fine dining table without shame.
"When I was a child, we lived in a delightful place, a small estate near Wicklow called Primrose Cottage." Her lips softened into a lost-angel smile. "Rose vines had grown over it for a hundred years, so that the walls were almost covered. And in the summer, when the sun warmed the blossoms, it was like living in a fairyland. There were gardens brimming with every kind of flower, paths weaving through woods so lovely it was easy to believe the lords and ladies of the fairy kingdom held their revels there."
"Why did you leave this paragon of a home?" Another spoonful of gruel—more vile than the last, yet not nearly as unpalatable as making conversation thus. Of course Rhiannon Fitzgerald would open her very heart for his inspection at the slightest prodding. But he couldn't help being a trifle amused at himself. Captain Lionel Redmayne coaxing childhood confidences out of someone. It was like a wolf tenderly inquiring after the health of a lamb. But it was obvious Miss Fitzgerald knew nothing of wolves—dressed in fur or in bright red uniforms.
"Papa was the most wonderful man—full of stories and dreams and love. He opened his arms to the world like a child, always expecting something beautiful to rush into his grasp. He worked very hard, but the cases he took on didn't often make a great deal of money. He had a great hunger for justice, and believed if only he could show people the truth, they would embrace it eagerly."
It was a miracle the man had survived as long as he had, Redmayne thought grimly. There was nothing people loathed more than being shown an uncomfortable truth. They welcomed it about as enthusiastically as they would have welcomed being plunged into a field of nettles. And instead of blaming their own blindness or heedlessness for the discomfort, they were all too eager to kill the messenger, as the Romans had been wont to do.
"Our finances were in some disarray. In an effort to recoup the funds after some costly cases, Papa made some investments with a man he had much faith in. Unfortunately, I'm afraid the man was not to be trusted."
"A great surprise, I'm certain," Redmayne muttered, lips twisting with irony.
"What little savings we had were already strained. We lost Primrose Cottage."
"And the legions of injured parties involved in these just causes your father worked so hard to defend—none of them came to your aid?" Nothing irritated him more than blind idealism, especially when confronted with the victims it could leave in its wake.
Bristling at his sarcasm, Rhiannon Fitzgerald straightened her spine and met his censuring gaze squarely. "Captain Redmayne, most of Papa's clients could barely afford to feed themselves, care for their own families. Several offered to give us a place to stay, but that would hardly have been fair, causing them hardship. Papa refused to accept their help. He said he'd been eager to see the wonders of Ireland since he was a little boy listening to tales of castle ruins and the Giant's Causeway, fairy forts and ancient stone beds where legendary lovers had lain. What better way to see them all than to travel about in a gypsy cart? We'd have a grand adventure, the two of us."
"And your mother? Was she equally eager to set out on this grand adventure?"
"I don't even remember her. It was always just Papa and me."
She'd been left at the mercy of that cloud-brained imbecile her whole life? And at the height of her father's foolery, the man had dragged his daughter out onto the open road? Fed her some ridiculous tale about how wonderful it would be. And then he'd left her alone out here in the midst of nowhere, where any calamity might befall her.
"Your father might have lowered his principles a trifle, taken on a few cases in which he could actually make money—just for a bit of variety," Redmayne observed.
He expected to ruffle her feathers again, see that spark of indignation in her eyes because he'd dared to question her saint
"When I was a child, we lived in a delightful place, a small estate near Wicklow called Primrose Cottage." Her lips softened into a lost-angel smile. "Rose vines had grown over it for a hundred years, so that the walls were almost covered. And in the summer, when the sun warmed the blossoms, it was like living in a fairyland. There were gardens brimming with every kind of flower, paths weaving through woods so lovely it was easy to believe the lords and ladies of the fairy kingdom held their revels there."
"Why did you leave this paragon of a home?" Another spoonful of gruel—more vile than the last, yet not nearly as unpalatable as making conversation thus. Of course Rhiannon Fitzgerald would open her very heart for his inspection at the slightest prodding. But he couldn't help being a trifle amused at himself. Captain Lionel Redmayne coaxing childhood confidences out of someone. It was like a wolf tenderly inquiring after the health of a lamb. But it was obvious Miss Fitzgerald knew nothing of wolves—dressed in fur or in bright red uniforms.
"Papa was the most wonderful man—full of stories and dreams and love. He opened his arms to the world like a child, always expecting something beautiful to rush into his grasp. He worked very hard, but the cases he took on didn't often make a great deal of money. He had a great hunger for justice, and believed if only he could show people the truth, they would embrace it eagerly."
It was a miracle the man had survived as long as he had, Redmayne thought grimly. There was nothing people loathed more than being shown an uncomfortable truth. They welcomed it about as enthusiastically as they would have welcomed being plunged into a field of nettles. And instead of blaming their own blindness or heedlessness for the discomfort, they were all too eager to kill the messenger, as the Romans had been wont to do.
"Our finances were in some disarray. In an effort to recoup the funds after some costly cases, Papa made some investments with a man he had much faith in. Unfortunately, I'm afraid the man was not to be trusted."
"A great surprise, I'm certain," Redmayne muttered, lips twisting with irony.
"What little savings we had were already strained. We lost Primrose Cottage."
"And the legions of injured parties involved in these just causes your father worked so hard to defend—none of them came to your aid?" Nothing irritated him more than blind idealism, especially when confronted with the victims it could leave in its wake.
Bristling at his sarcasm, Rhiannon Fitzgerald straightened her spine and met his censuring gaze squarely. "Captain Redmayne, most of Papa's clients could barely afford to feed themselves, care for their own families. Several offered to give us a place to stay, but that would hardly have been fair, causing them hardship. Papa refused to accept their help. He said he'd been eager to see the wonders of Ireland since he was a little boy listening to tales of castle ruins and the Giant's Causeway, fairy forts and ancient stone beds where legendary lovers had lain. What better way to see them all than to travel about in a gypsy cart? We'd have a grand adventure, the two of us."
"And your mother? Was she equally eager to set out on this grand adventure?"
"I don't even remember her. It was always just Papa and me."
She'd been left at the mercy of that cloud-brained imbecile her whole life? And at the height of her father's foolery, the man had dragged his daughter out onto the open road? Fed her some ridiculous tale about how wonderful it would be. And then he'd left her alone out here in the midst of nowhere, where any calamity might befall her.
"Your father might have lowered his principles a trifle, taken on a few cases in which he could actually make money—just for a bit of variety," Redmayne observed.
He expected to ruffle her feathers again, see that spark of indignation in her eyes because he'd dared to question her saint
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