Chapter Twenty-Five
The next afternoon, Althea sat with Flynn in her drawing room. He had just made the most preposterous suggestion as if it was an invitation to take a walk in the park.
She clattered her teacup into the saucer and stared at him. “You want me to go to Ireland?” She found his calm manner quite exasperating.
Flynn stirred his coffee. “Regrettably, I must come straight back to England. As Crowthorne must be stopped.”
Unnerved, she plucked at her napkin. For goodness’ sake, was she to be dragged off on some wild goose chase? And with a man who’d made plain his scandalous intentions toward her? “Flynn, I think you’re overreacting. Crowthorne wouldn’t dare come after me again.”
“He’s desperate and on the run. He doesn’t know the king has the diamond. That fact will not be made public. The jewel represents Crowthorne’s only chance to disappear to the Continent and live free from English justice.”
“But Flynn….”
He folded his arms, not prepared to listen. She recognized that look of determination in his gray eyes. “I can’t just uproot myself and go to Ireland.” She crumpled her napkin and placed it beside her plate. “What about my staff?”
Flynn seemed confident he could rearrange her life at his whim as he invariably had in the past. She glanced at the stubborn set of his jaw, unsure whether to waste a good deal of her energy arguing or to give in. Well, she wasn’t giving in. Not this time.
She took another fortifying sip of tea, stretching out the moment while she considered her words carefully. “I’m sure there’s another alternative. I simply can’t see the sense of rushing off to Ireland.”
He arched his brow. “You did say your lease here is coming to an end. Owltree Cottage remains uninhabitable. Where else can you go? To your brother then, in Dorset.”
“No, no,” she said hastily. She wasn’t ready to resign her fate to a small country town as a permanent guest of her brother. “Perhaps to my aunt who is in Paris at present,” she said, her voice hoarse with frustration. She knew as soon as she said it that he would find fault with the idea.
“How long does Lady Bellingham intend to stay in France?” His melodic voice was pure honey, but she wasn’t fooled. There was a good deal of steel beneath.
“I received a letter from her a few days ago. She was about to embark on a trip to Italy.”
He leaned back and crossed his arms. “Italy? That makes it difficult, doesn’t it? I only ask you to remain in Ireland until Crowthorne is no longer a threat.”
“How long might that be? I can make arrangements to join Aunt Catherine in Rome.” She accepted it would be a huge expense and most impractical. The urge to fight him ebbed away. Might a tiny piece of her want to embrace this new adventure? The thought surprised her. She had changed since she’d met Flynn. He had changed her.
“My house in County Wicklow is a far better option,” he urged, sensing her hesitation.
She sighed and shook her head. “When you look so determined, I feel I might as well agree, otherwise you’ll remove me by force.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up, and he did not attempt to deny it. “Please be packed and ready to leave tomorrow. Bring your abigail if you wish. You will have need of her.”
She tried one last time. “What makes you so sure this is necessary?”
“Crowthorne has been seen recently, here in town with Percy Woodruff.”
“Oh.” Just thinking of that brute and his sly companion vanquished her last shreds of confidence. She had not recovered from that awful episode. The thought of falling foul of that man again made her stomach clench. “Very well, I’ll be packed and ready.” She looked at Jet lying by the fire. “I’ll have to leave my cat.”
“Only for a short time.”
“Will it be, though?”
“If it worries you, I’ll have Jet sent over to Ireland.”
She smiled. “You would do that for me?”
His passionate glance heated her from head to toe. “I’ll do anything you ask of me.”
“Thank you, Flynn,” she murmured. She was so moved by his declaration that her vow to never become involved with another man crumbled. Could it be possible that what she felt for him was love?
“I’ll arrange for someone to watch the house tonight.” He stood. “My home will provide a safe retreat, and I hope it will be a comfortable one. Quinn, my butler-cum-footman, will take excellent care of you.”
“It seems I am to be forever in your debt,” Althea said.
“We shall discuss that later,” he said ambiguously, raising warm gray eyes to hers while kissing her hand.
When Flynn left, she rushed from the room, her hand against her hot cheek. There was much to do. Having made up her mind, she was nervous, impatient, and excited to embark on this journey. She had never been to Ireland.
Three days later, she and Flynn set sail from Liverpool. It was a rough crossing. Clouds skipped across the leaden sky, driven by fierce winds and slanting rain. Fortunately, the wind came from the right direction to drive them fast toward land. The ship rolled as it ploughed through the white-tipped waves, canvas sails stretched by the surging squall. Crowded onto the deck, passengers struggled to remain upright against the pitching surface.
Never before having been at sea, Althea enjoyed the journey, although her poor maid, Sarah, had not inherited her brother’s love of sailing. She was sick over the side. Althea held her shoulders. “We’re all going to end up in Davy Jones’ locker,” the maid wailed.
Flynn offered his handkerchief. “Allow me to assist you ladies below, out of the wind.”
In the late afternoon, they docked at Dublin Port and disembarked along with the rest of the windswept travelers. Althea’s land legs almost deserted her. The ground still seemed to rise and fall, and she gripped Flynn’s arm to cross the wet, slippery cobbles to the carriage that was to take them into Dublin town.
At the Gresham Hotel in Sackville Street, they ate a welcome hot stew, which Flynn washed down with a dark brew called Guinness. After their meal, he hired a carriage to take them south, and they began the final leg of their journey to Greystones Manor.
They left Dublin, following a road that hugged the coast, winding past hills covered in heath with a view of the gray Irish Sea. The salty breeze blew in through the window and washed away Althea’s fatigue. She sat up alert, excited at the prospect of seeing his home.
As they traveled along narrow lanes, which became tunnels of greenery, Flynn appeared very much at ease. He regaled them with tales of tiny leprechauns with hidden pots of gold and how the patron saint, Patrick, rid the island of snakes. Then the carriage turned inland, past fields of black-and-white cows, black-faced sheep, and whitewashed farmhouses.
The sun began to set, painting the horizon in rose pink and sapphire hues as the carriage rattled along past tall hedges and then slowed to enter through towering iron gates flanked by yew trees and stately Greek statues. “My goodness,” Althea murmured. She’d never expected anything so grand.
“The family employed a French gardener in the sixteen hundreds who introduced the French baroque style to Ireland,” Flynn said. “You’ll find some of it still remains, in the avenue of limes, ornamental beech hedges, and the fountain.”
The carriage left the wood, and the road wound through green fields dotted with graceful oaks. They reached the formal gardens and approached the mansion’s bulky dark shape, rimmed in gold by the setting sun.
Althea took in the twin round towers and crenellated roof and gasped.
“Welcome to Greystones.” Flynn’s voice sounded flat. There were sad memories here. She felt a stab of guilt knowing he’d come here for her.
“You failed to mention it was a castle,” she said, as the carriage stopped. The building towered above them, water dripping from gargoyle spouts.
“It was converted to a manor house a hundred years ago,” Flynn said. “Some land was sold off, but a thousand acres remains.” Was there a note of reluctant pride in his voice?
“Why do they call it Greystones? The stone is a lovely honey color.”
“Only when the sun shines,” he said with a smile as he helped them both from the carriage.
An aged groom hurried from the stables. Althea stretched her legs as a small man burst out of a pair of studded timber doors with a big smile. “Welcome, milord.”
“This is Lady Brookwood, Quinn. She will remain here in my absence,” Flynn said, removing his gloves. “I know you will serve her well. I trust the house has been made ready for us?”
“Milady.” Bandy-legged Quinn made an awkward bow. “As much as possible, milord. Mrs. Shannon has had O’Mainnin throwin’ coal into the stove all the long day while she cooked enough food for the rest of winter and spring besides. We have a new housemaid, Brigit, as well as Maeve. They’ve done their best to set things to rights.”
“I’m sure they’ve done a splendid job.” Flynn took Althea’s arm and led her inside. “The house is understaffed, rather like yours.”
“You’d need an army of servants here.” She gazed around as Flynn helped her out of her cape. They stood in a breathtaking, wood-paneled great hall which had a minstrel’s gallery. The family crest decorated the wall above the mammoth stone fireplace. More of the riotous gargoyles peeped from corners and trailed up the oak staircase.
Flynn handed Quinn their coats and hats. “Sarah is Lady Brookwood’s personal maid.”
“I’ll take Sarah down to the kitchen to meet the staff, milord. There’s a fire in the drawing room.”
“Lady Brookwood will have tea. A whisky for me.” Flynn turned to Althea, his hand at her elbow. “Allow me to show you the upstairs.”
The musty house seemed as though it had slumbered untouched for years. The drawing room furniture was heavy and the furnishings faded. They did not do justice to the fine proportions of the room.
Flynn drew a damask-covered chair closer to the fireplace for her, where a peat fire smoldered and spat. “I hope you’re not too disappointed.” He chose a scarred brown leather wing chair.
“No! Why on earth would I be?”
“The house is not at its best. Too long unoccupied. I haven’t been able to find a tenant.”
“I shall be very cozy here.” She removed her gloves and held out her cold hands to the warmth.
Quinn brought in a tray and placed it on a fine carved oak console table Althea did approve of. He moved the table nearer to her elbow, poured Flynn a whisky, stoked the fire, lit several silver candelabra placed on tables around the room, bowed, and withdrew.
“I suspect Quinn is a treasure,” she said. On the wall hung the portrait of a beautiful, fair lady dressed in a buttercup yellow gown fashionable in the last century. Althea had not noticed a portrait of this woman with those of the family in the grand hall. She was tempted to ask Flynn why but kept it for another time. She poured the tea into a delicate, floral Spode teacup from a matching teapot.
“Bread?” She offered him the plate of buttered bread, thick with raisins and sultanas.
He shook his head with a smile. “We call it barmbrack.”
She took a bite. “It’s delicious.”
Flynn ran an appreciative eye over her as she sipped her tea. “You do wonders for my drawing room.”
Althea suddenly had the urge to talk. She told him about her life with Brookwood, certain things she’d never intended to reveal to anyone. “When Mrs. Grimshaw came to see me, she told me Brookwood feared I would cuckold him.”
“I very much doubt you would have, Althea.”
“No, but he was a jealous man.”
Flynn frowned. “Fool. So, your marriage was ruined because of his immaturity?”
“There were many things.” It was as if a dam had been breached, the words flooding out like water. Althea spoke of losing her baby, the pain still surprisingly raw. “It was late, well after midnight when we left the card party. Brookwood became angry in the carriage and by the time we arrived home, his bad temper had worsened. He accused me of flirting with Lord Moore who’d remained at my side longer than Brookwood thought appropriate. Lord Moore’s heir had been born earlier that week, you see, and with my baby due in five months, I wished to know how the mother and baby fared. I couldn’t make Brookwood understand. He struck me on the stairs and I fell. Things went even more badly awry after that.” Dismayed at having said so much, she took a large swallow of tea before any more unpleasant revelations spilled from her lips.
Flynn cursed. His glass crashed down on the table, splashing Irish whisky over the surface. He took her hand in his warm, reassuring one, and entwined long fingers with hers. “Brookwood was both cruel and a fool. I am sorrier than I can say, Althea.”
The compassion in his eyes made her want to curl up on his lap. “I have put it all behind me.”
He studied her quietly. “Have you?”
“I believe so.”
“Then I’m glad.”
Quinn entered the room. “Dinner will be served in an hour, milord.”
“Have her ladyship’s maid sent to her room, Quinn.” He turned to Althea. “I’ll take you to your chamber to change.”
Candles in sconces cast a soft light over the dining room. They ate at a banquet-sized oak table. Oil paintings of landscapes and an excellent one of Greystones, hung in gilt frames around the walls. A pair of splendid mirrors framed the fireplace. Another fine room badly in need of a good clean, the tarnished silver lacking a good polish, the crystal dull.
Flynn read her thoughts. “I wish you could see the house as it once was.”
“It’s magnificent.” She tucked into a superb mutton pie topped with rich aspic jelly, which had followed an excellent clam stew. “These old castles have quite a history.”
“Not all of it good. I must show you the oubliette before I leave.”
She took a sip of wine. “Oh, please do, I’m intrigued. That’s a French word. What does it mean?”
“Literally, it means ‘forgotten place’. It’s a secret chamber in the dungeon.”
She shivered. “I don’t like the sound of that. What was it used for?”
“My ancestor’s hid their valuables there. I’m afraid they also locked up hostages from rival families in it sometimes and held them for ransom. A part of Ireland’s stormy history.”
“People were hidden there and forgotten?”
“I believe some were guilty of it.”
“I’m glad you didn’t inherit such cruelty.”
“It was the times, Althea. But the men in my family haven’t always behaved well. My grandfather gambled away most of our fortune, and the less said about my father the better.”
“That has all changed with you,” she said briskly. “The oubliette sounds horrible.”
Flynn grinned. “I’ll take you to see it after dinner. As a boy, I found it better to view during the night.”
She smiled. “Well, that tells me something about your boyhood. You were adventurous and perhaps a little naughty.”
His gaze sought hers. “I don’t believe I’ve changed that much.”
Althea laughed. “Perhaps not. I will enjoy setting things to rights here while you’re away. I have experience of managing a large house.”
“I cannot ask that of you.”
“I should like to. I must have something to do.” She smiled. “I’m not keen on sketching.”
His eyes clouded. “I’m afraid there’s very little money….”
“It would require only a small amount, but I hope it will stretch to a couple more servants.”
“Thank you. I had intended to employ more. I would be grateful if you took things in hand. The house needs a woman’s touch.”
“Your cook is another treasure.” She forked up a mouthful of feather-light pastry.
After a dessert of apples and walnuts topped with a sweet sauce, they returned to the drawing room, where coffee was served.
She studied the painting above them as she sipped the hot brew. The lady’s style of gown placed her in the latter part of the last century. “Your mother?”
“Yes.” His short reply offered her no invitation to continue.
Althea would not be fobbed off. After all, she had just revealed her deepest secrets. “Was she young when she died?” she prompted.
He sighed heavily. “No…as a matter of fact, my mother died very recently.” He hesitated, then withdrew a letter from his coat and handed it to her. “I received this just before we left England.”
As Althea read it, her heart grew heavy with sorrow for him. “It seems both our lives have been blighted by sadness, Flynn.”
“Indeed.” Flynn stretched his shoulders.
Althea understood that gesture. It was as if casting off a heavy weight. She wanted to reach out and draw him to her, not merely to satisfy her own need, but to bring him comfort. All her doubts about Flynn had fled. He was a good man, a fine man. What a pity his mother had not stayed to know him.
As he promised, Flynn took a branch of candles and led Althea down to the dungeon. At the bottom of the steps, he stood in front of a heavy wooden door. Holding the candelabra high, he unlocked it, and entered the dank room with a nervous Althea close behind. In the center of the room, Flynn lifted a trapdoor to reveal a narrow, sunken space beneath an iron grill. A ladder led down into total darkness, smelling of sour, dank air.
She flinched, imagining the despair of those imprisoned there. “They actually left poor souls down here?”
“I believe they did. Hundreds of years ago.”
With a shudder, Althea stepped back, away from it. Flynn dropped the trapdoor, but the chill followed them out into the passage.
She was relieved to see Flynn lock the door. She yearned to return to the light and air above them. This was far worse than the closet Freddie had locked her in when she was eight. Flynn took her arm and returned to the welcome warmth of the drawing room where she moved closer to the fire seeking to dispel the chill. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
“As soon as that?”
“I can’t let Crowthorne’s trail grow cold.”
“No. I suppose not.”
She fought to hide her disappointment. Through the gap in the curtains, darkness cloaked the landscape. The fire burned dully and the candles fluttered, the smoky air scented with beeswax. Shadows crept into corners. Grateful that Flynn seemed to sense her need for quiet, or perhaps wished it for himself, she nestled in her chair. It was companionable and peaceful, but a knot of unease tightened her throat. There was so much unspoken, unfinished, between them. And now time was growing short. Flynn was about to walk into danger once more. How many times could he emerge unscathed? She was terribly afraid for him.
“Flynn?”
“Yes?” He lifted his head, and his eyes swept over her.
Her heart lurched madly. She had never seen such yearning for her in a man’s eyes before. Desire, yes, covertness, but never this. She drew in a deep breath as she climbed to her feet.
“I believe I’ll retire.”
Flynn stood and took her hands. “I might not see you in the morning, Althea. I’ll leave very early.”
“God speed, Flynn.” She left the room.