Chapter Twenty-Eight
A Ghost from the Past Appears
“Fiona. Fiona Kathleen…open your eyes, Acushla…”
Her eyes fluttered open. She sat on the piano bench, supported by Richard.
“Why, my girl’s never fainted in her life—what in heaven’s name is going on here? Come and sit up, Fiona.”
“Perhaps, if your return had been a bit less dramatic,” Richard said, tight-lipped, “she would not be in shock.”
She looked up at her grim fiancé, then back at her father, still too stunned for words.
“Show me your hands,” she whispered, and he presented them, knuckles up.
They were roughened and dark in contrast to his elegant appearance.
A heavy gold-and-sapphire ring gleamed from his right hand, and a gold band from the left.
She recognized both. He was older and a trifle leaner, but her father stood there.
“How—what are you doing here? Why aren’t you dead?”
Gerald Rafferty chuckled. “Well, welcome to you too, sweeting. No hug for your lost athair, then?”
Fiona leaped up, throwing her arms around him, surrounded by the familiar scent of cloves and sandalwood.
“Ah, there she is…” Her father returned the hug fiercely. “Acushla, did you take me for dead? Did you not think I’d come home to you?” He looked over at Richard, his black brows snapping together. “Are you Richard Merrick?”
Richard stood. “We have quite an avid audience. Might we finish this conversation in private?”
“Are you her guardian, then? You were holding my daughter mighty close, just now—”
“Father, please—”
“I am Richard Anthony Creighton Merrick, the ninth Earl of Seldon, your daughter’s future husband. This is our betrothal ball that you have so theatrically interrupted.”
Her father disentangled himself. The animosity between the two men was palpable. “Oh, are you? And with whose permission may I ask?”
“I suggest we retire to my library,” Richard’s tone was icy, “and we shall both offer some explanations.”
“He is right, Athair. This is no place for us to talk. Please…”
Lady Amelia flanked her son with the rest of her family.
The surrounding crowd looked on avidly as he addressed the guests.
“Please, may we allow them some privacy? I urge you to continue with the festivities. This is quite a surprising turn of events, as you can see, but don’t let it affect your evening, I beg you. ”
She motioned to the musicians, who began to play a lilting scotch reel. People slowly dispersed, some taking the dance floor, but others formed small groups, whispering in hushed tones.
“Is this true, Acushla?” her father demanded. “Are you engaged to Lord Seldon? O’Cleary said you’d only been in London a short time…how could it happen so quickly? If anyone has pressured you—”
“Oh no, Athair, you mustn’t think that. I-I—”
How could she explain? She glanced at Richard, who stood set and pale within the circle of his family. She wouldn’t put it past her father to accuse him of something horrible.
Octavia stepped forward, taking Fiona’s hand.
“I’m Octavia,” she curtsied. “Are you Fiona’s father?”
He nodded, looking confused.
“Were you really lost at sea? Maybe you washed up on a deserted island like Robinson Crusoe. Or did you become a pirate?” Octavia’s eyes sparkled with excitement.
“You look like a pirate, dark and very scary. Richard gave me a book about pirates who roamed the seven seas, looking for treasure. Did you find any treasure, Mr. Rafferty? Did you?”
Her father stared for a moment, then burst out laughing. Fiona released a sigh of relief. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath.
“Well, aren’t you the cheeky lass? And a smart one, too, I’ll wager. By the grave of Finn MacCool, I do have a story to tell you, young miss…and ’tis beyond your wildest imaginings. Shall we go with the earl to his private rooms? Fiona Kathleen?”
Denys had joined them. “Richard. Mr. Rafferty. The place is buzzing with gossip. In a few hours, the ball will end. Can we not just continue as before? I’m sure you can discuss things more thoroughly in the morning.”
“And you are?” Her father’s brows snapped together.
“Denys Spencer, sir. I have your daughter’s best interests at heart. A scandal dies slowly among the ton and if we are observed in amiable behavior, it will be much better for all concerned.”
“You make good sense, Mr. Spencer,” he admitted and looked at Richard. “What say you, my lord?”
“I agree wholeheartedly.”
Fiona couldn’t stop staring at her father. “Oh, Athair. I can hardly believe it.”
The music changed to a quadrille. “Come dance with me, Acushla, and you’ll see I’m real enough. I may be a bit rusty, but I won’t step on your toes. Let’s give them something to stare at, by holy Saint Patrick.”
*
As Lady Amelia and Valentina hurried off to attend to the guests, Richard watched Fiona dance with her father. He ground his teeth in frustration. The festivities showed little sign of slowing down, even when Miss Ernest appeared to take Octavia to bed.
He had recognized Gerald Rafferty the moment his tall figure pushed through the crowd. How could Richard forget a man who swore that he was descended from an Irish king?
Strange that the man had entered his life again, and at the worst possible moment. What would Fiona do with the urgency of marriage relaxed? She no longer needed his protection, either from gossip or the threat of an unwanted alliance.
He scowled across the dance floor as they negotiated the intricate steps of the reel. She had inherited her father’s striking good looks. The handsome pair drew both admiring and curious glances.
Denys turned to him. “What a wild night. And a tangle of epic proportions. You no longer have a ward, but will you still have a bride?”
“That’s a question I cannot answer at the moment.”
“Do you want a bride?”
“It seems I have fallen in love.” On the dance floor, Gerald Rafferty bent and whispered something. She smiled up at him, incandescent with happiness. “And I’m not sure she loves me in return. Devil take it, Denys. She’s slipping away even as I watch.”
“Why would she accept marriage in the first place if she doesn’t care for you?”
“We were caught in a compromising position at Clementine’s soirée, and I bullied her into an engagement,” he forced out. “I said there was no other option.”
“But there wasn’t, was there? Not for an Irish émigré, anyway.”
“Maybe not. But I quite successfully coaxed Fiona into accepting and managed to awaken her desires, but is there more to it than that? I’ve botched this as well as any green schoolboy.”
“It’s not too late. Tell her how you feel, Richard. I know revealing your emotions isn’t comfortable, but love requires vulnerability and a certain amount of humility. You could do with a dose of both.”
He grimaced. “My carefully ordered existence is quite shattered, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“Exactly,” Denys laughed. “That’s what the women we love do.”
The quadrille finally ended, but before Richard could seek out his betrothed, Sir William Denton approached her for the next dance.
He wanted to plant a facer to Denton’s smiling countenance.
She had taunted him, declaring that the man would be a suitable match.
What nonsense! She would lead him on a merry chase, and he would give in to her every demand.
Nearby, Denys danced with Valentina, and their mutual adoration was unmistakable.
He had been blind to many things lately.
A month ago, he wouldn’t have countenanced a marriage between Denys and his sister, but now he was not so sure.
Were the trappings of a comfortable life worth a loveless marriage?
He was beginning to understand how sadly they fell short.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Eleanor Davenport’s musical voice interrupted his thoughts, and he looked over with impatience.
She was stunning in palest-blue satin, and her white breasts swelled above the teasing décolleté.
He saw her more clearly now, and her elegant looks left him untouched.
There was a calculation to her beauty, a coldness; he understood why he had never been able to love her. Or any of his mistresses.
Love, when it truly happened, could not be parsed into a neat box. His feelings for Fiona were unbridled and unpredictable, frustrating and exhilarating. A far cry from the casual dalliance with Eleanor Davenport.
“They would not be worth it, I fear. Are you enjoying yourself, Eleanor?”
“Oh, yes. Your ball is quite the highlight of the Season. However did you convince Prinny to come? A triumph indeed.” Her tone was light but he caught the underlying acidity.
He shrugged. “The regent was in the mood for some entertainment, I suspect. Where is Fellingham? I seldom see you two apart these days.”
Her pale skin flushed with color. She laid a hand on his sleeve, lightly caressing the forearm beneath the black superfine of his coat. “I am sure you know he is but a useless substitute for you.”
The earl looked down at her gloved hand, utterly unaffected and slightly bored.
“Richard,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “I made a terrible mistake. Can you not forgive me and remember what we meant to each other?”
“I have forgiven you,” he replied. She had used tears to her advantage in the past. They came as easily as a smile, and he had indulged her efforts. Once, the transparency of her tricks had amused him. “Believe me, the incident is long forgotten.”
“Then come to my apartments later,” she whispered, “and we will become…reacquainted. You know I can please you in ways she never will.”
“Do you speak of my fiancée? I rather hope not, Eleanor. This is scarcely the time nor place.”
“When, then? I have waited patiently for your return, Richard. You will find my welcome quite…titillating. I remember how much you enjoy making up after a quarrel.”
“You forget yourself, madam,” he replied coldly.
Eleanor’s lovely face twisted with anger. He was all too familiar with her sudden rages. Her beauty and sexual expertise might have cajoled him once, but never her temper.