place. “My great-grandfather. So Rebecca Williams became Rebecca Porter, then Rebecca Westfield when she remarried.”

Three pairs of eyes turned to him in surprise.

A strange certainty settled over him. “She was my great-grandmother.”

The silence that followed was profound, broken only by the distant clink of glasses and Sebastian’s heart beating loud enough to echo.

“Are you certain?” Tessa asked softly, her voice touched with wonder.

Sebastian pointed to the locket. “That exact piece is in my mother’s possession. A family heirloom passed down from her grandmother—Rebecca.” His gaze met Tessa’s, and for a moment the careful distance between them dissolved. “The ghost we’ve been trying to help loved my great-grandmother.”

The implications washed over him in waves. Will Donovan had loved Rebecca Williams, had died thinking of her, carrying her memory into whatever came after. And Rebecca had gone on to marry another man, have children, and eventually become Rebecca Westfield—Sebastian’s great-grandmother.

If Will had survived that night...if Rebecca had received his letter and married him instead...I would never have existed.

His entire family line owed its existence to Will Donovan’s death.

Without a word, Sebastian rose from the table and moved to a quiet corner of the pub, the photograph still clutched in his hand. The world had shifted beneath his feet, leaving him scrambling for balance.

He stared at the faded image of Rebecca Williams standing beside Will Donovan, trying to reconcile this stranger with the woman his mother had occasionally described—the grandmother who had encouraged his interest in history despite his father’s disapproval.

Had she ever spoken of Will? Had she carried that first love with her even after building a new life? Her contribution to the Blitz testimonies suggested she had—ten years later, she was still describing looking for his face in crowds.

She never forgot him. Even after everything, she never forgot.

A strange connection washed over Sebastian. He had been drawn to this pub from the beginning—not just as a development opportunity, but something deeper. Had some unconscious recognition guided him? Had part of him known he belonged here?

Footsteps approached, and Sebastian looked up to find Tessa settling beside him. She didn’t offer platitudes or ask obvious questions—just sat with him in comfortable silence.

“I don’t know what to make of this,” Sebastian admitted, his voice rougher than intended. “If Will had lived—if he and Rebecca had married—I wouldn’t exist.”

Tessa’s hand found his where it rested on the table, the contact warm and steady. “But you do exist. And now you know why Will’s story resonated with you so strongly.”

Sebastian nodded, still processing implications too large for his brain to contain. “My mother used to talk about her grandmother sometimes. How she survived the Blitz and went on to document civilian experiences. How she was remarkable for her time—independent, strong-willed, determined to preserve stories that might otherwise be lost.” He looked back at the photograph, seeing Rebecca with new eyes. “But she never mentioned Will.”

The realization hit him with quiet force. Rebecca had carried this love silently for the rest of her life, building a family and a future while never forgetting the young man who’d died in a cellar beneath this very pub.

“Some loves leave marks too deep to speak of easily,” Tessa said softly, and something in her voice made Sebastian look at her sharply.

The temperature in the pub had changed subtly, the usual chill that accompanied Will’s presence now feeling less oppressive and more contemplative. The afternoon light took on a golden quality despite the overcast day outside.

Sebastian could hear Oliver and Alice’s animated voices discussing genealogy and family trees, but their words seemed to fade into background murmur. He found himself absorbed in the warmth of Tessa’s hand on his own, the way she was looking at him with something approaching their old easy affection.

“I should tell my mother,” he said after a while, reluctant to break the spell. “She might have more information about Rebecca that could help us understand what Will needs.”

“That sounds right,” Tessa agreed, her hand still anchoring him.

The pub door opened to admit Harry and the twins, returning from some adventure that had left them both slightly disheveled and energetic. The boys spotted the gathered adults and raced over, skidding to a halt beside the table.

“Did you find out?” Ewan demanded, bouncing on his toes. “About Rebecca?”

Sebastian exchanged a startled glance with Tessa. “How did you?—“

“The soldier told us,” Malcolm explained matter-of-factly. “He’s been trying to tell you for ages.”

Harry placed hands on the twins’ shoulders with practiced containment. “Boys, give the grown-ups a moment.”

But Ewan had noticed the photograph in Sebastian’s hand, his attention zeroing in with laser focus. The boy tilted his head in that peculiar way Sebastian had learned meant he was listening to something no one else could hear.

Then he turned to Sebastian, his expression solemn.

“The soldier says the lady in the picture is your family,” he announced.

The adults exchanged glances. There was no way the child could have known what they’d just discovered.

“Yes,” Sebastian said carefully, crouching to the boy’s level. “She was my great-grandmother.”

Ewan nodded as though this confirmed something he already knew. “That’s why he’s been waiting for you.”

Sebastian felt his world tilt again. “Waiting for me? Why?”

The boy shrugged with childlike casualness despite the eerie meaning. “He says you need to read the rest of her book. The part you didn’t find.”

Malcolm tugged on his brother’s sleeve. “Can we have snacks now? Ghost talking makes me hungry.”

Harry chuckled, steering both boys toward the bar. “Come on then, let’s see what Tessa has that won’t spoil your dinner.”

With the twins distracted by the promise of food, Sebastian was left staring after them in bewilderment.

“The rest of her book?” Tessa repeated, voicing his confusion. “Did Rebecca Williams write more than that testimony?”

“Not that I know of,” Sebastian said, his mind racing. “But I only searched for her name in relation to The Red Lion and the Blitz. There could be other publications, other archives.”

Oliver rejoined them, eyes bright with discovery. “This changes everything, doesn’t it? Will Donovan loved Rebecca Williams, who later became Rebecca Westfield—your great-grandmother. And you had no idea when you first came here that you were connected to its ghost.”

“The universe has a twisted sense of humor,” Sebastian acknowledged.

As the conversation continued around him, Sebastian found his thoughts returning to the acquisition offer sitting on Tessa’s desk. His company was actively trying to purchase and demolish the building where his great-grandmother’s first love had died. The place that held a piece of his family history he’d never known existed.

The place where he’d met Tessa. Where he’d discovered there were things more valuable than profit margins.

The place where you fell in love.

The thought hit him with startling clarity. He’d come to The Red Lion to destroy it and had instead found his heart, his history, and quite possibly his future—if he was brave enough to choose it.

But as he looked at Tessa, saw the careful distance she was maintaining despite the warmth of her hand still resting on his, Sebastian knew that choosing his heart meant more than just personal courage. It meant finding a way to protect everything that mattered—Will’s memory, Rebecca’s legacy, Tessa’s dream, and the jobs of three hundred people who depended on Westfield Development.

It meant outsmarting Victor Thornton at his own game.

“I need to go,” Sebastian said, the weight of decision settling on his shoulders. “There are things I need to research. Someone I need to talk to.”

Tessa’s expression returned to careful neutrality, the brief warmth fading. “Of course.”

“I’ll keep you updated on anything I find about Rebecca’s other writings,” Sebastian added, wanting her to understand he wasn’t simply retreating to the corporate world.

She nodded, though the warmth in her eyes had dimmed. “That would be helpful.”

As Sebastian left the pub, stepping into the chill November air, he felt the pull in opposite directions—his professional obligations dragging him one way, his connection to Will and Rebecca and Tessa pulling him another.

But for the first time in his career, Sebastian knew which path he wanted to choose.

Now he just had to find the courage—and the strategy—to actually choose it.