Chapter Two
Go to him, Maura. Seek him out.
And she had. She could scarcely believe it.
She was here. In the home of Lord Ellis Preston, Baron of Killane.
In a lovely, damask-papered room, with a round-cheeked maid named Eileen assisting her as she readied herself to attend the masquerade given in honor of the Black Scots—Good heavens.
She must stop thinking of him that way. He had a name, a title…
She fought to remember it, for already she’d grown accustomed to thinking of him as the Black Scotsman.
Alec. Yes, there it was. Alec McBride, Duke of Gleneden.
Besides, as she and Murdoch had discovered, the Black Scotsman was a name given him by the debutantes in England, who apparently considered him quite the catch.
A faint bitterness filled her. Less than a fortnight had passed since her father’s death.
Less than a fortnight before the Black Scotsman departed Ireland.
Her father was scarcely in the ground after the wake before a straggling line of tenants gathered before the stone steps of the castle.
There had been no time to waste, to grieve or to mourn.
She had bid good-bye to each of them. She cautioned Daniel the Swift that he must keep his hands from the neighbor’s sheep and gave a tug to Patrick the Woolly’s beard. He grinned in return.
When it came to Jen, Maura had hugged the housekeeper very hard. Releasing her, feeling as if her heart would break at any instant, she’d glanced toward the churchyard, high on the hill. She thought of her father then—his stanch pride—his love of his home and land.
Before she even thought about it, she’d reached for the small velvet pouch inside her purse and dumped the coins it held into the bottom of the bag.
Her emotions ran rampant as she bent low and scooped a handful of dust and stones into the now empty pouch.
The move was sudden, unexpected, and appeared to startle Murdoch, who stepped forward.
“Lady M—”
He stopped short. Rising to her full stature, Maura’s chin came up and she defiantly yanked the strings of the pouch closed.
Her best pair of white gloves was now ruined.
She gave not a whit. If she must leave her home and lands, by heaven, a piece of McDonough land would always be with her.
Murdoch’s expression changed from puzzlement to something else as he helped her into the carriage.
Maura deliberately glanced away. When she turned back, she could have cried.
She saw Murdoch kiss his wife, and Jen cling to him a moment longer, as long as she could.
She had looked on with a sensation so painfully acute she could have cried out.
Then Murdoch stepped into the carriage and sat down across from her, his hands settled on his knees.
Maura had almost hated herself for what she was doing—in all the days of her life, Murdoch and Jen had never spent a night apart.
She’d almost been relieved when the driver gave a crack of the whip. She waved to the assemblage. Patrick swept off his hat and offered a swaggering bow. Toothless Nan gave her a wink. Her pulse speeding up, she in turn gave Nan a tiny little nod.
And then they’d set off, en route to the Baron of Killane’s estate.
Almost from the night her father died, Maura’s mind had been working furiously.
Somehow she had to get to Scotland—to the Duke of Gleneden’s estate.
She weighed several possibilities. What if she were to pass herself off as a distant relation?
Too risky, she decided, for several reasons.
He might not believe her. Plus she had no way of making certain she could manage an invitation.
Even if she did, it would likely be for only several days, at best, and she had no idea how long it might take to find the Circle.
What if she landed a position in his household staff?
Ah, but what if there were no positions available?
Provided she did manage to secure one, what if she ended up as a scullery maid?
But such a post would doubtless offer no chance for her to search for the Circle.
Even a position as a housemaid might not give her the opportunity she needed.
And what she needed was the ability to roam about freely, wherever she wished. Whenever she wished.
Maura recalled what the newspaper had stated: One cannot help but wonder if the dashing Black Scotsman will capture the hearts of our Irish lasses as surely as he has captured many a heart in his homeland.
It simply would not leave her mind. And with that in mind, she had conceived her plan…
Her first obstacle was getting herself into the Baron of Killane’s masquerade. The second—and this the hardest!—would require boldness and daring. It involved a very great risk.
A very great deal of luck, for everything had to fall perfectly into place!
A very great deal of boldness and daring.
She was prepared to take that chance. Within her breast beat an unwavering resolve.
She would do whatever she must to find and bring home the Circle of Light.
With a stash of funds from her father’s room, she and Murdoch had taken modest lodgings at a hotel not far from the baron’s estate.
During the journey, she had purchased several new gowns, and saw to it that Murdoch was fitted with several new suits of clothing as well.
For her plan to succeed, Murdoch had to appear a proper gentleman.
Luckily, he needed little training in manners and the like.
Though Maura’s father did not insist on formality, both Jen and Murdoch were familiar with the proper deportment when needed.
Their first position before being hired by Maura’s parents had been with the Earl of Rawlins in County Cavan.
“Murdoch!” she’d chuckled after commanding him to show her one of the new suits. “Oh, if Jen could see you now! I vow you’d take her breath away as you did those many years ago!”
“It is indeed my breath that causes me worry,” he’d grumbled, running a finger between his stock and his throat. “It reminds me most heartily that if your father had insisted I dress like this day in and day out, my time in his employ might never have landed beyond a week!”
“Oh, cease!” Maura had given him a mock frown. Both Murdoch and Jen were more family than servants. “I,” she said rather airily, “maintain that you look quite handsome”—she pretended to flick off a wad of wool from his sleeve—“my dearest uncle.”
It was crucial that they arrive early so they might ferret out what information they could about the Baron of Killane. It was Murdoch who discovered at a pub in the next village that the baron was elderly; his wife, Lorraine, had been dead for nearly a decade.
Perhaps it was rash. Perhaps it was foolish to think that she could gain entrance to the ball. But by Jove, she would sneak in if she had to.
They had taken lodgings not far from the baron’s home. Several days after their arrival, Maura sat down at the wooden desk in her room, her heart thumping madly, her mind running wildly. Yet slowly, ever so slowly, she reached for quill, paper, and ink, and began to write.
Lord Preston,
Please allow me to convey my condolences on the death of your wife.
It comes years late, I know. For that, I apologize.
My own dear father, you see, has just passed on as well.
In going through his belongings, I discovered a packet of letters written to my dearest father from my mother while they were courting.
In her letters, my dear mama spoke of your beloved wife quite fondly—they were, it would seem, great friends when they were young.
As I am staying in the area with my Uncle Murdoch for several days’ rest, I cannot help but think of my dear mama and your wife. I pray you will forgive my forwardness in sending you this letter, but again, please accept my condolences.
Yours truly,
Lady Maura O’Donnell
A coin was pressed into the hand of the innkeeper’s house boy and the letter dispatched. The baron might call her bluff. He might call the authorities, Murdoch warned, were he to know her claim was untrue.
Instead the baron called on her…at tea, the very next afternoon in the inn’s tiny dining room.
“Your mother,” he observed, casting her a look beneath the bushiest pair of white brows she’d ever seen in her life. “Gone, too, I gather?”
“Aye,” Maura said earnestly. “I was but a girl when she died.” She had lowered her eyes, as if it were painful for her to think about. “But, oh, how she loved the rolling hills and masses of flowers in County Clare!”
Another fact that Murdoch had unearthed.
“Oh, aye, that she did, my Lorraine!” the baron had replied. He scratched his great droopy moustache. “I must say, I’ve always found the weather in Clare a wee bit wet for m’taste.”
Maura laid her spoon upon the saucer. “Well, perhaps Uncle and I should journey to the south and east,” she said brightly.
“My father was not one to travel far from home. But Uncle Murdoch and I have not yet decided precisely where our journey will lead us. Perhaps as the wind takes us, as they say.”
“When do you leave?” the baron had asked.
“We thought to leave tomorrow.” Murdoch spoke before Maura had a chance to.
“Tomorrow! Oh, but you cannot leave so soon! Your journey—you travel at your leisure, do you not?”
Maura cleared her throat. “Yes, but—”
“Then stay! I have a masquerade planned tomorrow night,” declared the baron. “It would please me to no end if the two of ye would attend. It would please me even more if you would come stay at the manor with me now! I have a house full of guests already—and room for more.”
This was exactly what Maura had wanted. Exactly as she hoped. But the baron was clearly a man of great, hearty, and welcoming demeanor, and she winced inside at her deceit. She liked him, she truly did, and lying to him was like the scraping of tooth upon stone.
But then she thought of the Black Scotsman.
She bit her lip. “I’ve never been to a masquerade before, Uncle.”