Chapter Fourteen
It was a cool, blustery day, which threatened rain.
Jack chose not to attend the Marquess of Butterstone’s memorial.
In the street, hat in hand, his father’s passing still raw and fresh, he watched a crowd gather around St. Paul’s Cathedral.
Might there be a man among them who’d wanted the marquess dead?
Althea alighted from a carriage wearing a high-necked black cloak over her black gown.
A circlet of black, silk flowers graced her elegant hat.
She turned and saw him, a wealth of emotion on her face.
She and her mother were escorted by Lord Caindale, who nodded to Jack before they disappeared inside the cathedral.
Jack, feeling strangely hollow, turned and walked home.
Grant attended the service in his place.
His cousin had taken up the mantle of duke with cool competence, as Jack had known he would.
He had refused residence to the duchess’s sister, a widow who had squandered her fortune at the gaming tables.
After advising his man of business to arrange a stipend for her, she was ordered never to darken his door again.
The rest of Jack’s father’s wishes had been efficiently carried out. The duchess’s profligate relatives, not one of whom had revealed an ounce of affection for the duke, or indeed he or Grant, had been shown the door after the reading of the will.
As much as Jack wanted to see Althea, he resisted.
She should be left to mourn her father, and he had nothing of importance yet to tell her.
He wasn’t about to burden her with his doubts concerning her uncle.
The only comfort he could provide would be to take her in his arms, something he wished fervently to do.
No matter how wealthy he might now be, London Society’s strictures stood like a wall between a highborn lady in mourning and a duke’s bastard son.
And he was loath to fuel the newssheets with spiteful gossip about her.
Jack sent a letter-of-condolence to her mother.
In his note to Althea, he’d resisted putting into words how much he missed her.
Instead, he told her about the house his father had bequeathed to him.
He had no wish to interview butlers and housekeepers or select a steward, not to mention the rest of the staff necessary to run a house in Mayfair as well as the country house he planned to buy in Devon.
He thought he might ask Stinson, his father’s man of business, to deal with it.
Come to think of it, his batman, Jenkins, from his army days, might consent to become his steward.
The perfect fellow to take care of his properties, should he agree.
In search of a hackney, Jack continued along Ludgate Street. When a town coach drew up beside him, he half-expected to see Lord Caindale again, but of course, the baron was at the memorial. Instead, a stranger invited him inside with a gesture of his pistol.
With every muscle on alert, Jack considered his options. From within the coach, the fellow’s range was limited. Jack braced, ready to make a quick dodge to one side after a glance revealed the usually busy road bare of traffic.
“It would be wise for you to join me, Captain Ryder.” The fellow’s pistol was aimed at Jack’s chest.
Jack gave up risking escape. And his curiosity had gotten the better of him.
He climbed into the carriage to be greeted by a blast of expensive pomade and sat on the squab opposite the curly-haired gentleman.
“You needn’t go to such lengths to get my attention,” he said, glowering at the man.
“I might have come if you’d asked politely.
Who are you, anyway, and what do you want? ”
“Have patience, Captain. All will be revealed soon.”
Jack adopted a relaxed pose and waited for an opportunity to distract the fellow and take his gun.
He straightened his cuffs. “I certainly hope so. I find dramatics such as this quite a bore.” As he suspected this was another development in Lord Butterstone’s murder, he would wait and see what evolved.
*
Harry slept deeply while Erina sat in a padded chair and tried to read an article in a periodical about the Irish uprising in ’98. The words kept skittering away while her gaze returned to the bed. She had just finished the last cup of tea in the pot when he opened his eyes.
“I’m still alive?” he asked, his eyes bleary. He tried to raise his head and fell back with a soft moan.
Relieved that he’d regained his senses, she rose and moved over to smooth his covers. “Lie still. The surgeon says you’ve had a lucky escape. He removed the ball cleanly and believes there was little damage done.”
“That’s all very well for him to say.” He grimaced in pain. “Have they arrested that fellow Gormley yet?”
She shook her head. “The guards are still searching for him.”
“Dash it, I should have reacted faster, gotten that gun away from him. Is Miss Sullivan safe?”
“She’s here at the hotel, but she’s very upset that you’ve been hurt because of her. I doubt she wants to come to England.”
“I thought as much. It would be daunting to leave her home and the village she grew up in.”
Erina tried to tamp down her exasperation. Harry made perfect sense even when half-comatose. “But how can Cathleen remain in Ireland with that madman lurking about? He tried to kill her.”
“He’ll be arrested before long. She’s safe at the hotel. Tell her to stay indoors.”
“She’s gone to see the guards and inquire if Gormley has been found yet.”
He groaned. “Didn’t you try to stop her?”
Erina chewed her lip. “I couldn’t dissuade her. I’ll go and look for her.”
Harry slid an arm out from beneath the covers and reached for her hand. “Don’t, please, Erina. I don’t want to lie here worrying about you.”
His strong fingers curled around hers. Erina hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions. She wanted to confess she’d found the special license. To reassure him that such a noble act was entirely unnecessary, but now was not the time. “Very well.” She slipped her hand from his.
He watched her, his eyes heavy-lidded with pain. “Write to your father, Erina. It is time to tell him the truth.”
She moistened her dry lips. “Yes, I know.” With Cathleen reluctant to come to England, Erina had been wondering how to couch the letter in terms that wouldn’t shock her father too much.
So far, she’d come up with nothing. It would have to be the plain, unadulterated truth.
She and Harry must remain in Dublin until he was well enough to travel, which could be weeks.
She picked at a cuticle. What a dreadful coward she was.
How furious her father would be with her.
Erina steeled herself to bear his condemnation.
“Why are you fidgeting?” Harry sounded fretful.
She folded her arms. “What about your father?”
“Ask yours to notify mine. But don’t turn it into a tragedy, Erina. Write that I’ve been winged in an unfortunate accident, but I am on the mend and will be on my feet in a matter of days.”
“I doubt you will be, Harry.”
“No.” He sighed. “What a bumble broth. I’ll be flat on my back for a couple of weeks at least. You’ll be terribly bored cooped up here.”
“We shall make do,” Erina said, although she wasn’t at all confident their fathers would accept that. “When you’re feeling better, we can play cards.”
His lips quirked up. “Not sure how long that shall sustain us when I consistently beat you. And you’re not gracious in defeat, Erina.”
She raised her chin. “Oh, that is untrue! And I seem to remember beating you resoundingly at Rountree Park!”
His eyelids dropped. “You had me at a disadvantage.”
“I don’t see how,” she said, delighted to find him sparring with her the way they used to.
“You wore that low-necked gown. The green one. And I, understandably, had trouble keeping my eyes on my cards.”
“I beat you fair and square!” Pleasure mixed with annoyance, but any reply that danced on her tongue had to wait for another time. Harry was snoring.
“Coward!” she whispered as she tucked his hand beneath the covers.
When assured he was sleeping peacefully, she sat back and watched him.
The lines of strain around his eyes and on his brow, which might have appeared during his years at war, were smoothed away as he slept.
He looked younger. How had she not noticed before how handsome he was?
If she were honest with herself, she had always thought him handsome but had tried to ignore it when he’d made it plain he didn’t want her.
An hour passed while Erina pleated her muslin skirt and chewed her bottom lip.
She was never good at waiting. And she simply had to discuss the special license.
How could she dissuade the stubborn, innately decent man from this foolish idea that he had to marry her because he considered himself responsible for her?
She left Harry’s room and went in search of Cathleen. Relieved, she saw her hurrying into the foyer.
Excitement and relief brightened Cathleen’s green eyes. “Erina! They arrested him! Gormley is in jail!”
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” Erina joyfully linked her arm with Cathleen’s, and they walked to the stairs.
Cathleen cast her a gleeful glance. “He’ll remain there awaiting the trial.”
“Did they say when that would be held?”
“When the summer assizes sit, and that won’t be for six months.
As Gormley is wanted for fraud as well as the count of attempted murder, I’m afraid you and Mr. Feather will be required to return to Ireland at that time.
” She paused, with a hand on the staircase banister, her cheeks burning.
“Erina, I’m so sorry, and ever so grateful to you and Mr. Feather. ”
“You have no need to be.”
“Of course, I shan’t need to come to England now.”
Disconcerted, Erina tried to hide her disappointment. “Of course. I understand completely.”
Cathleen smiled. “I will miss you.”
“And I you.” Erina kissed her cheek. “Harry is asleep. I can’t wait to tell him when he wakes,” she said. “He’ll be so pleased. He was concerned about you.”
They entered Erina’s room. “Your Mr. Feather is a good man.” Cathleen perched on her bed. “Why did he bring you to Ireland? Didn’t your father object to you being unchaperoned?”
As a flush crept across her cheeks, Erina picked up the garments that had been thrown onto a chair. She opened a drawer and tucked her folded chemise inside. “No. That is, I haven’t been entirely truthful with my father.”
Cathleen’s eyebrows rose. “You didn’t tell him you were coming to Ireland?”
“Papa will understand when he hears how I wanted to help you,” Erina said in a rush, wishing she were sure of that.
Doubt rumpled Cathleen’s pale forehead. “He probably expects you and Mr. Feather to wed. Are you about to become engaged?”
“No, he’s merely a friend.”
“‘A friend’?” Cathleen laughed, more lighthearted than Erina had seen her. With her sparkling, green eyes, she looked very pretty. “He’s in love with you.”
Erina shook her head. She was quite sure he wasn’t. “Harry made it perfectly clear when our fathers tried to arrange our marriage that he has no wish to marry me. And why would he? I’m such a long Meg, and Father says I have a temper.”
“You’re lovely, Erina. And Mr. Feather wants you. Why else would he be here?”
That license. She must broach the subject with Harry. “Because I talked him into coming,” she admitted shamefully.
Cathleen grinned. “I don’t doubt your powers of persuasion, but he doesn’t seem the sort to be easily swayed, unless he wishes to be. He’s quite imposing.” She giggled. “How skillful he was in dealing with Douglas Gormley! I laugh when I think about it.”
“Yes, that was a surprise.” Erina had found Harry besting Gormley in a fight quite thrilling. “But I don’t want him to feel he has to marry me because I’ve gotten myself into a pickle. And that’s what I fear, Cathleen.”
“Then you’ll have to ask him. The question is, Erina, do you have feelings for him?”
Erina sank down onto the bed. “When I thought he would die, I couldn’t bear it.” She drew a shuddering breath. “To have brought him all this way and see him cut down…” She gulped. “And so bravely shielding us from Gormley.”
“But does he make your heart pound? When I’m near Clan Leahy, I quite lose m’ breath.”
Erina looked up in surprise. “‘Clan Leahy’?”
Cathleen nodded, flushing. “Clan is proud, said it wouldn’t be fair to marry me when he was so poor. He left Naas when he heard Gormley and I were to marry. I didn’t have a chance to explain. And what good would it have done if I had?”
“Then we must find this Clan Leahy. Where might he be now?”
“He has family in Limerick. Said he would never come back to Naas. He won’t, either.” A wistful expression entered her eyes. “A man of his word is Clan Leahy.”
“How far is Limerick from here?”
“Aww, tis a long way.”
“Can you send him a letter?”
She looked doubtful. “I could. Should I be writing, though? He was terribly cast down.”
“I’m sure he won’t be if you explain the whole affair to him.”
Cathleen grinned. “Aye. Then I will. But I’d like to go home tomorrow, Erina. I’m worried about my animals. Unless you’d prefer I stayed to keep you company?”
Erina hugged her. “Of course, you must go and see to your farm. I pray you hear good news from Mr. Leahy.”
Cathleen shrugged. “What will be will be.”
Cathleen seemed so calm, so practical. A little envious, Erina wished she could be more like her.
“As Gormley cannot produce a deed of sale, I’ve got my home back, thanks to you and Mr. Feather. Write and tell me how he fares. I hope the dear man is on his feet very soon.”
“I will write often,” Erina promised.
“As luck would have it, a neighbor, Dillon Adair, is in town and has offered me a lift. I’ll go and arrange it.” With an eager smile, Cathleen slipped out the door.
One good thing about all of this was meeting Cathleen.
How fond she was of her already. Even though her plan to take her cousin home to England had come to naught, Erina was glad to have helped her.
She just wished she had a better explanation to offer her father.
She took up paper and pen and braced herself to write the letter, the result of which would be like prodding a beehive.