Chapter Twelve #2
They turned where a sign in danger of toppling bore the name Wigham House.
The lane to the manor house was rutted with potholes.
They could hear the jarvie cursing as he guided the horses along it.
After a bend in the road, they cleared a dense copse of trees, and a charming, three-story stone house came into view, the whitewashed walls covered in creeper, the arched front door flanked by two slender, stone columns.
Smoke rose from one of the twin chimneys set on either side of the roof.
Erina turned from the window and seized Harry’s lapel. “We’re here; I can’t believe it!” Without thought, she kissed his cheek, breathing in his cologne water, citrus with a hint of lavender. “Thank you so much for bringing me here, Harry.”
“Steady on.” Harry smoothed his coat. “Who knows what we’ll find.”
They approached the house, where chickens scratched the earth in gardens choked with weeds.
Up close, the house lost a good deal of its charm.
Slats were missing from the roof, the front door and the windowsills were bare of paint, while the creeper vines threatened to cover the upstairs window panes.
While Harry saw to the driver, Erina picked up her skirts and hurried down the path. She knocked on the door.
Silence. She rapped again, louder. Finally, footfalls echoed, and the door flung open.
The aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out.
A plump woman stood in the stone-flagged passage wiping her hands on her apron.
She looked at Erina and then at Harry, who now stood behind her. “Who’d you be wanting then?”
“Miss Cathleen Sullivan.”
“Miss Cathleen didn’t say there’d be guests. Why come here? Are ye lost? I’m busy with breakfast.”
Erina stared at her.
Harry stepped forward. “Where is Miss Sullivan, madam?”
“They’re at the church. Getting themselves wed. She and Mister Gormley.”
Erina spun around and stared at Harry.
“Where is the church?” he asked.
“In the village, o’course.”
“Good thing I asked the jarvie to wait.” Harry took Erina’s elbow and led her back to the carriage.
Her energy sapped, she felt as if she were wading through water. “What if we’re too late?”
“Let’s deal with that when we get there.” He helped her inside. “Back to the village, Driver. The church, if you please.”
The journey seemed to take forever, while Erina tried to breathe through the panic.
When they entered the small, stone church, a slim young woman in an ivory-colored dress, with hair the exact same shade of red as Erina’s, stood at the altar beside a big, carroty-haired man.
The priest in his robes was intoning the marriage vows, his voice echoing around the almost-empty church.
Erina’s heart banged in her chest. Here, in this hallowed building, the enormity of what she was about to do struck her.
What if she was wrong, and this had become a love match?
She glanced at Harry, tempted to ask for his support.
Resisting the impulse, she moved closer to the small group gathered at the altar.
After a frowning glance at them, the priest continued. “If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”
Erina swallowed and raised her hand. “I can.”
Harry took her arm as the man and the woman seated in the front pew, the priest, the bride, and the groom, all turned to stare at her, a rumble of outraged voices echoing in the lofty space.
“Cathleen, I’m Erina.”
The girl blinked. “Erina? Begorrah! Have I fallen through a fairy ring?”
“What is this?!” The groom left the bride’s side, his homely face turning an ugly shade of red. He stopped when he drew close; her likeness to Cathleen must have struck him. “Who are ye?”
“I’m Cathleen’s cousin, Lady Erina Rountree. And you, sir?”
His mean eyes reflected his misgivings. “The name’s Gormley, Lady Erina.” He squared his shoulders. “Not that it’s any business of yourn. Ye are interruptin’ the ceremony.”
The bride-to-be hurried past him, relief in her green eyes. “Erina?”
“Yes.” Erina’s voice wobbled. “It’s me.”
“I can’t believe my eyes!” Cathleen threw her arms around her. She sniffed. “I never expected to set eyes on ye!”
The groom’s eyes narrowed. He held out his hand. “Come, Cathleen!”
“Might there be a problem, Miss Sullivan?” the priest called. “Is the ceremony to proceed?”
“It is, Father,” Mr. Gormley thundered.
“Father O’Brien, my cousin has come all the way from England. Could you wait a moment?” Cathleen took Erina’s arm and drew her away, while Gormley stood waiting, visibly seething.
“You want to marry this Mr. Gormley?” Erina asked, sotto voce.
“I have no choice, Erina. He owns my father’s house. I’ve nowhere else to go.”
“But you do have a choice. You can come home to England with me.”
With her hands at her rosy cheeks, Cathleen’s smile quivered. “Your father would agree?”
“Of course. You are kin. Papa will be delighted to have you.” Erina cast a quick glance at Harry, but he kept his eye on the groom, who’d coiled his hands into fists.
“Cathleen!” Mr. Gormley called again. “The priest and the witnesses are waiting.”
“Come to England with Harry and me,” Erina said urgently. “Find a man you can love. Unless you love Mr. Gormley?”
“I hate him,” Cathleen said, her voice muffled behind her hand.
“Then it’s settled.” Erina turned around. “Harry, we are taking my cousin to her house to pack her things. She is to accompany us back to Dublin.”
“I’m sorry, Father O’Brien.” Cathleen straightened her shoulders. “Mr. Gormley, I shan’t marry you.”
Mr. Gormley growled and took a step closer.
Cathleen flinched and backed away from him.
“Mind yer own business,” Gormley said, eyeing them both.
Harry stepped forward. “Let’s not be hasty. We can discuss this outside,” he said in a pleasant tone. “And if you offer proof that you are now the owner of Miss Sullivan’s house, we shall deal with this business promptly.”
Gormley sullenly followed them from the church. In the forecourt, he grabbed hold of Cathleen’s shoulders and shook her so hard, an auburn ringlet escaped and fell across her cheek. “You’re going nowhere. That would be a breach of promise. You are legally bound to marry me.”
Cathleen cried out and struggled to escape his grip.
“Then I suggest you pursue the matter with a solicitor, sir,” Harry said. “Please unhand the lady.”
Gormley turned to look Harry up and down.
His mouth formed a sneer. “Ye’re nothing but a London dandy.
Who do you think ye are, coming here and interferin’?
Cathleen will be me wife before the day is out.
Go back to that heathen place ye came from.
” He grasped Cathleen around the waist and almost pulled her off her feet.
Moving fast, Harry seized the man’s arm and spun him around. “Unhand her, I say!”
As Cathleen slipped from his grasp, Erina held her breath, horrified. A ham-fisted fellow, Gormley was twice Harry’s size.
“I’ll deal with you first.” Gormley bounced on his toes and took a wild swing, which Harry blocked.
A well-placed elbow to the side of Gormley’s head, and a punch under the ribs sent Gormley off his feet, gasping on his back in the mud.
Harry poked his polished boot against the man’s chest. “We are leaving, and I advise you to let us go or you’ll find yourself in worse trouble. ”
Gormley gaped. He sat up, gingerly feeling his head.
“Come.” Harry shepherded them to the waiting hackney.
Erina looked back as their carriage trundled away down the street. The priest and the witnesses crowded around Gormley as he stood rubbing his head. “Harry! You were marvelous!” she cried. “I didn’t think you could… Well, it was very satisfying to watch, I must say.”
“Sparred with Gentleman Jackson, the best pugilist in England.” Harry frowned as he dusted dirt from his trousers. “I wonder if we might partake of that breakfast of yours, Miss Sullivan, before we leave for Dublin? The jarvie can put the feed bag on the horses and join us for a meal.”
“It’s not my house any longer, sir. Gormley won it from my father in a card game.”
Harry tilted his head. “Won it fair and square, did he? Let him produce the deed of sale, then. Whether guilty or not, the man looked as sneaky as a rat in the palace kitchen. If he’s smart, he’ll wait for us to leave before he shows up again.”