Tobin stayed by her side as the last few words were spoken and the rest of the people returned to the house, and then held her while she cried.
There was a small spread of victuals awaiting them at the house when they returned. A few people from the community that had known General Murphy attended and paid their condolences to the family. Tobin mostly kept to the corner, though there were those who came to pay their respects and express their appreciation for his service. Two things were on his mind as he stood back and observed. The first thought was where was the old hag hiding the will, and the second was how quickly could they leave this place. Tobin had known why Lady Dungarvan wanted to marry her son to Bridget as soon as he saw the lordling again. Riordan, along with Wrexford’s heir, had often tried to force Tobin to join in their… activities. Tobin wondered if they still enjoyed each other’s company. Then he dismissed the thought. He did not care what Wrexford’s heir did. He wanted nothing to do with either of them. Lost in thought, he stared out of the back window until someone interrupted his musing.
“I never thought to see you again, son.”
Tobin only just avoided jumping at the words. He turned slowly to look into the aged face of the man who had fathered him. It had been so long since Tobin had seen him, he had not noticed him among the assembled.
“Wrexford. I hoped never to see you again,” he said with as little emotion as he could muster. To be fair, Wrexford had never done anything to him, but had done little for him other than to send money.
“You still hate me,” his sire said plainly.
“Why are you here, sir?” Tobin asked, equally frank.
“Lady Dungarvan informed me you were here, but I knew of your successes from Wellington. We knew each other at school. He was quite complimentary of you. He said you were one of his finest officers. Imagine my surprise when I heard that, after you refused to let me purchase you a commission.”
“I have never asked anything of you,” Tobin said, unable to mask all the acid in his voice.
“No, but I would have given you anything I could. I loved your mother, you know.
Tobin was so angry, he wanted to plant his fist into Wrexford’s face, but settled for clenching them.
“I should have tried to put things right much earlier, but when I lost Kilmorgan, my eyes were opened to a great many things. My father took you away from me, in essence, but now I have the opportunity to remedy some of it.”
“I did not know he had died,” Tobin said softly. Much though he hated his brother, he could see the torment in his father’s eyes and his heart softened a little, although he did not know what Wrexford meant about his father. “My condolences.”
“Thank you. If you and your wife have time to visit before you return to Wellington, I would be grateful for a few days with you. There are some things I would like to tell you.”
Tobin could feel his scowl. Just because Wrexford’s heir had died and he said a few kind words did not erase the past nor mean Tobin wanted a future with the man who begot him.
“I would like to do my best to set things right with you.”
“I will think about it,” Tobin said as Bridget came up to him and slid her arm through his.
“Will you introduce me, son?”
Tobin wished he would stop calling him that.
“My Lord Wrexford, this is my wife, Bridget O’Neill.”
His father took her free hand and bowed over it. “My son has done well for himself. Welcome to the family, Bridget.”
She inclined her head coolly. “Thank you, my lord.”
“I have been trying to make peace with my son and convince him to come for a visit. Perhaps you can persuade him it would be in his best interests. Life is short, as you know, and my estate is not above twenty miles from here.” He bowed, then abruptly took his leave.
“What was that about?” Bridget asked as they watched him go.
“I do not know,” Tobin confessed. “Your aunt told him I was here. Kilmorgan is dead.”
His head was beginning to hurt again and he did not want to think about what had just happened. He had hated his father and brother for so long it had become second nature. Wrexford had said the right words, but was he in earnest? Tobin was not certain he was ready to forgive.
At the wake, Uncle Fergus stayed by Bridget’s side whenever Aunt Betha came near. For some reason he had decided to protect her, but she was grateful. After everyone had paid their respects to her, he pulled her aside to a nook in the drawing room.
“Do you really think there is a copy of your father’s will at the London house?” he asked.
“I wish I knew for certain. There were no papers of any kind in his trunks. There have to be some somewhere. He would not lodge everything with his man of business, surely? Why do you ask?”
“I have a suspicion Betha is plotting something, and I strongly suspect it has to do with Riordan marrying.”
“Surely there will be someone willing to marry him for his title alone?” Bridget countered.
“No doubt, but no outsider would be invested in keeping it a secret as family would be. If that knowledge were made public, he could be hanged. I wonder what she will try now that she knows you are ineligible?”
“I certainly do not wish for him to be hanged,” Bridget said. She and Rory had been playmates, once upon a time. Perhaps that was why her aunt thought she would be tolerant of his tendencies. “Hopefully she will let me go in peace. Do you think she has legitimate claims on my father’s will?”
“I would not think so, but she might be hiding it in order to constrain you.”
The solicitor said that without the will we will have to go to the Chancery Court. It could take months.”
“At least you have your husband’s military pay for now,” he said reasonably.
“That is true,” she said, feeling quite guilty for dragging Tobin into such a mess. She looked over to where he was conspicuously hiding in the corner and smiled. An older gentleman went up to speak to him and Tobin tensed.
“Who is that man speaking with my husband?” Bridget was astonished how quickly the lie flew off her tongue. Perhaps it was because she wanted it to be true.
“That is Lord Wrexford.”
Bridget took a closer look. The man looked exactly as she imagined Tobin would in twenty years’ time. Tall, handsome, distinguished… “I should have guessed.”
“The resemblance is remarkable. It is a pity about Kilmorgan.”
Bridget was confused. It must have shown.
“His heir died last year. No one really says why, other than illness. He and Riordan were close.”
“Tobin looks uncomfortable. Perhaps I should rescue him.” She was about to walk away when her uncle took hold of her elbow.
“I will try to have a discreet search for you.”
She met his gaze with a look of what she hoped was appreciation. “Thank you, Uncle. I fear I will need all the help I can get.”
She walked slowly across the room, trying to determine if she would be intruding. All she knew was that Tobin felt animosity towards his father, yet it appeared as though Lord Wrexford felt no shame in acknowledging him. So far, it did not seem that her family was aware Tobin was illegitimate. Now, would that titbit not put her aunt in a pucker!
Bridget quietly placed her arm through Tobin’s and Lord Wrexford asked for an introduction. This deception kept getting deeper and deeper. Bridget had no qualms about deceiving her aunt—it was tit for tat—but the more people who knew, the harder it would be to undo and keep her reputation intact.
The next thing she knew, Lord Wrexford was inviting them to visit. Bridget was unsure how she felt about the man. If he had really mistreated Tobin’s mother, then she wanted nothing to do with him. His mother had been a priest’s granddaughter and he had made her his mistress—it was badly done of him. However, he claimed to want to make peace and he had a genuine, repentant look in his eye.
She sensed his temper was ready to
ignite. “Shall we walk outside?”
He gave a slight nod and patted her hand on his arm. The gardens were in full bloom on this warm, summer day. A hint of rain was in the air, making the fragrances at their best.
“How are you faring?” Bridget asked warily, unsure of how Tobin would react.
“I cannot think of what to make of him,” Tobin answered.
“Would it hurt to hear him out?”
“I do not know. I have spent so much time resenting him it has become a pastime.”
“How much did you see him when you were younger?”
He sighed. “I have not set eyes on him since I was five, and not often then. Yet there is no denying it: ’twas like looking at my own reflection.”
“A few years in the future, but yes,” Bridget agreed. “Everything you know about him is from your mother, then?”
“No, not all. Wrexford’s heir and I were sent to the same school together. Our father’s idea of a joke, I am sure.”
“Perhaps he had hoped you might be friends.”
“Quite the opposite, I assure you. If I had not been a year older and bigger, I hate to think what would have become of me. What do you think he wants?”
“I can only speculate,” she answered. “Maybe he wishes to know you better and it is as simple as that.”
“My mam said very little about him, but when she did it was always in private. I would not want to leave here until things were resolved with your father’s will,” he said, putting his fingers to his temple. Bridget wondered if he noticed he did that when his head was paining him. She could tell it was from the particular crease between his brows and the way he half closed his eyes.
“Uncle Fergus said he would try to look for the will discreetly, of course. He thinks my aunt has nefarious reasons for wanting me to marry Riordan.”
“Well, he cannot have you,” Tobin snarled.
“Oh, Tobin, what if they find out?” She looked up into his eyes.
“Hush, lass. I will protect you.” He gazed back at her with such tenderness, she wanted to understand.
“Why will you not marry me in truth?”
“Because you deserve someone who can give you the moon and stars, not a tent and a pallet.”
“I am content to be a soldier’s wife, Tobin. You know that.”
“What about when we have bairns? We might be fortunate enough to have peace now, but there is no guarantee.”
The thought of having children with this man made her stomach flip. This was right. They were meant to be together.
“We have discussed this.”
“Yes, and I find all your arguments foolish. I was brought up following the drum. What would you say if I obtained my dowry and the London house? Would you be too proud to live off my funds? It happens all the time in Society,” she argued.
“I will not abandon you, but there is a proper gentleman out there for you. I know it.”
She looked heavenward and closed her eyes. “I do not want a proper gentleman. I want you.” She wanted to strangle the stubborn man. He may not realize the truth of the matter, but she was ruined for any other man. Perhaps she could find someone in Ireland to take her who lacked knowledge of aristocratic society, but there would be a scandal if she attempted to become a part of the ton. That position held little interest for her, but Tobin was dear to the Duke and Duchess of Waverley. In all likelihood, with his looks, charm and connections he could look higher than her for a wife but did he know it? As she mused, they walked on past the gardens, down to the river.
“Do you think your aunt keeps her documents in a locked chest or drawer in the study? I was considering having a nose about tonight after everyone is abed.”
“I do not know, but my Uncle Fergus means to hunt for Papa’s papers. He would have more of an excuse than you if caught.”
“Do you trust him?”
She sighed heavily. “As much as I trust anyone here, I suppose, other than you. He seems to have my best interests at heart. He even warned me that my cousin does not care for women and he believes that is why my aunt is so insistent Riordan will wed me.”
“He told ye? Were ye much shocked? Nay, I don’t suppose you were, though ’tis not something a gentleman would generally sully a lady’s ears with.” He paused, looking thoughtful. “Has the old Tartar said any more since I told her we were married?”
“Not in my hearing. I have avoided her whenever possible.”
“I do not blame you. I am tempted to visit Wrexford’s estate for a few days, just for some relief, while we await news from Waverley. I would like to see what your uncle finds first, though.”
“Do you mean it? We would probably need to tell Wrexford the truth. I do not wish to carry the lie beyond here. Your father moves in Society, as do you.”
“Only when I know you are safe from the cailleach.”
Bridget laughed at him calling her aunt a witch. “And for that, I will be forever grateful to you—as if I were not already forever in your debt.”
Tobin turned her to face him and tilted her chin up so they were looking eye to eye. “I wish you would not think that way. Think of everything you have done for me. May we call ourselves even and lucky to be such good friends?”
“Friends,” she whispered with a sinking heart.
Chapter 12
Tobin had decided he did not trust anyone in this strange family. He thought it the best thing that could have happened to Bridget, being brought up away from them. While he waited for the house to grow quiet, he thought for a long time about what she had said. Would it be possible for them to be happy together, given the disparities in their stations? He wished it could be true.
Remaining in his stocking feet for stealth, he crept out of his room, along the corridor and down the grand staircase to the study. Sneaking about, spying in dark corners, reminded him of his time in France. He had preferred it to shooting people on the battlefield. Yet what would he do if he sold out of the army?
It was a question he needed to answer soon, but first, Bridget had to be taken care of. He had promised.
As Tobin drew closer to the study, it was obvious someone else was there. He could hear drawers were opening and closing and papers being shuffled. If someone was attempting to look for something, they were not being very secretive about it. Tobin tried the handle and finding the door unlocked, opened it to see that the unskilled spy was Bridget’s Uncle Fergus. Tobin entered and stood in front of the door for at least five minutes before the man looked up.
“Lieutenant O’Neill,” Fergus said, not in the least bit alarmed that he had been caught at his task. “I am searching for Dónal’s will for Bridget.”
“Any luck?” Tobin asked.
“A little, perhaps. I found my eldest brother’s will and it certainly explains why Lady Dungarvan wishes Riordan to marry Bridget. If he marries before his thirtieth birthday, he receives his inheritance at once. If he marries Bridget, he also receives title to all the unentailed properties.”
“And if he does not marry her?” Tobin asked, knowing the answer.
“The unentailed property goes to me as the last surviving male. It would have gone to Dónal if he had not fallen at Waterloo.”
Tobin nodded. “Then it seems we will have to wait for news from London. Have you searched everywhere in here?”
“I believe so,” the man said, looking around at the mess he had made. “There is a safe in the master’s bedroom, but that will be trickier to access.”
It would not surprise him one bit if that was where the document was, Tobin thought. Short of drugging Riordan, and his valet, it would not be an easy task to access it.
At least, Tobin realized, this uncle had reason to keep Bridget from marrying Riordan, so he trusted him to be self-serving enough to help Bridget for the nonce. He returned to his room to seek a few hours’ sleep, and spent much of that time going back and forth in his mind over whether or not to visit Wrexford.
He finally fell into a f
itful sleep—and the nightmares intruded again.
Tobin was riding Trojan across the battlefield at Waterloo. Smoke from the Château Hougoumont fire hung thick in the air, choking him and making his eyes sting. The stench from all of the dead and wounded lying in the mud and heat was growing noxious. Through his exhaustion, there was a hint of hope that the Prussians were coming and the battle could still be won that day. Dimly, through the black fog, he saw a hand lift and Tobin rode towards the familiar face. He had just reached Captain Murphy when the deafening sound of a cannon exploded and shook the earth next to them. Tobin flew through the air, hitting the ground with a painful thud, then Murphy landed on top of him… except when Tobin came to, Wrexford’s heir was looking down at him with a snarling, pox-riddled face and was taunting him, laughing dementedly while trying to pull him down into the fires of Hell.
Suddenly, he was a boy back at school, and Riordan was there, helping Liam hold him down. Tobin began to fight and claw at the devil on top of him.
“Tobin! Tobin, stop fighting me!” a familiar voice shouted. He was being held down and writhing hard as reality returned.
“Bridget?” he whispered, trying to catch his breath.
“Yes. You were having a nightmare, Tobin.”
“Doona’ leave me,” he said through chattering teeth and fearful tremors. His body was soaked with sweat.
“I will never leave you, mo grá,” she whispered in his ear. “It was only a bad dream. You are here with me in Ireland and you are safe.” She continued to whisper to him until gradually her words broke through the fevered imaginings of his mind and he began to calm. Then, realizing she was lying on top of him as though trying to hold him down, he became very aware of his carnal needs. He opened his eyes to see her dark midnight gaze watching him in the dim light of a taper.
“Lass, did I hurt you?”
She shook her head. “Do you wish to tell me about it?”
He shook his head and she leaned down to kiss him.
He was only human and all the desires he had suppressed flooded his being. Finally he could acknowledge he was starving; desperate for her as though the devil was truly coming for him and these were his last moments on earth.
An Officer, Not a Gentleman Page 11
