by Brenda Joyce
Rory folded his arms over his broad chest and turned to face the sisters. There was no laughter in his eyes. Lizzie was afraid of whatever he was thinking. Very stiffly, she said, “Thank you, sir.”
His lashes lowered, hiding whatever speculation he might be entertaining, and he bowed. “I hope your sister feels better soon.” Without another glance, he left the room.
Lizzie’s knees instantly gave way. In utter relief, she collapsed on the sofa beside Anna, who wiped at the tears that she now let fall. “Oh, God,” Anna whispered. “She is a witch, a terrible witch! That was even worse than I imagined it would be!”
Lizzie took Anna’s hand. “It is very fortunate that you fainted.” She hesitated and added, “Well, I am afraid we owe Mr. McBane.”
Anna inhaled. “Yes, it seems that we do.”
5
A Dreadful Revelation
The next day, Lizzie sat with Anna in the family salon, an unopened book on her lap. Anna held a piece of embroidery, but she had yet to make a single stitch, just as Lizzie had yet to read a single word. Yesterday they had wisely decided to retire to their rooms—they had each been given a separate bedroom—and Eleanor had not asked them down to dine. They knew she did not leave her rooms until eleven, so they had spent the morning in careful preparation for their next fateful encounter. It was eleven now.
Lizzie’s head was aching. She rubbed her temples, aware of the beautiful spring day outside the house, and wished she were able to enjoy it. From the windows in the salon, she could see a sky as blue as a cornflower and she could hear birds singing in the park. But how could she enjoy anything, much less the pleasant day, when she did not know if she and her sister were about to be booted from the house? The throbbing in her temples increased.
Suddenly Eleanor’s clicking heels sounded. She was rapidly approaching. Lizzie shared a terribly worried glance with her sister. Anna began to sew industriously and immediately, Lizzie pretended to read with great absorption.
Unbearably stiff, Lizzie stole a glance at the door. It was opened by the dapper Frenchman, Leclerc, and her aunt appeared in his wake. As always, Eleanor wore black. This gown was a stiff, shiny black satin with black lace cuffs and sleeves, and she wore a different diamond necklace today, this one boasting a huge ruby pendant. Although small and slender, Eleanor had the stature of a queen.
Lizzie shot to her feet, tripping in her haste, and curtsied. Anna also stood, curtsying. “Good morning.”
“Is it a good morning? I wouldn’t know, as I was not expecting houseguests,” Eleanor said, marching into the room. She went directly to Anna. “Are you still ill?”
Anna curtsied again. “I have a cough,” she lied, and coughed delicately behind her hand. “But I feel better and I cannot thank you enough for your kindness yesterday.” She smiled brightly at her aunt.
Lizzie held her breath.
Eleanor stared coldly back. “You mean Rory’s kindness, do you not? Are you taken with him?” she demanded.
Anna’s eyes flew wide. “Oh no, certainly not! I mean, he seems a very fine gentleman—”
Eleanor cut her off. “He’s too charming for his own good when it comes to the ladies, and don’t you forget it. You are still a beauty, even if you are getting plump. Rory might prefer politics to romance, but he still finds time to chase the beauties. I want no affairs in this house, do you hear me? I will not have it.”
Anna curtsied, lowering her gaze in deference. “Aunt Eleanor, I am engaged. Surely Mama wrote you?”
“Of course she did, but you are hardly wed yet.” Eleanor turned to Lizzie. “And that goes for you, as well.”
Before Lizzie could speak, Eleanor turned back to Anna. “Why are you so plump? What happened to that fine figure you once had?”
Anna hesitated. “I have developed a fondness for chocolate.”
“That’s a shame,” Eleanor said bluntly. “If you get too fat, you will lose your extraordinary looks.”
Lizzie dared approach, inwardly quaking. “Aunt Eleanor? It’s a beautiful day. Would you like to take a stroll with me in the gardens?”
Eleanor turned. “You don’t have to humor me, girl. How old are you now?”
Lizzie somehow smiled in spite of her fear. “I am sixteen, Auntie, and I will be seventeen this summer. And I would never be so foolish as to humor you. But I would love to take a walk myself and I simply thought you might wish to join me. But if you would rather sit inside on such a spectacular day,” Lizzie shrugged, “I will walk by myself.”
“I thought you were going to bake a pie,” Eleanor said shrewdly.
Lizzie’s heart raced. “I made an apple pie this morning. If you do not have plans tonight, we shall have it for supper.”
Eleanor actually faltered, although she quickly recovered. “Well, so you intend to earn your keep? I do recall some excellent pies at Raven Hall. Did you make those?”
Lizzie barely breathed, wondering if Eleanor’s remark meant that she was going to let them stay. “Yes, I did. I was thinking of making a lemon tart tomorrow,” she said. “I saw a crate of Spanish lemons in the pantry. If you do not mind, I would use them.”
Eleanor’s eyes sparked and she almost smiled—until she realized what she was doing. She scowled. “I do prefer a good tart to a good pie. But you will have to ask Cook if he needs the lemons.”
“I have already asked him.” Lizzie smiled, and this time it was genuine. “He asked me to show him my baking secrets. I remembered from your visits to Raven Hall that you prefer a tart to a pie.”
Eleanor made her harrumphing sound and faced Anna. “And you? Are you too ill to read to me?”
“Of course not,” Anna said, although her gaze remained extremely anxious. “What should I read? Or do you prefer to walk first?”
“I will walk first,” Eleanor said flatly. “But you may read to me, if you wish, when I come back. I would hear about the comings and goings at Dublin Castle. Rory pens those columns on government affairs and he also sketches—his cartoons are rather amusing.”
Lizzie was surprised. “He is a journalist?”
“He is a Radical Reformer,” she said with a snort, “and that will surely be the death of him, at least socially! But yes, he earns his living like a commoner, by reporting on the government’s affairs for the Times. They pay him some small sum for his clever sketches, too.”
Clearly Eleanor did not condone her nephew’s having employment, as true gentlemen did not sully their hands or reputations by earning a living. “He did not seem very radical to me,” Lizzie remarked, more to herself than anyone else. “But I did see that he was somewhat the ladies’ man.”
Eleanor now seemed interested in her. “His politics are excessively radical, Elizabeth. There would be many doors in polite society closed to him for his extreme views were it not for his relationship to me.”
Rory McBane was very fortunate, then, Lizzie thought, but merely smiled.
“Radical or not, he is my favorite relation!” Eleanor cried. Then she glared at them all in warning. Her message was clear—if anyone was to inherit her fortune, it would be her darling Rory.
“Do you think she will be pleased?” Anna asked anxiously as they hovered about the dining room doorway. The long cherrywood table was set for four with crystal, silver, a gilded candelabra and three lavish floral arrangements. It was a beautiful table, indeed.
Anna had not gone with them that afternoon to the Capel Street shops, as the plan was for her to remain in seclusion now until after the baby was born. Still, she had managed to sneak away to a nearby market and had returned with an armful of flowers. Lizzie had helped her make the arrangements. No table could be lovelier.
“I hope so,” Lizzie said mildly. But it did not seem as if anything could please their aunt. She had been in a very ill humor all day. Still, Lizzie was beginning to wonder if her bark was far worse than her bite.
“Perhaps, in spite of her harping, she enjoyed our outing today. After all, we went to a doze
n shops and all we bought were two boxes of chocolate.” Lizzie had thought that telling, indeed, after Anna’s earlier confession.
Before Anna could reply, Eleanor said from behind them, “So I harp, do I?”
Lizzie turned beet-red. She whirled to find Eleanor standing in the doorway, her face a mask of abject disapproval, and then she realized that Rory McBane stood behind her, laughter in his eyes. Their gazes met as Lizzie cried, “I didn’t really mean it!”
“Oh, you meant it,” Eleanor said, scowling.
Rory led his aunt into the dining room. “I have never seen such a lovely table,” he exclaimed, winking at Lizzie. “Auntie, don’t you agree?”
She harrumphed, but she stared at the table with narrow eyes.
“And you do harp, incessantly, but it is what makes your character unique,” Rory added. He smiled charmingly at Anna. “Are you feeling better today?”
She smiled back. “Yes, thank you.” Anna asked eagerly, “Aunt Eleanor? Do you like the flowers? I decided to go out after all and I thought you might enjoy them.”
Eleanor did not respond.
Lizzie continued to wring her hands. “Aunt Eleanor? I am sorry, really, and I did not mean it. What I meant was—”
“You meant it. Since when did you start speaking your mind?” Eleanor asked her very bluntly. “Your sister Georgina was the bold one, the one with the tart tongue,” she said. “You were the shy one, and here you are, calling me a harpy. Not only that, you chattered ceaselessly all afternoon.”
Lizzie flushed. She had been trying to make light, pleasant and very innocent conversation in an attempt to get their aunt to like them. Very carefully, she said, “I know you do not mean it, but when you speak so harshly to us, it can hurt our feelings, and that is what I meant, that you tend to overly scold.” There, she had probably done it, for no one ever criticized Aunt Eleanor and survived.
Eleanor gaped.
Rory grinned at her, clearly in approval. “Have I not been telling you to mind your manners?” he teased his aunt. “Apparently Miss Fitzgerald agrees with me.”
Eleanor glared at him. “You are the one with no manners. Coming here to flirt with my nieces! And do not tell me you have called on me, for I know you too well, Rory. I know exactly why you are here.”
Rory laughed. “I am utterly dismayed to know that you can see right through me!” he exclaimed. “But I do confess, I did come to call on your lovely nieces. In fact, I have come to make certain they have a roof over their heads while they remain in Dublin.”
Eleanor scowled.
“That is very kind of you,” Anna said, touching his sleeve.
“I cannot thank you enough for persuading Aunt Eleanor to allow us to stay. I feel indebted to you, sir.”
“We are cousins,” he said with a courtly bow. “Therefore you owe me nothing.”
Eleanor was watching the pair as closely as Lizzie. “Annabelle is to be wed in September, Rory.”
He hardly seemed disturbed. He smiled at Anna. “Then may I wish you the most sincere congratulations?”
“Thank you,” Anna beamed.
Lizzie was confused. Wasn’t Rory McBane intrigued with her beautiful sister?
“Thomas is from Derbyshire. He is a Morely. Do you know the Morelys from Derbyshire, Mr. McBane?” Anna asked somewhat eagerly.
Rory’s smile vanished. “No, I am afraid I do not. So he is British?”
Anna nodded in pride. “Yes, and he is a soldier.”
Rory stared for one more moment. “So you are marrying a redcoat.”
“He is a fine gentleman,” Lizzie said quickly.
“Yes, and he is English, making him a far superior beast to us mere Irishmen.”
“Oh, do cease with your outrage,” Eleanor said sharply. “It is a good thing that one of the sisters will be wed, never mind if he is English, as my poor brother Gerald can barely make ends meet!” She looked approvingly at Anna. “Ignore Rory, my dear, as everything British inflames him. I am very pleased for you.”
“Thank you,” Anna said, clearly disconcerted by Rory’s views.
“And I am a boor,” Rory said, bowing. “I do apologize, Miss Fitzgerald, for daring to express such unpopular views.” He faced Lizzie abruptly. “And you? Will you seek the hand of an Englishman, too?”
Lizzie stepped back. “I really doubt to ever wed anyone, Mr. McBane.”
His brows lifted in real surprise.
“Rory is staying for supper,” Eleanor announced. Suddenly she smiled at Anna, who had taken a seat, clearly weary now. “I like the flowers,” she added.
Anna and Lizzie exchanged astonished glances.
“And now that I have had some time to adjust to the idea, you and your sister may stay for a week or two,” Eleanor said.
Lizzie was busy in the kitchen, putting the final touches on a rhubarb pie. Cook stood besides her, a tall, gray-haired Scot with a pronounced belly. She had just explained to him that her secret ingredient, as far as rhubarb pie went, was a dash of any fruit-flavored cordial liqueur. He gave her a knowing look. “No wonder her ladyship is so fond of your desserts. You put vodka in the lemon tarts, rum in the apple pie and bourbon in the chocolate squares we served last night!”
Lizzie wanted to smile, but it was impossible. Almost two weeks had passed since that fateful afternoon when Eleanor had decided that they could stay at Merrion Square for a while. Anna and Lizzie had settled into a routine, of sorts: mornings were spent in the pearl room, quietly reading, and in the afternoons Lizzie would accompany their aunt on her social calls, shopping and taking strolls. Anna continued to have a slight flu, one that required her to rest and remain in seclusion. That pretense, of course, could not continue indefinitely. Meanwhile, two letters had come from home, both from Mama, and Lizzie had intercepted them so Eleanor might not yet learn of their scheme. And still, no pronouncement had been forthcoming as to their future at Merrion Square.
Last night, Lizzie and Anna had decided that Eleanor must be told the truth immediately, as neither could tolerate the burden of constant anxiety and incessant fear for much longer. Also, Anna was growing fat and in a very short time it would be obvious that she was carrying a child.
Now Lizzie was filled with dread. She paused, both hands on the floury wooden counter, praying that Eleanor was not already suspicious of the truth. Her aunt had begun to look at Anna strangely, and she no longer urged her to come with them for a walk in the park or shopping.
“Lizzie? Are you ready?”
Lizzie turned and saw Anna in the kitchen doorway, as pale as a corpse. Knifed with more unbearable tension, she quickly smiled at Cook and, handing off her apron, hurried to her sister. “Do we have a choice?” she whispered in return as they huddled outside of the doorway.
Anna placed her hands on her belly, so that her dress was pressed firmly over the expanding protrusion. She looked so obviously pregnant that Lizzie cried out, swatting her hands away. In dismay, they stared at each other.
Anna shook her head, turning so that she was in profile. “There is no hiding my condition anymore, Lizzie. Oh, I am so afraid! What if she puts us out directly?”
Lizzie bit her lip. “She will not throw us out, I feel certain,” she said, hoping to calm her sister.
Arm in arm, Lizzie and Anna walked slowly down the hall toward the main wing of the house. Lizzie could feel Anna’s trembling as they entered the salon. Just as she was about to say something to reassure her again, she could hear Eleanor approaching, her heels clicking in the hall on the marble floors.
Eleanor sailed into the room, waving a letter at them. “I demand an explanation!”
Lizzie and Anna exchanged worried looks. Cautiously, Lizzie asked, “Is something wrong?”
“Is something wrong?” Eleanor was flushed. “I think you must tell me. But I am quite certain that something is wrong—very wrong—to cause the two of you to show up uninvited at my door, to have Anna ill every afternoon and night, to have your mother write me,
thanking me for an invitation I did not ever issue and asking after my health, as if I were ill, indeed!”
Of course she would be angry, Lizzie thought, but it was hard to tell. In fact, Eleanor seemed more concerned than outraged. “Please sit down, Aunt Eleanor. There is a matter we must discuss with you,” she said quietly.
Eleanor lost the heat of her flush. Blanching, she actually obeyed and sat down, folding her hands in her lap.
Anna stood before her, wringing her hands. “I am sorry, Aunt Eleanor,” she said, her blue eyes huge and downcast. “This is entirely my fault.” And she began to weep.
“We need your help, Aunt,” Lizzie said hoarsely. “We desperately need your help.”
Eleanor stared, not a single muscle in her face moving, her expression clearly grim.
“You have been so kind,” Lizzie began carefully as Anna wept.
Eleanor cut her off, standing. “I am not a kind woman. Anna, cease with your hysterics. Now is not the time.”
Anna obeyed, looking up, her face tearstained, her gaze wide and anguished.
“You’re with child, aren’t you?” Eleanor demanded. “That’s why you are so fat. That is why you will not leave the house.”
Anna nodded, biting her lip, clearly about to dissolve into tears again. “I never meant for this to happen!”
Lizzie took her hand, her pulse pounding madly. “She is also engaged to a very fine British soldier,” she cried in a rush. “They are to be wed in September, but you know that! The child is due in July. Aunt Eleanor, please, let us stay until after the birth, so Anna can return home to marry Lieutenant Morely.”
Eleanor never looked away from Anna. Her tone was controlled. “And he is not the father?”
Anna started to cry. “No.”
“And I take it your parents have not a clue as to your condition?”
“No, they do not,” Lizzie answered for her sister. “This was my foolish idea, to come here and have the baby in seclusion in your home.”
“And you think I will participate in this unspeakable plan?” Eleanor asked sharply.
