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 am 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 Bride-groom is a-ris-ing.” 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.
Three
“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 nearly drove 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 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 up 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 with 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.
&
nbsp; ❧
“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—”
“Think nothing of it.” Duncan stayed where he stood, blocking her exit. “You complimented John and Emily. I happen to agree.”
“Please excuse me.” She took the book from him and scurried into the house.
Duncan watched her go. When he turned back, he spied her shawl. It had slipped off the bench and lay in a pool of—cashmere? He picked it up and fingered the fine fabric. What was a maid doing with such a pricey piece of goods?
“Duncan—I wondered where you went.” Timothy strode toward him.
Duncan dropped the soft, pale yellow shawl on the bench. “Did you want me for something?”
“Yeah.” A smirk tilted Tim’s mouth. They fell in step and walked around a hedge, out of view from the house. Tim lowered his voice. “Mother is in rare form. She’s bound and determined to stick you with a wife.”
“So I noticed.”
“Well, I thought you’d like to know she told Lily to gather flowers tomorrow morning so she and Anna could make arrangements for the parlor and dining room, and she asked Cook to make her Seafood Newburg.”
Duncan stopped in his tracks. “Flowers are normal enough—but Seafood Newburg? Emily’s escalating her schemes. Who’s the next bridal prospect in her petticoat parade?”
“Opal Ferguson.” Timothy toed a small rock. It skittered along and stopped at the edge of the path. “She seemed to have designs on Sean Kingsley, but he and Caroline eloped two weeks ago. Between Opal and her determined mama, you’re going to be hard-pressed to slip out of the marriage noose.”
Duncan groaned. “I thought we’d already scraped the bottom of the barrel. I’ve conversed with the abysmally misnamed Prudence. Adele actually drew a map in her mashed potatoes to demonstrate what portion of the States she estimates will revolt if Lincoln is elected. Antonia would break every glass in the house with that voice of hers. But Opal?” He grimaced. “I thought Emily loved me.”
His nephew chortled. “She does. I overheard her telling Father a wife would settle you down.”
“I’d sooner lash logs to a bathtub and row it across the Atlantic than be settled with Opal Ferguson.”
“Opal generally gets whatever she wants.” Tim shot him a pained look. “And she wants to be your wife.”
“A spoiled henwit isn’t to my liking. She cannot read or cipher any better than the twins. I’d never be able to go to sea and trust our home to her care.”
His nephew poked him in the ribs. “You could take her to sea with you.”
“I thought you felt a need to bite some salt air.”
“Hey!” Tim gave him an outraged look. “Are you saying you won’t take me if I don’t help you evade the girls?”
“No, I’m saying nothing of the kind.” Duncan wrapped his arm around his nephew and gave him a manly squeeze as he started to saunter along. “Though if I wed, according to family tradition, I’d be expected to take my bride on my next voyage—not my nephews. Any of Emily’s prospects would cause me to jump overboard.”
Timothy laughed.
“You, on the other hand—you’ll be an asset. Aye, and I’m looking forward to having you help me teach some of the crew. The pity is, several of the immigrants who hire on can barely sign their names.”
“I’d be glad to help, but I’m no schoolmaster or tutor, Duncan. I want to learn the ropes, just as you did.”
Duncan stopped and gave the teen a solid pair of pats on his shoulder, then broke contact. “Ignorance lives in us all, Tim. It’s just that we all have areas where we shine. A man’s dignity is important. You’ll trade them your book learning for their seafaring wisdom.”
“Are you saying I’m going out this next voyage?”
“Emily will have her final say, but I’m planning on it—unless she shackles me with a bride.” He twisted his features into an expression of distaste. “Sure as the sun rises, it won’t be Opal. Once I heard Sean married, I feared I’d be her next target.”
“Why is that? Because Opal’s mama is so scheming?”
“I refuse to delude myself, Tim.” Duncan stared out at the horizon from the hilltop of the estate. Moonlight danced on the waves until the ocean blended with the night sky. “I’m of marginal class. I’m a full-blooded Irish immigrant, and every last one of these lasses—especially Opal—would turn up her nose if I didn’t have a ship to my name.”
He paused, then continued. “I’m accepted in society because of John’s marriage to my sister, and it’s known I’ll provide well for my bride; but truth is, I’ll not be tied to a woman who believes she lowered herself when she wed me. If ’tis my family connections and money that draw her, ’twill be a miserable marriage.”
“And you think I’ll be any better off?” Tim jammed his fists in his pockets and paced back and forth. “My real father didn’t even marry my mother—”
Duncan listened to his nephew. Tim rarely said a word about his birth, so he needed to blow off some steam. Taking him to sea would be wise. He’d always been a somber child, and his feelings ran deep. As he stretched into his manhood, he’d need self-confidence to counterbalance his true father’s betrayal.
“It’s proud of you, I am.” Duncan stuck those words in before Tim could catch his breath and continue. Duncan had learned long ago that Tim rarely spoke his heart; and if he completely emptied it, he’d retreat in embarrassment. By listening to his nephew, then cutting the flow as it started to trickle down, Duncan knew he’d help the lad save face.
“Proud?” Tim gave him a stunned look.
“Aye. You’re wise beyond your years. Many a man goes to his grave believing his worth was what others assigned to him. God gave His Son to ransom you—and that is your true value. Ne’er lose sight of that. Any man or woman who looks down on you isn’t worthy of your love. John and Emily know that—and it’s the secret of how they’ve made their marriage work.”
“Then why is she trying to match you up with all these women? Can’t she see how ridiculous it is?”
Duncan chuckled. “I wouldn’t pretend to know the way my sister’s mind works. The one thing I do know is, I’m grateful for your warning about tomorrow night. I’ll sorely miss having Cook�
�s Seafood Newburg, but ’tis a loss I’ll gladly suffer since it’ll allow me to avoid Opal and her mama.”
Tim let out a sigh. “You wouldn’t happen to include me in your plans so I could miss out, too, would you?”
A slow smile tugged at Duncan’s lips. “It seems to me, I’ll need some papers to show Old Kemper about the ship. Specifications. I’ll leave them on the desk in my room. You might want to deliver them in the afternoon. Oh—and bring one more thing. It’s very important.”
“What?”
“Three licorice ropes.”
Four
Brigit sat by the window up in her bedroom. She could see Duncan and Timothy out on the lawn. Guilt speared through her. Rattled at how she’d babbled to Duncan instead of remembering her changed station in life, she’d scurried off.
It was truly Duncan’s fault. The rascal could charm a river into running backward. She’d been minding her own business, enjoying the peaceful evening, when he happened by. He didn’t have to stop. In fact, he shouldn’t have. But I could have stayed silent or excused myself straight away instead of sitting there, chattering like a magpie.
She’d barely made it into the house when she realized she’d left her shawl on the bench. It couldn’t stay out there—it was a special treasure. She’d gone back after it and overheard some of what Duncan said to Timothy.
Humility was a rare enough quality in men, but he’d taken it to an extreme. Why would a man like that feel he wasn’t good enough for any woman in the town? With wonderful auburn curls and a ready smile, Duncan O’Brien looked handsome as Adam must have on the day of creation; and from his conversations, anyone could determine he was as smart as a whip. Aye, and generosity and patience also counted in his favor—she’d heard about his concern to teach his men to read. Yet Duncan didn’t give himself credit for those fine points; he dismissed them and assumed the lasses wanted him only for the jingle in his pockets.
Redeemed Hearts Page 3
