“You have my gratitude,” Hugh answered, and snapped the phone shut. He was touched by the good wishes of these people that he knew only slightly: his housekeeper, his cook, the owner of his favourite village restaurant. For the first time that day, he felt a sliver of nerves penetrate his happiness. He trusted that none of them would be disappointed.

He could make it to Cork in twenty minutes flat, if he ignored the speed limit. Hugh pressed his foot on the accelerator, and the car took off down the road like a hare flying across the fields.

The sun had just set when he returned to the castle, and the blue sky of twilight was still streaked with gold. Hugh hurried inside and was met by Mrs. O’Connor.

“Has Mrs. Massot eaten?” he asked.

“She’s still in her room, sir. She did ask for a salad half an hour ago—”

Hugh’s shoulder’s slumped. Damn it.

“But I told her the cook was still in Kilcarrick, finishing the shopping.”

“Well done!” said Hugh, who could have kissed her. “Would you go and get her, and ask her if she’d like to come out for dinner with me? Tell her it’s nothing special, she shouldn’t bother to change.”

“Yes, sir.” The older woman hovered. “And best of luck to you,” she added.

Hugh grinned and gave her a solemn wink. “Thanks, Mrs. O’Connor.”

“Where are we going?” Sophie asked. She still felt gloomy; Hugh had asked her to take care of her own dinner arrangements for the first time since she’d arrived in Eire.

She felt like a deflated balloon. It couldn’t be long, surely, before Hugh made some excuse, asked her to leave. He wouldn’t be the kind of man who was prepared to wait.

Sophie thought this might be her last night here. Why make it hard on Hugh. It would be much easier if she left than if he had to try and get her out. She’d had a fantastic, glorious month with him. She didn’t want it to end on a sour note.

“It’s just a little local place. Called the Blind Pike.”

Despite herself, she smiled. “Great name for a pub.”

“It’s actually an excellent bistro. Only place with a Michelin star for a hundred miles, in any direction. Paul Begala is the chef, he’s a great cook. All local produce, everything seasonal, very traditional dishes. His mutton stew has to be tasted to be believed. And he does a lobster thermidor that just melts against the tongue. All his fish is fantastic, in fact.”

Sophie was hungry. “That sounds delicious. I must say, I’ve eaten more with you than I ever did in my entire life.”

That came out sounding rather personal; she blushed and wished she hadn’t mentioned it.