These questions sang within me, firing my blood with a joyous hope. But I took a steadying breath and did what I knew I must.
“That will depend, my lord.”
Undaunted, he nuzzled my hair and took my earlobe lightly between his teeth. I gave a quiet gasp, and heat pooled in my belly.
“Upon what, lady?” he whispered.
My breaths had shortened, making it harder to think, but I persisted. “Shall I be permitted to continue my studies?”
He laughed, and his breath was warm in my ear. “You may earn twenty degrees, if you so desire. You may do a hundred other things, with or without my consent. Don’t imagine I shall ever stand in your way.”
I smiled, satisfied with this answer. “I should like to begin now,” I said.
He trailed kisses down one side of my neck, his lips brushing past my collarbone before starting down my chest and into the cleft between my breasts.
I gasped again as his voice rumbled against the tender flesh there. “As you like. How shall we begin?”
I took his head in my hands, and he rose. “Let us study what it will be like to be man and wife,” I said.
His smile was roguish indeed, and I trembled as his hands slid down to my hips. The hem of my gown tickled my flesh as it traveled up my legs.
“The dinner bell is ringing,” he murmured teasingly, his hips pressing closer to mine.
“Let it ring, my love.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
“My love, you should know
The best of me left hours ago.”
—Frightened Rabbit, “I Wish I Was Sober”
When I was in the early stages of plotting The Absinthe Earl and looking for inspiration, I found it in the folktales of Irish poet W. B. Yeats and in the lyrics of Scott Hutchison, former lead singer of the Scottish indie rock band Frightened Rabbit. Hutchison took his life in 2018, almost a year ago as I write this. I want to thank him for his work and his voice, and I want to take this opportunity to share the suicide prevention hotline: 1-800-273-8255.
I have another posthumous thank you: it goes to my mother, Barbara Sharon Fisher, née Bates. As I mentioned in the dedication, my mother gave me my first fairy picture book. She was a down-to-earth lady who mostly read nonfiction and literary fiction, but she never judged me, even when it became clear I would not grow out of my love for speculative fiction. Like my heroine, Ada Quicksilver, she was a woman before her time. Before I came along, she worked as both a social worker and a college calculus instructor. When I was a kid, she continued her education and became a computer programmer in the late 1970s. She was also an active member of the League of Women Voters and the First Unitarian Church in Oklahoma City. I once told her I wanted to be a nurse, and she replied, “If you want to, but also you can be a doctor.” I don’t know what I was thinking with the whole nurse thing (because blood), but every single time I’ve fretted about whether something was possible, I’ve thought about her reply. Thanks for believing in me, Mom. I wish we’d had more time.
Thank you to my agency, Writers House, especially my wonderful agent Robin Rue, who once said with regard to my writing style, “to understand Sharon Fisher you have to read Sharon Fisher,” and I can’t explain why but it made me so happy. And also especially Beth Miller, who is incredibly helpful in all situations but is fabulously awesome at critiques.
Huge thanks to Jeff Lilly—my language and Celtic expert who came to me by serendipity—not just for making my words more correct and authentic but also for his wonderful encouragement and moral support throughout the whole process (and for offering some terrific ideas!). Thanks to his wife Alison, as well, who helped clarify some of the mythological points.
Thank you to my new publishing family at Blackstone—my editor, Michael, my cover designer, Kurt, and my copyeditor, Ember. Thanks to Rick and Josie for believing in my work. To the marketing team—Mandy, Lauren, and Jeff—for their efforts to make this book a success.
To the bloggers at Books, Bones & Buffy and The Book Pushers, who’ve been with me since the beginning of this writing adventure.
To my husband, Jason, who supports my work in both tangible and intangible ways. Who always believes in me and reminds me to believe in myself. Who is not afraid to use tough love or soft words, whichever the situation requires. To my dear friend and fan Debbi, who gave me early feedback and lots of pep talks. To my girls, Selah and Talia, who were so excited that they made beautiful book posters by hand and also provided excellent feedback on the cover design. And who also (mostly) respected the closed door with the “do not disturb” sign.
To Roy the Bartender in the village of Roundstone, County Galway, Ireland, who taught me the word “jackeen.”
And lastly, to the many writers of references and resources, which were both inspirational and invaluable in helping to sort out the complexities of Irish mythology. Especially the works of W. B. Yeats and the Oxford Dictionary of Celtic Mythology. Also Katharine Briggs, Lady Gregory, W. Y. Evans-Wentz, and Brian Froud. And, good heavens, what would all us writers do without Wikipedia? (Probably spend a lot less time down rabbit holes, but that’s a whole other topic.)
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