“How many servants here?”
“Five, counting the gardener and the stable boy.”
He shook his head. “This house is also understaffed. Did Brookwood not leave you well provided for?”
She stiffened, assailed by the undeniable and embarrassing truth. “Brookwood’s gambling debts.” She shrugged. “There was little left of my dowry.”
“I am sorry, Althea.” He gave a sympathetic smile and offered her his arm. “Let us make our announcement. Then we can don our coats and you can show me more of Owltree’s garden before it grows dark.”
“The property covers a mere ten acres, and in winter, it’s rather uninspiring.”
“Nevertheless, I’d like to take a look around,” he said.
He was more interested in searching for any disturbance, but she found she wanted to know more about him. “It can hardly compare with your Irish estate.”
“Nothing compares with the beauty of Ireland.” His Irish lilt became more evident and a proud gleam warmed his eyes.
Intrigued, she walked with him from the room. “Don’t you miss it?”
“I didn’t,” he confessed. “But now it’s mine, I do feel somewhat differently. If I had the money to improve it, I might go back. But as matters stand…” He shrugged.
She glanced at him as they descended the stairs to the servants’ quarters. It seemed they both had impossible dreams.
*
After dinner, Altheaexcused herself to prepare the bedchamber. When she returned to the salon, Flynn sat reading an old newspaper by candlelight, sipping brandy, while Sally bustled about seeing to the fire.
He yawned behind his hand. “The trip was fatiguing. I’m for bed.” He rose from the chair and stretched out his long arms. “Show me where we are to sleep, my love.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, of course.”
In the upper corridor, he followed her to the bedchamber. Flynn stopped short of entering. “What is this?” he asked.
Althea had made up the chaise longue with pillows and a blanket in the alcove formed by the bay window. “Don’t fuss,” she said. “I plan to take the chaise. You are much too tall for it.”
He chuckled as he leaned back against the doorframe. “You had no need of this, as I intend to sleep downstairs once the servants have retired.”
“Oh! Well, you might have said.” She had struggled with that heavy chaise alone as she could hardly ask Sally to assist her. More disappointed than she cared to admit, she nodded. “That’s wise. Take a pillow and blanket with you.”
He smiled. “There’s an open invitation for you to join me.”
“The salon has only one sofa.”
His eyes drank her up. “We shall manage.”
She spun away to draw the curtains. “Not when I have a comfortable bed to sleep in, but thank you.”
Flynn tugged at his cravat. “Best I undress here.”
She swallowed. “I see no need. The servants will soon retire, and you will have the salon to yourself.”
“I’ll wait awhile to make sure. I don’t want to cause embarrassment. Do you need my expertise with your buttons?” He shrugged out of his coat.
“Not this time.”
She would manage her clothes herself. Montsimon was so devious, she considered it best to send Sally to bed. At least this dress did up in front. She smoothed the blanket on the chaise. At a creak from the bed, she turned. Flynn lay under the covers, and what she could see of him from the waist up was bare.
“You can’t go about the house like that! Don’t you have a nightshirt?”
