Chapter Twenty-Three #2
O’Malley waited a beat then replied, “Footmen, coachmen, valets. Garahan, you begin questioning the coachmen, while I speak to the valets. We ask the usual: length of service, prior employment, family, and working conditions.”
“’Twill be a good start,” Garahan remarked.
“Unless there are any concerns, we’ll reconvene after Flaherty returns from the lion’s den.”
Flaherty nudged O’Malley aside with his shoulder and walked over to the footmen gathered by the carriages. “After I finish me interviews, send for me, if I don’t resurface after half an hour.”
“Done,” O’Malley agreed. “I’ll send Garahan.”
Their cousin snickered. “And I know just what to say—”
Flaherty grunted. “Save it for later.”
Flaherty was surprised to have an instant connection with two of the footmen—lads from Cork, who were acquainted with the Cork branch of the O’Malley family. The other two men were from London. Any of the four would have made a fine addition to the baron’s household.
The coachmen were a grizzled pair: one from Dorset, the other from the Lowlands, and both had served king and Crown as foot soldiers a decade earlier. It was the valets that had Flaherty’s interest. Stanhope’s had shifty eyes—though that was not a crime. Haybrook’s valet’s eyes were soulless.
Flaherty decided not to wait to share his worry about the valets with his cousins. He hailed O’Malley, who was speaking to the butler. When O’Malley ended the conversation, Flaherty walked over and asked, “Have ye asked Timmons to have two of the lads assigned to the valets?”
“I have. Did ye note Haybrook’s valet’s eyes?”
Flaherty watched the man in question bristle when Timmons spoke to him. “Dead eyes, they were,” Garahan said, joining his cousins.
“Stanhope’s valet has shifty eyes,” O’Malley said. “Either ’tis his nature, or we’ll have to keep an eye on the silver.”
Flaherty snorted. “I wouldn’t mind adding the two Cork footmen to our numbers, but ’tisn’t up me. I’d best see if me wife needs rescuing—she was more than a bit worried about her father’s impending visit.”
“Ye don’t have to worry about her,” Garahan said, “as long as Millie and the baroness are in the same room.”
O’Malley agreed. “Lady Phoebe has a talent for redirecting difficult conversations without those involved being the wiser.”
Flaherty rolled his shoulders and winced, wishing the weather wasn’t threatening rain—his numerous injuries liked to make themselves known whenever it was damp. “Don’t forget, O’Malley—half an hour.”
O’Malley grumbled, “I won’t.”
Flaherty squared his shoulders and strode toward the rear entrance.
It was quiet when he entered…too quiet. He quickly made his way along the hall, through the kitchen to the door to the main part of the house.
A sense of foreboding filled him as he stalked toward the closed door to the sitting room.
He knocked and was immediately bidden to enter.
Instead of finding his wife browbeaten, as he’d anticipated, given her description of her da, he found Millie quietly crying in her husband’s arms while Pippa held their babe.
Flaherty nodded to Summerfield and the baroness first, then Stanhope and Haybrook.
“Millie-lass, whatever is wrong, count on meself, Garahan, and O’Malley to set it to rights. ”
Roarke lifted his head and met Flaherty’s gaze.
“Millie and I will always be grateful that you were the man to find them, offer your assistance, and bring them to the safety of Summerfield Chase.” Millie’s husband turned to Summerfield.
“Your hospitality-laced safety saved Millie and our babe. Whatever you need, however I can be of assistance, you have but to ask.”
“Have you cashed out of the army?” Summerfield asked.
“Due to my son-in-law’s injuries sustained in service to the Crown,” Haybrook said, “Roarke has been retired with honors—”
“And,” Stanhope interrupted, “according to Palmerston in the War Office, their grateful thanks.”
Lady Phoebe’s tremulous smile had Flaherty moving to stand between where his wife sat beside her father on the settee, and the baroness on the velvet lady’s chair that matched her eyes. If need be, he could reach either woman in seconds.
“The War Office should be offering their abject apologies to Millie and Roarke,” the baroness said.
“Was it an oversight and error that Millie received that missive with but one line stating her husband was dead? No explanation, no ‘we regret to inform you,’ nor ‘we’re thankful for his ultimate sacrifice’! ”
The baron rose from the chair across from his wife’s and walked to her side.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said quietly, “There are times when speed is of the utmost importance. We are not privy to information essential to the military branches that protect our king and country, Phoebe. Therefore, we do not—and should not—have the authority to judge the deeds and actions of others.”
Haybrook inclined his head. “Well said, Summerfield, though in this instance, because it is Roarke we are speaking of, I lean more toward your wife’s way of thinking.”
Stanhope harumphed. “Having three of my sons in the military, I can say—”
“That you are immensely grateful Winston was assigned to find and retrieve Roarke,” Haybrook said.
Stanhope patted the back of Pippa’s hand and smiled at Millie.
“I am. Though we are not among those who know where Winston is stationed, or what his duties are, if I did know, I would venture to say that I would be concerned and proud. As it is, I have to be contented with only the facts that are deemed what I need to know.”
Flaherty wondered at the change in his wife’s father—he seemed to have dropped his baronial persona and was nearly human. The man’s next words had Flaherty thinking he just might like the man.
“Millie, you and Roarke have been blessed with a son—you’ll not have the worry that your daughter will run wild with the sister of her heart, haunting your stables, riding bareback through the meadow, jumping obstacles while she should be plying needle and thread or painting landscapes to add to her portfolio. ”
Flaherty knelt beside his wife’s chair and took her hand. “If Pippa and I are blessed with a daughter, I’ll be teaching her how to shoot her great-grandfather’s blunderbuss.”
Pippa’s gasp hung in the silent room for a heartbeat, before Stanhope started to chuckle and Haybrook joined in. Flaherty lifted Pippa’s hand to his lips and met her eyes, before kissing her hand. “What do you say, lass?”
Pippa smiled. “I agree that you should teach her to shoot, I’ll teach her to ride, and we’ll hire a fencing master.”
The pained expression on Stanhope’s face had Flaherty holding in his laughter.
“I’ll agree to fencing lessons, lass, if ye agree to allow her to spend time in the stables.
’Tisn’t enough to learn to ride. Me brothers, cousins, and I know that a horse is a true and trusted friend.
Never will he—or she—spread rumors, or speak ill of ye. ”
“Hear, hear,” Haybrook said, raising his teacup and toasting Flaherty and Pippa. “Now then, when can we expect your babe to arrive?”
“Papa!” Millie gasped.
Stanhope stared at his daughter and Flaherty. “Well?”
Pippa sighed. “You won’t be the first to know, but we will certainly share our good news when the time comes.”
Summerfield answered the knock on the sitting room door. “Enter.”
Garahan crossed the threshold and scanned the room. Raising one eyebrow at Flaherty, who had yet to stand, he announced, “There is a matter that requires Flaherty’s immediate attention.”
Flaherty rose to his feet. “I’d best answer the summons. Be sure and rest now, lass. Ye’re healing, but still have a ways to go.”
“I will.”
He bent and brushed a kiss to the top of her head. “I have spies that will tell me if ye’re resting or off exploring the secret passageways with Percy and Phineas.”
The sound of her musical laughter curled around Flaherty’s heart. He carried it with him as he returned to his duties. Patrolling the perimeter on horseback, he admitted to himself he’d love to have daughters—and sons.
Nine months later…
“Congratulations, Flaherty!” The midwife smiled. “You have a beautiful daughter.”
He thanked the woman while he counted fingers and toes, as he’d been instructed to by his wife. Looking down into the radiant, but exhausted, face of the woman who held his heart, he smiled, confident that their next babe would be a son.
Kneeling beside the bed, he pressed his lips to Pippa’s forehead. “Ye’re a warrior lass. Stout, brave, resilient to pain.”
“Just because I didn’t shout our roof down, doesn’t mean I wasn’t in pain.”
He kissed her on one cheek, then the other, then her nose, and finally her mouth. When she sighed into his mouth, he murmured, “Rest now, mo ghrá.”
Her eyes slowly closed, and his heart felt full, content. “Thank ye, Lord, for me wife and daughter. We’ve the beginnings of a fine family.”
Pippa opened one eye and glared at him. A fine feat, that. He opened his mouth to speak, and she held up a hand. “If you are going to tell me you want a son before I have even recovered from giving birth to our daughter, leave now!”
Flabbergasted, Flaherty sputtered, but no words emerged. Finally, he managed two: “Leave? Now?”
“And don’t come back until you promise to stop telling me about O’Malley’s and Garahan’s sons. What is wrong with a daughter?”
“Not a thing, lass.”
He watched, horrified, as his wife’s eyes welled with unshed tears. “Even if I could,” she rasped, “I would not send her back.”
“Mo chroí…I would never think that. Hush now—ye need to rest and not get riled up. Remember what the midwife warned; ye need calm surroundings so ye can feed our babe.”
“How can we have calm, when I’m married to you?” she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks.
How in the hell had their conversation gotten turned around and upside down? It shredded his heart, but his wife’s happiness was worth the dent to his pride. He cleared his throat to ask, “Do ye want me leave?”
Her bottom lip trembled as she reached for him with one arm—the other had their daughter tucked against her breast. “No. Forgive me, Dillon. Please don’t leave me. I didn’t mean to insult you, it’s just that I—”
“Just gave birth to the most beautiful babe in the world.” Enfolding her in his arms, he murmured against the top of her head, “She has the softest auburn curls on top of her head and blue eyes. Fear not, lass, I won’t be leaving ye until the Lord calls me home, mo ghrá.”
As Pippa’s tears dried, their babe started to fuss.
“Feed me daughter, lass, and tell me, have ye decided on her name yet?”
Flaherty shifted so his wife could settle their babe to her breast. The sight filled him with an abundance of love. Love for his wife, love for their babe, and hope for the sons that had yet to be born.
“I’d like to name her Anna Maeve. Anna after my mother—she’ll be a powerful guardian angel for our babe.”
“That she will, lass. And Maeve after—” Flaherty swallowed against the lump in his throat. “After me ma’s ma. Mave O’Malley.”
Pippa laughed softly. “I had thought to name her Anna Connor, after your mum’s father, but…”
Flaherty was laughing when he kissed the keeper of his heart. “A fine ma ye’ll be to our brood, lass. Our daughter will keep her younger brothers in line.”
Pippa stared at him without speaking until he had to ask, “Why are ye thinking?”
“Have you ever heard the saying, be careful what you wish for?”
“That I have, but I’ve got ye and Anna Maeve, and for now, I could not ask for more. I love ye, lass.” Silently, he prayed for sons.
“I love you enough to forgive you, Flaherty.”
Exhaustion from staying up during the long hours his wife labored to birth their daughter, he shook his head. “For what?”
“Praying for sons.”
“I… That is to say, how…”
She grabbed the front of his cambric shirt, tugged him close, and kissed him until his eyes crossed. “I know how your mind works, Dillon, but love you anyway.”
“Faith, I’m a lucky man.”
“You’d best remember that.”
“I’ll not likely forget. Now then, let me take Anna Maeve and hold her while ye close yer faery eyes to rest, lass.”
As his wife relaxed, he crooned to their babe, “Ye’ll love yer little brothers. I’m thinking four or five ought to round out our family nicely, but we’d best not mention that to yer ma until she’s back on her feet.”
Little did Flaherty know, his wife fell asleep praying for daughters.