Page 7 of The Past

I wiped my hands on a cloth and turned to him, raising an eyebrow.“I always behave.”

Seamus snorted, stepping closer.“Ye’ll be respectful to the Kavanaghs.I won’t have ye embarrassing me.”

The implication was clear.He expected me to be pleasant, charming, accommodating.I was already bristling, but then he added, “If Brian asks ye to go out, ye’ll say yes.”

The words landed like a slap.I stared at him, heat rising in my chest.“What?”

“Ye heard me.I have a feelin’ the boy wants to court ye, so ye’ll accept his offer.”

I scoffed, shaking my head, anger burning in me hotly and giving me the courage to stand up to my father.“That’s ridiculous.It’s 1978.No one courts anyone anymore.And I should have a say in this.”

Da’s face hardened.“Ye’ll go if he asks and I won’t have ye talking back to me.”

A slow burn of rage crept up my spine.It wasn’t a suggestion.It wasn’t even a command.It was a foregone conclusion.My father had already decided, just as he had decided everything for me my entire life.

I clenched my fists, my nails pressing into my palms, but I forced myself to keep my voice even.“And what if I don’t like him?”

A dangerous silence settled between us.My mother, who had been stirring the gravy, turned the spoon in slow, methodical circles, her lips pressed thin.

Da took a step closer, voice dropping to something colder.“Learn to like him.Merging our families will make Glenhaven more powerful than any other farm in this country.Ye’ll do as ye’re told, girl.Or ye can leave this house.”

That hit like a punch to the gut.Not because I didn’t expect it—because I did.But hearing it out loud, feeling the full force of his control… it made me sick.

Mam turned then, her hands gripping the wooden spoon a little tighter.“Seamus…”

Her voice was quiet, a plea rather than a protest.

But her husband didn’t soften.He simply waited for my obedience.

I swallowed hard, my teeth clenched so tight my jaw ached in my refusal to acquiesce.His features were stoney and I feared I might get a slap across my face, but then the doorbell rang, slicing through the tension.

My father glared at me—a last warning look before turning on his heel and heading to the door.I inhaled sharply, pushing my frustration down, smoothing out my expression.

He will not break me.

♦

Michael Kavanagh wasa rotund man with graying black hair and a belly that spoke of indulgence.He owned a moderately sized thoroughbred farm in Newbridge and although not a close friend of my father’s, they ran in the same circles.As the two men enjoyed a pre-dinner drink in the front salon, Mr.Kavanagh surveyed the space with the air of a man inspecting a fine horse before a purchase.I stood politely to the side with my sister, Siobhan, and my brother, Paddy, while Brian Kavanagh participated in the conversation.

My mind wandered and I thought about training with Uncle Rory on Sunday at Kildare.I knew Saturday night I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep as I’d be too excited to hit the course.My love of steeplechase started when I was young as my family attended many events in the area because our horses competed.Rory let me ride on Glenhaven’s course whenever we could swing it but getting actual training time at Kildare meant I could race against other riders.

“Miss Fiona,” Michael Kavanaugh said, his voice deep and sure of itself.I jolted out of my fantasy.“I see what all the fuss is about.Even prettier than Brian told me.”

His son, who had been ignoring me until now, smiled.A year older than me, he looked smug and full of himself.He was tall, well built, with dark hair styled just enough to look effortless, and the unmistakable gleam of a man who had never heard the wordno.All the thoroughbred people knew each other well and I’d known Brian for years, although we hadn’t really talked that much.I used to be beneath his notice and I wish it had stayed that way, but apparently Glenhaven makes me even prettier.

“Ye flatter me, Mr.Kavanagh,” I said smoothly, keeping my tone polite but distant.

Brian’s looked me over in a way that wasn’t lecherous so much as proprietary and it made me want to kick him in the shins.

“Ye’re the prettiest girl in the county,” he said, as if it were an indisputable fact.

I forced a smile.“I’m sure many of the girls in Tipperary would disagree.”

Brian chuckled, unbothered.“Ah, but I don’t care about them now, do I?”

I wanted to mime gagging myself with my index finger, but that was childish and would earn me Da’s wrath, so I just batted my eyelashes and smiled coyly while internally trying to think of something to say that would turn him off.

“Dinner is ready to be served,” my mother said as she entered the salon, her apron gone and her hands clasped serenely, as if she hadn’t just slaved over the meal.“I hope ye gentlemen enjoy the effort.Fiona did most of it herself.”

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