“Hello, Dinah,” Felicity said. The plump grey tabby pounced out, whiskers and tail twitching. Nutmeg butted her mother with her long muzzle then dropped to her back in a submissive pose. They wrestled around Felicity’s feet.
Felicity stood and giggled, trying to stay balanced against the onslaught of affection. With a start, her furry companions bounded off in the direction of the Doll’s Garden on the far south side of the greenhouse. Felicity looked over her shoulder at the butterworts, their purple blossoms crushed where Nick had landed last night.
If he was telling the truth, and wasn’t working for Landrigan, then the Dark Raven was still at large. But why had Nick been carrying that book on spiritual folklore, if he weren’t involved somehow? How else would the supernatural tie-in with his presence here? For him to break in, it had to be more than a passing interest in the rumors that abounded about the haunted castle.
She inhaled a deep breath and followed the shaded path behind her pets, wishing the heady perfume of flowers and herbs could tamp the storm within her.
The greenhouse was divided by glass walls and wrought iron gates into three separate conservatories: the herb garden, where she trudged now; the caterpillar sanctuary to the left, wherein she bred and raised her butterflies and the passion vines that sustained them; and the Doll’s Garden, which she had made after her brother, Jasper, and his family had come to live at this castle six years earlier. A few months into their arrival, Jasper’s wife, Isabella, birthed their second daughter.
Isabella was built like Felicity—dainty and fine-boned. But she was much frailer physically. Jasper had hoped her health would improve upon their arrival, putting faith in the humid environment and clean air to suppress her tuberculosis … but Isabella died only months after Lianna’s arrival.
Felicity did her best to step-in for Jasper and be a mother to his girls. It was the least she could do. He had come here to help her run this estate; to help her make a living off of his expertise as a lepidopterist who specialized in rare butterfly breeds.
Though some of Felicity’s patrons—Nick’s family for one—pursued butterfly gardens simply as a hobby, others made a profit charging admissions into their living exhibits. They had earned the title of Butterfly Boomers. It was through Jasper’s training and genius that Felicity had capitalized on the said “boom”, and came to be known as the most successful caterpillar breeder in Ireland. If only Jasper were with her now to help solve what was happening with the butterflies.
She’d learned so much from him in those first four years. Until he had his stroke and left her angry and alone, locked in her mourning clothes and perpetually grieving…
Glancing through the rain-spotted glass roof, Felicity studied the castle’s looming tower. Sorrow mingled with bitterness and surged through her veins. She thought upon the urn of ashes—the sad remnants of a once-functioning human being—sitting up in the highest turret within that dark and foreboding room.
There had been too many tragedies in this castle those first few years. Too much loss and cessation of life. Hell would be a rose garden before she’d let Donal take over and bring his own brand of infestation here, now that she’d finally managed to turn it into a haven for her family. She would get to the bottom of his latest scheme.
He would not better her.
Stepping through the open gate into the Doll’s Garden, Felicity glared at Donal on its farthest end. She could only see his profile as he knelt beside Lianna, the youngest of the girls, helping her place pebbles for a miniature pathway. He was showing her how to curve it around to meet the doll-sized gazebo Felicity had made out of an abandoned and repainted birdcage. A tiny porcelain horse sat in the cage. Felicity had never seen it and knew it must be a gift from the Irishman. Or rather a bribe. Watching him with her niece was like watching a spider teach a fly how to spin a web.
Biting back the impulse to rush into their midst and send him on his way, Felicity swung her gaze across the dwarf marigolds, zinnias, and forget-me-nots that lined the stone walkways, seeking Binata. She found the nanny crouched beside a patch of rosemary plants. Felicity’s oldest niece, Aislinn, had her back turned, helping the old woman cut the herbs’ branches and tie together their remnants, shaping them into topiaries which resembled miniature trees. Nutmeg and Dinah had found refuge in the leaves beside them, nestled amongst Lianna’s collection of dolls.
Felicity tried to see things from the nanny’s perspective. Donal had never been anything but kind and attentive to his aunt. And Felicity had no proof that he was behind the bad luck that had encumbered her over the past year. The lost pigs … the damaged stables … the missing chicken eggs. All she had was her gut instinct. It wasn’t enough to accuse him outright; not yet.
As far as Binata was concerned, Donal came to visit once a month for two reasons: because he believed this estate was his birthright, and because Binata was family.
The nanny must have felt Felicity’s stare, for she looked up. The scars on her face—two vertical lines beneath each eye and one perpendicular across her nose which formed a veritable “H”—crinkled around the edges with her frown. Her gaze hopped from Felicity to Donal and back again.
“I’m sorry,” she mimed the words across the way. Her ebony-sheened hand smoothed the scarf tied around her head as she started to stand. A new brooch, silver with a speckling of blue jewels, glittered at her neck. Apparently, Donal had been generous with the gift giving today.
Felicity motioned for Binata to stay put. “It’s all right,” she mimed back, wanting above all else not to upset the girls.
Her oldest niece, Aislinn, turned and glared. No telling what she was angry about today. Just once, Felicity wished they could see eye to eye—on anything.
Straightening her skirt, Felicity strode toward Donal and her smallest niece, her disfigured chest feeling cold and stiff against the inferno combusting behind her sternum.
Lianna’s shimmering blonde braids flung about her shoulders from beneath her hat as she flounced toward Felicity. “See Auntie! See what Uncle Donal brought me!” She held out the teensy horse no bigger than a grasshopper.
“Ah, I see it.” Felicity took the toy and stroked the bumps of Lianna’s braids as Donal stood to wipe leaves and dirt from his trousers.
He tipped his hat and grinned, his white teeth glaring. He wore a lavender pinstriped vest over his dress shirt with matching cravat and trousers, resembling any other wealthy aristocrat … on the surface. But he’d accumulated his small fortune by scraping the underbelly of society—dirtying his hands with everything from extortion to gambling. He might resemble a gentleman, but there was nothing gentle about him.
Felicity remembered the first time she’d met him a year ago. He looked so much like his father, her heartbeat had faltered. Except that where his father had been pale and thin with a protruding belly out of place on his tall stature, Donal’s skin was a creamy tan with a toned build perfectly proportioned to his impressive height. He also had his mother’s plump lips and cropped black corkscrews, traits intrinsic to the Nigerian side of his heritage. He was an elegant man … beautiful in the same way a swaying cobra must be while mesmerizing its prey.
Felicity held his appraising gaze—those dusty gold irises, like a wheat field in a windstorm with dark, predatory shadows behind the fray. He always appeared to be hiding something.
“He is not your uncle, Lia.” Felicity flung out the words so Donal could catch them. “Regardless what he says. And it is unbefitting for him to give you gifts when it’s not your birthday or Christmas.”
“Awww.” Lianna’s vivid blue eyes slanted up at her from behind straight, whitish-blonde lashes so thick they made her lids look heavy with sleep. “Please, Auntie. My birthday comes soon.”
Having always had a soft spot for this youngest child, Felicity suppressed the urge to give in, determined to make her point more for Donal’s benefit than Lianna’s. Her fingers tightened around the horse. “It’s a month hence, little goose. He can
put it away somewhere and send it via post when the time is proper. Now go help your sister and Binata. I wish to speak with Mister Landrigan alone.”
“You’re not my mum, Auntie.” Lianna’s plump cheeks reddened. “But I still let you give me hugs and kisses.” She stared up at Felicity with her mouth turned on a frown—an obvious effort to appear sagely.
“And I am so grateful you do.” Felicity knelt. She traced the small, dirty handprints on her niece’s gardening apron, tickling her belly until she burst out in giggles. “I love you, Lia. I’ve known you all of your life. Mister Landrigan hardly knows any of us.”
Lianna’s laughter clipped short. Her smudged hands captured Felicity’s gloves. “Bini’s his aunt. Like me, you, and Aislinn. And he knows you enough to want to marry you.”
“The snapper makes a point, Felicity.” Donal’s Irish bass reached across to her, making the hair along her nape stiff. “Wise beyond her years, aye?”
Felicity kissed Lianna’s button nose and stood. “Do as I say. No more stalling. No more arguments.”
Huffing, Lianna turned, her apron swirling with the motion, and tromped off toward the rosemary topiaries.
“Sharp as a cutty knife, that one.” Donal watched the child settle between Binata and her sister. Aislinn cast another turbulent glance Felicity’s way, then turned back to her work.
Felicity gestured for Donal to follow her out of the greenhouse and into the courtyard where a cool breeze raised gooseflesh along her neck and the blissful trills of birds mocked her foul mood.
She leaned against the hitch wagon that stood beneath the shade of several coniferous trees so thick with moss they appeared to be molting. The scent of pine needles and wet wood stung her nose.
Keeping distance between herself and her unwelcome guest, Felicity used her shawl to hide her right hand as she reached into the wagon, surreptitiously lifting the stockwhip which was coiled up on the squab. She drew it back beneath her shawl.
“A coward’s ruse, Mister Landrigan. Making me out to be the ogre.”
An amused smile curved Donal’s lips. “Ye chose to be selfish all on yer own. Bit insecure, are we, Felicity?”
“I’ve told you time and again, I am Your Ladyship to you. You’ve long since forfeited any right to call me by my first name. And I shan’t allow you to hand out poison to my children, in any form.”
“Yer children? I thought they were yer dead brother’s.”
His insensitivity stung like a snakebite. “I am the only parent they have now. And the only mother Lia has ever known.” With her free hand, she flung the porcelain horse at him. “What is this, another bribe to gain her good graces?”
He caught the toy against his chest, that blasted grin deepening to incite his dimples. “Go way outta that. I’ve no need to bribe. The little skirt likes me enough already. She wants ye to marry me.”
“She’s too young to know why you’re pushing for this farce of a union. I cannot believe the conniving lengths you’ve gone to in hopes to send me running to you.”
“I’ve been tellin’ ye all along. I’ve nothin’ to do with yer troubles. This land is simply dangerous for a woman and her nits—unprotected and unattached. Ye need a man.”
Felicity’s fingers tightened around the whip.
Tucking the toy horse into his jacket, Donal dug out a peppermint stick from a parchment bag. He slid the candy into the side of his mouth. The end hung from the corner of his lips, glistening white. “Yer takin’ a chance out here. There are nawful fellas gummin’ to get their mitts on pretty little English skirts for slave trade. These girls are vulnerable. We both know how easy it would be.” He held up the peppermint—studying it in the soft light. “Them bein’ so susceptible to bribes.”
In one fluid, split-second motion, Felicity freed her right arm from beneath the shawl and flicked the whip’s handle. Its tail cracked, snapping the peppermint out of Donal’s hand without even grazing his fingers.
His surprised gaze followed the broken candy as it crumbled to the path beside his foot. “Powerful fine, Felicity. Ye’ve improved.”
“Not really.” She rolled up the leather cording, quelling her temper with the action. “I was aiming for your nose.”
Smirking, Donal scraped the peppermint beneath his boot’s toe, coating the pieces with dirt. “This might be a bright time for ye to reconsider my proposal. Now that yer becoming insolvent.”
Felicity blinked. “I haven’t any idea what you mean.”
“Your littlest nip told me yer caterpillars be goin’ missin’. Dyin’ too young to breed or some such.”
The urge to call him out for causing this newest dose of bad luck was strong, but Felicity knew enough about poker not to show a bloodthirsty opponent her hand. “My caterpillars are robust and thriving. Lia has a grand imagination. It would appear you do, too. This ‘ghost’ you’ve conjured certainly has the girls stirred to a frenzy. But I plan to put an end to that soon enough.”
The man had the nerve to look confused. “Yer the one that spread the rumors of hauntings to keep out the world. Mayhap yer own cock-and-bull stories are comin’ to life. All I know is it takes funds to run an estate like this. Not to mention the cost of raisin’ a family. And if yer not careful, these girls will end up in an orphanage. Is yer pride worth that?”
Felicity winced. The man knew right where to hit her.
Landrigan baited her again. “Despite what ye think of me, I have a care for Lia and Aislinn. I won’t watch them starve or be deprived of the things they need. I’ll go to the RICs before I let that happen.”
Fear surged through Felicity, chilling her blood. The law could never be involved. Though Landrigan didn’t know, she was not legally the girls’ guardian since her brother never finished a will before his stroke. That was the very reason she had lied to Lord Thornton about the girls being her daughters. Unfortunately, Donal had found out the truth about their lineage months ago.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” she said, taking up the gauntlet he’d thrown at her feet. “No one is being deprived of any necessities here.”
“Not yet. But with yer caterpillars dyin’, that’ll soon change.”
“You care nothing about the girls, so don’t try to pretend otherwise. Your only concerns are your aunt and this land.”
“Whatever ye think, bird. But it ain’t no matter. Without yer business, ye’ll have to marry me. Ye have no other way to meet expenses.”
“Oh, but she does.”
Felicity turned at the velvet-deep scrape of Nick’s voice. He limped out from a curve in the path where trumpet vines formed a fragrant hiding place—their red blossoms clinging by their roots along a tunnel-shaped trellis.
An uneasy twinge tightened Felicity’s chest as she wondered how long he’d been standing inside the trellis … how much he’d overheard.
Noting her guest’s intensely curious regard of Donal, and Donal’s glare of mistrust at him, she at last accepted his claim of not being acquainted with the man. Nick’s armor once again glistened in her eyes.
Even using a toy horse for a cane, he still looked virile enough to make her heart flutter like a caged bird. He’d left his shirt unbuttoned and it flapped in the cool breeze, revealing the union suit beneath. A flash of sun-colored down peeked out from the half-opened placket at his chest, matching the hair on his head that drifted in waves around his shoulders. Felicity’s fingers curled around the whip’s long, stiff handle in remembrance of his naked physique. Desperate to redirect her thoughts, she placed the braided leather cord back on the wagon.
“Bang on.” Donal’s attention held Nick. “Looks like ye found a man after all. Or mayhap more of a Molly.” He sneered at the effeminate stick pony.
Jaw clenched, Nick passed his grey eyes over Felicity once, warming her cheeks, then stepped closer to Donal. She was taken aback by how close in size they were. Although Nick was more muscular—a utilitarian body, created to give a woman protection … and pleasure.
“I’ve come to tour and invest in Her Ladyship’s butterfly conservatory,” Nick said, inches from Donal’s face. “And I’ll be dealing directly with Professor Blackwood, so don’t be spreading any slander.”
Donal crushed the peppermint pieces beneath his foot. “Cracker that! Should be an interestin’ affiliation, considerin’ the professor be dead. Did ye forget to tell him that about yer brother, Felicity? That yer raisin’ his nieces in wake of his passing?”
Nick turned to give her another once over. Discomfort crept up her neck, frosting her vertebra like ice-tipped spider’s legs.
“I’d be dog wide if ye plan to deal directly with this one,” Donal said. “She’s shrewd. Popped into existence seven years ago and convinced old Da to marry her on his deathbed. All so she could inherit this pretty piece of land. Isn’t that right, Step-mum?”
Chapter Six
Nick intensified his study of the widow, making her squirm. He almost couldn’t swallow for the snarl of disappointment in his throat. The professor he’d come all this way to see—who held Nick’s one hope for redemption in his hands—was dead. Such news cut sharper than the spasms in Nick’s injured knee.
The dowager’s face flushed, lashes shading her eyes. She wouldn’t meet Nick’s gaze. Instead, she rushed her gloved hand over the whip, as if debating whether or not to pick it up again.
Remembering how it felt to be on the receiving end of that snapping cord, Nick opted it best to return his focus to Donal.
He would never have guessed this man was the Irish earl’s son. They didn’t share the same surname, and his coloring alluded to a mixed nationality. Whatever the case, Nick had heard enough of the conversation between Lady Lonsdale and Donal to know that she was being bullied. Perhaps that’s why she’d lied to him about her nieces, claiming them as her own—to protect them somehow.
The fact that she was raising those girls all alone, that she still wore black so many years after her husband’s death, all attested to deep emotions. Nick suspected she’d married him for more than this property. It could’ve been to help her hold onto her nieces. Whatever the case, it wouldn’t do his cause any harm to get on the woman’s good side. Win her trust.
The Glass Butterfly Page 5