“Then, you haven’t seen it …?”
“The pupas on his skin? Yes. I helped her gather and arrange them.” Clooney started to pull one off.
Felicity reached out to stop him. “You are not to remove them!” Her heart pounded.
Clooney dropped his chin. “But…”
“I forbid it.” Childhood superstitions had unfurled within, as shy and precious as the petals on a winter rose. Nick had been right all along. Jasper was the Raven. He might not be a traditional ghost, but somehow Aislinn’s intervention had enabled his spirit to materialize outside of his body—and hers—on a whole new level.
“It has worked,” she murmured, her palm hovering over her mouth as if feeling the rush of words would cement the fact.
Clooney squinted and took his pipe from his pocket. “What did you say, Dove?”
On the verge of telling Clooney everything, Felicity stopped. Jasper had chosen only to show himself to his blood relatives—his family. Perhaps it wasn’t her place to say anything. Not yet.
“Nothing. I’m … I’m just babbling. But I want you to leave things as they are.”
Clooney dragged his pipe along his chin, confusion etched on his aged features. “Well enough. I’m just glad to see you visiting him again. But, I’m afraid your visit must be short. We have a visitor in the parlor. Donal is here.”
His announcement snapped Felicity back to the present and its miseries. “What? Why?”
Clooney stuck the pipe in his mouth. “Brute wouldn’t say. Being downright cryptic. Wouldn’t even speak to his aunt, other than the usual pleasantries. Wants to converse with you alone. Better hurry. He’s nursing brandied coffee in the dining hall. Don’t want him drunk or passed out for your interlude.”
Felicity took one last sweep of the turret. Inspired by the hope that Jasper had found some way to reach her, and empowered by Nick’s plan for the peat bogs, she didn’t feel intimidated by Landrigan’s presence for the first time in months.
She would meet him head on and put a stop to his bullying once and for all. Then—and she couldn’t staunch a faint smile—she would return to the turret and visit with her brother again. Now that her faith in miracles had been restored, perhaps it would be strong enough to bring him back to them for good.
Nick looked over his shoulder and frowned at Tobias. The young man stiffened under his scrutiny.
Though the hitch wagon easily seated three, Nick had forced the stable hand to sit in back on the blankets after they’d taken a detour to Carnlough for some supplies. Nick was growing fond of Tobias. But he felt inclined to dole out some repercussion for his part in Aislinn’s plan. Nick wasn’t about to let either of the youths know how grateful he was for the deception, lest they make a habit of finding ways to be alone together.
Since he had a harder time being harsh with Aislinn, he directed the brunt of his punishment toward the stable hand.
“Give me that piece of wood there,” Nick said roughly, motioning with his carver’s knife toward the stack of evergreen blocks in the back. “The one on top.” Nick had handed over control of the wagon to Aislinn after a short lesson on driving a rig, anxious to get started with his carving.
Tobias crawled across the assortment of loot Nick had bartered for his earring and handed over a misshapen block of evergreen. Nick took the wood and appraised the wagon’s contents.
At the town market, he’d purchased eggs, milk, butter and cheese, that orange blossom soap Felicity was so fond of, fabrics for new dresses approved by Aislinn’s discerning eye, oil paints for his carving projects, and other sundries. He also bought a handful of shimmery ribbons for Lia to use on her pony.
Nick’s personal favorite, though, were the links of sausage. He’d bought enough to last the winter and couldn’t help but smirk in anticipation of Felicity’s reaction.
The closer they got to the castle, the more fidgety he became. He’d left Felicity with a mess without even realizing it. Last night, when he’d come up with the plan for the peat bogs, his mind had been fuzzy from the mead and lack of sleep. Today, since he’d had time to think, he saw the glitch. Felicity would have to hire workers. She wouldn’t feel safe with so many strange men running about. She’d crave the protection of a husband even more. Landrigan was just sharp enough to use that to his advantage.
Nick couldn’t stomach the thought of that man’s hands on Felicity’s body, or of him playing father to the girls. So, to that end, Nick was determined to offer marriage again himself. Now that he’d found a way to help support them, perhaps Felicity would overlook his past addiction and respect him enough to accept.
Upon speaking to the shop owner, Nick had been surprised to discover how many older folks lived in these hills. Widows and decrepit couples needing a strong, young hand. Though his intake wouldn’t be a windfall of wealth, he could work in exchange for necessities. That would be enough to supplement Felicity’s butterfly business until her caterpillars replenished, and funds from the peat bogs started rolling in.
Turning back around in the seat, he moved his knife in calming sweeps, shaving away slivers of the soft wood in his hand. It was the first time he’d carved in months without Mina’s death weighing on the blade.
Grinning, he slid the shiny silver along the wood, leaving an excess on both sides of the curvaceous form.
“What are you carving there?” Aislinn asked, turning her deep, intuitive gaze his way. “Seems to be making you quite happy.”
“Well, what do you think it looks like?” He held up his fledgling masterpiece.
“A rather lumpy rectangle.”
Chuckling, Nick studied his work and had to agree. But in a few hours, he’d have a rough set of butterfly wings springing off of the woman’s form he was shaping. Within a few days, it would be ready to paint. “Tis for your aunt.”
Aislinn’s freckles fairly jumped as she smiled. “Ah. So it must be butterfly related. Very romantic.”
Nick’s head cocked at the comment. The young lady smiled and he looked away, continuing to carve.
“You’re hoping to win her heart with it,” Aislinn baited. “You told me yesterday that she needed a man who could give her wings.”
Nick paused, amazed at her wisdom. “And you told me your father is the ghost haunting that castle.”
Aislinn jerked the reins, almost dropping them. “I said no such thing.” Her gaze slipped over her shoulder to Tobias. She bit her lip, some loose strands of hair flapping around her face. “Could you move to the back of the wagon?”
The stable hand’s resulting scowl was nothing less than comical. “What? I’m already in the back.”
Aislinn intensified her glare.
Tobias grumbled and scooted to the very end, close enough to the gate that he could reach out and pet the hobbie tied to the latch. “There.” He raised his voice over the rumble of the wagon. “Should I stuff my ears with hay?”
“No. That will do. I’ll speak softly.” She gave Tobias a sweet smile that could’ve tamed a rabid badger. She then turned to Nick. “I merely said that I believed the Raven was real.”
Nick’s blade resumed its scrape against the wood. “Why don’t you tell me about your aunt’s childhood? How did she and your father end up at the orphanage?”
Aislinn glanced at the sky as if considering how much to reveal. “They were all on a carriage ride and had a terrible accident. My grandfather’s neck broke and he died instantly. Grandmother developed blood poisoning from an injured leg and died weeks later in the hospital. Auntie was eight, and a piece of jagged wood left her scarred.” The girl touched her chest and pressed her lips tight, as if she’d said too much. Nick frowned at the discrepancy in her tale, knowing that’s how Felicity wanted it. That she’d hidden the true origin of her scar because she thought it the only way she could maintain her niece’s respect.
Aislinn took a breath and continued. “Father was thirteen, and only suffered a scratch or two. But the accident had other ripples. Since there was
no remaining family, they both ended up in an orphanage. In a matter of months, Father was taken by a wealthy professor and his barren wife who wanted a namesake. Auntie stood in the window and watched him leave.” Aislinn pressed her lips together. “It was always so sad to hear Father tell it. The last time he saw her she’d looked so destitute and abandoned, as if she thought he’d chosen them over her. Auntie was later bought by a family when she was ten.”
Nick thought of the earl and bit back a growl. Bought took on a whole new connotation with that worm of a guardian. Obviously, Felicity’s abandonment issues had started at a very young age. “So, how did they find one another again?”
Aislinn shrugged. “Auntie found him through the orphanage’s records.”
“And your father picked up his life and came to Ireland without question?”
“Mother was sick…” Aislinn’s voice wavered. “We came hoping her lungs would rally with the change of climate. They never did.”
Thinking upon the tragic losses Aislinn and her sister had suffered in their short lives, Nick started to offer condolences, but Aislinn spoke first.
“Now, I want to know something of you. Do you miss him?”
“Whom?” Nick hoped she wasn’t referring to his own father or brother.
“Johnny Boy.”
Nick’s blade glided along the wood, releasing a long sliver to fall at his feet. “He was my best friend. Accepted me unconditionally. But I’ll see him again soon.”
“Will you get a new dog, to replace him? You can find a puppy who’s perfect … with two ears.”
Nick leveled a gaze at her. “Johnny’s irreplaceable. And frailty moves the heart in a way perfection cannot match.”
Aislinn studied the road ahead. “Just as I suspected. An artist’s eye finds beauty even in the broken things. No wonder Auntie is so fond of you.”
Once again, Nick was taken aback by the girl’s maturity. Had she been testing him, to see if he would accept her aunt’s disfigurement?
He held the wood to his mouth to blow off stray splinters and inhaled the piney scent. His own chest cinched tight in anticipation of seeing his wounded Felicity again, and the hope that he’d finally found a way to break down her walls.
Felicity took her time dressing. She had to assure the wrinkles on her face were fully set in, and since it took half of the hour for the lotion to take effect, she couldn’t rush.
Other than the men’s suit she sometimes sported, it seemed an eternity since she’d put on anything other than mourning clothes. Come to think, her history with fashion had been sadly lacking throughout her life. She had gone from dressing in pinafores as a child to the gaudy frills and immodest décolleté of a courtesan then the languished dregs of a widow in mourning. There had been nothing to bridge the gaps in between.
But something had changed in her today, and her clothes should reflect it. She would no longer hide behind her sorrow, or her fear. Landrigan wasn’t behind the ghostly sightings. Her brother was fighting to come back, and the knowledge empowered her.
It was high time she looked the part of an honorable lady—alive and capable. She was more than Landrigan’s father’s widow. She was her own person … the lady of the manor. This estate belonged to her and no other. Perhaps if she made that clear once and for all, he would respect her enough to consider the peat bog proposal.
She still couldn’t bring herself to wear a corset—to be bound up tight made the skin around her scar itch terribly. But in the back of Jasper’s wardrobe hung several gowns that had once belonged to Isabella, with enough stays sewn in one didn’t need a corset.
After his wife first passed, Jasper had offered them to Felicity since she and Isabella were the same size. At the time, Felicity was playing the part of the mourning dowager and had no use for them.
Now she pulled one out: an elegant silk gown the gentle pink of champagne held up to a sunrise. The skirt came to her ankles, and a scalloped train dragged the floor behind. Fingerless mittens of creamed lace matched the ivory laced under-cuffs which spilled out over her wrists from beneath bell-hemmed sleeves. The bodice was pleated to fit her small waist and accentuate her bust, and the lapel sported ivory covered buttons which ran between the ribs all the way up to the high collar beneath her chin, making a scarf redundant. In spite of that, she still felt a wisp of insecurity, and chose to wear her butterfly brooch pinned in place, just above the tip of her scar. Its familiar weight reassured her.
Plaiting her silvery hair in separate links, she wrapped them high upon her crown like snakes and secured them with glistening pins. The mirror over the bureau offered a glimpse of radiance she rarely saw. The soft blush of the dress put color in her cheeks and warmed her eyes to a gleaming chocolate depth. Aside from the wrinkles, she bore a resemblance to the young girl she’d been before the earl’s imprint on her life and wished with all her heart the man waiting downstairs could be Nick. Perhaps he would’ve melted at the sight of her, taken her in his strong arms, forgiven her for all the secrets, and never walked away again no matter how convincing her feigned rejections might be.
Swallowing a lump, she glanced down at the creamy tips of her satin boots. Just because Jasper had connected with her didn’t mean she should bend to girlish whims and fancies. She had chased Nick away for his own good. Now, she would chase away her puffed-up stepson for the good of her family.
Upon this thought, a determined expression faced her in the mirror, and she rather favored herself being Medusa, off to turn her nemesis to stone with a brash baring of terrible beauty.
Before heading to the dining hall, she stopped to peek in on the girls. Dinah and Nutmeg had already been let from the room so they might relieve themselves outside. Lianna snored from her side of the bed and Aislinn was wrapped in blankets up over her head. Since their drapes sealed out the sun, and neither girl moved at the creak of the door, Felicity felt secure they would sleep through Landrigan’s visit.
She took the stairs and crept toward the dining hall on hushed footfalls. Judging by the length of time her unwelcome guest had been alone with his coffee and brandy, he would either be worked up to an aggravated frenzy or drowsing. Much preferring the latter, she chose to be quiet in hopes to win the advantage of surprise.
But when she rounded the corner and stepped into the brightly lit room, she found he wasn’t alone at all. Rachel and Landrigan had their heads together, whispering. Felicity inhaled deeply to ground herself. The bite of charred wood in the fireplace and the muted scent of breakfast hidden within domed silver trays tickled her nose.
Clearing her throat, she waited at the double doors. The maid startled and pushed off from the table beside Landrigan’s seat. She straightened her apron over her black uniform, moving with the all the grace of a flustered crow. Then she bowed her head to Landrigan and curtsied to Felicity on her way out. The usual haughty expression on her face paled to surprise upon seeing Felicity’s attire.
Felicity relished the unspoken compliment, having never been considered a peer or a rival in the young woman’s eyes. She conjectured the maid’s newfound insecurity was due less to the change in clothes than to the sting of Nick’s earlier rejection. And she was grateful to him once more for being true to his finer qualities—those he never let himself believe in.
When Felicity shut the doors and turned back to Landrigan, he was on his feet, his glittering-gold eyes piercing her. He whistled. “Why, Felicity. Yer a vision. Such a dress could put the heart crossways in a man.” He swirled a spoon in his coffee cup. The scraping-clink grated within Felicity, feeding her annoyance.
“That’s Your Ladyship to you, Mister Landrigan. And I would like nothing better than to give you a heart attack. Such a shame I failed in my attempt.”
Landrigan’s dimples slapped her. “Nay. The shame is ye can’t freshen yer charm with a change of clothes.”
She swept to the table to pour herself some tea. “I suppose I could, should I have a care. But hatred breeds apathy, I fear.”
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“I still say that color is right becomin’ on ye. Makes ye look least a good twenty years younger.” A glint of something indiscernible danced behind his gaze.
Felicity paused sipping her citrusy brew. A shiver ran through her. She took another sip of steaming tea to tame it. He was just being his usual smarmy self. She knew better than to play victim to his baiting. “How serendipitous that you should come today. I had planned to call for you.”
“Well, that right warms me to the cockles.”
Felicity schooled her features to stony casualness. “I have a proposition.”
“A proposition. Me morn just keeps gettin’ brighter and brighter.” Her nemesis abandoned his coffee but kept the spoon, licking droplets from its ladle as he strode toward Lianna’s drawings on the wall. Thoughtfully studying them, he flipped the spoon so the handle rested between his lips much like the peppermint sticks he usually carried.
“Did you lose your little bag of candy?” Felicity offered the barb as she settled behind him and nursed her tea.
“I’ve a toothache. T’would seem there’s such a thing as too much sugar. With the exception of yer sweet nieces.” He stepped to the left and perused Lianna’s latest attempt at a carousel. Withdrawing the spoon from his mouth, he used the handle to trace the sketched lines. “I see the snapper hasn’t forgot me promise. I’ve purchased the ponies … be bringin’ ‘em by on her birthday.”
The Glass Butterfly Page 24