CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Moira~
“I hear that you shared a meal at the Crab Hut and followed up that indecent display by necking on the pier in full view of Mystic Bay.” Even over the phone, Robin’s rippling laugh was lightly ironic.
Moira winced and sipped her morning coffee. “The rumormongers have been busy. It’s barely six thirty. Quinn and I did eat at the Hut. I assume that the fact that we shared a second order of crab cakes set tongues wagging. We took a walk on the pier afterward. But we saved our kiss for my front porch.”
“I know you did. Half the inn witnessed it.”
“There are trees in the way,” Moira said dryly. “I think it was your employees–who mysteriously had midnight groundskeeping to do–who did the viewing.”
“You know what a despot I am, Moira. Heads roll if I see a leaf on a path,” Robin returned regally.
Which was utter nonsense. Robin was a model employer. “Did you set them to watch me?” Moira was genuinely shocked.
“I have perfectly good sight-lines from my bedroom window,” Robin returned demurely. “You and Quinn seemed well-suited.”
“Can a dragon and a fairy ever be well-suited?” Moira inquired.
“Of course. Why not? West Haven tradition may discourage such a pairing, but there is no actual barrier,” Robin paused. “So Quinn told you he is a dragon?”
“He did. I had guessed that he is a hunter. But not that he’s a dragon. And I would never have guessed that he is a Drake.”
“I’m pleased he told you.”
“You already knew?” Moira asked.
“Of course,” Robin said serenely. “You know I don’t invite artists to West Haven unless I have done a thorough background investigation. Besides, Quinn applied to the colony using his full name. He just requested some privacy for reasons that seem well-founded to me. He is concerned that his family reputation, rather than his talent, will be used to judge his paintings. He is correct.”
“Did you know he is engaged?” All the anger and angst of last night came flooding back.
Robin gave a tiny gasp. “I was aware of a terminated engagement. If that’s what you mean? My understanding is that Quinn and his fiancée have parted company. Are they still together?”
“I couldn’t find any evidence that the engagement is over,” Moira said. “Believe me, I looked. As of yesterday, online and in the press, Cynthia Fitzhugh was still being referred to as Quinn Drake’s fiancée. And referring to herself as such.”
“Ah.” Robin was silent while she thought. “Well, don’t believe everything you read on the internet. The Drakes announced that betrothal. But they could hardly announce the termination of the engagement. That would have been tacky.”
“I guess,” Moira said dubiously. “But in that case, surely his fiancée or her family should have told the media? And stopped calling herself his fiancée?”
“Two further points, Moira, dear. First, Quinn told you his full name last night. He had to be aware that you would probably do an internet search, as in fact you did. And that you would find out about Cynthia Fitzhugh. Second, Anthony Drake phoned me in April to inform me that the construction on the site of the old boathouse would not go forward this summer.”
“Which means what?”
“Anthony Drake had intended to build what he describes as a lodge for his only son as a wedding present. Last fall, he applied for and received permits to replace the existing boathouse at their Shoreside property with this building. Furthermore, he had blueprints drawn by an architect and had lined up contractors. When he called me, he explained that Quinn’s marriage was off, and that he would not be building the lodge this summer.”
“Oh.”
“Reneging on that deal cost him a bundle,” Robin continued. “His contractors all had nonrefundable deposits. Drake voluntarily doubled that payout for those builders who did not take him up on his offer to spend the summer doing repairs and renovations to the existing structures instead of building the lodge.”
Moira sighed. “The Drakes are so rich that barely means anything.”
“Dragons don’t pay hard cash out if they don’t have to,” Robin corrected gently. “And they don’t forfeit deposits. Or pay for what they have not received. Anthony is making sure that if he wants to build something in the future that the Council will approve it and the local builders will contract to erect it. If Quinn’s engagement were still on, that lodge would be going up this summer.”
“What does it say about Quinn that he ends an engagement and then immediately starts pursuing me?” Moira wondered aloud.
“Sometimes love works like that,” Robin assured her. “Maybe he and his former fiancée were having troubles before he quit his job and decided to starve for his art?”
“You think Quinn is in love with me?”
“Surely that is a question you can answer best, my dear?”
“I’m not sure of anything. But when Quinn kissed me it was like touching the light switch after walking across a carpet – enough static shock to stop my heart.”
“Hmm.” Robin was noncommittal.
“Is it supposed to be like that?” Moira asked curiously. “Do you get an electric shock when you kiss Sully?”
“More like electrocuted,” Robin admitted.
“Really. He affects you like that? Yet your relationship remains–” Moira shrugged.
“Sully may think of himself as a widower. But my sister didn’t die. She sailed west. There’s a world of difference.”
“No one ever comes back from the west,” Moira argued. “If they are not dead, they are doing a very good imitation. I think of Mom and Dad as dead.”
“Nightingale’s spirit is still around. So are Guinevere and Rowan’s.”
“Wouldn’t Aunt Gale want Sully to be happy?”
“Nightingale?” Robin’s soft voice was rueful. “Did you never meet your aunt? My sister was as dear to me as any sister ever was, but she was not one to share her belongings. She would not think twenty years of mourning anywhere near long enough for Sully’s eye to wander and his heart to heal.”
“Then she should have waited until Uncle Sully died before she went west,” Moira said. As her parents should have waited until she was ready to sail west with them. She sighed.
“Nightingale was tired of life. Of this mortal world.” Robin’s voice was gently sad.
“I don’t care how tired she was, leaving Sully was selfish,” Moira commented. “You do realize that Sully doesn’t have many years left. He’s in love with you. Why not be happy?”
“Sully is a sorcerer. A powerful weather worker. He can’t be more than sixty-five – barely middle-aged.” Robin dismissed her observation.
“And yet he is subject to all the ills that befall mortals. He may not live to see a sorcerer’s century and a half. You should make him happy while you can, Aunt. And yourself, of course.”
“I could say the same thing about you and Quinn. If you are concerned about Cynthia Fitzhugh, ask Quinn about her. Your talent should tell you if he speaks the truth.”
How could she admit that infatuation and fury had short-circuited her intuition? Fairies weren’t supposed to lose their tempers or feel strong emotions of any kind. Yet around Quinn she felt unfamiliar sensations that destroyed her peace of mind and made it hard to be dispassionate and logical.