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Newborn Under the Christmas Tree
by Sophie Pembroke
CHAPTER ONE
LIAM JENKINS SQUINTED against the low winter sun as he looked up at Thornwood Castle in the distance and tried to imagine it as home.
He failed.
The dark grey of the stone walls, the rise and fall of the crenellations, the brooding shadow it set over the English countryside...none of them were exactly friendly. When he’d dared to dream about the idea of home over the years, he’d pictured himself somewhere warm and bright and welcoming. Somewhere near the beach and rolling surf of his country of birth, Australia. A house he’d designed and built himself, one that was purely his, with no bad memories attached.
Instead, he had a centuries-old British castle full of other people’s history and furniture and baggage.
And it was starting to rain.
With a deep sigh, Liam leant back against his hire car and ignored the icy droplets dripping past his collar. Instead he wondered, not for the first time, what on earth his great-aunt Rose had been thinking. He hadn’t seen her at all in the fifteen years before her death, and before their disastrous meeting in London he’d only ever visited Thornwood once. Two encounters in twenty-five years didn’t make them family, not really. As far as he was concerned, she was just another in a long line of relatives who didn’t have the time or the space in their lives or homes for him.
Even that first time he’d visited he
r, he’d known instantly that Thornwood Castle would never be where he belonged. Thornwood, with its buttresses and echoing stone walls, lined with rusting suits of armour, was a world away from the small home he’d lived in with his mother on the Gold Coast. Possibly a few hundred years away too. As a ten-year-old orphan, still grieving for the mother he’d thought was invincible until she wasn’t, the prospect of staying at Thornwood had been terrifying. And that was before he’d even met Great-Aunt Rose in all her intimidating glory.
Thinking of it now, he shivered, remembering the chill of her presence. The way she’d loomed over him, steel-grey hair fixed in place, her dark blue eyes too like his for it to be a coincidence. He had the family eyes—no one had ever truly doubted whose son he was. Even if they didn’t want to acknowledge the fact in public.
Liam shook off the memories and slipped back behind the steering wheel of his hire car.
Thornwood was his—a bequest he’d never expected, or wanted. The very idea of it filled him with a heavy apprehension. Thornwood Castle came with more than just history—it came with a legacy. An acceptance into a society that had cast him out before he was even born. People said that the class wars were over, that nobody cared about legitimacy or status of birth any more. Maybe that was true in some places, but Liam knew that those prejudices were still alive and well in Thornwood.
Or they had been when Rose was alive. Now she was gone...
Could Thornwood be a home? All he remembered of it was cold, unwelcoming halls and the obvious disapproval of his great-aunt’s butler as he’d met him at the door.
But then there was the letter. The spidery, wavering handwriting on thick creamy paper that had come with the lawyer who’d explained the bequest. The letter from Rose, written just days before she’d died, asking him to make Thornwood Castle his home, at last. To finally take on the family legacy.