The Lord and the Banshee (Read by Candlelight #13) - Gillian St. Kevern Page 0,20

in the castle records?”

Connaught snorted. “Not the banshee again.”

Interesting. Cross tilted his head back, considering the castle’s owner. “You do not consider her a threat then?”

“I consider her a capital nuisance.” Connaught grimaced. “She might add local colour, but it’s not the sort calculated to attract a buyer. If only a banshee was as easily removed as old-fashioned furniture and faded portraits.”

Mrs O’Flaherty and Miss O’Flaherty looked up with identical expressions of horror. “You’re not talking about the old gallery?” Mrs O’Flaherty said. “Those portraits have hung in Castle Connaught for centuries.”

“Exactly,” Connaught agreed. “Time enough they hung somewhere else. A museum would be more suitable. Failing that, I’m sure there’s a crypt somewhere with spare wall space.”

“What of the history of the castle?” Miss O’Flaherty protested. “Your own family, your ancestors? Don’t they mean anything?”

“You keep harping on this theme like it’s meant to mean something to me. I’ve grown up without family or tradition and have done well without either. To encumber me with both at this late stage and then to expect me to care about those who did not give me or my family a second thought, who did nothing to help us when we needed help—well, I think it’s a lot of cheek.” Connaught’s hands shook. “And that’s me being polite.”

“There was no help to give,” Miss O’Flaherty protested. “You don’t seem to understand just how hard things were here—”

“Stella,” Mrs O’Flaherty said in tones that brooked no argument. “We do not argue with gentlemen.” Her cheeks were red, but the rest of her icy calm. “Lord Cross, I hope you were not too bored waiting for us in the churchyard.”

Cross took his cue. “I found the wait very pleasant.”

Mrs O’Flaherty and Cross sustained the conversation for the rest of the ride. As soon as the carriage rolled to a stop before Connaught Castle, Connaught dismounted and, slamming the carriage door behind him, strode across the grounds.

Miss O’Flaherty likewise, as soon as her feet touched the ground, took off at a run towards the castle.

“Stella,” Mrs O’Flaherty called after her. “Come back here at once.”

“Let her go,” Cross urged. “I can imagine how it feels to have her home dismissed by someone with no regard for the very things that make it so dear to you.”

Mrs O’Flaherty heaved a sigh, gathering her shawl around her shoulders. “You’re very kind to us, Lord Cross.”

He shook his head, offering her his arm. “Let us just say that through Mr Westaway, I am well acquainted with the challenges of raising a—shall we say temperamental—child.”

“Mr Westaway seems a model young man.”

“You’ve not observed him in one of his obstinate moods. Miss O’Flaherty’s behaviour is mild in comparison. None of us think any less of her.”

Mrs O’Flaherty drooped lower. “I am at my wit’s end with Stella. I sympathise. She is, through her father, more closely related to the O’Flaherty line than her cousin, and yet, as a male, he takes precedence.”

“These old systems of entail leave a lot to be desired,” Cross agreed. “Foxwood Court will pass, not to Julian who loves it as his home, but to a distant nephew who views it as an investment.”

“At least your distant nephew sees some value in your estate. Lord Connaught…” Mrs O’Flaherty stopped. “I won’t speak ill of the man. All I will say is that having spent so many years of my life taking care of Connaught Castle, my heart grieves to see it in the hands of someone who views it as an encumbrance.”

Thomas kept his tone deceptively mild. “An encumbrance you would like to relieve him of?”

Mrs O’Flaherty’s expression barely flickered. A tough woman—not to be caught out easily. “We both know that is not possible, Lord Cross. I am an O’Flaherty by marriage only, and the estate is entailed to a male heir. The only possibility of the estate coming to us is through marriage with Lord Connaught.”

True. While both women must dislike Lord Connaught, that was hardly sufficient motive to attack him.

Mrs O’Flaherty removed her arm. “If you will excuse me, Lord Cross, I must find Stella. It is no longer proper for her to roam the castle at will.”

It took Cross a moment to catch her meaning. “No censure could attach itself to Miss O’Flaherty. The castle is her home, and Lord Connaught a relation.”

“A very distant relation,” Mrs O’Flaherty warned. “And I understand that woman in New York are somewhat ‘fast.’ Stella has led a rather more sheltered existence, and Lord Connaught is