Chapter Twenty-Seven
Flynn knew how difficult it was for Althea when she’d come to his bedchamber, and he now understood why she’d held suitors at bay. She’d been at the mercy of unscrupulous men, first her father’s betrayal, marrying her off to a known brute when she was barely out of the schoolroom, and Brookwood’s callous treatment. That she trusted him was something he held dear. He would never let her down. To have made love to her, made her his own, overwhelmed him. He wasn’t a particularly patient man, but he’d waited, hoping she would come to him.
When Crowthorne abducted her, and the shock that he might lose her tore through him like a physical pain, he’d come to realize it was love that he felt for her, not merely desire. Extraordinary how Althea gave his life meaning. He couldn’t bear the prospect of spending the rest of his life without her. But unless the king came up trumps, he had so little to offer.
As the carriage bore him through the countryside to London, he relived their passionate lovemaking. His pleasure knew no bounds when she responded to his caresses with a curiosity and a generosity of spirit, which years of Brookwood’s callousness had failed to extinguish. When they’d lain together, spent and exhausted, with sleep hovering, a declaration of love trembled on his lips, but he’d been afraid to utter the words. He could not ask her to marry him until his financial position improved, and who knew what lay ahead in his future. Her aunt would surely agree. He was aware of two, plump-in-the-pocket English lords who expressed a desire to marry Althea if she gave them an ounce of encouragement. Flynn groaned. He’d run his sword through any man who looked at her twice!
He watched the passing landscape through the window, impatient to reach London and finish what Crowthorne had started, while he pushed away the dread that the blackguard could evade him for months.
Flynn recalled he and Althea’s first meeting. A musical evening where the pianist plodded through a heavy piece which didn’t appeal to him. While he sat bored and restless and wishing himself elsewhere, she had entered the room. Then the evening greatly improved. He studied her with an appreciative eye, and had to admit, the hope of a possible conquest. She was dressed in a mourning gown which drained the color from some women’s faces but only served to highlight her fair skin and accentuate her lovely blue eyes. Attraction turned to curiosity. He was familiar with beautiful women, most of whom were very aware of their charms, but when he was introduced to Althea at supper, she talked to him with a naturalness and absence of vanity, which surprised him. In subsequent meetings, she batted away his attempts to woo her, refusing to take him seriously. The more he pressed, the more she eluded him. If he was honest, it wasn’t hurt pride so much that motivated him, but a desire to know her.
Now he sought her approval and needed to earn her love.
In Barnet, on the outskirts of London, the carriage drew into a coaching inn to change horses. Flynn went in search of a tankard of ale and a hasty meal. He sat drinking in the noisy, smoky inn parlor reeking of hops. The heavy sadness that settled on him whenever he visited Ireland had dimmed with his mother’s letter. Her loving words laid the ghosts to rest. He understood why she’d left without him, and no longer felt any anger toward her. Just a great disappointment that she hadn’t been in his life. That he hadn’t known her. Another surprise was his eagerness to tackle the much-needed improvements to the estate. An entirely realistic aim now that the king had promised a handsome recompense. And he wanted Althea beside him as his wife.
The search for Crowthorne had grown more difficult now that Barraclough could offer little help. The Home Office would not sanction a pursuit, and there was no point in appealing to Viscount Sidmouth, who was embroiled in his own affairs. If the runners failed to locate Crowthorne, Flynn would. If the man was allowed to go free, he and Althea would never know peace.
Hours later, the carriage crawled through the crowded London streets. Flynn wanted someone by his side he could trust. John, the Marquess of Strathairn, had been a consummate spy before he married Sibella Winborne. Then John had retired to York to breed horses. Flynn hoped to lure him back one more time. But John was busy with his own affairs and those of the country now he was in the House of Lords.
On arriving home, Flynn sat at his desk and penned a short note. He sent a footman to deliver it to Grosvenor Square, Strathairn’s London address. It was likely they would be in Town now that parliament was sitting.
The next evening, John walked into White’s Club accompanied by Guy, Baron Fortescue. Both men appeared to be in ruddy good health. Married life and months spent at their estates obviously suited them. Flynn suffered a flicker of envy.
He rose to greet them, his mood suddenly buoyant. “It’s a pleasure to find you two country gentlemen in Town. I hope I can persuade you to join me, Strathairn. I have need of your expertise to catch a criminal.” Flynn began to explain as they settled in leather armchairs to share a bottle of Scottish whisky.
“I should like to be a part of it.” Guy’s blue eyes were bright with suppressed excitement.
Flynn’s grin widened in response to the warmth and generosity of true friends. “I would consider myself most fortunate to have your help, Guy.”
Strathairn’s blue-gray eyes sobered. “I promised Sibella those days were behind me.” He grimaced. “At the time, I was more than happy to adhere to it.”
Flynn hid his disappointment. “I fully understand if you can’t.”
“I don’t believe I said I can’t.” Strathairn shook his head with a chuckle. “I’m not about to let a chance to freshen up my skills slip through my fingers. I shall just have to talk my lady wife around.”
“I believe I face a bigger task than you, John.” Guy huffed out a laugh. “I am married to Hetty. And what they say about redheads is true. They are fiery!”
“And you love it,” John said with a grin.
“Making up after an argument is always pleasurable,” Guy said. “I shall bring Hetty around.” He leaned forward. “Tell me more about this matter.”
“The king has requested that the secret must remain with us.” Flynn arched his brow. “But how long it remains a secret once he gives the jewel to his mistress is anyone’s guess.”
“As to Horace Crowthorne, I can’t say I’m surprised,” John said. “There’s always been speculation about how he made his fortune.” With a slow shake of his head, John glanced around. “An unscrupulous manipulator, he’s been unseated in Commons. Rumors of double dealings follow him.”
“Now he has stooped to murder,” Guy said, “he becomes more dangerous.”
“So, Churton didn’t turn traitor,” John said. “Knew it wasn’t true. He was a good friend of mine.”
Flynn nodded. “I couldn’t believe it of him either.”
A glint brightened John’s eyes. “What do you have in mind, Flynn?”
“I’m about to chase up the runners I sent on Crowthorne’s trail. Then we will act.” A surge of adrenaline quickened Flynn’s blood. Now, with these men at his side, the outcome looked far more promising.
The following day, Flynn was summoned to Carlton House where the king stalked among his toadies and minions, his hands clasped behind his back. “Ah, Montsimon. I’ve been at pains to decide how best I might reward you for your excellent work.”
Flynn straightened from his low bow. “I am eternally grateful for your generosity, Your Majesty.”
“As Europe stirs itself to worry us again, I intend to appoint you as ambassador to Spain.”
As the promise of a monetary reward faded, Flynn cleared his throat and searched for an appropriate response. “A fine appointment, Your Majesty.”
King George bowed his head. “There will be some opposition, of course, but no one can deny you’ve proved yourself eminently worthy of the position.”
Flynn felt his temper rise along with his temperature. He glanced around at the room, the king always kept too hot. It was filled with sweaty, overheated people whose discourse had died away, their eyes resting on him. Thankfully, no one of any note was present. “Might I have a private word, Your Majesty?”
With one gesture, the king sent them all scuttling from the room.
Flynn took a deep breath as his diplomatic skills vanished under the weight of disappointment. “I am honored by your trust in me, Your Majesty. I’m distressed at being unable to accept such an exalted position.”
“Not accept it?” King George’s blue eyes widened in disbelief. He stood, hands on hips, a haughty rebuke hovering on his lips. “Not accept it?” he repeated. “Have you lost your reason?”
“I don’t believe so, Your Majesty.” Flynn sought to make his refusal sound firm and final. “I plan to return to Ireland. My estate needs to be put to rights.”
The king narrowed his eyes. “Since when has that concerned you? You patently dislike the place, and, to my knowledge, seldom visit it.”
“My ancestors have lived at Greystones since the fourteen hundreds,” Flynn said.
“Well, of course they did. Where else would they have lived? But what of it?”
“It’s a fine estate. I prefer it not to fall into ruin.” Flynn stood rigid as all hopes of a financial recompense vanished along with his eloquence.
King George scowled. “We are most displeased, Montsimon.”
“I regret that most deeply, Your Majesty.”
“So you say.” King George flicked a bejeweled finger in Flynn’s direction. “Remove yourself from my sight.”
“In my defense, I can only say that recent circumstances have changed my view, Your Majesty.”
Flynn rose from his bow to find the king’s shrewd gaze on him. “Might there be a lady behind this astonishing change of heart, Montsimon?”
“I do have expectations in that direction.”
“Ha! And who is this paragon who has ensnared a man so determined never to marry?”
“Lady Brookwood, Your Majesty.”
King George rubbed his chin. “Brookwood’s widow. A pretty piece. Good figure.” He nodded. “Can she not accompany you to Spain?”
Flynn refused to take Althea to an unstable country racked by civil war where she would often be alone. “I’m afraid not.”
The light of understanding shone in the king’s eyes, and a small smile curled his lips. A man often distracted by a pretty woman, the king appeared to have recovered his humor, but was not moved enough to open the public purse. “Perhaps our loss will be the Irish parliament’s gain?”
“Should my country have need of me,” Flynn said with a stiff bow.
“I will be in Ireland next year to open the new port. Perhaps we shall stay in that stone pile of yours.”
Flynn bowed low. “I should be greatly honored, Your Majesty.”
Cursing, Flynn emerged onto Pall Mall. His financial woes had not abated and were now destined to get a good deal worse.
*
Althea roamed the house, mentally rolling up her sleeves. She spent far too many hours dreaming of Flynn and their night together. She had expected him to be a consummate lover, but she never imagined lovemaking could be so… She had been so pleasurably exhausted she’d slept deeply, waking in the morning to find him beside her, naked, such a beautiful man. She shook her head. Enough! Such thoughts heated her body and made her yearn for him. Then fears for his safety rushed back to send her pulse galloping.
Desperate to distract herself, Althea had made a reconnaissance of all the rooms in present use. The wonderful proportions of the chambers were masked by ugly, dull, and dust-laden furniture, and worn, faded carpets. She planned to fill her days restoring order. She adopted a small room next to the breakfast room, which also looked onto the sheltered walled-garden where the climbing roses would be glorious in springtime.
She had a walnut desk moved in and a pretty, fuchsia-and-white striped sofa that she found in one of the bedchambers. She spent her evenings there embroidering chair covers. As she stitched, she tried not to think of Owltree Cottage in its ramshackle state, empty and sad. Once Crowthorne was gone, she would have to return there and somehow find the money to restore it.
Quinn came in with a bucket full of logs. He lit the fire every morning, and she always took her morning tea there while she made her plans for the day.
“We need more servants, Quinn,” she said, as he poked at the fire. “Shall we need to go to Dublin?”
Quinn stood as the flames caught. His eyes brightened. “There are some in need of gainful employment in the village. I can think of two who might suit.”
She smiled. “We’ll need more workers for the estate, and Cook requires scullery and kitchen maids. I would prefer to employ more experienced housemaids and a housekeeper with excellent references. A footman, too, to run errands for you and serve the meals.”
“Then it’s Dublin you’ll be wanting. There’s an employment agency in the town.”
“Gaffney can drive Sarah and me in the landau.”
“As you wish, milady.”
“What I really wish for today is a trip to the attic.”
He raised his brow. “I am thinking that’s not a good idea, milady.”
She frowned in disappointment. “Why? It’s not safe?”
“The timbers are sound enough, but ’twill be cloaked in a good layer of dirt and dust, and mice, to be sure.”
She laughed. “Is that all? Please tell Brigit to bring me one of her aprons.”
Quinn gawped.
Althea put her hands on her hips. “I am a farmer’s daughter. I am not afraid of dirt, hard work, or mice.”
A smile split Quinn’s face. “Then I’ll be showing you the way, milady.”
Althea followed the little man up four flights of stairs and through a tiny, double-locked door to an enormous area under the roof, where centuries of dirt and dust tickled her nose.
“Careful where you walk, milady,” Quinn said. “The floor might be weak in some places.”
The huge space was crammed with furniture, discarded bric-a-brac, broken crockery, and chests of old clothes. Quinn’s lantern illuminated several items Althea considered valuable. “It’s like a treasure trove,” she said, stepping cautiously over the floor. She opened a box, to find a beautiful fringed shawl in excellent condition. Perfect to throw over a chair to hide a stain.
Quinn rubbed his hand over his chin with a disbelieving look. “A treasure trove, milady?”
“Once the dust is removed and they’re polished, some of these pieces will be beautiful, Quinn.” Althea crouched down to examine a carpet of exquisite quality in soft blue and green hues. She thought it to be French. “We’ll need to unroll this, but most of it looks to be in surprisingly good condition.” She moved on to a card table with delicate legs from the previous century, the green baize top unsullied by moths. Rolls of beautiful fabric filled a box, perfect to swathe at the drawing room windows.
“To begin with, have O’Mainnin bring those downstairs.” She pointed to several pieces of furniture while wiping away a cobweb clinging to her hair.
Althea dusted her hands and followed Quinn down filled with a sense of energy she doubted she’d ever before experienced.