LITMIR.BIZ

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me. I’m inheriting what there is to inherit and then I’m out of here.’

      ‘Maybe that’s wise,’ Finn said thoughtfully. ‘From all accounts, your grandpa wasn’t the happiest of men. Maybe being aristocratic isn’t all it’s cut out to be.’

      ‘But being content is,’ she said softly. ‘I’m glad...I’m glad, Finn Conaill, that you’re content.’

      * * *

      The lawyer arrived just as Mrs O’Reilly finished clearing breakfast. Jo had had half a dozen emails from this man, plus a couple of phone calls from his assistant. She’d checked him out on the Internet. He was a partner in a prestigious Dublin law firm. She expected him to be crusty, dusty and old.

      He turned up in bike leathers. He walked in, blond, blue-eyed, his helmet tucked under one arm, a briefcase by his side, and she found herself smiling as she stood beside Finn to greet him. There were things she’d been dreading over this meeting. Being intimidated by the legal fraternity was one of them, but this guy was smiling back at her, dumping his gear, holding out his hand in greeting. A fellow biker.

      ‘Whose is the bike?’ he asked.

      ‘Mine,’ she said. ‘Hired in Dublin.’

      ‘You should have let me know. My father would disapprove but I know a place that hires vintage babies. Or there are places that hire Harleys. We could have set one up for you.’

      ‘You’re kidding. A Harley?’ She couldn’t disguise the longing.

      ‘No matter. After this morning, I imagine you’ll be able to buy half a dozen Harleys.’ He glanced at Finn and smiled. ‘And yours will be the Jeep?’

      And there it was, the faintest note of condescension. Jo got it because she was used to it, and she glanced up at Finn’s face and she saw he got it too. And his face said he was used to it as well.

      The lawyer’s accent was strongly English. She’d read a bit of Ireland’s background before she came. The lawyer would be public school educated, she thought. Finn...not so much. But she watched his face and saw the faint twitch at the edges of his mouth, the deepening of the creases at his eyes and thought, He’s amused by it.

      And she thought, You’d be a fool to be condescending to this man.

      ‘I’m the Jeep,’ he conceded.

      ‘And the new Lord Conaill of Glenconaill,’ the lawyer said and held out his hand. ‘Congratulations. You’re a lucky man.’

      ‘Thank you,’ Finn said gravely. ‘I’m sure every Irishman secretly longs for his very own castle. I might even need to learn to eat with a fork to match.’

      He grinned to take any offence from the words and Jo found herself grinning back. This man got subtle nuances, she thought, but, rather than bristling, he enjoyed them. She looked from Finn to the lawyer and thought this farmer was more than a match for any smart city lawyer.

      ‘Lord Conaill and I have just been having breakfast,’ she said. ‘Before he takes me on a tour of the estate.’

      ‘You know you’re sharing?’

      ‘And that’s what you need to explain,’ Finn said and they headed into her grandfather’s study, where John O’Farrell of O’Farrell, O’Farrell and O’Lochlan spent an hour explaining the ins and outs of their inheritance.

      Which left Jo...gobsmacked.

      She was rich. The lawyer was right. If she wanted, she could have half a dozen Harleys. Or much, much more.

      The lawyer had gone through each section of the estate, explaining at length. She’d tried to listen. She’d tried to take it in but the numbers were too enormous for her to get her head around. When he finally finished she sat, stunned to silence, and Finn sat beside her and she thought, He’s just as stunned as I am.

      Unbelievable.

      ‘So it’s straight down the middle,’ Finn said at last. ‘One castle and one fortune.’

      ‘That’s right and, on current valuations, they’re approximately equal. In theory, one of you could take the castle, the other the fortune that goes with it.’ The lawyer looked at Jo and smiled. He’d been doing that a bit, not-so-subtle flirting. But then he decided to get serious again and addressed Finn.

      ‘However, if you did have notions of keeping the castle, of setting yourself up as Lord of Glenconaill and letting Miss Conaill take the rest, I have bad news. This place is a money sink. My father has been acting as financial adviser to Lord Conaill for the last forty years and he knows how little has been spent on the upkeep of both castle and land. He’s asked me to make sure you know it. The cosmetic touches have been done—Lord Conaill was big on keeping up appearances and his daughter insisted on things such as central heating—but massive capital works are needed to keep this place going into the future. Lord Conaill told my father he thought your own farm is worth a considerable amount but, in my father’s opinion, if you wished to keep the castle, you’d need considerably more. And, as for Miss Conaill...’ he smiled again at Jo ‘...I suspect this lady has better things to do with a fortune than sink it into an ancient castle.’

      Did she?

      A fortune...

      What would the likes of her do with a fortune?

      Finn wasn’t speaking. He’d turned and was looking out of the massive casement window to the land beyond.

      He’d need time to take this in, she thought. They both would. This was...massive. She tried to think of how it would affect her, and couldn’t. She tried to think of how it would affect Finn, but watching his broad shoulders at the window was making things seem even more disconcerting.

      So focus on something else. Anything.

      ‘What about Mrs O’Reilly?’ she found herself asking, and the lawyer frowned.

      ‘What about her?’

      ‘It’s just...there’s no mention of her in the will and she seems to have been here for ever. She knew my mother.’

      Finn turned and stared at her. She kept looking at the lawyer.

      ‘I believe she has,’ the lawyer said. ‘There has been...discussion.’

      ‘Discussion?’

      ‘She rang after the funeral,’ the lawyer admitted. ‘Her husband was the old Lord’s farm manager and she’s maintained the castle and cared for your grandfather for well over thirty years. My father believes she’s been poorly paid and overworked—very overworked as the old Lord wouldn’t employ anyone else. My father believes she stayed because she was expecting some sort of acknowledgement in the will. She knew the castle was to be left to you, My Lord,’ he told Finn. ‘But it would have been a shock to hear the remainder was to be left to a granddaughter he’d never seen.’

      He hesitated then but finally decided to tell it how it was. ‘The old Lord wasn’t without his faults,’ he told them. ‘My father said he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d made promises to her that he had no intention of keeping. It gave him cheap labour.’

      ‘And now?’ Jo asked in a small voice.

      ‘Her husband died last year. The place is without a farm manager and I wouldn’t imagine you’ll be having ongoing use for a housekeeper. She’ll move out as soon as you wish.’

      ‘But she’s been left nothing? No pension? Nothing at all?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘That sucks,’ Jo said.

      ‘She doesn’t like you,’ Finn reminded her, frowning.

      ‘It still sucks. She took care of my grandfather?’

      ‘I believe she did,’ the lawyer told her. ‘For the last couple of months he was bedbound and she nursed him.’

      ‘And

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