The Lord and the Banshee (Read by Candlelight #13) - Gillian St. Kevern Page 0,5

overwhelmed by his reversal in fortune. Now he looked much more the Lord of Connaught, even as his American drawl told a different story.

“My apologies,” Thomas said. “Preoccupied with my travel arrangements, I forgot to send notice of our intentions. By the time I remembered, we were on our way. No letter would have reached you before we did.”

“I wonder at such haste, Lord Cross.” Mrs O’Flaherty pursed her lips. “Do we have the pleasure of your company for an extended visit?”

Connaught frowned at his great aunt. “Lord Cross and Mister Westaway must join us.”

“How kind of you,” Thomas said, as though he had not been counting on this eventuality. “Do not put your staff out too much on our behalf. Julian can share a room with his father. They are accustomed to it.”

Mrs O’Flaherty nodded. “For tonight, it will be just as well. I will inform the staff.” She bustled out of the room.

“Aunt Beatrice acts as my house-keeper,” Connaught explained. “She has lived in the castle most of her life and knows more—much more—about the history of the house and its inhabitants than I do.”

“That’s only natural,” his cousin piped up. She had a deep voice at odds with her airy appearance. “You have lived most of your life believing Connaught a distant memory, unconnected to yourself. There was no reason for you to take an interest in the castle before now. Once you’ve been here longer, you’ll know the castle as well as mama.”

Connaught shook his head. “Old stone and long-dead ancestors will never have the appeal to me of the homicide beat, or a courtroom drama.” He motioned his guests towards the sofa. “Apologies for forgetting my manners. I don’t have the hang of this Lord of the castle thing yet.” His tone was ironic, his expression sneering.

Disinterest was in vogue among Julian and his friends. Thomas could not take a dislike to O’Flaherty purely because he spoke carelessly. “Thank you.” He seated himself on the sofa he’d seen Pip occupy. “The interests connected to your inheritance do not replace the excitement of your journalistic work?”

Connaught leaned against the mantel of the fireplace. “It is a matter of complete indifference to me what stock are put in what field, which cottages need repairs, and who is behind on their rent. The farmers are capable of settling these matters themselves, and much better equipped than I to make those decisions. Much better the estate is in the hands of someone who could do something with it.”

Pip joined Thomas on the sofa. He placed a hand on Thomas’s arm, a light pressure before he removed it. “Lord Connaught was just telling us he plans to return to New York as soon as he can find a buyer for the castle.”

Was Pip’s touch a reminder to him to behave? Thomas forced himself to let go of the anger tied like a knot in his stomach. He thrived in his role of caretaker of Foxwood, invested in the wellbeing of his tenants. To hear the responsibilities of the landlord so disregarded irked him—especially in a land so recently ravaged by neglect and hardship.

Julian helped himself to an armchair, drawing it closer to the fire with his usual habit of making himself at home. “Your banshee doesn’t provide enough excitement?”

There was a pause before Connaught answered. “I do not know what to make of the banshee. I was ready to discount it as local superstition, but to see it myself, followed by the events of the morning…”

“What happened this morning?” Thomas demanded.

“My cousin had a very lucky escape.” Miss O’Flaherty knotted her fingers in the skirts of her dress. “He and Mr Leighton were walking in the gardens and some stonework crumbled above them. It’s a blessing neither of them were struck.”

Cross and Julian exchanged a glance. “Very fortunate,” Cross agreed.

“One cannot blame the banshee for that. She is as much a victim of tragedy as those to whom her appearance foretells their deaths.” Pip caught the meaning of his words and tensed, glancing at Cross.

“Is the banshee’s identity known?” Julian regarded his fathers with an air of amused tolerance Cross found quite provoking.

“Una Malone.” Connaught stoked the fire. “A farmer’s daughter, lived in the time of my great-grandfather. She became pregnant to an unknown father. Her family cast her out. She unsuccessfully petitioned the Lord of Connaught at the time for succour. He refused to help her. Una died in childbirth, and her subsequent appearance at the castle gave rise