“You really are starting over. Well, make sure you include some wellies and a mack. We’ll be doing a lot of walking.”

“It sounds blissful,” Sophie said. And he thrilled to hear the smile in her voice.

“I aim to please. See you tomorrow.”

“Goodbye, Hugh.”

Energized, he hung up and bolted from the study, half-running down the wide stone staircase that led to the entrance hall. Mrs. O’Connor, his head housekeeper, was in the kitchen, talking to Miss Miers, his cook, sixty-eight years old and the best in County Cork.

“Mrs. O’Connor.”

“Yes, sir?”

A motherly, comfortable woman, she was completely unflappable. Hugh smothered his excitement; he didn’t want to appear like an overeager schoolboy.

“Can you get the Oak Room ready? I’ll be having a guest to stay for a while, a lady.”

“Very good, sir.”

Mrs. O’Connor rather superbly turned to Miss Miers and went back to getting lead shot out of peasants. Hugh hovered a bit.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. O’Connor, but do we have any woman’s things ready?”

“Such as what, Mr. Montfort?”

“You know.” He felt awkward. “Shampoos . . . soaps . . . bath oils . . .”

“Plenty. And before you ask, night things, dressing gowns, slippers as well.”

Hugh stared. “But Mrs. O’Connor, I haven’t had any women to stay here for over eight years.”

“That’s right,” the housekeeper said, and finally cracked a smile. “But we always hoped you might, one day.”

“Meet the right girl and come to your senses,” said Hannah Miers with a loud sniff.

“Ah. Right.Well, I’ll leave you to it,” said Hugh, and absolutely felt himself blush as he headed back upstairs.

Emily O’Connor turned to her friend and heaved a huge sigh of relief.

“Well, finally,” she said.

“It won’t work, you know,” Hannah replied. “Your man’s a great brooding lump of a thing. Never saw anything like him.” She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “Handsome lad like that, rotting away by himself.”

“You never know. Give the girl a chance. All it takes is the right one,” Emily said, ever the optimist. And the two women smiled at each other, hopefully, like teenagers sharing a secret.

It was strange that Hugh didn’t feel awkward. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world, as though Sophie were coming to him for the hundredth time, not the first. As if she’d been away for a week or so, and Hugh was just here to pick her up.

He leaned forward and broke into a wide grin. There was Sophie, coming out of customs, pulling her suitcase. God, she was sexy, he thought.

“I’ll get that,” Hugh said, springing forward. She blushed, and looked at him; she was so beautiful today. She didn’t look like a woman in mourning. For Pierre or anything else.

Hugh grabbed the case.

“Shall we get in the car?” he asked, because she didn’t speak.