Patrica Rice Read Online Free PDF Page B

the stairs to the stable. He never shared himself with others, not even Gavin. But with Blanche, it was too easy, like turning his face to the sun and burning it in consequence.
    So he saddled a horse and fled into the dusk, leaving Blanche to deal with Fiona on her own. By tomorrow, perhaps he would have learned a few things about Elton Alley and its inhabitants and be better prepared for dealing with Fiona’s problems. Nothing would prepare him for dealing with Lady Blanche.
    * * *
    Blanche wished she knew more curse words when Michael didn’t appear for dinner. She knew perfectly well the scoundrel was capable of leaving without a farewell, but she couldn’t believe he’d leave her alone with this Irish mystery. Miss MacOwen watched with curiosity as Blanche sent her butler in search of the missing guest.
    “Mr. O’Toole tends to forget the time,” Blanche explained, keeping a friendly smile on her lips. “I do believe he lives in a world of his own.”
    Miss MacOwen’s cynical look matched her response. “From what I’ve noticed of Mr. O’Toole, he believes this world is his own. Do you know him well?”
    Blanche offered her guest a glass of sherry since she felt in need of it herself. To her surprise, the girl accepted it. Perhaps she was a little beyond childhood after all.
    “I suppose he’s sort of a cousin-in-law,” she replied in response to the question. “My cousin is married to his brother. But I can’t say that anyone knows him well.”
    Miss MacOwen nodded in agreement. “He’s that much like Seamus, after all. The resemblance is remarkable. It’s that surprising I find it hearing an O’Toole married to English aristocracy. Perhaps I should have visited your foyne country sooner.”
    Blanche heard the mockery in this speech, but she had no desire to explain O’Toole was the adopted brother of an American and not in the least Irish. Even she didn’t understand his masquerade. Michael simply had many names and many appearances.
    Nethers, the butler, returned quickly with the announcement that the gentleman had departed earlier in the afternoon. Wishing she could fling her glass into the fireplace and throw a royal tantrum, Blanche managed a polite nod of indifference and gestured toward the doorway to the dining chamber. “Shall we dine, then, Miss MacOwen? It seems we must entertain ourselves this evening.”
    The girl’s eyes had narrowed in suspicion at Nether’s announcement. “What does he mean, Mr. O’Toole has departed? I don’t mean to be dumped here like a stray dog.”
    The mocking Irish accent quickly disappeared with the girl’s rising ire, Blanche noticed. But she was too angry with O’Toole to take the youngster’s bait. “You needn’t fear for yourself, Miss MacOwen. Or shall I call you Fiona? You may call me Blanche, if you wish. There’s not much point in formality if we’re to deal with O’Toole together. The man is infuriating beyond all else, but he’ll keep his word. He’ll return to take you into the city. He’ll just do it at his own time and pace.”
    “And you endure this?” Fiona asked, following her into the dining room.
    Blanche took her time taking a seat and signaling the servants to begin serving while forming an answer. “Does one choose to endure thunderstorms, will-o’wisps, or other acts of nature?” she asked. “They happen. Michael is much the same.”
    She smiled in satisfaction as Fiona sipped thoughtfully at the excellent wine. She would have the girl talking before dinner ended.
    “He is much more forceful than my brother, no doubt,” Fiona said. “But he is still a bit of a leprechaun, isn’t he? I would never suspect him of being gentry. No wonder I couldn’t place him as beggar or actor or any of the other things I thought him.”
    Blanche tried thinking of Michael as forceful and widened her eyes as she realized the word fit. Back in the days after the fire when she feared everything and everyone, Michael had appeared