Chapter Thirty-One
Early spring, County Wicklow
A month had passed since Flynn had been shot and their lives rid of Sir Horace Crowthorne. As the days grew warmer, Flynn recuperated in the sheltered walled garden, drowsing with a book in his lap while the new inhabitants, Jet and Spot, having sorted their differences, stretched out at his feet and Althea fussed around him. He liked being fussed over, he discovered, and suspected he’d become a bit of a fraud. He was well enough now to ride and intended to take Althea over the estate later today.
Flynn looked up and smiled as Althea crossed the stone paving toward him. She was so beautiful in a blue and white spotted gown and flowery straw hat she took his breath away. “I bring your mail.” She took the chair beside him as he sorted through the correspondence.
“John writes that he and Sibella will be here for the wedding,” Flynn said. “As will Guy and Hetty.”
“And Aunt Catherine. How absolutely perfect,” Althea said with a sigh.
“The house will be filled with guests again.” Flynn’s concerns for his finances returned to plague him. He hated that he couldn’t afford to take Althea to Paris for their honeymoon. And if the king decided to visit, Flynn would be hard strapped to put him up in fine style. And then there was Owltree Cottage. He knew it meant a lot to Althea. She would want to spend a part of the year there. He desperately needed the funds to restore it.
“What other news does John have?” she asked, moving her chair closer and leaning against him.
“His sister, Eleanor, is returning to London from Devon and his younger sister Georgina intends to find her a husband.”
“I hope she does. Eleanor is a wonderful woman. She should not remain a widow.” Althea smiled at him. “No woman should miss what marriage has to offer.”
He grinned, recalling their earlier time spent in bed. “And a mutual friend of ours, Andrew Hale, Duke of Harrow, is to return to England from Vienna. He was posted there some years ago after his wife died.”
“I remember. He has two children.”
“Yes. He was heartbroken to lose his wife. Quitted England and has seldom returned.”
Althea stood. “I’ll send for some coffee.”
He studied a letter from Italy. “No, wait a moment, Althea.”
He broke the seal and unfolded the letter. “Good lord.” Flynn read in silence, almost disbelieving its contents.
“What does it say?” she whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s from my mother’s solicitors. Apparently she left a will which has now passed through probate.” His voice shook with disbelief. “I knew she’d gained a divorce from my father after leaving Ireland. She then married Timothy Keneally. What I didn’t know was that after Keneally died, she wed again, this time to an Italian baron and became Baroness de Mondroni. Her husband died a year before she did. Because the baron had no issue, she has left me property in Florence and rather a lot of money.”
“My goodness!” Althea’s lovely eyes widened. “Only fancy, she became a baroness. Perhaps her life was an agreeable one.”
“I like to think so,” Flynn said. He pulled her onto his lap and wrapped his arms around her.
Althea leaned against him. “Your mother loved you, Flynn.”
He felt her tremble in his arms and turned up her chin to kiss her. “I do believe she did, my love.”
After breakfast, Flynn took his first ride and relished every moment as he escorted Althea around the estate. The tree branches were painted with green buds, the air sweet with blackthorn covered in white blossom, and the first daffodils buds had sprung up in the hedgerows. The fields would soon be a mass of wildflowers.
“Let’s ride to the cliffs,” Althea said. “I often walked there when you were away.”
They trotted their mounts over the pastures, skirting bramble and wild broom. At the cliffs, they dismounted.
His arm around Althea, Flynn nodded toward the horizon. “We shall have to go back to England soon to settle things, Owltree Cottage among them. I haven’t forgotten how much you love it. We can spend part of the year there if you wish.”
“I still love Owltree Cottage, because it was the one thing I had to sustain me through the difficult times. I clung on believing I’d find peace there, but my life is with you, wherever that takes us.” She laughed. “And perhaps it wasn’t perfect peace that I really wanted.”
Flynn cupped her chin and bent to brush a kiss against her lips. He felt so tender and protective toward her. “I can’t guarantee our lives will ever be peaceful. There are great changes ahead here with the dissolution of the Irish Parliament.”
“I know how much you wish to be part of it, Flynn. We’ll face together whatever life levels at us. As we did Crowthorne and his cronies.”
She slid an arm around his waist and they stood for a moment watching the gulls soar overhead, their shrill cries almost lost beneath the sound of pounding waves, before mounting and riding back to the house. Soon, guests would begin to arrive. Sunday was their wedding day.