The Irish Rose and the Widowed Earl of Thornwyck

Chapter 1

The wind howled through the small chapel with an intensity that felt prophetic, as if the weather itself knew what the day represented and chose to set the mood accordingly. Through the narrow window slits, the sky was gray and clouded, and no doubt rain would fall before the day was through.

Miss Nessa Kavanagh eyed the storm clouds through those narrow windows, and while she did not wish it to rain, she felt that it would be appropriate.

The reason was she was lost. Like a boat adrift in a storm, with no land in sight and no sense of where she might end up, she could do little more than pray the worst was behind her, and that clear skies might appear in the darkness to guide her path … as unlikely as that might be.

Tearing her eyes from the window, she forced herself to look ahead, even if the sight brought pain and filled her with sorrow. She stood toward the back of the chapel, done because she was an outsider in this place, even if she felt she belonged there as much as anyone.

I have every right to be here, even if some of the looks I have received suggest otherwise …

A dozen people filled the chapel, names that Nessa knew, but only because she had been told of them. The faces were alien to her, strangers all, yet another reason that she felt so lost and so dreadfully alone.

Her gaze swept past the small crowd to the front of the chapel. She fixed it there, determined not to look away, and just as determined not to weep. The sight she found broke her heart, and it was all she could do to sniff back her tears, desperate not to draw attention to herself.

Today was not about her, and the less she was noticed, the better.

A single coffin stood raised at the front of the chapel, adorned in flowers and brightly burning candles.

By its head was the minister who hummed prayers that echoed across the chapel and joined the dull throbbing of withheld sobbing and weeping made by the mourners present.

The coffin was closed, of course, but Nessa could picture clearly she who filled it.

What am I going to do … how could this have happened …

Lady Honora Whitcombe lay inside that coffin. She had passed early the previous morning, in her sleep, as peaceful a death as anyone might dare to dream. She was in her seventies, had lived a rich and fulfilling life, and many would simply say that it was her time.

While that was indeed true, it did little to dull the heartache Nessa felt as she watched the coffin. Words were wind, and the hole that Lady Honora Whitcombe left in her wake would not be easy to fill.

Nessa had known Lady Honora for a full year before that day.

She was the aged Lady’s personal companion, done at the request of Lady Honora, a surprise at the time and a role that Nessa did not go to willingly.

But the past year had seen the two grow close, something akin to a grandmother-granddaughter relationship, and oh, how Nessa would miss her.

One month ago, Lady Honora had announced to Nessa that they would be travelling north to Thornwyck Hall, an estate that sat on the edges of Cumberland in the very north of England.

Her grandson was the earl of the estate, and she wished to see him for reasons that she did not feel the need to elaborate on, and Nessa was eager to join her as any companion ought to be.

They arrived at Thornwyck Hall two nights ago.

A storm had found them on the journey, one that was arduous and destructive, which saw both Nessa and Lady Honora thoroughly worn through by the time they reached their destination.

Introductions would be made on the morrow, and Nessa went to bed wondering what the following day might bring; she was, after all, in a new part of the country and was excited to see it.

Then she woke to learn of Lady Honora’s passing, and her world changed in the blink of an eye.

Nessa now found herself stranded at Thornwyck Hall in Cumberland. A place she did not know. People she had never met. And while she assumed that her next task was to find a way back home, she had not a clue how she might do such a thing.

Even if I do manage it, what is there back home for me anyhow? Where even is home?

With that thought in mind, Nessa forced her gaze from the casket and looked to the front pew of the chapel where Lady Honora’s closest family stood in mourning.

She found Lord Alaric Montfort first, the Earl of Thornwyck, whose estate she was now trapped in. He stood out on account of his imposing height.

And if not that, it was his dark, messy hair, the thick beard he wore, dark and weathered skin, a long nose, and eyes that were pitch-black and as sad as Nessa had ever seen. He had his head bowed, and he looked like a man on the verge of collapse.

Beside him was Lady Verity Monfort, the earl’s sister. Her hair was a brilliant shade of blonde that stood out in the gloom of the chapel. Her skin was fair while her eyes were dark like her brother’s. She had an arm around the earl’s shoulder, and Nessa felt a pang of sadness.

Others stood with them too. Lord Crispin Harcourt, a cousin to the earl, was one that Nessa had been told about. She knew names; she paired them with faces, but she did not know them. Not really.

This was not her world, and Nessa knew not what she might do after today. To ask for help? To go it on her own? The family was in mourning, and the last thing she wished was to make today about her.

With that final thought in mind, Nessa decided she would get through the funeral. She would pay her respects to the family. She would spend one more evening at Thornwyck Hall. And come tomorrow, a new day, she would decide what to do next.

Such a decision, whatever it might be, would come to define the next stage of her life, and perhaps the rest of her life there on out.

***

Nessa loitered awkwardly in the entrance hall of Thornwyck Hall. She stood to the side, out of the way, thinking the best thing she could do was to act as if she was not there.

They had buried Lady Honora twenty minutes earlier.

As her casket was lowered into the earth, rain began to fall, at which point it was announced that beverages would be served back at the castle.

The few mourners present slowly made their way across the estate and to the great home, with Nessa trailing behind them.

Now, they all stood scattered across the hall as if awaiting instruction.

Nessa waited patiently, eyes flicking this way and that, not sure what to do or say. She knew she ought to have given her condolences, but she worried it would be out of place. She was a stranger to these people, and they likely would not care to hear anything she had to say.

As she tried to decide what to do, she saw movement from the corner of her eye. She followed it, her eyes widening when she noticed Lord Alaric Thornwyck approaching her.

He was even taller than she had realized. His movements were slow but purposeful. She found his eyes, and Nessa withheld a gasp because a storm brewed behind them. Not that which invoked anger or fury but a sad intensity, a sorrowful fierceness, as if even he was unsure how he ought to feel.

“Miss Nessa Kavanagh,” he greeted her; his voice a deep rumble like a thunderclap. “I apologize for not having greeted you until now. With all that has transpired …” He trailed off, and she heard the pain in his voice.

“Not at all,” she said a little too quickly. “And please, accept my condolences for Lady Honora. She was …” A smile touched her lips. “She was like a grandmother to me, and words cannot express how much I will miss her.”

He nodded once. “She spoke highly of you.”

Nessa said nothing. She thought to smile at the compliment, but it felt wrong to do so. She thought to add more to her eulogizing of Lady Honora, but she did not want to sound as if she was forcing it.

Also, something about the way Lord Thornwyck looked down at her made Nessa’s words catch in her throat. It was more than he looked through her, a stare that suggested a memory which brought both happiness and grief to the grieving lord.

Nessa had felt lost these past two days, and she could not help seeing that same sense of loss present in the earl’s eyes.

“Tomorrow …” He cleared his throat and brought his stare back into focus. “There will be a reading of Lady Honora’s will in the library. You are expected to be there.”

“Oh.” Nessa blinked. “I am?”

“You were her companion for a year,” he said. “And it has been made clear to me that you are present in her will.”

“I …” Nessa was surprised by that. While she knew in her heart how close she and Lady Honora were, she did not expect to be found in the elderly lady’s will.

It was touching, and it made her smile just a little because it was a small reminder of how much Lady Honora had meant to her.

“Thank you,” she said again. “I will be there.”

“Until then, you are welcome to remain here,” Lord Thornwyck continued. “If there is anything you need until then, do not hesitate to ask the staff for their assistance. My grandmother …” He trailed off again, and that same saddened stare passed behind his eyes. “She clearly cared for you.”

“As I cared for her.”

It was a simple comment, but it seemed to touch Lord Thornwyck deeply. Nessa could not say why it did, only that he had him looking at her in a way that she could not explain: as if he not only appreciated her comment, but understood her better because of it.

Then he looked away, shook his head, and strode back across the room.

Nessa watched him go.

She had been holding her breath, she realized, and she let it out slowly. Lord Thornwyck was not as scary as she might have thought, which pleased her. Rather, he was intense, careful with his words, and clearly one who struggled with expressing emotion.

He moved to his sister, Lady Verity Montfort, and as she took him by the arm, she looked back and found Nessa watching. Nessa offered her a soft smile, one she hoped suggested her condolences. In return, Lady Verity narrowed her eyes as if in warning.

Nessa blinked in surprise, feeling suddenly that she had done something wrong.

Thankfully, that single glare was all Lady Verity seemed bothered to offer, and she turned away, at which point she whispered something in Lord Thornwyck’s ear.

He looked back, saw Nessa, and turned away. A shake of the head at his sister.

Did I do something wrong? Surely not?

Alone again, Nessa looked around the foyer. The guests were slowly filtering from the room, which was why her gaze was drawn to Lord Crispin Harcourt, Lord Thornwyck’s cousin.

He stood alone at the base of the steps, and his attention was fixed on a marble bust that stood by the first step. It was of a woman, young and beautiful, and Nessa knew that to be the late Lady Thornwyck.

She had died two years ago, which might have accounted for Lord Thornwyck’s intense sorrow. To have lost his wife, and then his grandmother … I cannot even imagine how he is feeling.

Nessa eyed Lord Crispin for a moment longer, curious at the way he looked upon the bust of Lady Thornwyck. It was an intense gaze, and had she not known better, she might have guessed that it had been her funeral they’d just attended.

“They were close …” a voice said from beside Nessa.

Nessa started and turned sharply to find a middle-aged woman smiling brightly at her. She was not dressed in the same finery as everyone else, and the fact that she looked to be in such good spirits suggested she was not among the mourners.

“I am sorry?” Nessa said.

“Lord Crispin and the late Lady Thornwyck.” The woman indicated across the foyer. “They were close. No doubt a day like this one reminds him of her.” She sighed and shook her head. “So much death; I often wonder how we go on. Humans …” Another sigh. “We are not made for it.”

Nessa blinked. “I … I suppose we are not.”

As Lord Crispin stared at the bust of the late Lady Thornwyck, Lady Verity approached him. She spoke to him in a sharp whisper, and he scowled at her. She widened her eyes as if to plead with him, and he turned and strode away.

Nessa noted the interaction, with no idea what to make of it …

The woman who had approached her smiled again as she touched Nessa on the arm, bringing her attention back. “You must be wondering who I am. Mrs. Morag Dalrymple is my name, but please, call me Morag. My surname is quite the mouthful, and I know a lot about mouthfuls.”

“I …” Nessa blinked again. “My name is –”

“Miss Nessa Kavanagh,” Morag cut her off.

“I am more than aware, which is why I am here.” She flashed her teeth.

“I am the cook; that is why.” She laughed and shook her head.

“So, I make it my business to know who comes through these doors. I was told you might be hungry, so I thought I would offer my services.”

“You were?”

She shrugged. “I assumed. I know you are not from these parts, and I see how awkward it must be for you. So, I thought I would offer you an escape. And maybe a friendly ear to talk into as you do?”

It was a strange thing to laugh at a funeral, among those in mourning. But Nessa very nearly did. For two days now, she had felt utterly alone, and she had feared that such a state of being would be her only companion for some time to come.

So, for Morag to have approached her like that, to have shown such kindness, was a relief. It was such a small thing, but in times like that, those made all the difference.

“I could certainly eat,” Nessa said. “That is assuming you are a half-decent cook?”

Morag gasped as if she were insulted. “How dare you!”

“I am willing to be proven wrong.”

With that, Morag offered Nessa her arm, and Nessa took it gladly. From there, Morag led her through the foyer toward the kitchens. As they went, Nessa felt Lord Thornwyck watching her: a quick glance, before turning away. And once more, she felt his pain and loneliness as if it were her own.

She was glad that Morag had found her, appreciative of the company. But she knew too that it would be fleeting, and come tomorrow, she would need to decide what to do with herself and where her life might lead next.

It was a big decision to make and one that she had not a clue how to approach. A boat adrift in a storm … and she doubted very much that blue skies and calm seas would find her anytime soon.