“Can’t I? I believe I can—I must. I was the parent at home with Tom. I was the wife who did everything Pierre asked me to. It’s almost as if, when he married me at nineteen, I froze myself in aspic—preserved myself as exactly that nervous teenager. Why didn’t I challenge Pierre? Why did I raise Tom according to his methods? He wasn’t even there. I should have gone to court, got hold of House Massot long before last year.”

“Sophie.” Hugh shook his head. “You’re rewriting history. You’ve changed—you can’t judge your past actions by the person you are today.”

She seemed unconvinced.

“Well,” she said, and those beautiful dark eyes stared into the crackling fire. “Never again, Hugh. I’m going to do what I think is right, and I won’t be asking anybody’s approval. Not Katherine, not the memory of Pierre, not even Tom. I’m capable. The deba cle with Massot has taught me that, at least.”

“Which is valuable.” Hugh forked up a piece of the braised rabbit; it was sensational, melting into the herbs and broth. Sophie’s speech had given him an idea. But this was not the time for it.

Right now was not about business.

As if she’d read his thoughts, Sophie changed the subject.

“It’s a wonderful pub.”

“I come about once a week.” He added, “And it used to be daily.”

“When your wife died.”

“That’s right,” he said, unembarrassed. “That was my first stage of grief. Anything to get unconscious. They threw me out a couple of times. But I’ve made up for it since.”

Well, this was new, he registered; he was discussing this with another person—with a woman—and it didn’t feel awkward, even slightly.

Sophie said wistfully, “That’s true love.”

“Oh yes,” Hugh agreed.

“I think you’re lucky to have had it,” she said, “because I never did.”

They finished the meal, Sophie appearing to savour every bite. And as he looked at her relaxing, Hugh surrendered; it was definite—he was in love.

Afterwards, he drove her home. Outside Kilcarrick, the road forked to the left, and Hugh spun the wheel slightly to turn into the castle’s two-mile-long drive. It wound through the forest, and the thick trees closed over them, the autumn sunlight streaming through the leaves.

The trees gave way to an open wildflower meadow, and Sophie started, then clapped her hands.

“What’s that for?” Hugh asked, amused.

She sighed with pleasure. “Oh, it’s so beautiful!”