Christmas With The Duke

‘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.

CHAPTER THREE

THE FOUR-BY-FOUR SLEWED towards the hedge on the narrow road. Tom steered into the skid, feeling the car scraping against brambles and seeing a shower of snow thumping against the side windows before he finally managed to bring the vehicle to a stop.

He switched off the engine. The fresh snow on the side of the vehicle slid to the road with a thud and then there was nothing but absolute silence. Nothing stirred. Not a single bird was to be seen in the early-morning milky blue sky. Not a cry nor a bleat from an animal. It was as if the earth was having a sleep-in, having exhausted itself in the intensity of the snowstorm that had hit the east coast of Ireland the previous night.

Below him in the valley the vibrant emerald fields of Loughmore had disappeared under a blanket of sparkling white snow. Switching the engine back on, he crunched his way through the snow-covered perimeter road of the estate, where the high limestone wall to his right marked the boundaries with the neighbouring farms. After a few minutes he finally caught a glance of his last destination for the morning: Butterfly Cottage.

It was nestled in a copse, and he could just about make out its thatched roof beneath the snow.

He drove down the long incline into the heart of the valley, the four-by-four skidding on the more sheltered parts of the road. Last night, the initial flourish of snow had frozen hard, to be followed later by a heavier and more prolonged snowfall.

At the cottage, the garden gate refused to budge, so he had no option but to leap over the low wall that surrounded the property, built to stop the estate’s cows and sheep from wandering into the garden.

On the other side of the wall he muttered to himself as he landed into a particularly deep snow drift and snow flooded the inside of his wellington boots.

His knock on the rose-pink-painted cottage door echoed into the valley. He had to knock a second and then a third time before the door swung open.

Dressed in a fluffy yellow dressing gown, her hair mussed up and her cheeks pink, Ciara stared at him through sleepy eyes. ‘Tom... I mean, Your Grace, what are you doing here?’ Then, pausing, she peered over his shoulder. ‘Oh, my God! I can’t believe how much snow there is.’

Her eyes grew wide and her gaze shot back to his.

‘My alarm didn’t go off! I slept in! I’ll be up at the gardens as soon as I can. I know snow was forecast, but I hadn’t realised so much would fall. I don’t usually work on a Sunday, but I would have been up inspecting the gardens earlier if I had known.’

‘I’m not here because I expect you to be at work.’

‘Why are you here, then?’

‘The electricity in the castle went out overnight. The emergency generator took over—’

Ciara interrupted him, her expression alarmed, ‘Were the outside buildings affected? The greenhouses?’

‘No, they’re all okay.’

She gave a grateful exhalation and then with a deep shiver added, ‘It’s Baltic out here—come inside before we both perish.’

The living room of the cottage was directly inside the front door. A Christmas tree, laden down with decorations, sat in one corner. Christmas cards were strung over the mantelpiece, and an array of angels and Santa Clauses and reindeers were spread on every other available surface.

Moving over to the small cottage window overlooking the front garden, Ciara leant down and propped her elbows on the deep windowsill. She shook her head as she stared at the wintry scene outside. ‘I have never seen so much snow. Thank God we covered some of the more vulnerable plants with fleeces.’

There was a light switch to one side of the front door. Tom switched it to on. The brass light at the centre of the room remained unlit.

Ciara gave a groan. ‘Oh, seriously... No wonder my radio alarm didn’t go off.’

‘You’re not the only one. I’ve called in to all the other estate cottages this morning to make sure everyone is okay—several others are without electricity too. You’re the last on my list, being the furthest out. I’d hoped you wouldn’t be affected too.’

Ciara looked at him in surprise. ‘You’ve called in to every cottage? How did everyone react?’

Now that he thought about it, his arrival had caused a certain level of consternation in each of the cottages. ‘They were a little thrown, I suppose. What’s the problem with me calling?’

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