Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  A faint blush filled her cheeks. “I don’t see a hymnal. Everyone else is able to play from memory, but I can’t seem to recall the particulars of any piece myself.”

  “Anna and Lily both take lessons. I’m sure there must be music in the bench.” The minute he made that offer, Duncan knew he’d said the wrong thing. Prudence’s face turned an unbecoming color, and her eyes flashed.

  “I said I played modestly well. I’m not a novice.” The words barely left her mouth, and she teared up. “Oh, I’m so sorry. How dreadfully rude of me. You didn’t mean any insult, I’m sure.”

  Unmoved by her emotional show, Duncan continued to prop his elbow on the piano and gave her a bland look. Prudence managed to display a wide range of coy tricks. She tried charm, meekness, tolerance, friendliness, humility, temper, and tears. If he didn’t miss his guess, ploys for sympathy and something to induce obligation or guilt weren’t far behind. Tedious. The whole matter bored him to distraction. Instead of hastening to reassure her she’d not spoken amiss, he glanced down at the ivory keys.

  “Anna’s impetuous, but it puts fire behind her playing. As for Lily—she shows talent far beyond her age.”

  “How nice.” Prudence dabbed at her cheeks with a lacy hanky, then looked up at him through her lashes. “Do you play?”

  “Very badly.”

  “But you do so many other things well. Why, everyone knows you’re the youngest captain around, and soon you’ll even own your own boat!”

  Boat. He inwardly winced. Calling his grand ship a boat would be like labeling Notre Dame a chapel.

  “We’ll walk downstairs like ladies,” Brigit said to the Newcomb girls. Anna lifted her head and drew back her shoulders a shade; then Brigit nodded her approval. “Very nice. June and Julie, walk—don’t bounce.”

  Lily clutched Brigit’s hand. “It’s not bad manners, is it—that I’m wearing pink, too?”

  “Not at all. You look very pretty.” All the girls were eager to get downstairs and be with Duncan and his guest, so it hadn’t taken them long to change. Most children ate Sunday dinner in their church clothes, but Miss Emily wouldn’t hear of it. She insisted best clothing ought to stay nice; and after watching the twins’ predilection for spilling food, Brigit understood why. As soon as she installed the girls in the parlor, she’d go tie on an apron and help Cook serve the ham.

  When they reached the entryway, Brigit could see over the girls’ heads. Miss Prudence Carston looked as happy as a bee in honeysuckle; Duncan looked as if he’d just been stung. As soon as he heard the girls, he spun around and beckoned. “I just boasted to Miss Carston about your talent on the piano. Come play a tune for her.”

  Miss Carston stood and promptly sidled up to him. “Yes, darlings. Come play for us. We’d love to hear you.”

  Customarily, Julie and June would romp outside for a short while; but since Brigit could hear Mr. and Mrs. Newcomb approaching, and they had a luncheon guest, she knew the girls should remain inside. Brigit turned away and slipped into the kitchen. As she tied on her apron, she looked about to determine where her help was most needed.

  “Have you ever seen a better ham?” Cook beamed at the platter she held.

  “Virginia ham,” Brigit said in an appreciative tone as she dodged Lee, who carried a pan of scalloped potatoes.

  Trudy dumped green beans into a bowl and scowled. “Killing the fatted calf for Miss Pink-and-Pretty.”

  “It’s pork, not beef,” Cook snapped.

  “Miss Carston comes from good family,” Goodhew added. “I’ll go summon them to the table.”

  Assigned to pour milk again, Brigit filled the children’s cups as the family came into the room. She stood back by the buffet as Mr. John said the prayer; then she slipped quietly to Miss Carston’s side. “Sweet tea or milk, miss?”

  “Sweet tea of course.” She turned to Duncan. “I declare, just because I’m petite, people treat me as if I’m a child.”

  Brigit silently filled her glass and proceeded on to the next seat. Duncan smiled at her. “I’ll have my usual, Brigit.”

  As she poured milk for him, Brigit heard Miss Carston’s muffled gasp. That gasp then turned into a twitter of a laugh. “Oh Duncan, aren’t you a tease!”

  Brigit admired Duncan for his tolerance. What man would appreciate his sister’s blatant attempt at matchmaking? Miss Emily and Mr. John both cast appeasing looks at Duncan, but the young Miss Carston chattered on, and Brigit headed for the blessed escape of the kitchen. She strongly suspected Duncan would like to do the same thing.

  Three days later Duncan rushed into the library and shut the door behind him. He leaned his head against the door for a moment, then pushed away. He’d appeal to John to talk to Emily. Emily wasn’t listening to a word Duncan said, and this simply could not continue. He’d been stuck with Pink Prudence after church on Sunday, then come home last night to supper with Adele-the-Able-Minded, who discussed the Lincoln-Douglas debates with far more passion than almost any man he’d heard. Now Emily had both of those girls and a few more in the parlor for tea.

  He’d ducked in here, hoping to find his way to freedom. The seldom-used door to the garden promised a route of escape—except for the fact that the pretty new raven-haired maid stood over by that very wall, polishing the windows. She glanced at him, then concentrated on her work.

  Good. She hadn’t spoken. Knowing his luck, Duncan figured Emily might overhear Brigit and come to investigate. Duncan strode toward the exit with all of the resolve of a man swimming toward the only remaining hatch so he could escape a sinking vessel. As he approached, Brigit opened the windowed doors and concentrated on a small streak in one corner. He could see the amusement in her eyes.

  The doorknob to the library rattled. He’d never make it through the door and out of sight. Quick as could be, Duncan shot between two bookcases. He gave Brigit a conspiratorial grin, then held a finger to his lips in a silent plea.

  “Oh, that brother of mine.” Emily sighed from across the room. “He was supposed to come home about now. I thought I heard him come in the front door, but he managed to give me the slip. Did he dash out to the garden?”

  “No, Miss Emily.”

  “This would be so much easier if he’d just cooperate.”

  Brigit smiled, but Duncan appreciated how she said nothing. Now there was a fine woman. She knew when to hold her tongue, didn’t lie, and understood a man needed to tend to his own business without interference.

  “The windows are impeccable. You’ve done wonders in this room. Why don’t you treat yourself to a book and read for a while?”

  “Why, thank you, Miss Emily!”

  Duncan felt a jolt of pleasure. She could read! A great portion of the Irish immigrants were illiterate. So many of the men on his vessels struggled over that very issue. Had he not been so very fortunate with the opportunities afforded him, he’d never have made it this far. Others who weren’t so blessed would be stuck without choices if they couldn’t read and write. Duncan offered a lesson each day on dock or at sea, and nearly half of his seamen participated.

  The door clicked shut, and he waited a moment as he heard his sister cross back to the parlor. “Thank you,” he said very softly.

  The maid bit her lip, but her shoulders shook a few times, giving her away. Merriment shone in her eyes. “I’ll not tell lies for ye.”

  “I’d not ask you to.” He looked at the bookcases all around. The library held an extensive selection, one he considered the greatest material wealth of the home. “What book will you choose?”

  She wiped her hands on her apron hem as she looked at the shelves. Anticipation lit her features, adding intriguing depth to her beauty. “I once read The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore Cooper. Have you any of his other works?”

  “The Prairie is in here somewhere. I also liked The Pioneers.” His eyes narrowed as he forced himself to turn and scan the spines. “The fact books are on the side closest to the fireplace. John keeps the fiction bo
oks shelved over here. Once upon a time things were alphabetical, but the kids tend to shove the books back in odd spots. I seem to recall that particular set by Cooper was bound in red leather.”

  Brigit smiled. “Now that’ll cut my search down a wee bit, what with the blue, black, and brown covers all ruled out.”

  “And the green. Don’t forget the green.”

  “Why couldn’t it have been pink? That would have been so easy. There are but a handful of those—”

  “Pink?” He shuddered. “Spare me. My current association with that hue is less than pleasant.”

  Brigit dipped her head and started to collect her rags and bucket. The haste with which she acted tickled him. “You’ve no right to be entertained at my expense, Miss Brigit,” Duncan scolded playfully. “I deserve your compassion and pity. If my sister has her way, my single days are sinking as rapidly as a scuttled brigantine with too much ballast.”

  “So marriage is nothing more than a watery grave?”

  He winced. “I’m not ready to get sucked into that whirlpool yet, and when I do, ’twill most assuredly be with the mermaid of my choice—not with Prudence-the-Pink.”

  “Prudence-the-Pink?” she echoed, her tone carrying an appealing lilt.

  Oh, this new maid was a fun-hearted lass—smart as a whip and pretty as a china doll. Duncan chanced a glance toward the door when he heard footsteps and made sure no one was entering. He winked at Brigit and wiped his forehead in a gesture of relief. “Whew. Thought my days were numbered for the second time in a mere hour.”

  “You’ve had several more frightening escapades at sea, I’m sure.”

  “Not at all. There, I’m in charge and rely on God. Here, I’m at Emily’s mercy—and I fear she has none at all. She’s a single-minded woman. Once she sets a course, gale-force winds won’t stop her.”

  “Aye, she’s a woman of great will and heart.”

  Just then the faint sounds of a few piano chords sounded, and a screech-toned soprano started to butcher “Rejoice, Rejoice, Believers.” Duncan rubbed his temple. “Talk about gales—there you have it! That’s an ill wind that blows nobody good.”

  The lyrics served to underscore just how pathetic the situation had become: “The Bridegroom is arising.” The soprano proved him right by hitting a combination of shrill notes that sounded just like the bo’sun’s cat when a drunken sailor dunked him in the water barrel.

  Brigit left the library with her rags and bucket. The sweet sound of laughter she diplomatically squelched before she exited was far more pleasing to his ear.

  Chapter 3

  Duncan! You’re whistling ‘Rejoice, Rejoice, Believers.’” Miss Emily might well have boiled tea in a pot with the heated look she gave Duncan as he strode into the dining room.

  “Why, yes, I am. It’s a fine hymn.”

  Brigit slowly set a basket of rolls on the table and straightened the centerpiece. Truth be told, she didn’t want to rush back into the kitchen. A bit of entertainment was brewing, and she wasn’t above wanting to watch it unfold. Duncan O’Brien’s inadvertent slip was landing him in deep trouble.

  Brigit felt an odd kinship with him at that moment though. All afternoon the same tune had nearly driven her daft. Ever since Miss Emily’s guest sang that hymn in the parlor while Duncan was making his getaway, Brigit couldn’t erase the song from her mind. She’d hummed it, dusted to it, and tapped her fingers in the cadence along the spines of the books in the library until she found the ones Duncan had recommended. Now that selfsame song rushed back and netted him.

  Emily crossed her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. “Well?”

  Miss Emily’s shrewd to catch him on that, and he’ll not be able to get himself out of this hot water. Boiled Duncan O’Brien for supper.

  “All right.” Duncan let out a longsuffering sigh. “I’m sorry, Em. It was wrong of me.”

  “It most certainly was.”

  Duncan wore the lopsided smile of a charmer whose true repentance was more for saying the apology than for committing the sin. “I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “No, you shouldn’t,” Emily scolded, but her expression softened.

  Duncan turned to Timothy, Titus, and Phillip. He gave them a sober look. “Let that be a lesson to you.” He paused for a split second, then added, “It is rude to whistle in the house.”

  Miss Emily let out a squawk. “Duncan, don’t you dare try to hoodwink me! You’ll tell me why you were whistling that tune here and now.”

  Brigit headed for the door to the kitchen before her merriment became evident.

  “Mama, Brigit was singing it all afternoon,” Anna said. “Uncle Duncan must have heard her when he got home.”

  “Oh dear.” As Brigit turned to the side so she could shoulder the swinging door, she saw color suffuse Miss Emily’s face. “Here I was, sure you must’ve come home and heard Antonia Whalen singing that very song. I’m so sorry, Duncan.”

  “Talk about sorry,” Titus grumbled. “Miss Whalen massacred that song so bad I had to stick my fingers in my ears.”

  “Yeah. God will have to ‘store our hearing after that terr’ble noise,” Phillip chimed in.

  “That’s enough,” Emily chided.

  Brigit had to bite the inside of her cheek until the door shut and afforded her the safety of the kitchen. She’d heard Miss Whalen’s singing, and it’d been more than enough!

  Cook fussed over a tray on the table. “Miss Emily may well want to marry off that brother of hers, and I’d be happy as a clam at high tide to bake up a wondrous bridal cake; but will you look at this? Baked my poor fingers to the bone so Miss Emily’d have fine things for them young ladies when they was here this afternoon. We want to entice those young ladies to come visit more often. I put together nice things, and they didn’t appreciate the fancy tea I set out one bit.”

  Lee popped a few crumbs from a piece of chocolate cake into her mouth. “I’d come calling if I’d be served such wondrous fare!”

  Less than mollified, Cook grumbled, “Miss Prudence wouldn’t eat a bite—and I know it’s because she had that corset tied so tight. Miss Adele couldn’t very well taste anything because she wouldn’t stop yammering over why Mr. Douglas ought to be the next president of these United States.”

  “She’s very well read,” Brigit said.

  “Reading is fine, but the woman is strident. The Newcomb family table has always been cheerful, and Miss Adele’s grating ways would give everyone indigestion.” Cook surveyed the kitchen with indignation. “I said I thought Miss Emily’s plan to marry off Duncan had merit, but she’d best find better bridal candidates.”

  Trudy lifted her chin and tapped the center of her chest. “Miss Emily has the right bride here under her verra nose. Serving tea to those rich lasses today near turned me stomach. The Waverly sisters didn’t think anyone would notice, but betwixt the pair of them they ate half a raspberry torte.”

  Cook wagged her head from side to side in a sorrowful manner. “If that wasn’t enough, I had to mix up some warm lemonade for Miss Antonia after she strained her throat with that song. Lemons this time of year.”

  Lee wiped off the counter. “Good thing Mr. John provides well for his family. Couldn’t’ve bought a lemon otherwise.”

  Antonia. Antonia the atonal. Brigit drew in a quick breath. Lord, that wasn’t kind of me at all. I’m sorry.

  “Stop fussing like an old hen. You’ve gracious plenty on that tray for everyone to have the dessert of their choice now,” Goodhew chided in an affectionate tone. “They’ll all appreciate your food.”

  Goodhew said no more. As a butler, he embodied self-control and tact. Then again, he’d mastered the ability to speak great truths with nothing more than a silent twitch of his brow. Though Brigit had been in service here for a slim month, she knew the wry allusion he’d just uttered was out of character. The insult to his wife’s cooking exceeded his tolerance; and though he’d served the young ladies with civility, his approval didn’t lie wit
h any of them.

  I hope Miss Emily has someone better up her sleeve. Brigit pumped water into the sink. Then again, for Duncan’s sake, perhaps I should hope she doesn’t.

  “Taking some night air, Brigit?” Duncan smiled as he walked through the garden. With moonbeams catching wisps of her inky hair and making them go silver, it reminded him of a sprinkling of stars across a dark night sky. This woman made for a bonny sight.

  “A fine night ’tis.”

  “Aye.” He stopped by the bench she sat upon and lifted the book beside her. “Now what have we here?” He tilted it until the moon illuminated the spine, but the golden lettering didn’t show up well enough for him to be sure of the title. A flick of his fingers opened the cover, and he read from the title page, “The Pioneers. So you found it.”

  “I did.”

  “I want to thank you for sparing my dignity this afternoon. No grown man wants to be caught escaping from his home because his sister is populating it with bridal prospects.”

  “’Tisn’t any of my affair.” She daintily folded her hands in her lap and looked at them. “You needn’t say anything more.”

  “Saying wasn’t the problem in the dining room; whistling was.” His humor must have struck a note with her. She glanced up and smiled.

  “Now that you’re wise to Miss Emily’s plans, I’m sure you’ll either find she has a suitable bride among the lot she’s chosen, or you’ll manage to keep free from the parson’s trap until you can shove off to sea again.”

  “No doubt it’s the latter. As I told you in the library, I’m not about to surrender to the war Emily is waging.”

  “Americans speak of war quite often.”

  “How long have you been here?”

  She shrugged diffidently. “Long enough to know there’s unrest in the nation, but there’s serenity in the Newcomb home.” A stricken expression crossed her face, and she popped to her feet. “Oh, I’m begging your pardon. I had no place, saying such a thing about your—”