Once Upon a Time

by Marylyle Rogers

  While the human world settled into its daily routine, birds flitted from tree to tree, and squirrels darted across green lawns, for the couple in an ebony coach reality faded. For uncounted minutes Comlan gazed steadily down into gentle, dove gray eyes that widened as he willed a question from the dark maid's lips.

  "Did we meet in Ireland?" Trembling beneath the intensity of his scrutiny but unaware of its purpose, Amy was pleased to have found this tentative query allowing her to retreat if his response was less than encouraging.

  "On a hilltop one sunny afternoon." The soft confirmation was accompanied by a soul-melting smile as powerful as the one which had greeted Amy on awakening amidst a fairy ring.

  "Did you summon me to meet you for the sake of asking that question?" The mockery tilting his smile awry did nothing to lessen its impact.

  "Yes… no." Amy bit her lip, disgusted with herself for sounding so uncertain when in dealing with anyone else she was quite the opposite. "I meant to warn you of a danger that apparently is no danger."

  "Sounds interesting." Comlan's head tilted inquiringly. "What sort of danger did you think might threaten me?"

  "How could I know that with Palmerston's support you're more than able to defend yourself against Orville's wretched scheme?" Amy's eyes began to glitter as temper flared under a renewed jumble of erratic emotions and an accusation slipped from tight lips. "When the Duchess of Melton introduced us, you let it seem it was our first meeting."

  Bronze brows arched. "Would you rather I had told the duchess and your parents all the details of how I swept you off to my castle in the Faerie Realm where we danced the hours away… among other pursuits."

  A potent green-flame gaze returned to brush across tender, rose-petal lips with such intensity that it seemed almost a physical caress. It revived heated memories and left Amy helplessly leaning nearer to its source—until doused by the icy water of a sardonic smile.

  "I am pleased my concern was unnecessary and that you are in no danger." Amy's cold voice gave lie to the claim while against the humor of this creature so often amused at her expense gray eyes turned to granite.

  The too intriguing colleen's distress left Comlan feeling guilty… an emotion he had never experienced before and one he found distinctly uncomfortable.

  "What, precisely," Comlan solemnly asked, attempting to undo his wrong, "were you concerned about?"

  Amy squarely met the gaze now gone a deep forest hue, trying to ignore the unsettling effect of her disconcerting companion's mercurial moods and answer logically. Because he had acknowledged the truth of his nearly unbelievable identity, she owed him an equally frank answer. Taking a deep breath, Amy launched into a concise recounting of Orville's lengthy diatribe at the Meltons' ball.

  "You were afraid I might not be able to defend myself against either your suitor's slurs or a possible physical assault?" Reminding himself that this human maid couldn't know how impossible that was, Comlan fought to quash an unjust irritation with her for thinking him so weak.

  Feeling foolish, Amy gave a diffident shrug while temper simmered anew. What gap in dear reasoning had allowed her to abandon sanity and attempt to warn him of anything? She glared at the coach's floor. Never mind. She knew the answer. Blame lay with the illogical, despicable imagination she ought to have eradicated years ago—long before it could mislead her into a quagmire like this.

  Easily reading Amy's self-recriminations and resentment of him, Comlan wanted to ease both. "It wasn't my intention to slight the valuable gift of your concern."

  Amy peeked suspiciously at Comlan from beneath her bonnet's brim.

  Exercising exceptional charm, with a penitent smile Comlan enticed Amy further from her shell of doubts. "You didn't know and I couldn't offer you the truths of my making."

  Subjected to the full weight of Comlan's potent attention, Amy gave a silent gasp. Unable to resist its lure, she met his smoldering gaze steadily until the unblinking fascination soon filling her own overflowed into a vulnerable smile.

  Comlan's eyes warmed to pools of liquid emerald. He was pleased by having won Amethyst's enchanting smile; pleased that by responding to her concern for him one impediment to his pursuit of the goal bringing him to her world had been removed.

  "In gratitude…" Comlan's deep voice purred with the satisfaction in knowing this payment on the debt owed to a member of humankind justified the day's earlier, isolated breaking of a single rule. "I'll repay the favor, kind for kind, with the gift of a warning about looming dangers clear to the eyes of my kind."

  Frowning slightly, Amy nibbled her lower lip. What could he possibly mean? She impatiently waited, curiosity growing.

  "Everyone in your world wears a false face."

  Amy was disappointed… and annoyed. Was he toying with her, rousing her interest for this? Either the king of the Tuatha De Danann had an odd sense of humor or he understood less about her world than she'd assumed. (Likely, she uncharitably decided, both.) Did he seriously think such a blatant fact had gone unnoticed?

  "No." Comlan's short burst of laughter was quickly replaced by a frown of exaggerated reproach. Amy's remarkably expressive face had betrayed her reactions. In response he slowly shook his head. "That's not the gift—though I doubt you truly know how deep and widespread the deception goes."

  An indignant Amy cast her companion a speaking glance.

  "This gift is a warning." The somber depth of Comlan's voice and complete absence of mockery made the serious nature of his words abundantly clear. "Warning of a threat to someone you love which each day grows more ominous."

  "Lambie!" Beatrice's disgruntled voice intruded, carrying like a clarion bell.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Amy saw the Wyfirth carriage approaching. Beattie, it seemed, had grown tired of waiting for her mistress at the Marble Arch.

  Comlan recognized an imminent end to this private conversation. He shouldn't lose a moment in relating the most important of remaining facts. But, once again this lovely human unknowingly diverted his powerful will, allowing a more personal concern to supersede the duty owed.

  "Amy—" Squeezing dainty fingers, Comlan spoke in solemn earnest. "Beware of Orville."

  Delicate brows arched. What did he mean? Confused, Amy stared skeptically at the speaker. She already knew what a threat Orville posed in her life. And surely, as Comlan had called Orville her suitor, he also was aware… But it hardly seemed worthy of a warning.

  "Truly!" Frustrated by the limits placed on his powers, Comlan gritted out an explanation by necessity succinct. "Where almost everyone here has two faces, Orville has many more."

  There was no time for Comlan to argue with the young woman who plainly thought he was being preposterous in attributing a talent for cunning to the pompous man who seemed utterly devoid of either modesty or tact.

  Chapter 7

  Heart pounding, Amy paused just outside a closed door. Her mother was waiting. She'd been summoned to the formal parlor on the ground level rather than to her mother's private withdrawing room upstairs and that was ominous. Still, it wouldn't ease the situation to further delay this undeniably justified scolding. Social commitments had given a full day's reprieve but, since Amy had spent those hours in growing dread of the looming confrontation with her mother's cold fury, that respite could hardly be seen as a gift. To hesitate now would only add coal to the fires of her mother's displeasure. No. Better to get it over and done.

  Amy's solid rap on the door was instantly answered by Lady Cornelia's curt command to enter.

  "Close the door behind you." The order was as sharp as its underlying demand of privacy to deliver a serious lecture and stern rebuke.

  Amy obeyed. After the door softly clicked into place, she moved to stand a few paces in front of her seated mother. She wasn't invited to sit. By that Amy realized she was expected to stand as criminal before a judge elegantly but soberly attired in a deep purple gown devoid of softening accessories.

  "I have spoken with James about the car
riage ride you ordered yestermorn… and strictly cautioned him to never again answer your call."

  Amy silently nodded, careful to maintain an unemotional expression despite the dismay threatening a guilty frown at the memory of the young coachman's initial uneasiness. She sincerely hoped he hadn't been unfairly punished for her wrong.

  "From him I learned that you met Lord Comlan in Hyde Park;" Lady Cornelia's thin lips tightened over accusing words. "And on closer questioning, James admitted the encounter was apparently prearranged."

  Again Amy nodded but did not speak.

  "I was relieved to hear that you at least had the presence of mind to take your maid. However, that solace was short-lived." Lady Cornelia's sharp gaze pierced the girl. "Seems you left James to drive the Wyfirth carriage with only Beatrice and Lord Comlan's servant inside."

  A tense silence heavy with recrimination stretched between judge and accused. This, Amy knew, was the moment when charges must be answered; when she must speak in her own defense.

  "I rode down Rotten Row in Lord Comlan's open coach—an acceptable practice often indulged in by many amongst our circle." By her mother's frown it was clear the argument had accomplished nothing yet she persevered by offering another hopefully mitigating factor.

  "The only person of note whom we saw during our ride was my companion's Irish neighbor and friend, Lord Palmerston."

  "Lord Palmerston?" Against this unexpected news, the always properly erect Lady Cornelia straightened while her frown became a scowl. "They are friends?"

  "By their congenial visit, I believe that's true." Amy hoped this alliance with the famous politician would provide a solid endorsement of Comlan's respectability. Her mother quickly showed her the error of that faulty logic.

  "Hah." Deep disapproval hardened the lines of Cornelia's already severe features. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a young rake enjoys the company of an old roué. Whatever the case, it in no way excuses your unsuitable actions."

  "I don't ask to be excused!" The temper that had become more unruly under Comlan's disruptive influence momentarily got the better of Amy's sensible intentions but she took prompt action to tame its heat and calmly state, "I accept responsibility for the wrong of going out without first speaking to you."

  A wordless condemnation narrowed Lady Cornelia's eyes while she sanctimoniously nodded, signaling her daughter to continue.

  "But while I was gone…" In proud control of her emotions, Amy willfully ignored her mother's silent caution. "With my maid as chaperone, I did nothing worthy of anyone's censure."

  Nothing wrong? Hah! Ice snapped in Lady Cornelia's eyes. Amethyst had lessons to learn. The first of which was that no daughter would ever be justified in speaking to her mother in this manner. No, there could never be an excuse for such disrespect!

  "It is for me to say when and with whom you may have contact." Each word was colder than the one before. "And as a consequence of your poor choice in this matter, you are not to speak with the Irish lord again. Nor will you be permitted to dance with him in the future."

  Amy had expected punishment but found that enduring it was a more difficult matter. Still, after dwelling on every moment spent in her devastating dream hero's company, she'd come to recognize it as what was likely to be the one real adventure in an otherwise mundane life. And she refused to ever regret it.

  "Your father and I have enlisted Orville's aid to help us enforce these restrictions," Lady Cornelia announced, fully aware that Amy would view this as another form of punishment. "Furthermore, you may thank Orville's courtship of you for restraining me from immediately exiling you to the country. By rights you ought to spend the rest of the Season at Wyfirth Grange."

  Amy fought to exert cool logic over a simmering temper, the better for finding some method to circumvent these restrictions. Although this situation had come about as a result of her determination to warn Comlan, it had ended with the warning given her. Now, prevented from speaking directly with him, how would she learn more about the nebulous peril he claimed was a threat to someone she loved? (A threat, Amy inwardly smiled, whose name could certainly not be Orville.)

  "Surely," Amy patiently began, despite any argument's likely failure, "if you are so anxious to see me wed, you must recognize how unwise it is to build a barrier between me and any possible suitor."

  "Suitor?" Lady Cornelia's voice rose to a shrill pitch of disbelief. "Orville is your suitor and certain to offer you a respectable marriage."

  Amy opened her mouth to flatly state how unwelcome that prospect was to her, but she was waved into silence while her mother's implacable voice continued.

  "Far too many of our peers seem to have been beguiled by the Irishman, but my vision is not blinded by good looks and surface charm. Lord Comlan is no one's suitor. He is a dissolute rake and a threat to your virtue." Lady Cornelia's tone was frigid.

  "As with any wolf in the wild, he preys on the weakest and most likely to fall victim to his dangerous wiles. No doubt he believes that a woman in her fourth Season is so desperate for masculine attention that she'll easily succumb… but not to an honorable proposal."

  Amy wanted to flatly inform her mother Comlan wasn't like that. That, indeed, he wasn't a human male at all. But down in the depths of her uncertain soul, a lack of confidence in her feminine attractions whispered that her mother was right.

  "When Lord Comlan marries, it will be with a beauty like Lady Isobel." Cornelia added salt to the wound she'd opened on the daughter whose foolish interest in the Irishman she was determined to end. "Indeed, if Isobel has her way, their wedding will be this Season's grand, culminating event—while you must be grateful for Orville's willingness to forgive your inattention and accept you as wife."

  Refusing to let the pain delivered by hurtful words show, Amy stood straight and tilted her chin upward. There was one comforting fact to cradle near. Although Isobel might win every goal she sought throughout the rest of her life, she would lose in her quest to secure Comlan as husband. He had in the past and would in the future have ample opportunity to select a far lovelier and more suitable spouse from amongst the golden folk inhabiting his Faerie Realm.

  An instant later, Amy heard that victory's hollow echo in the unpleasant inner voice whispering that its message applied equally to her. Not, Amy told herself in a rush to suppress a betraying ache, that she'd ever considered herself a possible mate for the king of the Tuatha. De Danann.

  "Amy—" Forced to impatiently demand her distracted daughter's attention, a growing annoyance with this further example of disrespect touched Lady Cornelia's ever pale cheeks with rare color. "It is imperative that you understand and accept these restrictions, Amethyst. Only after I am convinced that you do will I be prepared to see our family join Lord Comlan's group next week for the Great Exhibition's opening."

  Silver flashes of unexpected hope sparkled in gray eyes. In mere seconds exhilaration conquered despair, an abrupt emotional shift that left Amy light-headed. And she nearly laughed aloud in welcome of her mother's contradictory plans. She wasn't to talk or dance with Comlan… and yet they would accompany him to the Hyde Park extravaganza? Plainly her socially ambitious mother found it too difficult to refuse the assuredly coveted social plum of an invitation from the Season's most sought-after bachelor.

  And Lord Comlan was that! Not only by debutantes and their scheming mothers but by a good many others who'd been charmed by the handsome gentleman's wit and easy manner. Amy, too, was impressed by those attributes and his admirable rescue of a child. But she was equally impressed by the fact that he showed the same courtesy to people of all classes, as witness the fact that the relationship between him and Dooley was more that of friends than master and servant.

  And now, with her mother's acceptance of the Irish lord's invitation, endless possibilities beckoned. Though the laughter bubbling up inside was successfully muffled, Amy couldn't quash an irrepressible grin.

  "Yes…" Perturbed by her daughter's sudden, bright smi
le, Lady Cornelia uneasily attempted to both clarify the circumstances and strengthen the rules surrounding these surprising plans. "We've been invited to join a select company embarking on a daylong excursion which will include the Queen's opening at the Crystal Palace. Trusting that you will accept and obey my restrictions, I accepted on behalf of our family."

  Lips tightening into a mirthless smile, Lady Cornelia added a final chill but perversely satisfying fact. "But only after making certain that we'll be joining a large group—including both Orville and Lady Isobel."

  Once the interview with Lady Cornelia was concluded, Amy steadily climbed the stairs, intending a return to her own small sitting room. But as she reached the upper landing a door near the end of the long corridor creaked open.

  "Amy—" A voice softly called.

  In answer, Amy silently nodded and her pace increased as she moved toward her waiting brother. After entering the private suite arranged for the heir and his wife, she was a little surprised when Garnet gently shut the door to lend them a daytime privacy rare inside a large and far from empty house.

  "Forgive the foolery of this secretive meeting." - Garnet gave his sister a rueful smile.

  Amy returned the smile with one warmed by deep affection. Her brother was clearly uncomfortable which left her curious about his purpose.

  "I've wanted to talk with you alone for a long time." There was no hint of amusement in his expression now. "And since the beginning of the Season it's become even more important."

  Curiosity increasing, Amy chose not to slow his explanation with questions.

  Garnet's gray eyes gazed sternly into those belonging to his sister. "No matter what arguments mother uses, or even what our father has to say, don't marry Orville Bennett."