That evening, Niamh stayed at the manor and took over the kitchen herself, preparing a lavish spread of all of Clifford’s favorite dishes.
Clifford had just sat down at the table when Hazel’s voice called from the foyer, “Sir, Mrs. Thomas, young master’s home!”
Niamh startled a little.
Of course, she knew Hazel was referring to Jonathan.
She’d actually assumed she wouldn’t be seeing Jonathan at the manor tonight.
Usually, whenever Jonathan came back, not only would Hazel greet him warmly, but Clifford would be all smiles, radiating grandfatherly affection. After all, Jonathan was Clifford’s only grandson–and an accomplished one at that.
But tonight, Niamh noticed a distinct chill in Clifford’s attitude toward Jonathan.
“What are you back for? Just here to scrounge a meal?”
Despite Clifford’s gruff tone, Jonathan strolled over and leaned down to knead his grandfather’s shoulders.
“Nobody knows me like you do, Grandpa.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re grown now, think you know better than everyone else, and never listen to a word I say.”
Clifford scolded him with a scowl, but Jonathan’s gentle smile never wavered.
“You’re right, Grandpa. It’s all my fault.”
Niamh watched the exchange, frowning slightly.
Clifford’s irritation was clearly about her and Jonathan’s impending divorce.
Yet Jonathan never lost his temper with Clifford, no matter what.
From what Niamh could recall, Jonathan had never been particularly close to his own parents. Sprague and Marigold Thomas always seemed caring on the surface, but there was a polite distance between them and their son–a formality that Jonathan mirrored right back.
Realizing she was getting oddly interested in Jonathan’s family dynamics, Niamh shook her head.
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They were getting divorced–why was she even thinking about this?
Eventually, Jonathan whispered a whole string of sweet nothings into Clifford’s ear, and only then did Clifford relent and allow him to sit down for dinner.
Jonathan took his seat, directly across from Niamh.
“I thought you wouldn’t make it here tonight,” she said softly, remembering he’d mentioned having work at the office.
“It’s All Saints‘ Day–had to come home and spend it with Grandpa. If it weren’t for work, I’d have been here even earlier.”
Niamh believed him. Clifford, however, was much less convinced.
“Nia, don’t let him fool you with those fancy excuses. He’s just here for your cooking.”
Clifford shot Jonathan a look, clearly hoping his grandson would play along.
Jonathan just shook his head, tone flat. “I’m not picky about food.”
“You little rascal!” Clifford grumbled, half exasperated, half amused.
Niamh couldn’t help but laugh.
She knew Clifford still hadn’t given up hope for her and Jonathan.
Earlier that day in the park, she’d come out and told Clifford the truth: she and Jonathan were preparing for an amicable divorce, and the papers were already in
her hands.
Clifford had sighed and muttered, but hadn’t said a single word urging her to
reconsider.
Niamh had taken the opportunity to tactfully ask if Clifford intended to give her a share of The Thomas Group, but he’d misunderstood and simply replied that she
could have as much as she wanted.
That reaction made it clear the one who insisted on giving her ten percent of The Thomas Group was Jonathan, not Clifford.
Dinner passed pleasantly enough. Clifford kept complimenting Niamh’s cooking, and Jonathan chimed in with a few polite words of praise as well.
Outside, the night deepened over the quiet estate.
Niamh had planned to stay over at the manor, but she hadn’t expected Jonathan to be there too.
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She couldn’t help but worry Clifford might ask Hazel to prepare a room for the two
of them to share.
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