Christmas With The Duke. Katrina Cudmore
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Ciara flinched and looked into the fire, shifting her feet, clad in heavy boots, further beneath the sofa, as though she was trying to hide them.
In their last summer together, when they were both eighteen, their relationship had become much more than just friendship and flirting. It had started with a kiss in Loughmore Wood, as they had lain staring at the stars one July night. That summer had been wild and intoxicating. And special. They had made love several times. The first time for them both.
As the summer had drawn to an end, and he’d had to leave for his apprenticeship at one of London’s Michelin-starred restaurants, Ciara for her horticultural course in Dublin, they had promised to stay in touch. See each other over term-breaks. It had been much too early to talk about a future together, but Tom had silently envisaged a time when they would be together for ever.
And then one day in late September, as he’d dashed from his apartment into the rain, late for work, he had crashed into Ciara as he’d rounded the corner of his street. Delighted, but thrown at seeing her standing on Kentish Town Road as the bus he needed to catch sailed by, he had simply stared at her when she’d told him she was pregnant.
He hadn’t been able to take it in. He had muttered something about them working it out and that he had to get to work—that his head chef took pleasure in firing apprentices for being late. He’d given her the keys to his apartment. Promised to call her during his break.
Only hours later had he come to his senses. He had ignored the head chef’s threats to fire him for leaving early and, despite the cost, had taken a taxi home. His father had refused to support him in his bid to become a chef, telling him it was ‘beneath a Benson.’ He had even threatened disinheritance. Tom hadn’t known how he was going to support Ciara and a baby. But he’d known he would find a way.
His father’s stance on Tom’s career had summed up their relationship—he had never trusted Tom to make his own decisions, and dug his heels in when Tom went against his wishes. He’d pushed him further and further away, his disappointment and anger at Tom clear—so much so that since Tom had commenced his training they had rarely spoken to one another.
When he’d got to his apartment it had been empty. His frantic calls to Ciara had gone unanswered, so he had called a friend who’d got him to Heathrow within the hour. Just in time to catch the last flight to Dublin.
He’d gone to her mum’s address. But the house had been empty. He’d waited on the doorstep and at one in the morning a taxi had pulled up. Ciara, pale and drawn, had emerged first, followed by her stony-faced mum. Ciara had refused to speak to him and both women had gone into the house, the front door slamming behind them.
An hour later the door had swung open again and her mother had whispered furiously, ‘She’ll talk to you for five minutes. No longer. This is to be the last time you ever see her. My daughter deserves someone better than you.’
He had tried to hold Ciara. To say he was sorry. But she had quietly told him she had miscarried and then asked him to leave.
When he had refused to go her expression had turned to one of contempt. And icily she had told him of her regret at sleeping with him. That she had made a stupid mistake she’d regret for ever.
He had returned to London, and despite the humiliation and guilt burning in his stomach at her rejection, at how he had failed her, he had called her several times a week for months. But she had never answered his calls.
Now, he looked up as Ciara stood, her fingertips working against a smear of dirt on her collar. ‘I need to go and help with cleaning up after the tree installation.’ She paused and bit her lip, and then, tilting her chin, asked, ‘Can I meet with you tomorrow?’
‘Why?’
‘I’d like you to understand what we’re trying to achieve with both the conservation and the heritage programmes I have introduced.’ Her chin tilted back even further, and a hint of colour appeared in her cheeks. ‘To continue with the programme next year we’ll need a larger budget.’
He stood and walked towards the marble fireplace. The fire was burning out. He had planned on briefing the senior management at Loughmore first. But, given their history, and the way he had messed up everything all those years ago, the least Ciara deserved was his honesty.
Placing his hands behind his back, he squared his shoulders, turned back to her and said, ‘I’m putting Loughmore up for sale.’
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