“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.”
