Chapter Seventeen #2
“Let us hope for Ireland’s sake that he does escape.
” Maguire’s tone was carefully neutral. Then his expression changed; his mocking smile returned.
Was he hoping to distract her again? Too late: she knew what she knew.
“Tell me something: How did your new husband’s illustrious parents react to the news that he’d so unexpectedly taken a bride?
Since I see that they’re here with him and you, I take it they didn’t quite cast him out? ”
This time his baiting didn’t bother her.
“They’ve been very kind.”
“Have they? In that case, I wonder if you could introduce me? I’ve been trying to finagle a meeting with Lloyd George with
no success so far. It occurs to me that going through your father-in-law, who has his ear, might be a quicker path.”
“I can introduce you to Thomas,” she said. “I’m sure he’d be glad to arrange a meeting with his father.”
“Thank you.” He smiled at her. A genuine smile without the least hint of mockery. It was an acknowledgment that, as far as
any threat to the country they both loved was concerned, they were on the same side.
When the dance ended, she took him to find Thomas. He was, as he had been when she left him, surrounded by his mates, including
former soldiers, several of whom wore their uniforms for the occasion.
“There you are,” Thomas said as she reached his side with Maguire following a pace or so behind. “I was beginning to think
you’d run away with Wales. What have you done with him, by the way?”
Smiling at him, Rynn said, “His Royal Highness had another engagement,” and stepped aside to draw Maguire forward.
Even as she did, Thomas was introducing her to the men around him, adding as he finished, “Gentlemen, this is my wife.”
While she acknowledged the introductions, and before she could introduce Maguire, Thomas said to him, “I’m Thomas Dunne,”
with an appraising look, and held out his hand.
“Owen Maguire.” As the two shook hands, one of the men near Thomas looked hard at Maguire and said, “Owen Maguire? The same Major Owen Maguire of the Thirty-Sixth Ulster who won the Victoria Cross in the Big Push at the Somme?”
Instantly the eyes of all the men in the group fastened on Maguire.
“I am,” he said. “We lost a lot of good men in that battle.”
“We did,” one of the others agreed. “Damned Huns and their dug-in bunkers.”
“Bloody machine guns,” another said.
“Fucking mud,” a third chimed in, then immediately looked self-conscious. “Begging your pardon, Lady Thomas.”
She waved the apology away, not that anyone noticed particularly because the men were already off and running with their war
reminisces. Rynn was left with nothing to do but listen. As it turned out, several of them, including Maguire, had been at
the Third Battle of Ypres, or Passchendaele as it was commonly known, where Thomas had been so badly wounded. By the time
Maguire got around to telling Thomas why he was in London and that he hoped to have a chance to talk to the Duke and, through
him, the Prime Minister, the two, somewhat to Rynn’s bemusement, were well on their way to becoming fast friends.
“I can get you a meeting with my father easily enough,” Thomas said. “I could introduce you tonight, but I think it would
go better if I warmed him up a bit first. He’s quite upset with the rebels at the moment. If you’ll give me your direction
in London, I’ll send word as to a time and place.”
That was done, and then Maguire excused himself and was gone. She and Thomas left not long afterward. They rode home with
the Duke and Duchess—the Wycombs had traveled separately—and by the time they reached Hartford House the Duke had agreed to
meet with Maguire and his delegation.
“I’ll send a note around to Maguire’s hotel in the morning,” Thomas said once they were alone together in their suite of rooms. “Although at this point, I’m not sure that there’s much anyone can do.
My father is quite adamant that the rebellion must be put down at once, and he’s not the only one who feels that way. ”
Clad in his dressing gown, his valet dismissed for the night, he rolled up behind her in his chair. Having been helped out
of her dress and into her night attire by Parry, the maid Thomas and his mother insisted she needed, Rynn too wore only a
thin robe over her nightgown as she sat in front of the vanity brushing her hair.
“Major Maguire is well respected in County Donegal. He and his delegation might be able to act as a bridge between the two
sides.” Putting her brush down preparatory to braiding her hair for sleep, Rynn smiled at Thomas through the mirror.
“Let us hope.” Thomas reached out to run a gentle hand down the length of her hair, which had grown almost to her waist, stroking
it as one might a horse or a dog. “You have the most beautiful hair. Black and shiny as a raven’s wing.”
“Thank you. How very poetic of you.” She made a face at him through the mirror as his hand fell away from her hair.
“I’ve never heard you mention Maguire before. How well do you know him?”
There was something in his voice—she’d never heard that exact note in it. He was watching her through the mirror as she began
to braid her hair. She frowned a little. She didn’t like lying to Thomas, but to tell him exactly how she knew Maguire would
be to put Maguire in danger.
“Not well. He’s from Killybegs, which makes him a neighbor, but I doubt I’ve spoken to him more than a handful of times. His
sister is the friend of a friend.”
“He seems like a decent enough fellow.”
“I’ve never heard anything against him.”
“High praise, indeed.” He watched her through the mirror as she finished her braid by tying it off with a white ribbon.
“That’s the best I can do. As I said, I don’t know him well.
” She turned around on the bench to look at him.
With him in his chair they were almost of a height, but beneath the maroon dressing gown his shoulders were wider and his arms far stronger looking than they’d been when he’d first arrived at Ballyshannon Court and been assigned to her as a patient.
With the lamplight shining on his fair hair and plenty of color in his face, any outside observer would have thought him perfectly healthy if they hadn’t been able to see his chair.
“You were certainly popular tonight. What a lot of friends you have! I was impressed.”
“Were you?” He smiled at her, and the slight constraint she’d sensed in him vanished. “It’s always an object with me to impress
you, you know.”
“You certainly succeeded.” She returned his smile. His eyes darkened a little as he looked at her.
“Do you think about him much? O’Reilly, I mean?” His question was abrupt, and so unexpected that Rynn was taken aback.
“No, hardly at all,” she answered and realized even as she said it that it was true. And she realized, too, that she wouldn’t
go back to Donal, to the way they had been, to the life she’d once dreamed of with him, if she could. That dream belonged
to a younger girl, a different girl.
“Good,” he said, and then he leaned forward to kiss her cheek. It was not much more than a butterfly brush of his lips against
her skin, warm and a little bristly because of his blossoming mustache. Surprised, Rynn simply looked at him as he sat back
in his chair.
“Well, I’m for bed,” he said, and turned and rolled away to his own bedroom before she could corral her thoughts enough to
think of anything to say.
Rynn was left to frown after him—and place her fingers over the spot on her cheek where he had kissed her.