6
In every singlebook I found in the library, leprechauns appeared as short old men with gold buckles on their shoes and red beards. Rían didn’t have a beard or buckles. And he wasn’t short or old. Leprechauns must be born like the rest of us, right? They were hardly born as bearded old men. Perhaps they were like us but got shorter as they aged. Rían could be a young leprechaun. He didn’t appear much older than me, twenty-five at most, but with the fae, looks were always deceiving.
All the books also said that you needed a considerable amount of gold to catch a leprechaun and only once he was caught would he offer you a wish. I hadn’t caught Rían. He’d caught me.
A week spent on research, and I wasn’t any closer to learning the truth about Rían, his curse, or how to break the bloody thing.
I closed the tome on my lap and tossed it onto the side table next to the vase of pink roses.
Our parlor had been turned into a bloody flower shop. Smaller crystal vases squeezed onto the mantle between the clock and porcelain figures my mother used to collect. Large bouquets covered every square inch of the pianoforte. The window sills, the floor . . . there were flowers everywhere.
I loved flowers, and even I thought there were too many.
The cloying air didn’t remind me of the garden.
It reminded me of a funeral home.
Male voices lifted from the hall, making their way into the room where I’d wasted yet another day.
A footman appeared in the doorway, crushing a tweed cap between his hands. “Milady? I’m afraid there’s another one.”
Another one. Another suitor.
Blue eyes had plagued my dreams, taunting me, stealing what little peace remained in my life. I had hoped to spend my days abed, making up for lost sleep.
My father had other plans. Every morning, after the servants cleared the breakfast dishes, I’d been forced to receive one gentleman caller after another. He had rightly assumed that I hadn’t been searching for a husband and had taken matters into his own hands. And word on a small island spread like wildfire.
There’d been men all the way from the southern town of Burnsley calling, toting bouquets of flowers and small trinkets in hopes of wooing me into accepting their proposals. And there wasn’t one of them I’d consider.
Lord Billington had been too interested in staring at his own reflection to look me in the eye. Mr. McNamara had asked four times about my dowry. Three of them hadn’t known my name. Another two had come across as unbearably rude. And then there were the men old enough to be my grandfather. Were people really that desperate for companionship, or was I the only woman on this island of marriageable age?
My father checked in with me at dinner every evening, asking if I’d chosen one, as if I were picking a bolt of cloth for a dress. And every evening I told him the same thing: none of them suited.
Sighing, I told the footman to show the newest prospect in. The sooner I met the man, the sooner I’d be rid of him.
When a handsome gentleman with dark curly hair strolled through the door, I rose from the settee. His black boots shined, and his fine clothes had been tailored to accentuate his tall, lean frame.
Finally, someone I was mildly interested in speaking to.
The moment his lips lifted into a cocky smile, his appeal plummeted. Yet another man who thought too highly of himself to be a genuine contender.
“Sir Edward DeWarn,” the footman said with a low bow. “His Majesty’s Ambassador from Vellana.”
I’d been born on the neighboring island of Vellana but had moved to Airren when I was small. Marrying an ambassador would ensure a good deal of traveling and entertaining foreign dignitaries. These days, the idea of escaping Airren appealed more and more. However, if he was as full of himself as he appeared to be, he may as well return to Vellana.
“Good evening, Lady Aveen.” Edward lowered his head, but only slightly. “I hate calling this late, but I was anxious to meet the woman who has become the talk of the town.”
Forcing a smile, I gestured toward the settee. The talk of the town. Just what I didn’t want to be. “And what is the town saying about me?”
“Only that the most beautiful woman on the east coast is in want of a husband.” Edward sank onto the cushions, resting his elbow on the settee’s tufted arm. He appeared more calm and relaxed than most of the other guests, settling back as if he owned the place already.
“And are you in the market for a wife, Ambassador?” I asked, sitting on the furthest cushion and hiding my clenched hands in my lap.
Sapphire cufflinks at his wrist glinted in the falling sunlight. “No. I’m not.”
That was a first. All the others had been almost desperate for a wife. Lord Halpin had brought a stack of love letters he’d been writing me since we were children. Lord Wallsley, a man my father’s age, had brought me his dead wife’s set of ruby earrings. Sir Henry Withel had offered me his great-grandmother’s engagement ring before the tea had been served.
The ambassador had no gifts as far as I could tell, unless he’d hidden something in the pockets of his fine black waistcoat, trimmed with silver.