His Cinderella Heiress. Marion Lennox

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СКАЧАТЬ had a good wooden table back at his farm. It was big enough for a man to have his computer and bookwork at one end and his dinner at the other. A man didn’t need a desk with that kind of table, and he liked it that way.

      But this was his heritage. His. He gazed out at the sheep grazing in the distance, at the land stretching to the mountains beyond, and he felt a stir of something within that was almost primeval.

      This was Irish land, a part of his family. His side of the family had been considered of no import for generations but still...some part of him felt a tug that was almost like the sensation of coming home. Finn was one of six brothers. His five siblings had left their impoverished farm as soon as they could manage. They were now scattered across the globe but, apart from trips to the States to check livestock lines, or attending conferences to investigate the latest in farming techniques, Finn had never wanted to leave. Over the years he’d built the small family plot into something he could be proud of.

      But now, this place...why did it feel as if it was part of him?

      There was a crazy thought.

      ‘Is everything as you wish?’ Mrs O’Reilly asked anxiously.

      He looked at her worried face and he gazed around and thought how much work must have gone into keeping this room perfect. How could one woman do it?

      ‘It’s grand,’ he told her, and took a mouthful of the truly excellent beef. ‘Wonderful.’

      ‘I’m pleased. If there’s anything else...’

      ‘There isn’t.’

      ‘I don’t know where the woman is. The lawyer said mid-afternoon...’

      He still wasn’t quite sure who the woman was. Details from the lawyers had been sparse, to say the least. ‘The lawyer said you’d be expecting me mid-afternoon too,’ he said mildly, attacking a bit more of his beef. Yeah, the epergne was off-putting—were they tigers?—but this was excellent food. ‘Things happen.’

      ‘Well,’ the woman said with sudden asperity, ‘she’s Fiona’s child. We could expect anything.’

      ‘You realise I don’t know anything about her. I don’t even know who Fiona is,’ he told her and the housekeeper narrowed her eyes, as if asking, How could he not know? Her look said the whole world should know, and be shocked as well.

      ‘Fiona was Lord Conaill’s only child,’ she said tersely. ‘His Lady died in childbirth. Fiona was a daughter when he wanted a son, but he gave her whatever she wanted. This would have been a cold place for a child and you can forgive a lot through upbringing, but Fiona had her chances and she never took them. She ran with a wild lot and there was nothing she wanted more than to shock her father. And us... The way she treated the servants... Dirt, we were. She ran through her father’s money like it was water, entertaining her no-good friends, having parties, making this place a mess, but His Lordship would disappear to his club in Dublin rather than stop her. She was a spoiled child and then a selfish woman. There were one too many parties, though. She died of a drug overdose ten years ago, with only His Lordship to mourn her passing.’

      ‘And her child?’

      ‘Lord Conaill would hardly talk of her,’ she said primly. ‘For his daughter to have a child out of wedlock... Eh, it must have hurt. Fiona threw it in his face over and over, but still he kept silent. But then he wouldn’t talk about you either and you were his heir. Is there anything else you’ll be needing?’

      ‘No, thank you,’ Finn said. ‘Are you not eating?’

      ‘In the kitchen, My Lord,’ she said primly. ‘It’s not my place to be eating here. I’ll be keeping another dinner hot for the woman, just in case, but if she’s like her mother we may never hear.’

      And she left him to his roast beef.

      For a while the meal took his attention—a man who normally cooked for himself was never one to be ignoring good food—but when it was finished he was left staring down the shining surface of the ostentatious table, at the pouncing tigers on the epergne, at his future.

      What to do with this place?

      Sell it? Why not?

      The inheritance had come out of the blue. Selling it would mean he could buy the farms bordering his, and the country down south was richer than here. He was already successful but the input of this amount of money could make him one of the biggest primary producers in Ireland.

      The prospect should make him feel on top of the world. Instead, he sat at the great, grand dining table and felt...empty. Weird.

      He thought of Maeve and he wondered if this amount of money would have made a difference.

      It wouldn’t. He knew it now. His life had been one of loyalty—eldest son of impoverished farmers, loyal to his parents, to his siblings, to his farm. And to Maeve.

      He’d spent twelve months realising loyalty was no basis for marriage.

      He thought suddenly of the woman he’d pulled out of the bog. He hoped she’d be safe and dry by now. He had a sudden vision of her, bathed and warmed, ensconced in a cosy pub by a fire, maybe with a decent pie and a pint of Guinness.

      He’d like to be there, he thought. Inheritance or not, right now maybe he’d rather be with her than in a castle.

      Or not. What he’d inherited was a massive responsibility. It required...more loyalty?

      And loyalty was his principle skill, he thought ruefully. It was what he accepted, what he was good at, and this inheritance was enough to take a man’s breath away. Meanwhile the least he could do was tackle more of Mrs O’Reilly’s excellent roast beef, he decided, and he did.

      * * *

      If she had anywhere else to go, she wouldn’t be here. Here scared her half to death.

      Jo was cleaned up—sort of—but she was still wet and she was still cold.

      She was sitting on her bike outside the long driveway to Castle Glenconaill.

      The castle was beautiful.

      But this was no glistening white fairy tale, complete with turrets and spires, with pennants and heraldic banners fluttering in the wind. Instead, it seemed carved from the very land it was built on—grey-white stone, rising to maybe three storeys, but so gradually it gave the impression of a vast, long, low line of battlements emerging from the land. The castle was surrounded by farmland, but the now empty moat and the impressive battlements and the mountains looming behind said this castle was built to repel any invader.

      As it was repelling her. It was vast and wonderful. It was...scary.

      But she was cold. And wet. A group of stone cottages were clustered around the castle’s main gates but they all looked derelict, and it was miles back to the village. And she’d travelled half a world because she’d just inherited half of what lay before her.

      ‘This is my ancestral home,’ she muttered and shivered and thought, Who’d want a home like this?

      Who’d want a home? She wanted to turn and run.

      But СКАЧАТЬ