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