Grace trailed her fingers down Count Cesare’s muscular chest and smiled. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes gleamed and her greedy appetite for the gratification of the flesh was well and truly sated, for now. Indeed, the Count had not disappointed her. She had barely thought of Michael Doyle since this exotic and clearly devilish man had undone the first button of her dress. He had carried her to her bed and confirmed what she had always suspected, that Latin men know better than anyone how to pleasure a woman.
Now Michael Doyle slipped into her consciousness again. She wanted him to know what she thought of Count Cesare and she wanted him to boil with jealousy. “Now that you have bought the castle, Cesare, when are you going to move in?” she asked, propping herself up on her elbow and shaking her head so that her hair fell in tawny waves about her shoulders.
“In the fall perhaps,” he replied noncommittally. “I need to sort things out in America first. Perhaps return to Buenos Aires. Play polo.” He grinned and Grace devoured the beauty of it with ravenous eyes.
“I should like to watch you play polo,” she said. “But I should like to see you hunt first. You cannot disappear back to America without knowing what it is like to ride a horse at full gallop over the Irish hills. There is nothing quite like it.”
“I’m in no hurry to leave.” He sighed and slipped his fingers through her hair to caress the back of her neck. “Now I have found entertainment here, I should like very much to enjoy a little more of what the Irish life has to offer.”
She kissed his arrogant smile. “Oh, I have much more to offer and so has Ireland. You have merely scratched the surface. Stay awhile.” She slid her hand beneath the covers. “I’m sure I can think of ways to keep you here.”
He writhed with pleasure and groaned. “Well, the Countess is in no hurry, after all. I have bought her a castle, it is only right that I explore a little further the place where we are going to make our home.”
“It most certainly is,” she agreed, stroking him with deft fingers. “I shall show you everything you need to know.”
KITTY RODE WITH her father up the sandy beach at Smuggler’s Cove, the place where she had often walked with Jack. She gazed out across the ocean and wondered what he was doing in America and whether he ever thought of her. Her feelings for him had certainly not diminished with the years, but she was content with the choice she had made. She had a family of her own now and she had Ireland—always Ireland, in the heart of her heart. Only when she allowed her mind to wander freely did thoughts of Jack cut her to the quick.
News had spread fast that a handsome Italian had bought the castle and planned to bring his countess over from America to settle here. Kitty didn’t imagine they would last very long. What would an Italian couple make of the gray skies and drizzle? She didn’t imagine they would understand the Irish way of life. It was only a matter of time before they would move back to the glamour and sophistication of New York. A castle was a lovely fantasy for a foreigner with more money than sense but a harsh reality for strangers to this wild and unforgiving land. She didn’t imagine they’d be impressed by the society here, although, from what she had witnessed at Grace’s dinner parties, the Count was more than entertained by her company, in the bedroom as well as at the table.
Kitty missed Celia. She had left for South Africa without explanation, leaving her children in the care of their nanny. Kitty had kept a close eye on them, but now that Castle Deverill was no longer theirs they would surely move back to England and settle there. For all Celia’s wistful reminiscences about Ballinakelly Kitty was certain that she was a Londoner at heart and would find life there very much to her liking once she’d recovered from the shock and humiliation of selling the castle. She’d be close to Boysie and Harry and her mother, of course, although Beatrice was still refusing to leave her bed and the misery of her mourning.
Celia had explained to Kitty and Bertie that the White House and the Hunting Lodge were theirs for as long as they wanted. It was even written into an agreement that Deverills should always have first refusal of those two residences, providing they didn’t fall behind on their rent. The Count had promised to grant them that small concession; after all, it suited him to have the places occupied and the money coming in. It had certainly come as a relief to Bertie and Kitty to know that they could remain in their homes.
“I shall miss Celia very much,” said Kitty as she rode beside her father up the wide expanse of beach.
“We have to embrace the change,” said Bertie philosophically. “There’s no point gnashing our teeth and wailing because that won’t return things to the way they were. We have to be grateful for our memories, Kitty. We were fortunate to have lived the way we did.”
“It shall grieve me very much to watch the castle inhabited by strangers.”
“The Count seems a nice sort of fellow,” said Bertie. “We shall probably like him very much when we get to know him.”
“If he lasts long enough. I’m not sure how they are going to entertain themselves. They really are very foreign, Papa.”
“They’ll entertain themselves the same way we do. They’ll get into the Irish way of life and it will be exciting for them because it’ll be different. The spice of life is in the variety, after all.”
“But surely they’ll miss the glamour of New York. The society here isn’t very urbane, is it?”
“Perhaps they’re weary of urbane.”
Kitty shrugged. “I still don’t hold out much hope for them. Unless one’s heart is here the mind will bore of it. The one thing that ties us to this place is love. You and I love it more than anybody and nothing can prize us from it. But the Count and his wife have no such affection, why, she has never set foot in Ireland. How can she possibly know what it is like? She must have seen a photograph in the newspapers and fancied herself living like a princess. But Ballinakelly is not a town in a fairy tale. She’ll discover that as soon as she arrives and I bet you she’ll be hoofing it back to New York on the next available boat with her poor count moaning behind her.” She laughed. “If you and I save up all our money we might buy it when they sell.”
Bertie laughed with her. “You have a fanciful imagination, my dear.”
“You made me, Papa.”
“But your imagination and your wonder at the magic of nature came directly from your grandmother.”
“Which you always dismissed as rubbish,” she said, smiling at him with affection.
He looked at her askance. “I have learned that it is the mark of a foolish man to scoff at things of which one knows absolutely nothing. I sense God out there, Kitty,” he said, throwing his gaze across the water. “But I can’t see Him with my eyes. So why not nature spirits, ghosts, goblins and leprechauns too?” He grinned at the surprised look on his daughter’s face. “The idea is to grow wiser as one gets older, my dear Kitty.”
“What would Grandma say?” She laughed.
“I wish I knew. I wish she were here . . .” Then he shook his head and chuckled. “But of course she is here, isn’t she? She’s always here. Didn’t she insist that those we love and lose never leave us?” Indeed I did, said Adeline, but her voice was a sigh on the wind that only Kitty could hear.
LAUREL HAD FOUND her return to the saddle most thrilling. Hazel, on the other hand, preferred the card table. Consequently the two sisters began to find that their very different forms of entertainment took them to disparate parts of the county. In the past such regular separation would have greatly vexed them; however, now they were only too eager to be rid of each other. While Laurel stole kisses with Ethelred Hunt behind hedgerows on the windy hills above Ballinakelly, Hazel allowed him to play with her foot beneath the card table, and sometimes place his hand upon her leg when no one was looking. Kisses had to be seized in dark corridors and empty rooms and the secrecy of those moments only compounded Hazel’s delight. Both women guarded their secret romances closely—until one unfortunate evening in May when a chance discovery would swipe away the veil of concealment.
Laurel had been riding, alone. She had borrowed a horse from Bertie’s stable and set off on her own, for Ethelred had been summoned to the bridge table at the Hunting Lodge and it looked like he was going to be there until evening. She enjoyed riding out on her own, although she would have much preferred to have had the company of the dashing silver wolf. Little birds frolicked in the blackthorn and elder and went about building their nests while young rabbits grazed in the long grasses and heather. It was her favorite time of year and she took pleasure from spring, which had exploded onto the wintry landscape in all its glorious color.
She had stopped on the crest of the hill and gazed over the wide ocean, breathing in the bracing smells of the sea and listening to the roar of the waves breaking on the rocks below. When she set off back down the hill toward home, she was feeling light of spirit and full of joy. Everything was right with her world. She was having a delightful romance with Ethelred Hunt and she and Hazel were friends again, after months of steadily growing apart. She no longer had to feel jealous of her sister or suffer the pain of unrequited love. Ethelred Hunt loved her, of that she had no doubt. So long as Hazel never found out, everything would be fine. Poor Hazel, she thought with genuine compassion, but Ethelred had chosen her and she had been too weak-willed and infatuated to resist him. This was the first time in her life that she hadn’t put her sister first. She wasn’t proud of it, but her passion for him gave her a heady sense of carelessness and her sister’s feelings were hastily and conclusively swept aside.
She walked her horse along the top of the cliff. Down below gulls and gannets pecked at sea creatures abandoned by the tide and the odd butterfly fluttered into view. Then she heard the sound of laughter that did not belong to any seabird she had ever heard. She stopped her horse and peered down onto the beach. The laughter rose on the wind and it was instantly recognizable with its distinctive warmth and flirtatiousness. The sound of a man’s voice broke in then and the laughter stopped as he pulled his companion into his arms and kissed her ardently. Laurel was stunned by the vigorous passion of the man and the way the woman’s knees buckled as she fell against him. So much so that she couldn’t take her eyes off them. What would Sir Ronald say if he were to discover his wife in a romantic clinch with Count Cesare? Laurel thought disapprovingly—and what of the Count’s wife? Laurel shook her head and tutted. Grace Rowan-Hampton should be ashamed of such licentious behavior. This wasn’t the way a lady of her stature should behave. Why, anyone might stumble upon them. Laurel found it very fortunate that the only stumbling had been done by her. At least she could be trusted to keep her mouth shut.
Or could she?
Hazel didn’t count, she reasoned. To gossip to one’s sister was natural and normal and Laurel knew that Hazel would ensure that it went no further. She pulled her horse away from the edge, leaving the two lovers unaware that they had just been discovered, and trotted hastily down the path toward the Hunting Lodge.
The discovery of Grace and the Count was burning on her tongue and she couldn’t wait to unburden it. She hurried to the stables and, with the help of one of the grooms, dismounted and handed over the reins. She strode across the yard, removing her gloves finger by finger, impatient to find her sister. She found only Bertie and Kitty in the library. Classical music resounded from the gramophone and they were both drinking tea. “Ah, hello, Laurel. I hope you had an enjoyable ride,” said Bertie from the armchair. The cards were neatly piled on the card table. The game had finished.
“Oh, I most certainly did, Bertie, thank you. It’s glorious out there.” She stood in the doorway, clearly not intending to join them for tea.
“I should like to go myself,” said Kitty enviously. “It seems a shame to waste a lovely afternoon inside.”
“There will be more,” said Bertie with a chuckle.
“Has Hazel gone home?” Laurel asked, keen to find her sister.
“Not yet,” Bertie replied. “She’s taking a stroll around the garden with Ethelred.”
“Then I shall go and find her. I have something I need to tell her,” Laurel announced before leaving the room.
“I’ll make sure there’s a fresh pot of tea for your return,” said Kitty, but Laurel had disappeared across the hall. Bertie arched his eyebrows at his daughter and Kitty shrugged. “I wonder what that’s all about,” she said.
“I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” Bertie replied.
The gardens at the Hunting Lodge were an assortment of lawn, vegetable garden, secret walled garden and orchard. Each was separated from the other by yew hedge, shrubs, trees or wall. These days the place had been allowed to overgrow because Bertie couldn’t afford to keep on the team of gardeners who had ensured that the hedges were trimmed, the borders weeded and the annuals planted. There was a greenhouse where they used to keep cuttings and house plants during the winter months, but now it was empty, a broken pane of glass leaving an open door for rooks to enter and exit with ease along with the rain. Nothing grew in there except weeds and a small chestnut tree, which, by some miracle, had seeded itself.
Laurel set off at a brisk walk. In spite of the lack of care the gardens were full of color. Periwinkles and forget-me-nots had spread like water across the lawns and borders, and purple clematis scaled the walls with wisteria and rose. Daisies and buttercups were scattered across the grass and dandelions served as enticing landing pads for toddling bees, drunk on nectar. Monarch butterflies flew jauntily around the buddleia and swallows darted back and forth from the eaves of the house, busy nest-building. Laurel thought it all looked beautiful in a wild, overgrown kind of way. She’d like to have been young and energetic enough to have pulled out the ground elder by the roots, for it was stifling the plants and taking over the borders with bindweed and goose grass.
She marched through the secret garden, which was enclosed by yew hedge and wall. There was a bench positioned in a sun trap but the weeds had grown so tall they had almost swallowed it up. She peered around the end of the yew hedge, where a pond lay serene and quiet in the shade of a weeping willow. Pondweed grew thick and green on the surface of the water and a pair of wild ducks who had chosen to settle there were pecking at it contentedly. Laurel strained her ears for the sound of voices but heard nothing save the noisy chatter of birds. She would have called if shouting across the garden were not undignified.
She was about to give up when she saw them through the glass of the greenhouse. They were standing on the other side, in the shade, and they were holding hands—all four hands, Laurel noted with a jolt. And then, to her horror, she watched the man who had made her feel as if she was the only woman in the world he desired lower his head and kiss her sister on the lips. It was more than shocking, it was sickening, and she wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
She strode around the greenhouse and stood a few yards away, hands on hips, scowling furiously. It took a while for them to notice her, so engrossed they were in each other. Then Hazel’s eyes opened and bulged. She pushed Ethelred away with a brisk shove. “This isn’t what you think,” she said clumsily.
“It’s exactly what it looks like,” Laurel snapped. Ethelred swung around and stared at Laurel in surprise. At least he has the decency to look ashamed, she thought.
“Now, ladies,” he began uncomfortably.
But Hazel interrupted him. She shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Laurel. I should have. Ethelred and I have been seeing each other . . .”
Laurel walked up to Lord Hunt and slapped him across the face. Hazel made to protest but Laurel turned on her. “We’ve been made a fool of, Hazel,” she said. “I’ve been seeing Ethelred too!”
Hazel gazed at Lord Hunt, aghast. “Is this true?” she demanded. “Have you been seeing Laurel as well as me? You have been playing us off, one against the other?” And she pulled her hand back and slapped him on the other cheek. “How dare you.”
“He’s been laughing at us for months!” Laurel exclaimed, suddenly realizing the full extent of his betrayal.
“I’ve never felt so humiliated in all my life!” cried Hazel. “I will never get over this. Never!”
Ethelred appealed to the two sisters. “But I couldn’t make a choice between the two of you,” he explained, palms to the sky, face burning. “Truthfully, I fell in love with both of you.”
“I’ve never heard anything more outrageous!” said Laurel, slipping her hand beneath Hazel’s arm.
“Me neither. Outrageous!” said Hazel, glancing at her sister with tenderness. “Come, Laurel, let’s leave this scoundrel to lick his wounds. I have no interest in hearing his explanations.”
“But I really do love you,” Ethelred pleaded, his voice cracking on the word “love.” But the two sisters set off toward the house without a backwards glance.
“We mustn’t tell anyone about this,” said Hazel as they approached the Hunting Lodge.
“We absolutely mustn’t,” Laurel agreed.
“It’s just too humiliating.” They walked on in silence as the impact of Ethelred Hunt’s dishonesty began to sink in. Then Hazel sighed sadly. “I do believe I love him, Laurel,” she said in a small voice.
Laurel nodded, relieved to be able to share her pain. “So do I,” she said.
“Oh, what a hopeless pair we are,” lamented Hazel.
“Hopeless!”
“What would Adeline say?” said Hazel.
Laurel shook her head. “She’d have no words, Hazel,” she replied. “No words at all!” In the turmoil of their anguish Laurel forgot all about Grace Rowan-Hampton and the dashing count.