The Absinthe Earl Page 13

  I stared at her. “Diarmuid.”

  “Diarmuid.”

  “What makes you think he’s my ancestor? He’s just a story, is he not?”

  “Wasn’t that just a story?” She touched the hilt of Great Fury with the toe of her boot. “Did you know, cousin,” she said, “that adjacent to the library at Trinity College is a library of Faery?”

  “Adjacent? Where?”

  “Dimensionally adjacent.”

  I recalled something Miss Q had said in our first meeting: their new country somehow overlaps our own.

  “It’s wondrous, Edward,” the queen continued, pouring herself another cup of tea. “Winding staircases made from carved whalebone. Bookshelves supported by living trees. Vining roses and honeysuckle creeping over everything. I’ve spent hours and hours there. They have such books. Recipes for flowers, Edward. Recipes for kisses. Songbooks filled with ballads that weave dreams and spin nightmares. There’s a tune for calling a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day. For mending a sparrow’s wing. Even for saving a cake that has failed to rise. And there are endless volumes of history and genealogy. Complete forests of family trees. More begats than the Bible. And in one of those books, I traced the roots and branches from the Tuatha De Danaan and the houses of Ulster right down to you and me.”

  “I saw you there,” I realized suddenly. “At the Trinity Library. Just a few days ago.” I raised a hand to my chest. “You walked right through me.”

  She smiled, lightly touching the back of my hand. “Now you see.”

  “Indeed, I do not. What is this about a war?”

  “Do you know why the fairies vanished?”

  I shook my head. “I only recall our grandmother telling us that long ago, the Danaan yielded Ireland to the Celts. In fact, I was helping Miss Quicksilver investigate that very question—where they’d gone, and why. It’s her course of study at the academy.”

  Isolde laughed softly, and I knew her well enough to guess the reason: She was thinking about how close to her answers Miss Q had been when conducting her research at Trinity. How close and yet how far.

  “In the Faery library,” she said, “I found books of history that never happened.”

  I shook my head at the puzzle. “What do you mean?”

  “Histories alternate to our own. Things that might have happened, and perhaps did in some version of reality unknown to us. Each of these alternate histories described a great famine in Ireland that began in 1845. The causes of this famine varied among these histories, but in every case, it was responsible for the death of at least a million Irish, Edward. And a million more fled the country because of it.”

  I drained the tepid contents of my teacup, waiting for her to explain the significance of a history that never happened.

  “There is a history in the library that matches our own in every respect—up until 1845. In this history, the Fomorians—the ancient enemies of the Danaan—were responsible for releasing a blight that caused a famine in that year.” She studied me. “You remember Grandmama’s stories about the Fomorians?”

  I nodded, but I did not need to refer to my grandmother’s stories, as I had very recently experienced them firsthand on the Queen of Connacht.

  “Also in this history,” Isolde continued, “once the famine had done its work, the Fomorians flooded back into Ireland, slaughtering those that remained and claiming our island for themselves.”

  “Cousin,” I began, masking my impatience, “forgive me, but I cannot understand how this pertains to your summoning me here.”

  “Listen, Edward. This history that was meant for us—it was prevented only by the departure of all the fairies. Diarmuid worked a powerful spell that carried Faery, along with its foes, out of our world. The Fomorians were forced to return to the watery country of their origin.” She paused, sitting up and refolding her hands in her lap. “Diarmuid’s seal between Ireland and Faery was made strong by ancient magic, but the spell is now a thousand years old and has begun to fray.”

  For a few moments, I could do nothing but stare at her. If not for my own strange experiences, I would have believed her to have, at last, gone well and truly mad. But still, how could she know all this? Isolde loved drama and adventure, as I knew from our childhood. Mightn’t she be exaggerating the threat?

  “You believe the Fomorians are coming back to carry out their interrupted plan to conquer Ireland.”

  “I do.”

  “And you read all this in books in this library?”

  “Much of it can be found there, and I have read it, but that’s not how I came to know. I learned of it from Diarmuid himself.”

  She was coming around now to what she expected from me. I could feel it in the way she watched me—like a cat watching a mouse. “How is that possible?” I asked.

  “Your Danaan ancestor has a gateway from his world to ours.”

  I stared, waiting for her to continue, but then it dawned on me.

  “You mean me.”

  THREE WALTZES

  Ada

  After a gloriously hot bath, I was measured and made to try on half a dozen gowns while the queen’s dressmaker and hairdresser and their various assistants looked on. They discussed my features—which to emphasize and which to downplay—what colors would best suit, and so on. At Lovelace, I shared sleeping quarters with two other women. Also, the house mother had a habit of entering without knocking, so I lacked the modesty that would likely make this uncomfortable for another woman who had not been raised in society.

  When the women at last left me with a promise to return an hour before the ball—by which time the queen would be dressed and ready—tea was brought in. I nibbled cream cheese sandwiches and slices of cold roast beef while making a closer examination of my room—modern and comfortable, though furnished with pristinely preserved antiques. Above the fireplace was a painting of the very strand and cottage where the earl and I had passed the night. I studied it while I finished my meal, reflecting, in the sober light of day, on the fact that I’d spent the night in the arms of a man.

  And such a man—a peer of the kingdom of Ireland, with a strange connection to one of the country’s beloved folk figures. A man both compassionate and capable, with warm, gentle hands and a penetrating gaze.

  As I replayed the evening’s events and conversation, heat bloomed in my cheeks and spread out over my chest. My breaths shortened, and I chided myself for this schoolgirl giddiness.

  Turning from the painting, I looked for another place to sit and drink my tea. The canopied bed was so richly adorned, I was afraid to disturb it. Instead, I chose a fainting couch by the large picture window, which offered a view of the surrounding countryside.

  Though I had never in my life fainted, I was sleep deprived and physically exhausted. I meant only to rest until the maid returned for the tray, when I would ask for fresh writing materials. I had mourned the loss of my notebook, though happily, it had not contained the entirety of my research. There were several more notebooks in my trunk, which the earl had assured me he would have sent from Westport station. I wondered then for the first time what became of the poor man who had tried to recall us to safety on the train. How had he made sense of what he had seen? We had hardly begun to make sense of it.

  I wondered whether Lord Meath would be given an audience with the queen, and whether she would be able to shed more light on recent events. She ought at least to be able to explain what she wanted with the earl and his sword.

  I did not make it any further in my musings before waking to a brisk knock at the door. When I opened my eyes, the white light of the full moon was streaming through the window.

  “Come in,” I called in a creaky voice, disoriented from the long nap.

  Stiffness had set in, and I rose slowly from the couch as the half-dozen women who had attended me earlier streamed in, chattering and making disapproving noi
ses over the darkness of the room and the lateness of the hour. In moments, all the lamps had been lit and blocks of turf set ablaze on the hearth. Warm firelight took the place of cool moonlight.

  One of the attendants gave me a glass of orange water, which I drained gratefully, and I was made to undress and stand at the foot of the bed. The ladies helped me into layers of undergarments before slipping a beautiful gown of silver brocade over my head and shoulders. The gown had a corset that fitted over rather than under the bodice, and small emerald-green leaves laced through its silver-on-silver floral pattern.

  When the ladies had finished hoisting, hooking, and tying, the seamstress, Mrs. Colby, moved behind me to fasten and arrange an emerald necklace. “A loan from Her Majesty,” she murmured.

  I touched my fingertips to the large, glittering pendant, which was accented with diamonds and hung from strands of small pearls. I was grateful for the queen’s ordering of these preparations, without which I could not have attended the ball, even though I did not quite understand her reason for doing so.

  My costume complete, I was directed to the stool before the vanity, where Mrs. Lamotte, the hairdresser, took over. Most of my silver tresses were perfumed, plaited, and wound atop my head, with a handful of heavy curls left to fall freely at the back. The attendants worked emerald- and pearl-tipped hairpins into the coiled plaits.

  Then the two ladies took my hands and raised me, leading me before the full-length mirror beside the armoire.

  I drew in a quick breath, which was quite a feat considering the tightness of my corset. I had never worn such a gown, and I had certainly never worn such a valuable piece of jewelry. The color selected by Mrs. Colby boldly emphasized my most singular feature, and the necklace drew attention to the color of my eyes. Growing up, I had discovered that for some, my appearance held an exotic interest, while others judged it as downright odd. The earl had not been the first to compare me to an otherworldly creature—in my experience, such comparisons had not always been complimentary. But what I saw before me now was a beautiful woman. I had never been bold enough to wear silver or even light shades of gray, but I saw now that this had been a mistake—that the deep jewel tones I’d always favored, while flattering, had been my way of drawing attention away from my silver tresses.

  Mrs. Colby was eyeing me expectantly, so I closed my dropped jaw and smiled. “It’s beautiful,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Mrs. Lamotte chuckled. “Colby can make even the dullest diamond sparkle, but in your case, my child, very little embellishment was required.”

  I warmed under this praise and, to my chagrin, even felt my throat tightening. Curtsying to hide my emotion, I thanked them both again. The two women then fell to congratulating each other, and just as I was wondering whether I’d be given a moment to compose myself in private, there came another knock at the door.

  Mrs. Lamotte hurried to open it, and Lord Meath stepped into the room.

  Due to the distraction his own transformation provided, there was no awkwardness in his openmouthed stare when his gaze fell on me. Seeing him clean and polished, I was freshly reminded how generous a measure of masculine beauty this man possessed, and I took a moment to appreciate that fact. He was an earl and always dressed smartly, so his transformation was perhaps not as dramatic as mine. But his dark curls were freshly washed and combed back from his face, and he wore a suit of dark wool with a silver waistcoat. He’d lost his spectacles, so there was no longer any barrier between those intensely probing eyes and me. And there was another difference. Great Fury, now sheathed, hung at his side.

  “Miss Quicksilver,” he said at last, “I think you must already know how lovely you look, but let me congratulate you, ladies”—this he directed at Mrs. Colby and Mrs. Lamotte—“on a job well done. I would not have thought you could make her any more beautiful.”

  A light titter of laughter rose behind me, and the two ladies thanked the earl. Such praise might be common in society, but it was far outside my experience, and my cheeks felt scorched—less from the compliment itself than from the warming sensation I felt low in my belly as he spoke it. This heat spread across my chest, and I was reminded that between the corset and the gown’s plunging neckline, I was much more exposed than I was accustomed to being.

  “My lord,” I said with a curtsy and a racing heart.

  He held out his arm. “Shall we go? The ball will be in full swing by now, but we should arrive in time for you to take some refreshment before every O’Malley in the house asks you to dance.”

  He was all smiles and impeccable behavior, but his eyes had betrayed some fresh trouble on his mind. “Are you well, my lord?” I asked, taking his arm.

  “Indeed, I am,” he replied, covering my hand with his and guiding me out of the room. He led me down the corridor toward sounds of merriment issuing from deeper in the large house. “I have much to discuss with you, but the queen will not stand for us to miss the ball.”

  “Have you learned something about the sword?” I asked, unable to mask my eagerness.

  He smiled, but it was a different sort of smile than the ones he’d bestowed on the ladies in my chamber. He was not happy. “I have,” he said, “and I promise to share it with you before the night is over.”

  We descended the stairs and made our way through a maze of corridors. As we rounded the last corner, servants opened a set of doors for us. Laughter and music burst from the hall out into the corridor, and the earl gave my hand a supportive squeeze as he led me inside.

  “Heavens!” I couldn’t help uttering. “Are these all O’Malleys?” The hall contained easily a hundred people.

  “There are also minor dignitaries and nobility from the nearby counties—Sligo and Galway as well as Mayo. But the rest are O’Malleys, and families of those who have married O’Malleys.” The earl stopped suddenly and turned to face me, the shadow that had overtaken his features a jarring contrast to the gaiety surrounding us.

  “What is it, my lord?”

  “I’d hoped to wait to tell you this, but the one time I held something back from you, I regretted it.”

  My heart gave a sickening lurch. “Then tell me.”

  “I’m sending you away, Miss Q. Back to London. After what I’ve learned from the queen, I can no longer in good conscience continue exposing you to such risks. It’s much graver than either of us imagined.”

  The room seemed to spin, and the floor to tilt. It was much like the sensations I’d felt aboard the Queen of Connacht, and I slid one foot away from the other to steady myself. Many words waited on the tip of my tongue, and I was surprised by the ones my lips finally spoke.

  “I won’t go.”

  “Ah, Miss Quicksilver! There you are.”

  Glancing up, I saw Duncan O’Malley approaching. Not now, I muttered inwardly. But the gentleman either missed or chose not to notice the hail of bullets the earl’s eyes were firing at him.

  “I believe you are promised to me for the first dance.” Smiling broadly, he held out his hand as the first strains of the waltz filled the hall.

  I glanced at the earl, who was grimmer than ever. Then, seeing no escape, I reached out and took O’Malley’s hand.

  I’m not going anywhere, I told myself by way of bolstering my strength for the performance to come. The earl will have to accept that. And somehow the encouragement, though self-delivered, did seem to have the desired effect. For after all, the earl had no power to force me.

  I joined my hand with O’Malley’s, and his other hand came to the small of my back. He, too, was smartly dressed, though his jacket was longer and his waistcoat was a lively red that matched the Christmas stars in the banquet tables’ centerpieces.

  “Cousin Edward looks like a thundercloud,” he observed, beaming at me. “Do you suppose he’s jealous?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. O’Malley,” I replied. But his moo
d was festive and the teasing good-natured, and I found it difficult to suppress a smile.

  He gave a bark of laughter. “I’m sure that you do. But it’s good for him to be a little jealous.”

  While I suspected that the earl’s grim countenance had more to do with my defiant reply to his pronouncement, I could feel his gaze following us as we glided across the dance floor.

  O’Malley’s arm drew me a little closer, so our bodies brushed with each turn. “You’re a beautiful woman, and if I thought you didn’t want him, I’d run off with you myself, and Edward be damned. But I’m fair certain there’s been something compromising between you, and I believe it only wants a nudge to make the man do the right thing.” He shook his head. “My cousin’s spent far too much time among the English, no offense to present company. His blood runs a little cold.”

  I laughed, though I couldn’t avoid a mental rejoinder that the earl was anything but cold. “What makes you think I want to marry Lord Meath, if that is, in fact, what you’re suggesting?”

  O’Malley shrugged. “I’ve a good ear for the things folk say to each other without speaking. It’s one reason Her Majesty keeps me close—Izzy is shrewd but doesn’t read faces well. That’s not to say I’ve never been wrong.” I had directed my gaze over his shoulder, where I caught a glimpse of the earl, watching us with arms folded across his chest. “Thundercloud” was an apt description. O’Malley shifted his head to force our eyes to meet again. “I’d be happy to find I was wrong in this case.”

  I sighed, sobering as my thoughts returned to the reality of the situation. I did not feel at liberty to discuss my present troubles with the earl’s cousin, but I might take another tack to stem his enthusiasm for matchmaking.

  “Mr. O’Malley,” I said, “your cousin is an earl. I am a scholar of modest means. He is not at liberty to make such a choice.”

  O’Malley snorted. “His parents are dead. The title is his. Unless he’s a fool, he’ll do as he pleases.”