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Out of his way.
“Darling. You don’t know how glad I am to see you.”
Aunt Delia sailed down the wide marble stairs, enveloping Sabrina in a lavender-scented hug that left her gasping for breath, but steadied the uncertain whirl in her head she’d experienced climbing the front steps.
“We expected you days ago. I was certain you met with some terrible accident upon the road with no one but that odd little dwarf to act as your protector. Come along, and let’s sit for a nice chat. I’ve canceled all my calls this afternoon, so we have hours to catch up.”
She took her hand, dragging an overwhelmed Sabrina into a downstairs salon. Jane waving her ahead while she lagged behind.
“I don’t know what your brother was thinking in hiring such a county fair freak, but there you are. He doesn’t consult me. I’m only his aunt. Hardly family at all. And if it’s a choice between me and that woman . . .” She flitted a quick glance at Sabrina, who’d gone stiff at hearing her own unkind thoughts repeated by her aunt. “Ah, well”—she waved a heavily ringed hand—“if Kilronan wants to enter self-imposed exile by marrying a social pariah, who am I to stop him?”
The salon—like the woman—exuded over-the-top femininity. Cherubs erupted from every tabletop, side by side with statuary of nude, muscle-bound gods. Hothouse flowers scented the already perfumed air, and even the fire glowed with magically enhanced pink and purple flames.
Rendered speechless by the results of Aunt Delia’s idea of decor, Sabrina mumbled, “I’m sure Aidan doesn’t mean to slight you.”
Though now she was here, she could see why her brother might choose to consult with their aunt as infrequently as possible.
Again the droopy wave of a hand. “It’s not for me to complain. I merely do as I’m ordered. ‘Hire me a town house, Aunt Delia. Furnish and staff it, Aunt Delia.’ If it weren’t for Kilronan House being little more than a pile of rubble, I probably wouldn’t have heard from him at all.”
Sabrina cast another shocked glance at Aunt Delia’s nightmare idea of style. What on earth would Aidan say when he saw the results of his requests? “You’ve done . . . wonders,” she prevaricated. “The place is truly incredible.”
“Thank you, darling. You always were a sweet thing. Biddable. Not at all like your brothers. But that’s neither here nor there. Look how you’ve grown. The last time I saw you, you were sadly lacking in polish. But now”—she leaned back, taking Sabrina in with one long critical gaze—“you’re almost pretty.”
Sabrina had forgotten Aunt Delia’s fondness for hiding poison amid her praise. She smiled through gritted teeth.
“Yes, you’re quite improved in looks. I’m surprised. I would have thought the bandraoi would have dressed you in sackcloth and ashes with rope sandals on your feet.”
“Lady Kilronan was kind enough to send me these things.”
Her aunt raised a pair of painted-on brows. “Was she? I’ll give the woman credit. She’s got a certain subdued style some might call tasteful.”
Since Aunt Delia wore a patterned purple and yellow gown straining against her huge expanse of bosom and hip, Sabrina could only thank her lucky stars her sister-in-law had supplied her with a suitable wardrobe. Had she relied on her aunt for help, she’d end looking like a cross between a flower garden and a circus tent.
“Are my brother and his wife here?”
Please, say they’re here. She didn’t know how much longer she could endure this inquisition.
“No, darling. I received a letter this morning. They’ve been unavoidably detained, but will do everything in their power to arrive as soon as possible. I should hope so. I’ve already had to postpone my travel to Bray. I refuse to alter my plans again.”
Sabrina’s heart sank. She was to be trapped with only her aunt’s company for who knew how long? And here she’d worried she’d be stuck with the new Lady Kilronan. Bad enough in its own way. But this was shaping up to be far worse.
“Speaking of family, let me tell you the latest scandal.” Aunt Delia nestled in like a hen upon her nest. “Miss Rollins-Smith has vowed she’ll die a spinster rather than marry anyone but your cousin Jack.”
“But he’s dead.”
“Well, of course he is. And didn’t the famed O’Gara luck fail on that sorry occasion? Always knew he’d come to a sticky end. Unstable, he was. Rackety.”
Her aunt’s face shone with gruesome delight. Not even an attempt at a few crocodile tears for her sister’s son. Sabrina could only imagine Aunt Delia’s reaction to Aidan’s recent brush with mortality. Probably took bets on his recovery.
“The silly girl is just being dramatic,” she simpered. “Always was one for the grand gesture. She’s been wearing black since spring. Makes her look horribly sallow. And it’s not even as if your cousin and she were ever properly betrothed. A wish of his parents, but hardly a fait accompli. Anyway, after word came that Jack had been killed the girl suddenly went high tragedy on us. Acted as if they’d loved passionately from the cradle.” She leaned in, dropping her voice to a stage whisper. “Personally, I don’t think Jack O’Gara was capable of loving anything more than he did the bottle and his cards.”
She spoke as if imparting a long-suppressed family secret, ignoring the fact she’d been skewering the dearly departed for the last five minutes.
Sabrina hadn’t known Jack well. He’d been of an age with Aidan and Brendan and on his occasional visits to Belfoyle had ignored his shy younger girl-cousin. Not hard to do. She’d always been a little afraid of the tall, handsome boy with the clever tongue and a devil’s penchant for trouble. In response, she’d retreated to pale silence. Disappeared as soon as he entered a room. It was probable Jack hadn’t even remembered Aidan and Brendan had a sister.
But Aidan and he had been close. And her brother had taken Jack’s death hard. His letters over the summer had been full of self-recrimination and guilt. Though why he should feel responsible for Jack’s coach being attacked by highwaymen, she couldn’t fathom.
“Are you heeding me, Sabrina?”
