The Irish Earl Page 14

  The dining room, which had looked so fine in the sunlight, appeared forbidding and lonely in the evening. The few tallow candles sputtered and threw gloomy shadows. Kilgarvan sat at the head of the table, and Felicity to his right. The table seemed absurdly long for just the two of them, and Felicity fought the odd urge to whisper in the darkness.

  Candles, she reminded herself. Hundreds of wax candles would be ordered from Cork, and would bring a little cheer to this dismal place.

  The food was plain, but good, and Kilgarvan devoured his with speed. Felicity ate her own meal, albeit more slowly. Then again, she had had the advantage of taking tea this afternoon, while from the looks of it Kilgarvan had eaten nothing since that morning.

  She let him eat in silence, knowing from experience that gentlemen were ill-disposed to reason when they were hungry. At last Kilgarvan pushed his plate away, and she rose, stacking the dishes on a tray. She placed the tray on the sideboard for the cook to fetch later.

  She thought about suggesting they retire to another room, but she had no doubt that the other public rooms would be equally gloomy. So instead she poured a fresh glass of wine for each of them, and resumed her seat.

  Kilgarvan grasped the stem of the glass and turned it slowly between two fingers, as if admiring the delicate crystal. Then he raised his eyes to her.

  “I should not have left you alone here,” he said. “You must think me discourteous indeed.”

  “I would have preferred to have you show me around Arlyn Court,” she admitted. “But Mrs. O’Connor was an excellent guide.”

  “And what do you think?”

  His eyes were dark and hooded, and she found it difficult to know what he was thinking.

  “It is a fine house,” she said. “I am sure it was beautiful once, and it will be so again, once we have a chance to air out the rooms and give them the benefit of new paint and new furnishings. I thought to hire some workers from the village, and Mrs. O’Connor has promised to come over tomorrow to help me draw up a list of what we need to order from Cork.”

  Kilgarvan looked doubtful. “The servants are a good idea, I suppose. If nothing else, the families will be grateful for the employment. And you can send to Cork or Killarney for any provisions you need—Dennis O’Connor can make the arrangements. But I had not thought to spend money on decorating or furniture or other frills,” he said. “Not until the estates begin to produce again.”

  “They are not frills. The roof is leaking in the south corner—did you know that? And Mrs. O’Connor said the linens are in a dreadful state.”

  Kilgarvan looked uncertain, so she pressed her point home. “You need not worry about the expense,” she said. “Do you not remember that my uncle gave us five hundred pounds as a wedding present to use for setting up our establishment? No doubt he thought we intended to live in Dublin or London, but there is no reason why we can’t use the money here.”

  “Very well,” he said. “But we may find a better use for that five hundred pounds before long.”

  “Is that what has you looking so grim this evening?”

  He raised one hand and rubbed his temples as if his head pained him. “You saw it for yourself. The estate is tottering on the brink of ruin.”

  “Is all of Kilgarvan in such poor shape?”

  He gave a grim laugh. “Worse. Those in Glenmore are better off than many,” he said.

  She did not want to imagine what could be worse than the conditions she had seen in the village that afternoon.

  “How did this happen? Was it a sudden calamity?”

  He took a sip of his wine. “The calamity was the late Earl of Kilgarvan,” he said bitterly. “In my grandfather’s time this was a prosperous estate, rich enough so that he could tear down the old manor and build Arlyn Court for his new bride. And then my father inherited, and he was not satisfied with simply having a good estate and a comfortable living. He wanted a showplace, to compete with the great estates of the north.”

  Kilgarvan shook his head from side to side, in condemnation of his father’s folly. “At first he was convinced that these hills must be full of lead and tin, as they are to the west. He spent a fortune sinking mine shafts, with nothing to show for it. And then there was the canal company he invested in, which went bankrupt. Other schemes followed, each as useless as the last. When he could no longer afford to pay for them from his income, he began mortgaging the estate. Till the end, he was convinced that one of his schemes would prosper, and that Kilgarvan would reclaim its former glory.”

  “And he left you with the burden of his debts,” Felicity said, reaching over and squeezing his hand in sympathy.

  “There is so much to do that I don’t even know where to start,” he confessed. “I thought once my debts were cleared that I could manage, but now I do not know.”

  She could see the pain in his face, and she felt renewed admiration for him. She did not know any other man who cared as deeply for his people and felt his responsibilities so keenly. But Kilgarvan was only one man, and even he needed to lay down his burden sometime.

  “Come,” she said, rising but not relinquishing his hand. “You need your rest. Tomorrow is soon enough to begin.”

  He gave her a weary smile and rose. Lifting her hand to his lips, he brushed it with a kiss. “I bow to your wisdom,” he said.

  Holding her hand in his, with his other hand he retrieved a candle from the sideboard. Then he led the way upstairs. At the door of her bedroom she paused, uncertain how to ask the question that was uppermost in her mind.

  He tugged her hand. “Will you lie with me tonight?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said, suddenly breathless with anticipation and a sense of relief. When Kilgarvan had not returned home today, she had begun to fear that he had regretted what had happened between them the night before. But now as his thumb gently stroked the pulse in her wrist, she realized how foolish she had been. Their marriage might have had a poor start, but that was behind them now.

  He made love to her with a feverish intensity that belied his earlier tiredness. His touch awoke a fierce hunger in her, akin to and yet somehow different from the gentle passion they had shared the previous night. Their climax was shattering in its intensity, and Kilgarvan soon fell into an exhausted slumber. But she remained awake, feeling his heart beat against her chest, and holding him in her arms as if she could keep trouble at bay.

  The next morning Kilgarvan left after breakfast, pleading the press of estate business. He promised to return at a civilized hour for dinner, and with this, Felicity had to be content.

  Mrs. O’Connor arrived soon afterward, along with half a dozen young men and women from the village. Felicity hired the workers on the spot; then, with Mrs. O’Connor translating her instructions, she set them to work.

  Felicity and Mrs. O’Connor spent the day inventorying Arlyn Court. They went room by room, examining everything. Furniture, carpets, drapes, bed linens, all were carefully inspected. And they made endless lists. There was a list of rooms to be cleaned, and in which order. Lists of furniture that needed repair, drapes to be mended or replaced, bed linens and flannels to be ordered.

  “These are not fit for cleaning rags,” Felicity said, shaking her head as she closed the door to the linen closet. Though she had paid little attention last night, in daylight she had realized that the sheets on Kilgarvan’s bed had frayed edges. And having inspected the linen closet she realized that those indeed had been the finest sheets in the house. Most of the rest were so worn and mended that they seemed in danger of falling apart. “We’ll have to replace them all. Best order two dozen sets, and then we’ll see as we go on.”

  “It will be cheaper to buy the fabric, and have the girls make them up for you,” Mrs. O’Connor offered.

  “No, we’ll have more than enough to keep them busy. They could work from dawn till dusk for the next two months, and still not accomplish everything on our lists.”

  The task before them was daunting, yet instead of feeli
ng discouraged, Felicity was energized by what she had discovered. Here, at last, was a project that she could turn her hand to, one that would require all her skills and talents. Arlyn Court needed her, and it was a feeling that she welcomed.

  She wondered if Kilgarvan’s attachment to his land stemmed from the same realization of how much he was needed here. And she realized how frustrated he must have felt when he realized that all his dedication and love for his people were not enough to save them.

  “Ah, you have the right of it there,” Mrs. O’Connor said, breaking into her train of thought. “But it will do the girls good to keep themselves from idleness, and for them to see how a proper house is run.”

  Leaving behind the first floor, they sought out the kitchens. There they found Nora Murphy busy with preparations for dinner.

  “I would like to inspect the larder, to see what is needed,” Felicity said, then waited while Mrs. O’Connor translated her words.

  With a speed surprising in one her age, the cook moved from the cutting table to stand in front of the larder, barring the way.

  “Step aside,” Felicity ordered.

  The cook unleashed a torrent of Gaelic, her dark eyes flashing. Mrs. O’Connor replied in the same tongue. A heated exchange followed. Felicity was frustrated by her inability to understand what was being discussed at such volume, though from the gestures it was clear that the cook felt insulted by their inspection.

  She would have to get Kilgarvan to teach her Gaelic, she decided. She could not rely upon Mrs. O’Connor forever, and it was impossible to run a house where the servants could not understand her, and she could not understand them.

  “Tell her that if she wishes to remain as cook, she will do as I ask. At once.”

  For a moment Felicity thought that the cook would refuse, and then with a toss of her head, the woman stepped aside.

  The larder was windowless and dark, the light from the kitchen penetrating no more than a few inches inside the door.

  “A lamp, if you would be so kind,” Felicity said.

  Mrs. O’Connor left, and in a few moments returned with a burning lamp. Holding it in front of her, Felicity entered.

  The larder was a long, narrow room. Built into the wall on one side was a work counter, with drawers and cabinets underneath. On the other side were shelves, with containers of flour, corn meal, sugar, spices and the like. Toward the back, a large bushel basket held potatoes, while a smaller basket next to it held carrots.

  It was cleaner than she had expected, if a trifle empty. They wouldn’t starve, but any food served would be of the plain variety, at least until they received their first order of provisions from Cork. Felicity suspected that she would soon grow mightily tired of potatoes.

  There was naught amiss, save that supplies were low. From the cook’s attitude she had half expected to find jugs of Irish whiskey or other signs of misuse of Kilgarvan’s money.

  Emerging from the pantry, she blew out the lamp and placed it on the work counter. The cook’s eyes followed her suspiciously, her cheeks flushed with anger.

  “Please tell the cook to make a list of what she needs, and I will include it in the order I send to Cork.”

  “Ah, the auld thing does not write, but I will get her to tell me what we need, and make the list for her,” Mrs. O’Connor offered.

  “Very well,” Felicity said.

  As she left the kitchen, she felt weary, but she also felt a certain sense of satisfaction. It would take months if not years to put Arlyn Court to rights. But she had made a good start today, and she knew herself the equal to the task. She owed it to herself, and to her husband, to make this a place they could feel proud of, and where they could raise a family.

  Fifteen

  It hardly seemed possible that it had been a week since Kilgarvan’s return to Glenmore. Each day had been busier than the last.

  He had toured the cabins owned by the estate, and decided which should be repaired and which should be torn down. He had settled the quarrel over the ownership of the black cow, along with a score of other petty disputes that had arisen during the six months of his absence.

  He had discussed the rents with Jerry O’Connell, and who should be allowed to lease land that had fallen idle. He had heard Father Harrington’s plea for a new roof for the chapel, and instructed the workers who were erecting the new schoolhouse.

  The arrival of Mr. Hamilton had proven another distraction. An acquaintance from his school days in Dublin, Mr. Hamilton congratulated Kilgarvan on his good fortune, and listened intently as Kilgarvan explained his plans for the estate. Like most Irish, teaching was only one of Hamilton’s trades, and since school would not begin till the fall, Kilgarvan had set Mr. Hamilton to work surveying the land for the new cottages.

  A week after his return to Glenmore, Kilgarvan joined his wife for breakfast. But instead of hurrying off on estate business, as had been his custom, he asked her to accompany him on a stroll. Felicity readily agreed, seeming pleased at the prospect of spending time in his company. Such opportunities had been all too rare since his homecoming, as matters both great and small had demanded his attention.

  It was a fine day, and he waited for her outside while Felicity consulted with Mrs. O’Connor and left instructions. Mentally he rehearsed what he would say to her, but before he could make sense of his arguments, Felicity appeared.

  She was wearing a straw bonnet trimmed with a dark blue ribbon that matched her muslin walking dress. She had exchanged her house slippers for stylish half boots, the very same boots that she had worn for their journey here. As she descended the stairs to the lawn, he could see the faintest trace of freckles on the bridge of her nose.

  “It is a beautiful day for a stroll,” she said. “And it was so lovely of you to think of this. It seems I’ve been cooped up in the house for days.”

  She smiled happily, and he wished with all his heart that he had indeed made this offer simply because it would please her.

  “Did you have a destination in mind, or are we simply to enjoy the fine day?”

  “There is something I want to show you,” he said, offering her his arm. “Down by the lake.”

  Felicity began telling him of Arlyn Court, and the changes that she was making. He listened with only a part of his mind, murmuring agreement when it seemed appropriate.

  Their path took them through the village, then west, across the stone bridge that arched over the stream that drained from the lake. Then they proceeded along the west bank of the lake. The woods came quite near the lakeshore on this side, but there was a path, of sorts, and as they approached the ruined castle the woods gave way to open meadowlands.

  “Don’t you agree?” Felicity asked.

  “Er, yes, of course.”

  Felicity laughed, a warm, infectious sound. “You haven’t been paying the least attention to what I was saying,” she accused. “I just suggested that we should turn the grand salon into a cattle barn, and you agreed.”

  He smiled as an image sprang to mind of the grand salon filled with a dozen black cattle executing the steps of the quadrille, with himself and Felicity standing on the sidelines, smiling their approval.

  “I apologize. My mind was wandering,” he said. “And while we do need a new barn, I do not think we are that desperate. Yet.”

  The moment of mirth passed as quickly as it had come, for the new barn was just one of the things he needed to discuss with Felicity.

  “Is it much farther?” she asked.

  “Are you weary?”

  “No, but it is clear you will not be fit for conversation until we have seen whatever it is you want me to see.”

  “Just a bit farther,” he promised.

  As they entered the meadow, they had their first clear glimpse of the old castle. Once it was a mighty fortress; now only the central tower and the crumbling remains of the inner wall remained. The gray stone was scarred from cannon shot, and though he could not see it from here, the inside of the keep was stil
l blackened from the fire that had raged when the keep was set to the torch.

  The years had taken their toll, and where once warriors had stood guard, now cattle wandered among the grass that had overtaken the crumbled stones, or lay dozing in the shade of the walls.

  “This is Arlyn Castle? From your description I expected a ruin, but this is marvelous. One almost expects to see brave knights on the field, and fair damsels waving to them from the parapet,” she said fancifully.

  She tugged his arm, but he did not budge, and so she relinquished his hand and went ahead eagerly. He followed behind at a more sedate pace.

  “Careful,” he called. “The footing can be treacherous. The grass is full of stones, scattered from when the outer wall was breached.”

  He caught up with her as she paused beside the ruined gate, gazing up at the central tower. “Strange, the tower does not appear at all harmed,” she mused.

  “Appearances can be deceiving. The tower was set to the torch. The walls still stand, but there was nothing left inside.”

  “And this was your family’s?”

  He nodded. “Arlyn Castle, the seat of the earls of Kilgarvan. That is, until my ancestor joined the rebellion. Cromwell’s army made short work of them, and my ancestor forfeited his title and lands.”

  “But—” she began, puzzlement in her voice.

  “His eldest son was allowed to swear fealty to the Crown, and had the title and some of the lands restored. But the castle was gone forever, as was the eastern half of the valley. My ancestor swore that someday we would reclaim the land they had lost. But it remains an empty promise.”

  “And is that what you wish as well? To reclaim this all?”