Christmas With The Duke

Loughmore was everything to her. Embraced not only by her grandparents, but also the rest of the staff, it had been a refuge from her lonely childhood in Dublin. It was where she had fallen in love for the first time...with the man so offhandedly telling her now he was selling it. The man she had lost her virginity to. The man who had created a baby with her, here on the grounds he was so indifferently about to sell.

Anger and deep upset fought for supremacy in her chest. She inhaled time and time again. Trying to calm down. Eventually she managed to say, ‘Loughmore has been in your family for ever...you can’t sell it.’

He glanced at her unhappily before walking towards the log basket at the side of the fireplace. ‘There’s no point in retaining a property that’s never used.’

Seeing he was about to take some firewood and add it to the now-dying fire, she dashed forward and took hold of the log in his hand. ‘I’ll take care of the fire,’ she said tersely.

She pulled at the log but he refused to let go. ‘I’m perfectly capable of looking after it,’ he said.

Ciara tried again to drag the log towards herself. ‘It’s not expected of you. I should have seen to it.’

With a heavy sigh Tom prised the log out of her grip, muttering, ‘To hell with what’s “expected”.’

Bending, he lifted another log from the basket before walking back to the fire.

‘I don’t have the same old-fashioned expectations of my staff as my father did.’ Throwing the logs onto the fire, sending a shower of sparks rising upward, he added, ‘I thought you’d know that.’

Standing upright, he pulled off his suit jacket and threw it on the back of a nearby chair. His tie soon followed. Then he eyed her silently, his mouth set angrily, his shoulders squared, his hands propped on his hips.

They’d used to have stand-offs like this before. But back then Tom hadn’t been quite so resolute. There was a harder edge to him now.

Ciara rolled back on her feet. She was unsure how to play this. He was the Duke now. She had to respect his position. But the anger and hurt inside her had her saying curtly, ‘Those logs are smothering the fire—you need to set them at a more upright angle.’

Tom scowled at her. ‘I didn’t say I would do a good job of it, though, did I?’

And then for the briefest moment his mouth twitched.

Her heart took flight in her chest.

Oh, Lord, he was always irresistible when he smiled. His eyes would become magnetic in their silver sparkle and his wide-mouthed grin would swallow up everything that was wrong and horrible in the world.

But today the hint of that smile was nanosecond-brief before he turned back to the fire.

Ciara leant against the warm marble mantelpiece as he adjusted the logs with a fire iron. ‘You’re going to cause consternation amongst the staff if you change the way things are done around here.’

Hunkered down before the fire, he turned to her, those silver eyes holding hers. Softly he said, ‘I’m selling Loughmore, Ciara.’

She winced at his words, but even more so at the heat that seeped through her body at the memory of how he’d used to whisper softly into her ear, telling her how much she meant to him. She’d used to laugh off what he said, calling him a chancer, terrified of believing him.

She moved away, taking care to skirt the antique Persian rug and cringing at her clumpy footsteps on the oak floorboards, thanks to her heavy work boots. She stood at the window on the opposite side of the room overlooking the walled garden. She had spent all summer working in there, reintroducing specimens that had been removed during an ill-judged replanting over forty years ago. What on earth would happen to the castle and its unique gardens and grounds if new owners took over?

Surely his mother and sisters weren’t in agreement with him selling? They spent every summer and New Year here, and from what Ciara could tell they adored it. His mother was a remote and formal figure, who kept her interactions with staff to a minimum, but her affection and loyalty for Loughmore was clear in the way both she and the late Duke had carried out a thorough tour of every single part of the property each time they returned, making instructions on improvements and repairs to be made.

‘What do your family think?’

‘I haven’t told them yet. I’ll do so in the New Year.’ He paused and frowned. Cleared his throat. ‘A hotel consortium has signalled its interest in acquiring Loughmore.’

‘Loughmore turned into a hotel! They’ll change the castle beyond recognition. I’ve seen similar developments all over Ireland. They’ll add on modern conference centres...build new homes and golf courses on the grounds. They’ll wreck the place. Would you be happy to see Loughmore changed so utterly?’

‘Things can’t stay the same for ever—I’m sure whoever buys it will be sympathetic to its history.’

‘I wouldn’t be so certain. And have you thought about the staff? Loughmore and working for your family means everything to them.’

Tom gave an exasperated flick of his hand. ‘That’s why I’m here—I want to give them as much notice as I can. And I’ll do my best to ensure they are all employed by the new owners’

‘Working in Loughmore isn’t just a job for the staff, though, it’s a way of life. Many of them come from families that have worked on the estate for generations. They love Loughmore—they’re immensely proud to work for your family.’

He considered her unhappily for long seconds and then gave a terse shake of his head. ‘I’m holding a meeting with the senior staff tomorrow morning and I will brief all the other staff after that. The hotel group is keen for the sale to go ahead as soon as possible.’

‘Can’t it wait until after Christmas?’

‘No. It’s better the staff have as much notice as possible.’ Moving towards the door he said, ‘I have some work to do. I need to get my laptop from the car.’

‘Stephen will have had it carried in already.’ Pushing in front of him she added, ‘Let me go and find out where he’s put it—I suspect the library.’

She reached for the doorknob and pulled the door open an inch. But suddenly Tom was behind her, closing it with a push of his open palm.

For long seconds she stood with her back to him. He was wearing an aftershave she didn’t recognise. But she did recognise the chain of reactions he caused whenever he came close—the thrill in her stomach, the inability to breathe, the heat that whipped through every cell in her body.

‘Why are you acting like this?’

She jerked at his soft voice. Willed herself not to lean back into him.

Slowly she turned around. She breathed deeply against the impulse to reach out and run her thumb against his evening shadow...and then along the hard lines of his lips.

‘Acting like what?’

His head tilted. ‘As if you have to run after me...do every small task that I can do for myself.’

She hesitated, but then the question spilled out of her. ‘Selling Loughmore...has it anything to do with what happened between us?’

He stepped back a bare inch, but it was enough to allow her to breathe.

His mouth tensed. ‘Why would it?’

Twelve years ago, after the initial shock of discovering she was pregnant had worn off, she had naively hoped she and Tom would somehow cope. She had known it wouldn’t be easy—they were both only eighteen, after all, with their own dreams and ambitions to follow. But her biggest mistake in her desperation to believe everything would be okay had been foolishly ignoring the fact that they were from different worlds, with families who didn’t approve of what they believed was nothing more than a friendship.

Know your place, Ciara. Don’t be getting any notions.

That had been her gran’s constant refrain. It had used to drive her crazy—but no more so than the way she’d been treated by Tom’s family, who didn’t even seem to realise she existed as she went about her cleaning duties throughout the castle. She was a staff member, and she had been warned time and time again never to speak to a member of the family unless spoken to, and to leave a room if any of them entered.

When Tom had invited her to some social events in the castle, his parents’ disapproval had been obvious. As had his sisters’ awkward embarrassment at having a member of staff in their midst. Their friendship had caused raised eyebrows not only in their families but also in the wider community.

One evening, at a recital that had been held in the castle, she had overheard two of the Duchess’s friends talking.

“What does she think she’s up to? Have you heard that accent of hers? As if a Benson would have anything to do with a working-class girl from Dublin.”

No one but her mother had ever found out that they’d become more than friends. They had agreed to keep their relationship a secret. At first Ciara had been happy with that, but in their final weeks together, as they’d grown ever closer, the secrecy and lying had felt all wrong. It had felt as though she was living two separate lives—as though they were doing something shameful and what they had was nothing but a lie.