Once Upon a Time

by Marylyle Rogers

  Comlan regretfully shook his bright hair. It seemed that despite Amy's step forward, she would stubbornly fall back to echo her maid in asking the same question of him. But while the servant had reason to wonder, surely Amethyst should already know that for him any form of physical transport— though possibly amusing—was utterly unnecessary.

  More than his negative motion, it was the gentle rebuke lending shadows to an emerald gaze that made Amy feel the fool. How could she have requested a mundane explanation from this incredible being who was anything… everything but either predictable or rational?

  "Amy, you darlin' girl." Patience's voice was remarkably sharp considering the sweetness of her words. "We feared you'd taken ill or fallen overboard."

  "Oh, no." Guiltily stepping farther back from Comlan, Amy turned to face the pair she'd left below but who now stood on the deck at the top of stairs ascending from one lower. "It's only that I met an Irish friend from London on his return for a visit home."

  "Oh, really?" After critically looking over the stranger who had moved to wrap an arm around Amy's shoulders, Patience gritted her teeth to muffle the groan of displeasure earned by his stunning good looks. This much competition her darlin' Paddy didn't need.

  "I'm sorry, pray forgive me for not immediately introducing you to Comlan, Lord of Doncaully." Embarrassed by the faux pas, in Amy's haste to make amends, she failed to notice the startled look exchanged between the new arrivals. "Comlan, meet friends of my great-aunt Daphenia's— Patience O'Leary and her grandson, Patrick."

  "But just call me Paddy." Overly confident, as always, Patrick flashed his most charming smile. "Everyone does."

  Comlan nodded but with experience and perceptions beyond human comprehension, he recognized an unpleasant core beneath the young man's facile surface. Something, he sensed, was not as these two purported it to be. Were they a threat to Daffy? Or to Amy? Warily his arm tightened about the damsel for whose safety he abruptly realized he'd even risk shattering the rules of his own realm. That danger doused him with the icy water of reality and reminded him that, despite abilities defying the understanding of humankind, when dealing with their mortal world there were unfortunate limits to what he could foresee and rules governing any action he might wish to take.

  "And where is your home?" Patience probed in a voice so honey-sweet it fairly oozed.

  "I'm a neighbor of your friend Daffy," Comlan smoothly answered, watching the elderly woman's face intently.

  "Hmm…" Paddy blandly took up where his granny had stopped. "Only abode I know of thereabouts is a crumblin' castle."

  Comlan nodded and with a mocking smile answered, "My ancestral home."

  An uncomfortable silence descended while the O'Learys waited in vain for some explanation of where he truly resided. When none was forthcoming from the man whose mocking smile made her uncomfortable, Patience admitted defeat—for the moment.

  "Paddy-boy, take your granny below. 'Tis too powerful cold for me ol' bones out here."

  Once the pair had descended the steep stairway and closed themselves into their private cabin, the younger turned to the older and let a fearful glimmer of his foul temper flash forth.

  "An' what do we do now? What now with the bleedin' giant hoverin' around our prize?"

  Patience only shook her head in despair and in a mournful voice uselessly muttered, " 'Tis a grand pity, that. A grand pity."

  Paddy could not, would not be so easily thwarted. Hands clenched so tightly his fists were white, in a voice deadly quite he said, "Kill him."

  After a very late breakfast in her boudoir, Lady Wyfirth descended her town house's elegant winding stairway perfectly coiffed and modishly dressed for receiving callers as hostess of a planned At Home afternoon.

  Bingley solemnly stepped forward to open the hall door into the formal front parlor. A single critical glance proved everything to be in perfect order. Heavy velvet drapes had been pulled back to reveal sheer lace beneath while the scent of spring wafted from fresh-cut flowers arranged in the brass bowls placed on small parquet tables at either end of the massive sofa. Next to her own favorite oval-backed chair, the tea table waited in readiness with delicate cups and saucers of finest Dresden china. At the appropriate moment after guests had begun to arrive, she would ring a tiny bell summoning the parlor maid to bring in a silver teapot gleaming as brightly as the spoons already laid out.

  Cornelia was gratified by the servants success in obeying her every demand. Although Farley's presence was, quite naturally, required in the House of Lords, Garnet had promised to remain at home and help entertain. Hearing footsteps and rustling skirts behind, she turned to find her son and his wife approaching.

  "You look lovely, Louvisa." Cornelia complimented the daughter-in-law at least as concerned as she with appearances and with all the nuances of proper styles for every event.

  "Thank you, Mama-in-law." Lovey smiled sweetly while Garnet gave her shoulders a quick squeeze.

  A firm knock on the door sent the three wellborn residents of One Ealsingham Court quickly into the parlor where they prepared to receive their first guests.

  Moments later Lady Cornelia, thrilled by the honor, welcomed the Duchess of Aylton.

  "How nice of you to call, Your Grace." Once the proud duchess had nodded an acknowledgment, Lady Cornelia's attention shifted to the younger woman hovering demurely a half step behind. "And your daughter, Lady Charlotte, as well."

  The two visitors graciously murmured appropriate greetings all around before deigning to settle on the sofa end nearest Lady Cornelia.

  Lovey took her role as the future lady of the house seriously and fulfilled her duty by opening conversation with the introduction of a subject surely fresh in everyone's thoughts and likely to evolve into the expected round of unimportant social chatter.

  "Did you enjoy the Queen's opening of the exhibition yesterday, Your Grace?"

  "Wasn't it thrilling?" The youthful Lady Charlotte, enjoying her first Season as debutante, impulsively answered before her mother could. By that error she earned the duchess's tight, reproving frown.

  Well-trained in the niceties of polite company, Garnet smoothed over the momentary unease. "I thought the Hallelujah Chorus sounded particularly inspiring when sung in that vast glass building."

  Bingley announced more visitors before anyone could add to that comment.

  "Lord Orville Bennett and The Honorables Charles and Eloise Carter-Bourne."

  Lady Cornelia welcomed "dear" Orville before extending the same courtesy to the Baron of Pelleston's son and daughter. She maintained her facade as the epitome of a gracious hostess although after meeting the former's curious gaze, her thoughts were prey to the horrible recognition of a most serious lack in this gathering.

  The afternoon was well underway but Amy had yet to be seen. Surely her daughter couldn't still be lazing abed? Lady Cornelia forced a pleasant mask to cover growing irritation. Their past day's promenade through the Crystal Palace hadn't been so tiring as to excuse such sloth. She could only hope Orville had sense enough not to question Amy's absence while other visitors were present.

  At the ringing of a tiny bell, the front parlor maid, Alice, promptly appeared with a heavy silver teapot resting atop its matching tray. Her apron was as pristine and well-starched as the cap perched on neatly upswept hair. It crackled when she bent to carefully place her burden on the tea table's appointed open space.

  Before Alice could complete her expected chore by unobtrusively withdrawing, her mistress motioned for her to bend closer.

  Cornelia turned her face to the side and from behind the shield of an upraised hand issued a soft command. "See that Miss Amethyst joins us here immediately."

  While the steaming brew was poured and handed around light conversation flowed with ease… yet Amy did not appear. The Carter-Bournes excused themselves shortly after finishing their tea, and soon thereafter the duchess departed with her daughter.

  However, with the steady arrival of other gue
sts the parlor remained a busy site of discussion concerning the Great Exhibition.

  Concealed by constantly droning voices, Garnet managed a brief statement to Orville. "Amy swears she'll refuse your suit no matter the pressure brought to bear."

  Orville responded to these quiet but vehement words with merely a scornful smile before purposefully shifting his attention to matters under current discussion.

  The Queen's gown, the demeanors of the two royal children who'd accompanied her, and the report read by Prince Albert were reviewed in detail but the group had only just begun sharing opinions on the various exhibits when Bingley reappeared.

  Lady Cornelia glanced up with a smile, expecting the announcement of additional visitors. The smile froze when she saw that he carried a salver bearing a single vellum sheet. This action was no more welcome than when in the middle of an earlier At Home he'd delivered a letter directly to her daughter.

  In taking the paper from the silver tray, Lady Cornelia recognized Amy's handwriting. Its message, she was certain, would be unwelcome. Thus she gave only the briefest of glances to the words before deliberately folding and tucking the note into the wide sleeve of her day dress. So skilled a hostess was she that not even a single moment's awkwardness was permitted as she skillfully shifted her guests attention with a question.

  "What is your opinion about the overall effect of Paxton's Exhibition Hall."

  "Most impressive," an aging dowager responded. "Such a feeling of light and airiness for so vast a structure."

  "Indeed," Garnet agreed. "I believe it may be the single most important component of the entire exhibition."

  By the time her afternoon responsibilities came to a close and the last guest—save Orville—had departed, the hostess's tightly concealed tension was dangerously taut.

  After Alice cleared away the remnants of their tea and Bingley carefully closed the door behind his retreating back, Orville rose. He purposefully turned to face the lady of Wyfirth House with a soft demand.

  "Now, Lady Cornelia—" Orville's gaze narrowed on the stiff-backed woman. "Tell me what strange kind of illness can have overtaken Amethyst that it's reported by letter?"

  As illness was the expected excuse for anyone's absence, his suggestion was no surprise. But, although Lady Cornelia's hand instinctively moved to cover the spot where her sleeve hid Amy's message, she wasn't so craven as to back away from any direct question. Certainly not when a simple, truthful answer would suffice.

  "It's concern for her great-aunt Daphenia's health that's called Amethyst away."

  Lips pursed, as always when in deep thought, Orville's gaze moved from Lady Cornelia's haughty expression to her son's unhidden glee. The latter infuriated him the most. Garnet was clearly pleased by the prospect of anything able to complicate his courtship of Amethyst.

  "When"—Orville returned his attention to the girl's mother—"does Amethyst propose to return to London and the Season she so abruptly left?"

  With years of experience in slighting anyone impertinent enough to challenge her, though seated, Lady Cornelia tilted her head back so far she was able to look down her nose at the short man standing before her. "Not, I daresay, until her great-aunt's health is sufficiently restored."

  Orville slowly nodded, reconciling himself to a fact he couldn't change. It was a comfort that at least Amethyst's absence would put her beyond the Irish lord's reach as well. And, by the time she reappeared, his plans to end the man's threat ought to have been successfully concluded.

  Chapter 12

  "Amy-girl, how wonderful to see you." In the doorway of her ivy-covered cottage, an amazed Daffy leaned her hazel wood cane against the jamb to give this unexpected guest a warm hug. Pulling away with a faint frown she asked, "But whatever brought you back so soon? Has someone fallen ill? Or is there some family difficulty where my help's needed? A loan, perhaps?"

  "I came back to help you, Daffy." Amy's perplexed frown was a reflection of her great-aunt's confusion. "To help you."

  Amy was shamed at an unconscious level by the elderly woman's mention of her family's financial strain in front of Comlan. But it was Daffy's honest surprise that convinced Amy her great-aunt truly didn't believe danger threatened.

  "What?" Daffy's head tilted to one side while with a narrowed gaze probing her normally all too practical grand-niece's solemn face for some hint of lucid reasoning to support the odd declaration.

  "Your friend Patience O'Leary, along with her grandson," Comlan announced to facilitate understanding between the two women, "journeyed to London where they begged Amethyst to come to your aid."

  "What errant nonsense," Daffy automatically answered, inwardly pleased by the far more surprising presence of an old but rarely seen friend.

  "Then did they lie? Haven't there been further attempts to break into your home? Isn't it true that a number of strange pits have been dug at various places around your property?" Amy purposefully glanced over her shoulder toward one she could hardly have failed to notice as they approached the cottage.

  "It's spring you know, with its new batch of moles, hedgehogs, weasels…" Daffy shook her head in a disgust mocked by her poorly restrained smile. "And more's the woe. On top of that there's a whole hutch full of little rabbits that simply will make a mess of my garden."

  Amy's frown deepened. The hole she'd seen had clearly been dug by a creature of considerably larger size. More telling still, Daffy had made no attempt to deny recent attempts to stealthily enter her home.

  Before Amy could challenge her great-aunt, the elderly woman cheerfully continued in an intentionally thickened brogue.

  "But what be I thinkin'?" Daffy's sprightly good humor was a blatant attempt to sweep dark thoughts away. " 'Tis a grand thing, now I've me Amy-girl to stay and to visit a friend haven't clapped me eyes on in donkey's years."

  Green gaze soft as sea mist, Comlan returned the frail, white-haired lady's affectionate hug and loudly whispered into her ear, " 'Tis always a delight to see your captivating face, me darlin'"

  "Ah, 'tis still the charmin' rogue, you be." Daffy's teasing grin laid a gentle wreath of fine wrinkles around her mouth. The smile remained but the perceptive woman's clear eyes watched the pair carefully while she slipped back into her London accent and asked, "But when and where did you meet my grand-niece?"

  Comlan answered without hesitation. "It was the Duchess of Melton, wasn't it, Amethyst, who introduced us at the first ball of the Season?"

  Nodding immediately, Amy sent Comlan a warm smile of unspoken appreciation for not mentioning their first meeting in the fairy ring. But then had Comlan omitted that on her behalf? Or had he done it because Daffy was unaware of his heritage? She'd returned to Ireland intending to lend her beloved great-aunt support… and find answers to who and why. Instead she'd uncovered additional questions. Only ever more questions.

  Amy was nudged from her distracted state by a large hand lightly pressing against the small of her back to urge her through the door. Daffy led the pair into her snug parlor where cheery flames flickered in a stone fireplace and old, comfortably overstuffed chairs beckoned.

  Once the three were comfortably seated, Daffy asked a perfectly logical question. "If Patience and Paddy went to London to fetch you, where are they now?"

  "I'm afraid they were put quite out of countenance by meeting a neighbor of yours—one they'd never met before." Comlan's eyes glittered with amusement although he did his best to temper the cynicism in his smile.

  "I see." Daffy slowly nodded. "Yes, that would put Patience in a snit. She prides herself on knowing everything about everyone, so for her the meeting must have been terribly… disconcerting."

  From this exchange Amy suspected Daffy knew very well all and likely a great deal more than she'd yet learned about the Tuatha De Danann. But sitting here primly correct like Society guests come for a formal At Home afternoon, she couldn't immediately compose the right phrases to ask either, let alone both, for an explanation. And then it was too late.r />
  As if some unspoken signal had been given, Comlan rose to make his farewells.

  "Amy, won't you see our visitor out?" Daffy slightly lifted her cane in emphasis of her next claim. "Old bones protest the tiniest hint of damp in the air and we'd a fair torrent of rain last evening."

  Amy saw through Daffy's weak, though doubtless well-intentioned, excuse. Yet, never anxious to see her dream hero leave her—as one day and for all time he assuredly would—she gladly obeyed.

  Halfway down a narrow, cobblestoned path stretching beyond the front door, Amy paused. She turned to face her companion with hands nervously joined at the waist of a pale blue gown. Twilight's gentle, blue-gray shadows were slowly deepening while ground mists began to rise. And by this mystical light, though Comlan was dressed as any other Society gentleman, she clearly saw him for the fantasy figure come to life that he undeniably was.

  "Don't look so forlorn, Amy," Comlan quietly urged, trailing fingertips over her soft cheek. "I'll return in the morning."

  "In the morning," Amy agreed but her eyes darkened to the melancholy hue of rain clouds while under his deliberate caress her body went both hot and cold.

  "Amy, I must go." Despite the words, Comlan dipped his head and brushed a gentle kiss across petal-soft lips. When his mouth withdrew, her plainly bereft lips instinctively followed. "I must," he repeated. "I haven't returned to my people for far too long…"

  Comlan's arguments were as logical as any the once proudly practical Amy could ever have hoped to hear. Yet they did nothing to either ease her distress or prevent him from gently drawing her generous curves against the power of his own body.

  A gaze of molten emerald visually traced a path across delicately blushing cheeks and down a straight nose before settling on enticing lips. At the tantalizing sight thoughts of a dangerous temptation echoed through his mind. Might greater joy be found by remaining in this mortal world with Amethyst rather than in retreating to the myriad entertainments easily his in the Faerie Realm?