Chapter Two
A Grave Announcement in Dublin, Ireland, and an Incident on High Street
Two Months Earlier
Fiona Rafferty stared across the impressive mahogany desk at Mr. Augustus O’Cleary, Esq. in his office on Upper Fitzwilliam Street, Dublin.
“Do you mean to say that I must be orphaned before I can have access to my father’s funds?”
An official-looking paper from the Irish government lay in front of her and the solicitor wanted her to sign the ridiculous thing. “My father is alive, Mr. O’Cleary. I would feel something amiss if he were dead. He will return eventually, I promise you.”
Her hands clenched so tightly that the nails bit into her palms. She ignored the hard knot in the pit of her stomach, along with a niggle of doubt. What if her father never returned? The enormity of that possibility was inconceivable. She couldn’t imagine life without him.
“We are planning a move to America now that my father’s affairs in Barbados are settled. He is on his way home to Dublin to take care of that very thing. I know him better than anyone, and he has just been sidetracked by some wild adventure or another.”
The solicitor coughed and raised a handkerchief to his lips, looking above the white linen sympathetically. “Miss Rafferty—”
“It would be too cruel if he were…you understand what I mean.” Her throat closed around a thick lump. She would not cry in front of a stranger. “My Aunt Muriel just passed away this month. There is no one else.”
Mr. O’Cleary shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Your father has been missing for two and a half years without any word. It is tragic indeed, but I’m afraid we must assume the worst. The bank won’t release any funds without this document and your signature on it to declare him legally dead.
By Irish law, he is considered deceased after missing for two years or more.
“Furthermore, with the recent passing of your aunt, you are an unattached minor and that presents a problem. With no parental or family guardian to provide supervision, the law does not allow you to live on your own. Miss Rafferty, have you no other living relatives?”
Looking down to block out the pity in Mr. O’Cleary’s spectacled face, Fiona realized her knuckles were white. She relaxed her fingers and smoothed the skirts of her blue wool frock.
“No,” she murmured. It seemed the situation was precarious indeed.
He pulled out another document. “I am relieved to say there is some light at the end of the tunnel, my dear. I took the liberty of reading the will your father has placed in my care. According to that certificate, you do have an appointed guardian.”
“I am aware of that, sir. My father’s business partner is named as my guardian. But Carlisle Merrick died four years ago, so I fail to see any answer there.”
“Since no other provisions have been made, the guardianship will pass to his nearest male relative. Carlisle had a brother, Creighton, the eighth Earl of Seldon, who passed in 1807. The next person in line for your guardianship would be his son and the present ninth earl, Lord Richard Merrick. He is a man of impeccable reputation and resides with his family in London. I have sent a communication to his solicitor, informing him of your…er, change in circumstances.”
“But I have a home here, in Dublin, Mr. O’Cleary. It’s two more years until I reach my majority. Surely, I can take care of myself until I am twenty-one.”
The solicitor shook his head, regarding Fiona with a paternal sympathy that made her hackles rise. She guessed there was more bad news to come.
“My dear Miss Rafferty, you are, in fact, penniless. Your aunt’s townhome and all of its contents will be sold to cover her debts.
There might be some money forthcoming from the sale of your father’s plantation in Barbados, but to have access to any funds, including the small savings he left behind in the bank, these papers must be filed.
Let me be perfectly blunt, Miss Rafferty.
If you wish to avoid being placed in an orphanage, you must take up residence with your legal guardian. There is no alternative.”
“B-but I shall have to move to London. What of my life here? In ainm Dé, what about my music? Do you not know the effort it took to be accepted into the Dublin Conservatory? I have been studying there since I was fifteen.”
“You would not be allowed to remain at the conservatory as an unattended minor, Miss Rafferty.”
Fiona wanted to cover her ears and scream with frustration. “Sir, I am telling you that we do not know for certain that Gerald Rafferty is dead. My father is a resourceful man; he could well be lost but still alive.”
“I am sorry, but the law does not see it that way. Come, my dear. According to my investigations, the Merricks are a fine family. There was some past scandal attached to the former earl, but they are pillars of London society. Considering your position, wouldn’t you rather have their support?”
“The Merricks are not my family, Mr. O’Cleary. I don’t even know them. And I hate London. Surely, you can find an alternative?”
“I’m afraid not. The rule is quite clear in the matter.
” He glanced briefly at the gold clock on the corner of his desk.
“Regrettably, Miss Rafferty, I have another client waiting. But I promise to help this transition go as smoothly as possible. We can book a passage to London tomorrow if you like.” Clucking in sympathy, her solicitor slid the paper across his polished mahogany desk and passed pen and ink.
*
Promptly at twelve thirty, Richard waited outside Merrick House in the driver’s seat of his well-sprung curricle, reins in hand.
The matched grays in their dark harness pawed impatiently, and his diminutive tiger, Jerome, tightened his hold on the checkrein of their bridles and stood firm as the horses fussed and plunged.
“I don’t know how much longer I can hold ’em, Your Lordship. They’re right fresh, they are.”
Richard was about to send a footman for his sister when she appeared in the doorway. His impatience vanished. The ton had crowned Valentina Merrick “the incomparable,” and Richard had to agree. Just last week, an infatuated suitor published an ode to Valentina’s dimples that was now all the rage.
He inspected her sapphire velvet gown and matching embroidered jacket with a critical eye, finding no fault. Flaxen hair peeped from under a fashionable bonnet, trimmed with peacock feathers and satin ribbons. Perfect. His sister was worthy of a duke and more.
“I am sorry to be so late, Richard,” Valentina murmured as Jerome helped her into the high carriage.
“Mama was determined that Betty change my coiffure. I told her I was wearing a bonnet, but she insisted.” She raised a gloved hand to shield her cornflower-blue eyes against the glare of the sun, smiling at him.
How fortunate that Valentina was lovely and good-natured. Things would not be so simple when Octavia reached a marriageable age. He had four, maybe five years’ respite before his high-spirited younger sister would enter society, and she would not be as easy to manage.
Jerome laid a tartan wool blanket on Valentina’s lap and jumped back from the curb. Spring was slow to show its face, and the wind still blew coldly at times despite the sunny day. The grays plunged excitedly as a particularly sharp gust skittered around them.
Richard freed a hand to tuck the rug around his sister. “Sit tight, they are a handful today.”
Jerome watched with a doubtful eye. “You don’t want me to come with Your Lordship? Those gray beasts r’ on the muscle today, and that’s a fact.”
Richard grinned and waved him away, maneuvering the carriage into the street. Once clear, he set the horses at a brisk trot. The youngsters were a challenge, even for him. He glanced over at Valentina, but she sat calmly, accustomed by this time to his hot-blooded steppers.
It took all of his concentration to guide the fractious horses through traffic. By the time they reached Grosvenor Gate and entered Hyde Park, the pair had settled, and he turned the curricle into the west path.
“Richard, are you really to have a ward? What is her name? How old is she?”
He frowned. “I have no name other than Miss Rafferty, and I doubt she is even out of the schoolroom. Falworth neglected to give much information.” What a debacle, he thought—the girl must have relatives somewhere.
“Mama said her father was Uncle Carlisle’s partner. How strange that our uncle left England with this Mr. Rafferty on a whim. They made a fortune from a sugar plantation, I’ve been told.”
He nodded, slowing the team to a walk. He remained vigilant, save for an occasional tip of his hat to passing acquaintances.
The park was heavy with riders and carriages, and he noted the admiring glances cast their way.
There was no better place to show off his sister to prospective suitors than Hyde Park on a Sunday.
“Barbados. After Uncle Carlisle died from cholera, I understand Rafferty did not manage things well and the business deteriorated. He was on his way back to Dublin when his ship disappeared. It’s been several years without any word, and by Irish law, he is deceased.”
“How sad. I pity the poor girl, alone and without a family. We will help her, won’t we?”
“We can help her find a suitable boarding school,” he muttered, flicking the whip with a practiced wrist. The gray pair stepped smartly to the trot once more, making further talk impossible.