Chapter 13
Sunday
Gracechurch Street
Clara had worn her best dress, a pale-green muslin with a sheer overlay that had belonged to her mother.
It had needed little alteration, changing the neckline, embroidering tiny roses on the overlay, and shortening the hem.
She smoothed out the skirts, feeling as if her mother was with her as she stepped into the O’Brien entry hall.
“Take a deep breath and smile, my dear,” said Mrs. Norton. “Be yourself and they’ll love you like I do.” Eli’s grandmother beamed at her and patted her arm.
Overwhelming might have been an understatement.
Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien greeted her at the door, the former towering over her, the latter wrapping her in a motherly hug.
Clara thought she might cry. Something cold pushed her hand, and she looked down at the biggest dog she’d ever seen.
He sniffed at her cloak with his gigantic nose, then licked her fingers.
Her hand automatically went to his head—which almost reached her chest—and scratched the wiry coat on his shoulders.
They led her into the parlor, where a crowd waited to be introduced.
She was thankful for Elijah’s hand at her back, staying near her as his clan encircled them.
After meeting Gus, as tall and broad as Mr. O’Brien but with dark hair instead of faded red, it made sense the family would have such a large beast.
Honora stepped up next, her red hair brighter than Clara’s but just as curly.
She liked the youngest O’Brien immediately.
Benjamin Cooper was next, his blond head bowing over her hand as if she were a lady.
Then Clayton Pierce, handsome with auburn hair and green eyes a lighter shade than Clara’s, and his wife Genie, a tall slender woman with wheat-colored hair.
Dr. Sampson Brooks smiled, revealing dimples, and his wife Dottie, who was petite with full hips and laughing blue eyes. Just as she thought she would never remember everyone’s name, two more men stepped into the parlor.
A young man with black curly hair and grayish-green eyes took off his hat and introduced himself as Roger Lynch.
The latest inductee to the clan, Clara thought.
Her hunch, that the good-looking man with midnight hair and silver eyes was Angus Marshall, was proved right when the barrister took her hand, and Elijah made the final introduction of the evening.
A glass of sherry was pushed her way, and she found herself on the chaise longue beside Eli.
He had been right. They talked at once, occasionally pausing for one or the other to make a point, then it began again.
Clara listened to the disjointed conversations, taking in her surroundings at the same time.
It was a cozy room, with a dark-green Wilton carpet spread before the hearth, a tinder box on the mantel, along with small frames of the O’Briens and their children on the mantel.
The clan who Paddy proudly called his family to anyone who cared to listen.
He and Maggie explained how they collected seven needy but needed children throughout their lifetime, educating them, sending each in the direction that fit their personalities and preferences.
Elijah told her how Maggie had mandated they pose for a miniature at sixteen to be added to the mantel collection.
The matriarch and patriarch were in the center.
The others were arranged by age, alternately on each side, starting with Harry, Gus, Sampson, Clayton, Benjamin, Elijah, and Honora.
In frames slightly different, as if added more recently, were images of Roger and Angus.
Over dinner, she learned most of their stories.
Harry had been kicked out of the brothel at the age of eight when he came down with a fever.
Paddy found him in an alley being set upon by footpads.
As an adult, Harry had seen Roger attacked by several men and stepped in to help.
“His left shoulder was dislocated, and he was still planting a mean right hook. I admired the boy’s gumption. ”
Sampson, the physician who was opening a hospital and school for unwed mothers, had tried to steal a cane from Paddy one night.
Clayton’s mother, a friend of Maggie’s, had died, leaving the boy on his own.
Nora was a foundling, brought to the couple as an infant.
Since they took her in as a babe, they named her.
She was the only one of seven who was legally an O’Brien.
Clara’s eyes glanced around the dining room, watching the conversation bounce from one end of the table to the other. Once she’d gotten used to the noise, Clara quickly became enamored with this loving bunch.
Hot tears threatened, thinking of her father, and she blinked them back. She would enjoy this evening, not let any negative thoughts interfere. Not tonight.
“Are you all right?” Eli asked quietly.
“Of course she is,” spouted Mrs. Norton, who sat on Clara’s other side. “Look at her face!”
After dinner, they returned to the parlor. There was singing and dancing, with Nora at the fiddle, then Mrs. O’Brien at the pianoforte. Mrs. Norton took a turn playing while Mr. O’Brien and Angus sang a lusty, humorous ballad.
“I hope ye will come again next month,” Mrs. O’Brien said at the door as the coach was brought around. “Ye make Elijah so happy. What else could a mother want?”
“Or a grandmother,” piped up Mrs. Norton. “She’s a diamond, even if he calls her Ruby.”
Her moniker began another conversation. “I’m sorry to bring this to an end,” interrupted Elijah, “but we all have to work tomorrow.”
More hugs, additional promises to gather again next month, and Clara finally found herself in the quiet coach, leaning back against the leather squabs. They took his grandmother home, then continued to Hatton Garden.
As the carriage rumbled over the uneven streets, Eli turned to her.
He cupped her face, and she leaned into his palm.
His lips were warm and teasing, her body responding to him as it always did.
Her heart beat against her chest as his tongue swept inside her mouth, wondering where her future would lead with this kind, thoughtful man.
“Clara,” he said, ending the kiss and taking her hand, “I am the most fortunate of men to have been standing on the corner that day I saved you. I’m not one to tempt fate, and I truly believe we were meant to find each other.”
She nodded, her gaze locked with his as his thumb caressed the back of her hand in small, sensuous circles.
“We haven’t known each other for very long, but I’ve never been more certain in my life. I love you, my Ruby. Will you marry me? Will you let me stand with you, beside you, for the rest of our lives?”
This time Clara didn’t blink back the tears. She let them fall, smiling and nodding, not able to find the words to describe her happiness. He kissed her again, a long, delicious kiss that spoke of marriage and children and love and laughter.
When the coach stopped, he leaned over her to open the door, but she put a hand on his arm. “Would you be willing to wait a year?”
“To be sure?”
The hurt in his eyes sent a jagged pain through her heart. She placed her hands on each side of his face and kissed him gently. “Just in case my father is able to return. I have no doubts of my love for you.”
“Then I agree,” he said, though there was doubt in his eyes.
About her? About the possibility of her father returning? The realization she may never see her father again weighed heavy against her joy from Eli’s proposal.
Inside the kitchen, she leaned against the wall after hanging up her cloak.
It was dark and quiet, allowing her a moment to catch her breath and go over the last few hours in her mind.
The sense of abandonment eased as the images of Eli’s family blanketed her, so warm and inviting.
How were they able to open their hearts so easily and so often?
“Did you have a nice evening?”
Clara jumped as the housekeeper entered the kitchen. “Yes, a splendid evening.” A grin spread across her face.
Mrs. Johnson pulled her robe tight and walked to the stove. “Tea?”
“Yes, please,” she said. “But let me make it.” Clara bustled forward.
“I’m quite capable. Sit down. I have news.”
So do I, thought Clara, bursting to tell someone.
“The owner of the townhouse has decided to come to Town. I was worried he would wipe his hands of the whole mess when he learned what happened.” Mrs. Johnson sat down, waiting for the kettle to get hot.
The glow of the coals shone on the streaks of gray in her auburn hair. “He shall arrive next week.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Clara, thankful she may still be able to obtain a referral.
“Now tell me your news. You look about to burst,” said the housekeeper with a chuckle.
“Elijah and I are betrothed!” she blurted out. “I am to be married.”
“Oh, Ruby, I’m so happy for you.” She took Clara’s hand. “When will you read the banns?”
Clara’s smile faltered a tiny bit. “I told him I wanted to wait a year in case Pa returned.”
Mrs. Johnson sighed, sympathy in her kind blue eyes. “My dear child, if what he told was true, you realize he can never return.”
“But—” Clara had confided in the housekeeper, knowing she needed the advice of someone wiser and more mature. She trusted this woman.
“We don’t know the details of his plight, but if it was bad enough for him to set sail across the ocean…” She tucked a stray lock of Clara’s hair behind her ear. “If he returns, he could be arrested, charged, and most likely hanged. Is that what you want?”
She shook her head, the older woman’s face a blur as the tears fell. This was the reason for the doubt she’d seen on Elijah’s face.
“I think the best way you could honor your father is by marrying that young man and living your best life with him. Isn’t that what your father would want?”
Clara gave her a watery smile. “You’re right, of course. He can never return. He only told me that to make it easier for us to part.”
“Look to a future with Mr. Norton. Hope for his return would only dim your joy.”
***
April
St. Clement’s Church, Cheapside
“You’re sweatin’,” said Gus. “No need to be nervous. Marriage is a fine institution.”
“And ye have a beautiful wife,” added Maggie from the nearest bench.
Eli could only nod, not wanting to tell them his real worry. Those old feelings of abandonment, the insecurities of his childhood, came rushing back as he waited for Ruby to arrive. What if she changed her mind? What if—
The door opened, sunshine pouring into the dark vestibule, revealing the silhouette of an angel.
A redheaded angel. Relief poured over him as she walked down the aisle, the simple daffodil muslin clinging to her form.
When she smiled at him, it took all his reserve not to run to her, swing her into his arms, and kiss her.
Time for that later, he scolded himself.
Paddy was to hand her off, and Gus stood next to him. When Ruby stood before him, her hand in his, he heard, “Steady, boyo. Da best is yet to come.”
She took his breath away, but Paddy was right. He smiled at the woman before him, putting her trust in him, promising to spend the rest of her life supporting him. The past no longer mattered, only the future. A future they would shape together, making their own destiny.
What was that Irish saying?
May the saddest day of your future be no worse than the happiest day of your past.
If today was the best of his past, then their lives together were guaranteed to bring joy.