Once Upon a Time

by Marylyle Rogers

  "The gag was tight," Amy patiently explained, determined not to betray surprise even while unable to keep herself from helplessly studying the incredibly handsome face so near she could see individual eyelashes. Despite cold certainty that such dreams were doomed, she wanted to prove herself unshaken by the odd mood shifts of his kind, wanted far more to remain forever in her devastating lover's embrace.

  "Gag?" Bronze brows crashed together. "Paddy gagged you?"

  "Indeed, yes." Amy grinned, taking her cue from the unique blend of notes joined in the curious harmony of Comlan's nature. Besides, she was pleased by his obvious distress over this further indignity having been inflicted on her. "Had to or I'd have screamed the inn down. Tried to anyway."

  Delighted with the dark beauty's response, Comlan's head abruptly fell back and deep velvet laughter rolled through the night air an instant before he wrapped Amy in his arms. The next moment he released her in the corridor just outside her rented room in the Woolvester Inn.

  While her father slept in the next room, utterly unaware of danger met and overcome, Amy quietly pushed that sturdy barrier open and took a single step inside. A softly tangled cloud of dusky curls framed her winsome face as she cast an enticing, come-hither look over one shoulder.

  Emerald eyes flared with desire but Comlan reluctantly shook his head and his hair was gilded by the faint predawn light falling through a small window at one end of the hall. He earnestly wished it were his right to accompany Amy into the bedchamber and carry her with him again into the shimmering brilliance of passion's fires.

  He couldn't. Not yet and possibly never but, by the amazingly clear solution he'd glimpsed earlier this night, he might be able…

  " 'Tis an apology I owe you," Dooley solemnly announced before a merry grin broke through and nearly lit the dilapidated coach's gloomy interior. "With your vinegary tongue 'tis a right tartar you are… but now I've seen ye've also the. courage of a tartar."

  Beatrice was flustered. She wasn't accustomed to receiving compliments and peered suspiciously at its unabashed source. No mistake, it was a compliment and from this least expected quarter—the mad Irishman who'd so often taunted her. And since he'd apologized to her, Beattie felt she ought to prove herself gracious first by making a confession and then by repenting both belittling words and determination to disbelieve what had seemed farfetched claims.

  "I misled you the day we met."

  Dooley's brows arched in exaggerated surprise.

  Meeting his gaze unflinching, Beattie said, "I allowed it to seem that I'd a husband when in truth I've never been married."

  "But…" Now Dooley honestly was confused. "Why then do they call ye Mrs. Milford?"

  "It's an honorary title of respect."

  "I see," Dooley promptly said although he didn't.

  Determined to see the intended task through, Beattie added, "And I fear I've been a mite too rigid in my ways," Beattie allowed. "I see now that I ought to have seriously considered all you've tried to tell me about the Tuatha De Danann."

  "Ah, ha!" Dooley chortled. "Then ye do believe?"

  Beattie stiffened, unprepared to take quite so bold a leap.

  "Now, Beastie." Dooley squeezed one of her plump hands without thought. "I swears every last scrap I've told ye 'tis true. Why if ye could see half the wonders I've seen…" Slight shrug wordlessly indicating the magnitude of his experience, he gazed heavenward or at least to the tattered ceiling of their compartment.

  For the first time, instead of sending Dooley an incredulous sneer, Beattie gave her companion a look encouraging him to share more.

  The rest of their magically abbreviated journey passed with the two in deep conversation and amazing harmony.

  Chapter 18

  The first morning after her return to London, while the other ladies of Wyfirth House remained abed Amy rose early, donned a comfortable lavender morning dress and started down the winding staircase. Halfway between upper landing and elegant entry she sank down on one broad, highly polished step to peer through the handrail. Partially concealed by the ornate banister, Amy waited to see her father leave for Parliament after finishing his breakfast. She sat by necessity motionless, quiet… and unable to block the flow of unpleasant memories. Only hours earlier Amy stood in stiff silence, a prodigal daughter justly called to bear her mother's lengthy rebukes and even longer sermon on proper behavior.

  And now, like then, Amy smiled. A response that had fanned the fires of Lady Cornelia's displeasure. And though the contrariness of it would likely have pleased Comlan, she hadn't smiled for that reason. No, her flashing grin came with recognition that her mother's ire was but a small price, willingly paid for the pleasures in time spent with the incredible man she loved.

  The sound of an opening door jolted Amy's attention back to the present. She watched as her father strode from the informal dining room to the entry hall.

  An excellent butler, Bingley soundlessly appeared from nowhere to hold the entry door wide for his master's departure.

  "Bingley." Lord Wyfirth paused in its frame. "Assure Lady Wyfirth that I will try to return in time to escort her to the Flovershams' ball this evening. But if I haven't appeared when the time for departure arrives, she must allow Garnet to escort her and Amy, as well as Louvisa, to the ball."

  Amy nearly yelped when, as Bingley gave a well-practiced, emotionless nod, his eyes met hers. But the butler betrayed her presence by neither flicker of eye nor momentary change of expression, giving Amy further reason to be grateful for his sterling training and long experience.

  "And also assure my wife…" Completely oblivious, the viscount continued his instructions. "… That I'll only fail to be here if too many important issues arose during my unfortunate absence. If that proves the case, I may be required to remain in the City and will spend the night at my club."

  After the door closed on her father's back, Amy stood and gave a sweet smile to the motionless butler as she descended sweeping stairs.

  "Thank you, Bingley." Amy didn't elaborate. There was no need. They were both aware that had the youngest daughter of the house, decades beyond the nursery, been discovered peering like a curious child through the handrail it would've become the latest tasty dish for gossip's feast. And, no matter how nonsensical the act—or perhaps because of its seeming lack of purpose—it would've caused a minor domestic scandal. Having just returned from one rather more serious, Amy was anxious not to be the subject of another, particularly as it would surely increase the difficulty in keeping an important promise.

  "Perhaps next time, if there is another," Bingley soberly suggested, "you'll allow me to tap on your door after Lord Wyfirth's departure?" It was only during this, her fourth Season that Miss Amethyst had begun shaking off her mother's chains. Wordlessly applauding these efforts, he would gladly support her cause.

  "I appreciate your suggestion." Amy truly was grateful although she hoped that this one morning spent in her father's study would see her goal secured. "And if the need arises, I shall call on you."

  "Very good, Miss Amethyst."

  Amy hadn't confided her intended destination, but Bingley moved to open the study door—earning from her a cheery grin that put a twinkle in his eyes.

  Once Amy was seated at her father's vast mahogany desk with study door closed for privacy, she began methodically flipping through papers, seeking mention of a reputable solicitor. Instead she found something more startling to her than even Comlan's inexplicable ability to instantly move from one place to another.

  "Amy, what are you doing here?" Shock tangled with strain to lift Garnet's voice a full octave.

  Holding one of many damning sheets in her hand, Amy instantly responded, "Garnet, what have you done?"

  "Give me those documents." He made the desperate demand while striding from open door to desk edge.

  "I would gladly consign them to the devil," Amy heatedly responded, though not even anger could hide the misery in her tone. She had found the cause of her b
rother's stress, the reason he couldn't eat or sleep.

  "But," Amy continued in an anguished tone twined with compassion, "even so extreme an action couldn't wash away the stain in what I've just read."

  Raking a hand through thick dark hair while sinking into one of two nicely padded leather chairs facing the desk, Garnet sought to shake his logical little sister with an abrupt change of focus.

  "What are you doing here?"

  Amy, accustomed to Comlan's contrary ways, was no longer so easily disconcerted and without hesitation gave an honest answer. "I came looking for the name of a solicitor."

  "Why?" Garnet sharply demanded, frustrated by this rare failure of his skill at diverting attention, annoyed by the loss of sufficient time to devise a plausible explanation for the wrong he'd committed. "Are you planning to bring suit against someone?"

  Amy shook her head, biting her lip to prevent the escape of words she'd likely regret.

  "Then for what purpose do you want a solicitor?" Garnet firmly asked again.

  "For a friend in need of sound legal advice." Amy was growing impatient with challenges to her intentions which, if not completely innocent, considering their secretive nature, assuredly had a more positive purpose and end than what she'd read of her brother's recent actions.

  Garnet was not happy with this succinct response but saw that by forcing more he was likely to see his little sister dig in her heels and stubbornly refuse to say a single word more on any subject.

  "The family solicitor is Aaron Bidgwell from the firm of Bidgwell, Bidgwell and Parson." He gave the information sought without insisting she confess its purpose, in hopes that she would be as generous by allowing him to keep his own secrets. "They're a staid group but utterly reliable in all legal and confidential matters."

  "Thank you, Garnet," Amy said quietly before neatly turning the tables on him by returning to the subject of her unpleasant discovery. Not only had her brother falsified test results on Orville's behalf but then he'd gone on to blackmail the pompous man she daily grew to dislike more and yet could never coldly cheat.

  "Why were your reports among Father's papers?" Remembering her father's fascination with the issue of adulteration, Amy was suddenly struck by an even more distressing possibility. "Surely he's not a part of your schemes?"

  Recognizing his sister's fear that dwindling capital might've driven even their father to wrongdoing, Garnet felt even more despicable for being the source of a shadow threatening to besmirch Lord Farley's pristine reputation. "I left them here for Father to find."

  Amy's brows arched. "Why?"

  "Though as his heir I hadn't the courage to confess my wrong face-to-face, I hoped that after reviewing what you've seen, Father would help me find a way free of the tangled mess I've made of my life."

  "But why, Garnet?" Seeing painful remorse turn his eyes nearly black, Amy's heart went out to the brother she'd loved and admired all of her life. "Why when I know you to be an honest and honorable man?"

  Garnet's mouth curled not up but down. "I made a foolish decision, followed by a series of terrible mistakes. After accepting Orville's bribe to correct the reports on his holdings, hiding a plethora of dangerous practices, it was too easy to demand further payments for keeping the truth hidden."

  "But why?" Amy quietly asked again. "We Dan-tons are not a wealthy lot yet hardly destitute."

  Garnet's answering smile was sincere but forlorn. "My Lovey dreams of being mistress in her own home, and I wanted to grant her that happiness, wanted to see her established as lady of the kind of house she deserves." Again he raked a hand roughly through his hair. "Now I fear I've succeeded only in raising the prospect of us both becoming social pariahs. And worse, I've put my precious Lovey in danger of being made an outcast from all she enjoys."

  "Garnet," Lovey softly called from the doorway he'd left ajar. Leaning against its frame, she had watched unobserved and listened since almost the first words exchanged between brother and sister. The relief in hearing enough to be certain Garnet had no regret for their union was so powerful that she would gladly forgive him any crime.

  An anguished groan escaped Garnet's tight throat. He hadn't wanted his Lovey to ever know about the shameful wrong he'd committed.

  "So long as you love me"—proudly moving to kneel at her husband's knee, Lovey assured him— "I'll never care where we live nor will I ever need any companion other than you."

  With the last words, Lovey brushed tender lips across the back of a strong hand that immediately joined with another to lift her into his lap.

  Realizing her presence was decidedly unnecessary and doubtless unwanted, Amy quietly rose. She moved quickly toward the open door, trying to ignore the hollow ache taunting her with the bleak truth that by giving her heart to the king of the Tuatha De Danann she'd surrendered any hope for a lifetime of sharing such gentle comforts. But still she refused to regret her doomed love.

  Quietly closing the door behind herself, Amy forced attention back to the mission ahead. She had the name she'd come looking for… and a great deal too much besides.

  Only two days later, with Beattie at her side, Amy tried to be unobtrusive while waiting on a cobbled sidewalk in the heart of the City. It was a nearly impossible goal considering the tide of conservatively dressed businessmen rushing past two lone females on every side. Gray eyes repeatedly tried to peek from beneath demurely lowered lashes for a first glimpse of anticipated arrivals.

  "Are you sure Lord Comlan received my message?" Amy asked her maid again as she repeatedly had before.

  Beattie heaved a deep, long-suffering sigh. "I gave your note to Dooley. Then I personally watched as Dooley placed it into Lord Comlan's own hand."

  Amy absently noted the gentleness with which Beattie mentioned Dooley, the man earlier referred to with considerably more colorful descriptions. Again she peeked up and down busy sidewalks and across crowded streets—in vain. Though wanting to stomp her feet like a child, Amy curtailed her frustration to a mere nibbling of lips to berry-brightness.

  "Sorry we're later than planned." The deep voice came from behind and just above Amy.

  Dark head whipping about so fast the action nearly unseated a stylish bonnet, Amy was again startled by an arrival whose suddenness she knew to expect but suspected she never would.

  "What happened?"

  " 'Tis my fault, Amy-girl," grimaced Daffy, dressed in black as the widow she'd been for decades and looking even smaller and more frail amid hustling businessmen and massive buildings. "Forced by circumstances to return to this city that never welcomed me, I dithered in my preparations like a slow-witted child—misplaced my bonnet, my cape and nearly myself…"

  Amy gave her uneasy great-aunt an affectionate hug. "I doubt we're too late for our appointment with Mr. Bidgwell but we'd best lose no more time."

  While Beattie waited in the outer office, an earnest young clerk escorted Daffy, her grand-niece and Lord Comlan into the rooms of a Mr. Bidgwell clearly the elder of the firm's two. What little hair remained on an otherwise shiny head was a white near as bright as his obsequious smile while he welcomed the black-clad woman nervously clutching her cane.

  "Mrs. Kilmarny, I'm pleased you've chosen our firm. But then you know, of course, that my father was your father's solicitor."

  Daffy knew no such thing but graciously nodded as the solicitor, elderly yet still young enough to be her son, politely led her to one of the comfortable chairs facing his impressive desk.

  While Amy and Comlan settled in seats matching Daffy's, Mr. Bidgwell took his place behind the desk. Gazing across its wide, gleaming expanse, he asked, "Now what can Bidgwell, Bidgwell and Parsons do for you?"

  "I wish to establish an irrevocable trust."

  "A wise choice." Mr. Bidgwell, Senior, ponderously nodded. Then, wrongly assuming this aged woman garbed in an antique style to be a befuddled eccentric, he made the mistake of speaking to her in a tone normally reserved for small children and fools. "But you do realize, I hope,
that such complex matters often require days of preparation."

  "No." Daffy thumped her cane and straightened while the piercing glitter in her eyes quickly showed Mr. Bidgwell the error of his reasoning. "I don't believe that will be necessary. You see, it's really quite simple. I leave all I possess to my grand-niece, Miss Amethyst Danton."

  As Great-aunt Daphenia formally motioned toward her, Amy gave the foolish solicitor a cool nod.

  "Now surely," Daffy sternly said, "that can't require so much of your time that to see it done we need linger here—in your office—for more than an hour."

  Horrified by this serious blunder after years of experience in exercising tact, Mr. Bidgwell gladly went to extreme lengths to see his new client's every wish promptly and thoroughly fulfilled.

  "What? Marry them both? Now I know you're both daft!"

  A gray gaze snapping with ice crystals darted between the elderly woman Amy had thought too wise for such ridiculous logic and the stunning man who held her heart, it now seemed, with too little care. How could she see that issue any other way when Comlan had just suggested she should marry another man? No, not another man… two other men!

  They were politely seated amid the subdued elegance of Comlan's parlor where shades of cream, taupe and deep forest green had been blended with exquisite masculine taste. Their conversation had begun along perfectly normal lines. But, in Amy's opinion, it had rapidly taken a shape, peculiar and most unsettling.

  Once their visit to the solicitor's office was done, Amy had been constrained to keep a promise by taking Beattie and rushing off to join her mother and Lovey at an early afternoon tea party. Escape from the stifling atmosphere of that event had been impossible until she feigned a headache, the excuse her mother used so often she could hardly fail to support her daughter's claim. But, of course, rather than returning to Wyfirth House, Amy had come directly here to meet Daffy at Comlan's leased home… an action which after their conversation left her questioning not only their sanity but her wisdom.