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“I make a world-famous cheddar-and-mushroom omelette.”
“I’ll be the judge of that—and I’m very . . . particular about my tastes.” She walked back toward the kitchen and left him blowing out one long, appreciative breath before he followed.
She sat at the little table in the center of the room, draping her arm over the back of her chair and looking very much like a woman accustomed to being served. Though his system no longer needed a jump-start, Trevor made coffee first.
“While I’m sitting here watching you deal with some homey chores,” Darcy began, “why don’t you tell me why you let me babble on yesterday about your family and ancestors and seemed so interested in information that would be already familiar to you.”
“Because it wasn’t familiar to me.”
She’d suspected that, after she’d calmed down. He didn’t strike her as a man who’d waste time asking questions when he already had the answers. “Why is that, if you don’t mind me asking?”
He would mind. Usually. But he felt he owed her an explanation. “My grandfather had very little to say about his family here, or Ardmore. Or Ireland, for that matter.”
While he waited for the coffee to brew—please, God, soon—he got out what he needed for the omelette. “He was a difficult man, with a very hard shell. My impression was that whatever he’d left here made him bitter. So it wasn’t discussed.”
“I see.” Not clearly, Darcy mused, as it was hard to understand a family that didn’t discuss everything. At the top of their lungs as often as not. “Your grandmother also came from here.”
“Yes. And my grandmother abided by his wishes.” He glanced at Darcy, his eyes cool and remote. “In everything.”
“I imagine he was a powerful man, and powerful men are often difficult and intimidating.”
“My father would be viewed as a powerful man. I wouldn’t consider him difficult or intimidating.”
“So you’ve come back in part, have you, to see for yourself where those Magee seeds were first sown?”
“In part.”
She did not fail to notice the dismissive tone. A sore spot here, she decided, and though she’d have dearly loved to poke a bit, she left it alone. For now. “Well, then, since here’s where you are, why don’t you tell me what you think of the cottage?”
Tension, tension that irritated him, eased a bit. He poured his first cup of coffee as he dealt with the eggs. “I just sent my mother a fax telling her it was a postcard.”
“A fax? Is that the way mother and son communicate?”
“Mother and son use technology where it’s useful.” Remembering manners, he poured her a cup, brought it to the table. “Best of all worlds, isn’t it? A thatchedroof cottage in the Irish countryside and the conveniences of modern times.”
“You left out your ghost.”
He had a steady hand, but nearly bobbled the skillet. “I wouldn’t say she’s mine.”
“While you’re living here she is. A tragic figure is Lady Gwen, and while I sympathize and appreciate the romance of it all, I find it hard to understand anyone who would pine, even for love, over the centuries, beyond death. Life’s the point, isn’t it, and making it work for you.”
“How much more do you know about her?”
“As much as any in these parts, I suppose.” She enjoyed watching his long fingers and competent hands do their work. “Though Jude’s done more of a study on the matter for her book. Several I know have seen her.”
He glanced back. It wasn’t surprise in his eyes, but caution. “Have you?”
“I don’t think I’m the type a ghost spends time with. Perhaps you will, as she walks here.”
“You’re vision enough for me. What about the second half of the legend? This Carrick.”
“Oh, he’s a clever one, and tricky with it. Stubborn pride and poor temper put him in the fix he’s in and he’s not above using his wiles to repair it now that the time’s up. You may not have noticed, but Brenna wears her rings, her engagement and wedding rings, on a chain around her neck when she’s working.”
“I saw a man come close to losing his finger on a job once when his wedding ring caught in a skill saw. She’s smart to avoid that.” He took out plates, divvied up the egg dish, all with a smooth efficiency that she appreciated. “What do Brenna’s rings have to do with the legend?”
“Her engagement ring is a pearl, the second of the jewels Carrick offered Gwen. Those tears of the moon he gathered into his magic bag. Carrick gave the pearl to Shawn.”
Trevor’s eyebrows lifted, but he turned back for flatware. “A generous sort.”
“I don’t know about that, but the pearl was given to him by Carrick at Old Maude’s grave, and now it’s Brenna’s. The first offered was diamonds. Jewels of the sun. Ask Jude about that if you have an interest. The third and last he offered were sapphires. From the heart of the sea.”
“The heart of the sea.” His dream came back to him, fast and clear so that he once again stared down at his own hand.
“A pretty story, you’re thinking, and so I would myself if those I know hadn’t become part of it. There’s one more step that has to be taken, one more pair of hearts that have to meet and promise to each other.” She sipped her coffee, watching him over the rim. “The others who lived here in this cottage since Old Maude passed were step one and step two.”
He said nothing for a moment, just retrieved the toast that had popped up. “Are you warning me that I’ve been selected as step three?”
“It follows smoothly, doesn’t it? Now, however practical-minded a man you might be, Magee, you’ve Irish blood in your veins, and you share that blood with a man who once loved the woman who lived in the place. As candidates go for the breaking of spells, you’d be my pick.”
Considering, he took out the butter and jam. “And a practical-minded woman like you believes in spells.”
“Believe in them?” She leaned toward him as he sat. “Darling, I cast them.”
The way she looked at the moment, her eyes hot and bright, her smile just the other side of wicked, he’d have believed her a witch without hesitation. “Setting aside your considerable powers, are you going to tell me you believe this story, and all its parts, as reality?”
“I do, yes.” She picked up her fork. “And if I were you, and living here, I’d take great care with my heart.” She lifted a forkful of creamy egg and cheese, slid it between her lips. “There are those who also believe if one loses that heart here, it’s forever pledged.”
“Like Maude’s.” The idea of it worried him more than he wanted to admit. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Well, I wondered if you’d ask. You’re an attractive man, and I like the look of you. Added to that—and I’m not ashamed to say it’s a big ‘added to that’ to me— you’re rich. I think there’s a good possibility I might enjoy your company as well.”
“Are you proposing?”
She shot a grin at him, wide and gorgeous. “Not quite yet. I’m telling you this because I’ve the impression you’re a man who sees through pretenses as easy as a knife slides through butter.”
She picked up her own knife and demonstrated on the stick he’d taken from the refrigerator. “I’m not a woman who falls in love. I’ve tried,” she said, and for a moment the light in her eyes clouded. Then she shrugged and spread the butter on a slice of toast. “It’s just not in me. And it may be that we’re not what destiny has in store for each other, but if we are, I think we might come to an arrangement
that pleases both of us.”
Under the circumstances, he decided, another refill of coffee couldn’t hurt. He got up to top off the cups. “I’ve met a lot of people in my business, sampled a lot of cultures, and I have to say this is the strangest breakfast conversation I’ve ever had.”
“I believe in fate, Trevor, in the meeting of like minds, in comfort and in honesty when it serves its purpose.” She took another bite of omelette. “Do you?”
“I believe in like minds, comfort and honesty when it serves its purpose. As to fate, that’s a different matter.”
“There’s too much Irish in your blood for you not to be a fatalist,” she told him.
“Is that the nature of the beast?”
“Of course. And at the same time, we manage to be optimistically sentimental and full of dark and exciting superstition. As for honesty.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “Now that’s a matter of degrees and viewpoints, for what’s better, all in all, than a well-told tale embroidered with colorful exaggerations? However, honesty is something I think you appreciate, so what’s wrong with letting you know that if you fall in love with me, I’ll likely let you?”
He enjoyed the rest of his coffee. And her. “I’ve tried to fall in love. It didn’t take for me, either.”
For the first time sympathy moved over her face, and she reached out to touch his hand. “It’s as painful not being able to stumble, I think, as the fall would be.”
He looked down at their joined hands. “What a sad pair we are, Darcy.”
“Best, isn’t it, to know yourself, and your limitations? It could be that some pretty young woman will catch your eye and your heart will pop right out of your chest and plop at her feet.” She shrugged her shoulders. “But meanwhile, I wouldn’t mind having you spend some of your time, and your not inconsiderable funds, on me.”
“Mercenary, are we?”
“Yes, I am.” She gave his hand a friendly pat, then went back to her breakfast. “You’ve never had to count your pennies, have you?”
