Читать книгу Christmas With The Duke - Katrina Cudmore - Страница 11

FOR A BRIEF second Ciara hoped Tom was teasing her. Like he’d always used to do.

He had spent one whole summer trying to convince her that the entire dairy herd at Loughmore talked to him. Whenever they passed the grazing cows on their way to the woods he would stop and chat to them over the still-to-ripen blackcurrant laden hedges, relaying back to her what they were saying.

‘Blue says it’s going to rain later, but Nelly says Blue is talking rubbish. What’s that, Nelly...? Ciara’s looking beautiful today? Can’t say I’d noticed it myself.’

At which point Ciara would give him a friendly thump on the arm and start pedalling her bike away, trying not to laugh, happiness bubbling in her chest at his words and at the way he would softly gaze at her when he said she looked beautiful.

But now there was no softness or laughter in his eyes.

She stepped towards him, murmurs of panic breaking through her disbelief. ‘Sell Loughmore? Are you serious?’

He looked away from her and out towards the formal terraced gardens of Loughmore, rolling his neck from side to side. ‘With my work commitments I rarely get the chance to come here. It doesn’t make sense to hold on to the castle and estate.’

His voice was impassive, as though selling Loughmore was nothing other than yet another business deal to him.

Ciara moved away to the tea tray, staggered by just how devastated she felt by his casualness, by how little the castle meant to him. Her teacup rattled as she poured more tea. She could not let him see how upset she felt.

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.

That day she had told him about the pregnancy she had flown home to Dublin early, unable to face any further humiliation. The sharp drawn-out pain in her stomach had started over the Irish Sea.

The moment she’d walked in the door of her mum’s terraced house in Coolock her mum had instantly known something was wrong. She had taken her to the Rotunda Hospital, holding her hand for the entire taxi journey.

The fact that her mum had held her hand had freaked Ciara out—her mum wasn’t given to demonstrative acts, and Ciara had known then that her baby was in serious trouble.

Later, after a young male doctor with sad eyes had gently told her she had miscarried, she had told her mum who the father was. Her mum had paled, called her a ‘big eejit’ and then turned away to stare out of the hospital window, before returning to her side and admitting her own relationship with Tom’s father when she was Ciara’s age.

Her mum had stumbled over her words, and the difficulty of confiding her secrets had been obvious in the anger in her eyes, the tension in her mouth. She’d only found out that Tom’s father was marrying Lady Selena Phillips when it had been announced in the newspapers. She had called him at Bainsworth Hall. He’d eventually returned her call, incredulous that she hadn’t realised they could never possibly have a future together, and telling her it was his duty to marry well.

Less than a year later Ciara’s mum had married herself, after a rebound romance with a man who had subsequently walked out on them when Ciara was only a year old. Ciara’s grandparents had disapproved of the marriage, and until she was a teenager there had been no contact between her mum and her grandparents.

Her childhood had been lonely. Her mum had worked long hours and Ciara had spent most evenings on her own. When her mum had come home, she’d always been too tired to talk, or to play with Ciara.

Her mum’s confession that night in the hospital had been the first and only time her mum had opened up to her—allowed Ciara even a glimpse into her emotions. The default position in the Harris household was to be glib and pretend all was okay, to bury emotion beneath laughter and avoidance.

Now Ciara regarded Tom and wondered how he felt about everything that had happened all those years ago. A trace of humiliation still burnt brightly in her stomach, but mostly she just felt sad for the foolish and naive eighteen-year-olds they’d been then.

‘You haven’t been to Loughmore in twelve years.’

He blinked at her words. ‘I’ve been busy.’

There was much she regretted about her relationship with Tom, but nothing more so than the way she had lashed out at him when he had come to her bedroom that night, pale and apologetic. It would be so easy not to talk about what had happened, but Ciara couldn’t wish away just how close they once had been...those two naive eighteen-year-olds who had hurt one another so badly.

‘That night in my mum’s house... I was angry.’

A slash of red coloured his cheeks. ‘You had a right to be.’

Ciara’s heart squeezed tightly at the prideful tilt of Tom’s head that did little to hide the emotion playing out in his eyes.

For the first time ever, when she and Tom had become lovers, she had let her guard down and ignored the Harris family motto of ‘everything is fine’. She had told him her inner secrets, her loneliness and her guilt that her dad had left because of her, despite there being no evidence to back up that belief.

Tom had tried to persuade her to accept that she shouldn’t feel responsible, but it still sat inside her—that feeling of being insignificant that came with having a father who had walked away from her for ever.

She had even embarrassingly admitted that she wanted to create a family of her own, with at least five children. Tom had teased her over that...but she had fallen even deeper in love with him when he’d said that she’d be the best mother ever. She had opened her heart to him. She had been stupid. Because doing so had only made his rejection—which she should have known was coming—a thousand times worse.

It was a mistake she’d never make again.

She looked at him now, sadness and regret bubbling in her throat. ‘We should have just remained friends.’

His eyes held hers for what felt like for ever.

Eventually he nodded and said gently, ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

Overwhelmed by how emotional she felt, she stepped around him and collected his cup and saucer, placed them on the tea tray with her own, buying some thinking time in the process.

She liked her new life in Loughmore. Yes, she was occasionally caught unawares by a memory of Tom that rooted her to the spot. But she had long ago accepted that she needed to forge a life for herself. And through years of study and work in various conservation centres and heritage gardens, both in Ireland and Scotland, she had built a life she was proud of.

The conservation and heritage programmes she had started here in Loughmore needed to be continued. Loughmore itself needed to be saved from developers. And if that meant she needed to spend time with Tom, persuading him not to sell, then no matter how uncomfortable and awkward it would be she would do it—to save Loughmore.

She adjusted the tray in her hands and said, ‘Don’t tell the staff yet—let them enjoy Christmas.’

‘I have to return to London on the first of January. I want to be here and available to talk through any concerns they may have.’

‘Then plan on coming back in the New Year. You’re only in London—it’s not far to travel.’

He gave an unenthusiastic shrug and said, ‘Perhaps.’

Her heart sank. He clearly wanted to spend as little time as possible in Loughmore. But, forcing herself to smile, she said, ‘You never know—you might change your mind about selling over Christmas.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I have a buyer lined up. That’s not going to happen.’

Ciara nodded. She needed to get Operation Save Loughmore underway immediately.

‘The staff have organised a charity event in memory of your dad tomorrow night. Two hundred and fifty guests will be attending the turning on of the Christmas lights, with a choral concert and dancing later. I assume you’ll attend?’

‘I had forgotten it was taking place,’ he answered, uninterested.

‘But you’ll come?’

‘My father wasn’t the easiest of men—it’s a generous gesture by the staff.’

It was true. His father had terrified most of the staff in Loughmore. But at least he would never have dreamed of selling it.

Adjusting the tray in her hands, Ciara moved to the door, which Tom opened to allow her to exit. Just as she was about to step out into the hallway she stopped and said, ‘He was tough, but he commanded respect. He was loyal to Loughmore.’

Tom’s mouth tightened. ‘And I’m not?’

Ciara shrugged and said, ‘I’m sure you have your reasons,’ before walking away.

The following evening Tom half listened to the back-and-forth one-upmanship of the two opposing politicians who had collared him once the guests had moved from the tree-lighting ceremony and choral concert in the Great Hall into the ballroom for dancing. Several times he had tried to break away, but both men seemed determined to impress on him why he should consider becoming a supporter of their political party.

Not for the first time that night his gaze wandered once again over the invited guests in search of Ciara.

He took a slug of his Irish whiskey when he saw her still out on the dance floor with a guy he’d privately nicknamed Mr Brite, given his dazzling white smile. Wearing a knee-length red lace dress and towering heels, with her tumbling red locks worn loose and her sinful brown eyes full of laughter, she and Mr Brite twirled around the dancefloor.

Ciara looked like a fantasy Christmas present for every hot-blooded man. And she was a woman on a mission. It had taken him only a few hours today to cotton on to her plan.

After a lavish breakfast from Libby, Stephen had politely insisted he give Tom a tour of the castle, pointing out the renovations that had taken place in recent years and reminding him of the historical importance of the castle not only to County Wicklow but to the whole of Ireland.

Stephen had conveniently ended the tour in the courtyard, where Liam Geary, Loughmore’s estate manager, had just happened to be standing by his estate vehicle chatting with Ciara. Before he’d known it Tom had been in the passenger seat, and Liam had taken him for a tour of the land, recounting his plans for extending the dairy herd and the possibility of introducing buffalo on to the estate.

On their way back to the castle they’d ‘happened’ to bump into Ciara again, this time chatting with her boss Sean at the start of the garden’s Palm Walk.

‘Wait until you see the orchard, sir,’ Sean had said with great excitement. ‘We’ve expanded it greatly and we supply farmers’ markets nationwide. This year, thanks to Ciara’s knowledge, we’ve planted new apple and plum saplings—they’re old varieties that would have once grown here in Loughmore.’

Sean had then taken him on an extensive tour of the walled garden, the lakeside gardens and the orchards, breathlessly talking about his plans to extend the market garden.

His tour had ended at the glasshouses, where Ciara herself had taken him on a tour of the heritage plants she was cultivating.

He knew he had been cool with her throughout the tour—her jibe about his loyalty to Loughmore the previous evening had still been fresh in his mind. For a brief moment, when she’d said it, he’d wanted to tell her the truth. About how his father had left the estate in debt through poor financial investments. How selling Loughmore would significantly rebalance the books.

Tom had only learnt of the debts after his father’s death. At first he had been angry—especially when he’d realised that his father had left it to him to inform his mother of the situation. Later he had felt nothing other than regret. A father and son should have had a better relationship. One with trust and mutual respect.

In the aftermath of his father’s death Tom’s resolve to value and cherish his own children, if he was ever to have them, had become all the more resolute.

Now, beside him, the politicians had moved on to a heated debate about land tax, and both became indignant when Tom interrupted to point out that their policies sounded remarkably similar and equally non-progressive.

Out on the dance floor Ciara turned to study him, before leaning towards Mr Brite and whispering something into his ear. Mr Brite turned and studied him too, before saying something to Ciara which, even in the low lights of the ballroom, Tom could see had made her blush.

Tom took another long slug of his whiskey, but the smooth tones of the ten-year-old blend were doing little to improve his mood.

With narrowed eyes he watched Ciara leave the dance floor and head in his direction. What was she up to now?

Beside him, the two politicians miraculously grew silent as Ciara approached them. Giving them her widest beam, she said, ‘I’m sorry to break up your conversation, but the Duke promised me a dance earlier.’

Placing her hand on his elbow, she tugged him towards the dance floor. At first he resisted—but then he considered his options. The company of two self-important politicians or Ciara? She was the lesser of two evils. But only marginally.

He went with her, but at the edge of the dance floor he pulled her to a stop. ‘Hold on—I believe we have a number of problems here.’

Ciara tilted her head and waited for him to explain.

‘First off, I didn’t promise you a dance.’

‘You looked as though you needed rescuing.’

He’d give her that. ‘Secondly, I don’t think your previous dance partner will be too impressed with losing you.’

Ciara raised an eyebrow and pointed to the far end of the ballroom, where Mr Brite was surrounded by a group of women of varying ages, who were clapping along to his extravagant dance moves.

‘Vince McNamara is the doctor in Loughmore now. His husband Danny is away skiing at the moment. He’ll happily dance with anyone who admires his moves.’

‘Which brings us to our third problem. You might not remember, but I can’t dance.’

Amusement danced in her eyes. ‘Oh, I remember, all right. But you need to get into the Christmas spirit.’

With that she dragged him out on to the dance floor. He shuffled along as she shimmied before him and the crowd around them bopped along to the band’s rock ’n’ roll rendition of another Christmas classic.

She gestured to him to take off his jacket, but he shook his head. Instead he leant towards her and said in a low voice, so only she could hear, ‘I’m not going to change my mind about selling Loughmore.’

She shrugged and continued dancing, and then she leant towards him. ‘So you said yesterday.’

She smelt of roses and vanilla. He tried to ignore the way her hips swayed along to the beat of the music. ‘I’m on to you, you know.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Libby’s cooking, my tours of the castle and grounds today, then hot port and carols outside the front door at five. You’re not going to change my mind.’

‘They were all just coincidences.’

On the stage, the band segued into another song. This time it was much slower, and around them couples formed.

Ciara looked towards the stage with a frustrated frown and then gave him a bright smile, ‘Well, I guess that’s you off the hook.’

He should let her go. He knew he should. But all of a sudden he wanted to play her at her own game. As she moved to pass him he placed a hand on her waist and twisted her around, his other hand reaching for hers.

She tried to step away but he pulled her back.

She gave him a tight smile. ‘I’m not sure this is appropriate. Us dancing together will have raised some eyebrows—slow dancing will set the cat amongst the pigeons.’

‘You started it. Now, tell me what you’ve said to the rest of the staff.’

Blinking rapidly, Ciara protested, ‘I’ve said nothing.’

He shifted nearer, stared her in the eye. ‘Ciara...’

The two glasses of champagne she had drunk earlier were to blame. Ten minutes ago asking Tom to dance had seemed like an inspired idea. She wanted him to enjoy his Christmas in Loughmore, and he sure hadn’t looked happy having his ear chewed off by two local politicians. But now that they were slow dancing that ‘inspired idea’ was quickly morphing into the worst decision she had taken in a very long time.

His hand enclosing hers was too familiar, too heart-stoppingly reassuring...too strong a reminder of how he’d used to touch her. His arm on her waist—heavy, in charge—was sending jittery shudders down the length of her legs. Pretending to be relaxed, to be unaffected by him, was already tearing her apart.

But what choice did she have? She had to save Loughmore. As her mum had always said, she needed to stop overthinking and just get on with it—preferably with a cheery smile on her face.

She craned her neck and met his gaze for a brief second, before shifting her eyes to the safety of the fine navy wool of his suit jacket. ‘Okay... I’ll admit I’ve said we need to make a special effort to make you feel welcome and part of the castle.’

She felt his muscles tense beneath the palm resting on his shoulder. In a low voice, much too close to her ear, he said, ‘My life is elsewhere.’

Despite the hollow sensation that cracked in her chest at his words, she forced herself to keep her voice casual when she said, ‘I think you’ll regret selling Loughmore... Don’t you want to pass it on to your heirs?’

His eyes duelled with hers while his hand on her waist shifted slightly, so their hips were now only inches apart. ‘Who said there will be any?’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘I bet you’re beating back wannabe duchesses with a stick.’

A grin hovered on his lips. ‘There are a few.’

‘Bet your mum has a shortlist.’

All titled, beautiful, and with the right social graces, Ciara would wager.

Tom shrugged in response.

They moved around the dance floor, Tom awkwardly leading the way. His inability to keep to the beat of the music was rather endearing.

‘Are you in a relationship?’

She looked up in surprise at his question. ‘Not at the moment.’

‘But you have been?’

It felt wrong to be talking like this with him. ‘Kind of.’

‘Meaning?’

‘I’ve moved around a lot with my work. It doesn’t lend itself to serious relationships. How about you?’

‘I’ve had a few...but they haven’t worked out. Now I’m too busy juggling my restaurants and the estate to find the time to sleep, never mind date.’

Her heart banged hard and furiously at the thought of him being with someone else. Even worse, a part of her wanted to know about every single relationship he had had. Had they been serious? Why had they broken up?

She bit the inside of her lip, and mentally gave herself a ticking-off. Why on earth would she do that to herself? She had to focus on saving Loughmore. Forget about the past.

‘Loughmore will be a great summer home when you do eventually marry and have children. Remember how much you loved coming here?’

He shook his head but a smile glittered in his eyes. ‘You’re as persistent as ever, aren’t you?’

He said it with such fondness that for a moment she forgot he was her boss, a member of the British aristocracy, the man who had once broken her heart.

His arm shifted on her waist and something darker, earthier entered his eyes.

She knew she should break her gaze away, but she couldn’t. His eyes were so hypnotic, full of intelligence, integrity and pride, but also a beguiling undercurrent of sensual suggestion.

A charge of dark, dangerous desire rippled in the air between them.

He pulled her closer. She didn’t resist.

‘Tom—why didn’t you tell us you were coming to Loughmore?’

Ciara jumped at the excited squeal behind her, and Tom’s arms floated away from her.

Turning, she had to step out of the way as a blonde-haired woman dressed in black trousers and a silver blouse, with a long grey cashmere coat draped over her shoulders, moved in to hug and air-kiss Tom.

Then, waving in the direction of the outside terrace, beyond the row of French windows that formed one wall of the ballroom, the woman added, ‘Tania and Jacob are outside, catching up with Becky Johnson. They’ll be back in a sec. It’s freezing out there, but they’re huddled under an outdoor heater, eating the toasted marshmallows on offer from the outside caterers. What fun! How fab to see you! We dined at Tom’s in Barcelona last month—the food was to die for. Clever you!’

Ciara went to leave, but Tom called to her. ‘Ciara! Let me introduce you to Amber Chamberlain.’

Amber turned and smiled at Ciara. ‘Are you down from Dublin for the night too? Wasn’t the traffic horrendous? That’s why we’re late. And they’re predicting snow soon. It will be bedlam then.’

‘No. I work here in the castle.’

‘Oh.’ For a moment Amber looked thrown, but she recovered well. ‘Lucky you—working in such a lovely place.’ Then she paused in thought. ‘Wait a sec... I think I remember you.’

And then it dawned on Ciara. Tom had celebrated his eighteenth birthday here at Loughmore. He had invited her but the night had been a disaster, because she had known very few of the other guests and his parents had watched her unhappily all night. The following morning when she had come to work the party had still been going strong.

‘The morning after Tom’s eighteenth...’ With a laugh, Amber held her hands to her cheeks. ‘Do you remember, Ciara? You were cleaning in the games room and found me fast asleep on the billiard table. You helped me to my room.’

Ciara nodded, refusing to glance in Tom’s direction. ‘I remember now. Can I take your coat?’

‘Please—and I would love a glass of champagne.’ Turning to Tom, Amber linked her arm in his. ‘Come on, let’s go and find Jacob and Tania. They’ll be dying to chat with you. They’re off to St Moritz tomorrow. Will you be there as usual this New Year?’

Tom did not move, despite Amber’s best efforts to lead him towards the terrace. ‘Ciara, why don’t you join us?’

Ciara saw the flicker of confusion on Amber’s face. No doubt she was wondering why Tom was asking one of the staff to socialise with them.

All those years ago as a teenager she had been pretty much blind to the social wall that existed between herself and Tom. Youthful enthusiasm, idealism, naivety... Call it what you will, it had had her believing their different backgrounds didn’t matter.

All that innocence had ended on the day she had travelled to London.

She gestured towards the dance floor. ‘I need to get back to Vince... I promised him we’d have another dance together.’

Moving through the crowd, she took Amber’s coat to the temporary cloakroom that had been set up in the library. The two teenage girls from the village who had been employed for the evening to man the cloakroom jumped up when she entered, frantically trying to hide their phones.

She hid her amusement and said, ‘Kelly, come with me to the kitchen, I need to organise drinks for some guests, and you two look as though you could do with some of Libby’s baking to get you through the next few hours.’

In the kitchen, as Kelly filled a plate with Libby’s delicate savoury pastries and mini-Christmas puddings, Ciara directed one of the waiters to take a bottle of champagne and glasses out to the terrace. Then, seeing how exhausted Libby was, she forced Libby to sit down while she made her a pot of tea.

Know your place.

There was actually wisdom in that saying. When her gran had used to say it to her she’d seen it as a putdown. But in fact her gran had only being trying to protect her. She had seen what unrealistic dreams had done to her mother—bringing a pain and humiliation that were hidden behind a wall of defiance and avoidance and a family rift that had gone on too long. Now she understood how worried they must have been when they’d seen history about to repeat itself.

They had only been trying to protect her from her own foolishness and naivety.

This time around she knew her place.