Charles Edward Anthony Fenton, the 9th Earl of Fenton, thought that he had been around beautiful women, but he had never witnessed such loveliness, until today.
The girl was tall, but not too tall. Her hair, under her riding hat (and the stray strands that he had seen fall) appeared to be black. Her skin, was not magnolia white, but was instead the colour of buttermilk, with the faintest hint of rose. He took note of her discomfiture, and noticed that she had the bearing of a lady. A rather nosy one, though.
"Oh...uh...begging your pardon sir...my lord...Your Highness...I do apologise," the girl stuttered.
"Who are you?" Charles asked again.
"I'm...Cat...well, that is, Katie O'Hara Butler, sir. Oh...uh...my Lord."
Taking pity on the girl, he took on a gentler tack. "Where you from, Miss Butler?" Charles asked.
"America...and oh...London. That is...my family is in America, but my father's business takes him to Europe, so my parents sent me to school in London."
To become a poised lady, no doubt, Charles thought, but shoved the thought aside. Looking at her, Charles mused, the girl was not older than eighteen. She had the air of a schoolgirl transitioning into a young lady. "So what brings you here?" Charles asked.
The girl coloured, and the faint hint of rose now bloomed in her cheeks. "My mother and I used to live here," Charles heard Miss Butler say. "My...my parents had a rough patch in their marriage, and she thought of visiting her family in Ireland, so she settled herself down here, for a while. She managed a town, all by herself."
It finally dawned on Charles. It was the family he had bought this house from. The sale had been arranged by a solicitor, and he had absolutely no physical interaction with a Mrs O'Hara or a Mrs Butler. Charles was now filled with curiosity. It was clear from the terms of the sale that the town did not come with the house. Mrs O' Hara, or rather, Mrs. Butler, apparently, still owned the town, and probably managed the farms through a trusted cousin. And now, here was her daughter, nervous and stuttering, standing in front of him.
"Where do you and your parents stay?" Charles asked.
"My mother has O'Hara cousins living in Adamstown." Miss Butler replied shyly.
"Adamstown is actually where my estate is," Charles admits. "But I liked the look of this house. Perfect for a small family, and it's not really far from Adamstown. Oh dear Lord, how could I have forgotten my manners? I'm Charles Fenton by the way, Miss Butler. Conceit aside, I am the current Earl Fenton."
"Oh...I see...I do apologise for snooping around, my lord," Miss Butler stuttered again.
"No matter," Charles waved away her apology. "I do understand now why a strange girl in a riding habit would want to snoop around the estate. You grew up here, after all."
Miss Butler cleared her throat, and inquired, "I...well...I became acquainted with Earl Fenton through my mother. You are not his son, I suppose?"
"Good heavens no. I'm his nephew." Charles shuddered at the thought of being identified as Luke Fenton's son. He had never liked his uncle at all, a vain, supercilious man who thought far too highly of himself.
Luke Fenton had also looked down on his younger brother—Charles' father Edward—for pursuing a profession, instead of living a gentleman's life, and marrying beneath him. Edward Fenton studied medicine in Cambridge, ran a small practice there, and met and married Miss Eleanor Jennings, a schoolteacher and the daughter of the local vicar. Charles thought that it was poetic justice that Edward Fenton took over the earldom after his brother's murder. However, it meant that they had to leave the sleepy little village they lived in at Cambridgeshire.
Charles was thirteen when his uncle was murdered by an aggrieved kitchen maid. While his grandparents wept and wailed, Charles took the news with stoicism. It meant that whatever his plans for his own future were, they were now at an end. One day, he would also take over the earldom, just as his father Edward had taken over his brother's.
As a boy, he and his sister were fascinated with the ruins of the partially incinerated Big House at Ballyhara. It belonged, it was said, to an American lady with Irish roots, but she and her family had been run out of town by angry townspeople.
Said American lady was also rumoured to be engaged to his uncle, but had, for some reason, changed her mind. Charles had rolled his eyes at that, and thought that whoever she was, she had a lucky escape. His uncle, after all, had fathered bastards all across the British Isles, if not all of Europe. But who knew? Maybe he had a heart after all. But Charles doubted that.
Charles wondered if Mrs. Butler knew about his uncle's dalliances. However, it was also ironic that her daughter was now standing in front of him. He allowed himself to look at the girl again, who had by now, taken off her hat, which was part of her riding outfit. She had an arresting loveliness about her, and was slim, without being overly willowy. Overly slender girls were not his cup of tea.
The girl's hair was black indeed, and by God, she had the most memorable green eyes he had ever seen. And while she had the schoolgirl's air of curiosity, she had a certain grace about her, that was pretty much like her name. Cat.
Charles wondered about Miss Butler's mother. If the girl was lovely, surely the mother was, too. Enough for his uncle to become...a bit...unhinged after she had left, fathered another bastard, and taken to drink. Mother, who also didn't like Uncle Luke, thought that he was acting like that because he couldn't accept that a woman had resisted his charms.
"Well," Charles said after leading Miss Butler into the entryway of the Big House, "tell you what, Miss Butler. I'll call on my housekeeper, and I'm pretty sure she will be happy to take you around the house. Excuse me for a minute, stay right here." He slipped inside, and went in search of the housekeeper, who had come with the house. He had found her downstairs, in her little sitting room.
Rosaleen Fitzpatrick was a quiet woman with no-nonsense air, and had spoken well about her former mistress, and was worried about what had happened to her. When a Lord Fenton expressed his intention of purchasing Mrs. O's home and rebuilding it, she was apprehensive. After all, he was a man, and English, besides. Out of love and memory to the cause of Colum O'Hara, she had tried to keep a quiet businesslike relationship with her new master.
But her new master was young, and he came with his widowed mother who was formerly a schoolteacher, and his younger sister. All three had no grand airs about them. And they were impossible to dislike. The young Earl never really took to the Fenton seat in Adamstown where they lived for the remainder of his youth, and said that a less grander house would do just fine. Not that the Ballyhara Big House wasn't grand—it would suit a family more than the estate at Adamstown would. He only kept the seat out of memory to his father, who had taken over the murdered Earl of Fenton.
Rosaleen had heard good things about her new master—his tenants adored him, and he was a decent fellow, like his father, who had taken over Lord Fenton's earldom after he was murdered by Lucy Reilly. As unfortunate as her incarceration was, Rosaleen thought that the maid had done the entire world of good by killing off that evil Earl.
Rosaleen had just finished crossing herself when her master came in.
"Mrs. Fitzpatrick, are you busy?" asked the young Earl.
"Not at all my lord, is there anything I can do for you?" she asked. The earl looked thoughtful. "Just this afternoon, after visiting my tenants, I noticed a girl wandering about the estate. I asked her what she was doing around, and she told me that she and her mother used to live here. You were telling me about your former mistress, a Mrs. O'Hara. I am certain that the girl is Mrs. O'Hara's daughter, although she used the name Butler."
Butler. That meant Mrs. O finally found happiness again. The last time Mrs. O' Hara wrote, Mrs O had wished her and assured her that she will be in her prayers. But in the interest of her, Rosaleen's safety, Mrs. O regretfully told her that it would be the last letter she would send the housekeeper. And now, here was her daughter.
"Of course, my lord, I'd like to see her, if I may be excused."
"Certainly, Mrs. Fitzpatrick. She is outside, waiting for you."