Duncan had hoped the rhetoric wouldn’t be so strident since they were so far north. Though he privately agreed Lincoln would be a godsend as the president and didn’t support disunion, he also understood some of the economic issues driving the unrest in the South. He personally believed all men were created equal—that his Irish roots didn’t make him any less God’s child; so why would African roots make a man less worthy of respect or God’s grace? The hopes he’d held that Lincoln might heal the rifts evaporated as rapidly as the steam that powered the looms in the mills.
After the ship’s hold filled with the goods and they were set to sail with the tide the next evening, Duncan sat down to supper with Aunt Mildred and the boys. He rather hoped if he broached a certain subject, Aunt Mildred would volunteer to assist him. “Emily wanted me to buy some prints for the staff.”
“Prints?” Aunt Mildred’s eyes widened. “Now that’s different.”
“Mama doesn’t like to do things the usual way,” Titus said. He took a gulp of potatoes.
“She’s a very uncommon woman,” Aunt Mildred agreed. Her voice held no censure. Indeed, Duncan recalled she’d been infinitely kind to Em when John wed her and she needed to learn the ways of society. “I confess, I like the blue she’s used for your household staff. Black is so dreary.”
Duncan leaned forward. “Come along and help me make appropriate selections. You’d have a better notion of what Em would like.”
“I have every confidence you’ll do fine. I already promised Tim and Titus I’d take them to the museum.”
Duncan nodded. He couldn’t begrudge the boys a nice outing.
Timothy started to chuckle. Duncan shot him a questioning look, and the chuckle turned into a full-throated chortle. “Buy pink. Nothing but pink. I’ll bet Prudence Carston suddenly stops wearing it if you do, because she’d never want anyone to think she’s an ordinary woman instead of one of society’s darlings.”
Pink. The next day after he picked up the ring John ordered, Duncan stood in the warehouse and stared at the fabrics. He glanced at the pinks and winced. How did I let Em saddle me with such a ridiculous errand? As often as she goes to the shipping office and rides by the warehouses, she could have gone in and chosen whatever suited her fancy. Duncan gave fleeting thought to pleading that he was simply too busy, and it would have been the utter truth; but the special quarter in his pocket reminded him of how family cared for one another. He’d do this for Emily.
Em wanted prints. She’d also specified they were to be pretty and of good quality. He’d handled cloth aplenty, and judging quality presented no problem. The real problem lay with selecting something reasonable. Pretty prints abounded—many made with the newest aniline dyes so they had eye-catching color. He wanted to make this a quick grab-and-dash type of task; but to his consternation, he couldn’t.
“As you can see, they’re arranged on the shelves by color.” The warehouseman waved his arm in a wide arc to encompass a veritable rainbow. “The blacks and browns are practical. Keep the dirt and wear from showing.”
Duncan headed toward the grays.
“Those are especially suitable for second-year mourning attire.”
Disenchanted with that bit of information, Duncan turned toward the blues. Blue. The color of Brigit’s extraordinary eyes. No, he refused to be beguiled by her. Besides, Em was tired of blue.
“Greens are favored this year.” The warehouseman leaned against the cart he’d pushed along.
Greens looked fresh. Appealing. They’d set off Brigit’s hair and—Duncan cut off that line of thought. Yellows would show every last smudge. As often as she—no, all the maids—he corrected himself—dusted, the gown would look filthy.
Ah. Respite. White. Duncan felt a wee bit of the tension drain away. He’d been wanting to buy some white for himself. Aye, he did. When he got home, he’d get Emily to tell him who sewed that new shirt. She’d placed the order so she’d be able to direct him. He’d never had a better fit—the generous cut across the shoulders didn’t bind, and the extra length made sure it stayed tucked in. He’ll supply more cotton and place an order for her to make him a good half dozen more. He’d make sure, though, that he’d simply handle the transaction in writing. Knowing Emily, she hired some comely seamstress in hopes that he’d fall in love. He’d rather swim to England than deal with his sister’s ridiculous, romantic machinations.
A single bolt—that was all he’d need. Straight off the loom, a bolt held sixty yards. The printed cloth was processed and cut into half that length. Duncan squinted and noticed the bolts of white had also been halved. He shrugged. Thirty yards would keep him in shirts—what about John and the boys? Titus and Tim both washed their shirts aboard the ship and nearly tore them to shreds. They were growing fast. Duncan chose two bolts of white. White. Aprons. Emily always had the staff wear them. Brigit had a charming habit of slipping her hand into her apron pocket and tilting her head to starboard just a bit—a telling cue that she was thinking something through. He chucked a third bolt onto the cart.
“I thought you said you were wanting colored prints.”
The voice behind Duncan pulled him from his thoughts. He stared at the cart and couldn’t believe what he’d done. Ninety yards. I just grabbed ninety yards of white.
“Don’t mistake me. You chose the finest white we carry. Mayhap I misunderstood—”
“No, not at all. I also want prints.” Duncan strode ahead to the next set of shelves. Pink? He shuddered. The shade of Prudence.
Only women of ill repute wore red.
He turned the corner and gave up on trying to reason through what choices to make. Duncan impatiently grabbed several bolts and heaved them onto the cart. Even then Duncan kept picturing how Brigit would look dressed in almost every swath of cloth he touched. Brigit. Aye, she was quite the lass. Pure of heart, quick of mind, and kind in spirit. A rare woman indeed.
Duncan halted dead in his tracks and marveled under his breath, “Well, blow me down. I was so set on swimming free of Em’s marriage net that I jumped right out of the water and into the boat.”
“What was that?”
“Show me your bridal material.”
Eleven
Home. While at sea, Duncan felt the ocean was his home; but when he landed and rode up the drive to the Newcomb estate, his heart filled with an unmistakable warmth that told him he belonged here. He cast a glance over at Tim and Titus. Clearly they felt that same tug. They unconsciously kneed their mounts, and all three of them galloped the last mile.
“Why are there so many carriages and ribbons?” asked Titus.
“Can’t you remember anything?” Timothy gave his brother a scathing look. “It’s Phillip’s birthday. I’ll bet that’s why Duncan got so pushy about us setting sail.”
“I wasn’t pushy. I was emphatic. A captain sets his time-table, and the crew needs to adhere to it. Discipline and control are essential on any vessel.”
“Yeah, well, those are all right, I suppose.” Titus wrinkled his nose. “I just didn’t like some of the other rules.”
Duncan gave him a long look. “No more shedding your clothes like a snake. That voyage trained you to be a man. Now act like one.”
“I’ll make you proud.” Titus stared back at him. “You have my word of honor.”
His word of honor. Duncan nodded. Honor. Integrity mattered to him above all but God and family. The one thing he couldn’t abide was dishonesty or deception. He couldn’t very well come home and pretend indifference to the woman he loved.
What would he do about Brigit, now that he’d returned? In the time he’d been gone, he’d reconsidered the whole situation and come to the same conclusion over and over again: He loved her. She’d been in his thoughts nearly every waking minute, and he’d dreamed of her, too. She read well and enjoyed the same books he did, could carry on an intelligent conversation, and showed devotion to his family. Aye, she was a sweet woman.
Marriage to her wouldn’t be a trap; it would
be a joy. He’d need to court her a bit. Women put store in such customs. If he had his way, he’d just stand up in church Sunday and let the parson help them speak their vows. The first step would be making sure the feelings were mutual; then he’d do the right thing—go to her parents as well as settle her in with his own folks down at the caretaker’s cottage. That way he’d see her every day while the women took care of the social details of arranging the wedding. It shouldn’t take long. After all, he’d already seen to getting the fabric for her bridal gown.
Brigit. There she was, standing on the veranda, holding hands with June and Julie. The cashmere shawl about her shoulders drew Duncan’s attention. He wanted to use it to tug her into his arms for a welcome-home hug and kiss, but he’d not do such a thing.
“We’re home!” Titus shouted.
“We’ve been waiting!” Julie and June shouted back. Both tried to tug forward, but Brigit held them back. A wise move, that. If they were to shriek or move rapidly, they might startle one of the boys’ horses.
Brigit didn’t meet Duncan’s gaze. Instead she smiled at Timothy and Titus. “We’re looking forward to hearing all about your grand adventure as sailors.”
“Tim got seasick the first day,” Titus blabbed.
“Titus was homesick the whole time,” Tim shot back.
The girls both giggled at their brothers’ rivalry, but Brigit squeezed the twins’ hands. “Now will you be taking a chance to fill your eyes with the sight before you? Your brothers left as lads, but I’m sure as can be they’ve come back men now. Taller and smarter, too.”
“What about Uncle Duncan?” Julie asked.
“Your uncle.” Brigit stretched out the words to allow herself time to respond. Duncan wondered how she’d get herself out of this. He didn’t have to wait a second more. “Your uncle was already tall and smart before he left.”
“Let me tell you how smart,” Tim chimed in. “Wait until you hear about when we were at the—”
“We can all wait,” Duncan cut in. Brigit rated as one of the most clever women he’d ever met. She weighed her words carefully around the children, and that discretion rated as a fine quality indeed.
“It won’t take me long to tell the story—” Tim protested.
“ ’Tis Phillip’s birthday.” Duncan put the slightest bit of pressure on his horse’s side to keep him from dancing and bumping hindquarters with Tim’s mount. “We need to go stable these mounts so we can celebrate Phillip’s special accomplishment, too.”
“What ’complishment?” June asked.
“He got older.” Duncan nodded his head to give weight to his ridiculous comment. “It won’t be many years ere he’s taking to sea, too.”
❧
Brigit wanted to go hide in the kitchen and help Cook. One look at Duncan let her know she hadn’t been exaggerating how handsome he was when she thought of him. He looked so manly, with his brown, caped greatcoat flying behind him as he’d ridden up, and his roguish smile and deep voice gave her the shivers. She might very well make a fool of herself if she didn’t mind her actions. The last thing she wanted was to lose her job because she flirted with a member of the family she was supposed to be serving. I thought Trudy acted like a lovesick puppy, and here I am, twice as bad.
She and the twins were supposed to greet the birthday party guests, so she’d been out on the veranda, planning on welcoming a dozen or more rowdy little boys. Brigit had seen a trio on horses in the distance and expected they were more guests. She’d felt her heart lurch when she recognized who the handsome young man was, riding between the two youngsters. Duncan had come back.
Brigit promised herself she’d keep her distance from Duncan. What with all the guests, that ought to be an easy thing to do. She figured the last of the guests must have arrived, so she went back inside with the twins.
Miss Emily believed in simple, honest fun. Instead of setting up several parlor games, she’d specified that Phillip’s guests were to come in warm play clothes. With everyone assembled, she turned them loose in the back. Soon they were making snowmen and sledding down the hill.
The maids and the stablemen stayed out on the lawn, overseeing the children’s safety. Brigit soon gathered up some of the children and lined them up to join her in a game of tug-o-war. Duncan didn’t stay in the house with the adults; he’d come outside, too. Phillip shouted with glee, and Duncan eyed the rope and the boys.
“I want to be on your team,” Phillip said.
Duncan strode over and had his nephew flex his biceps. He tested the little arms and nodded. “You’re stronger. I think you and your friends should pull against me.” He looked at Brigit and added, “And her. Just the two of us against all of you mighty little men. What say you?”
“Aye!” Phillip hadn’t answered alone. His friends all chimed in with him.
As they prepared to tug, Brigit stood in front of Duncan and warned, “You made a bad decision. You won’t be getting much from a weakling like me.”
“You’ll put your heart into it. That’ll make us winners.”
He turned out to be right on the first match. On the second, Brigit couldn’t dig her heels into the earth well enough. Her boots slid, and her back knocked Duncan down, and she fell over him—or had he let go and caught her so she wouldn’t fall? She couldn’t tell. The very thought that he’d be so chivalrous made her heart patter. She scrambled to her feet.
Duncan rose. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
Many of the little boys gravitated toward the strapping man, much to Brigit’s relief. It let her scoot farther away. In no time at all, “Captain Duncan” had the “crew” of youngsters making forts from hay bales and ice blocks. It made for a glorious mess.
“Brigit!”
She turned when he called her name. White exploded all around her. Duncan stuck his hands in his coat pockets, looked up at the sky, and started to whistle as if he were innocent as a babe.
“Unca Duncan got you!” Phillip shouted from inside the snow fort. “He made a snowball by chipping an ice block.”
“That was a sneaky thing to do,” Brigit protested.
“You know what else is sneaky?” Phillip grinned at her. “He made me one for my birthday!” Phillip threw that snowball at her, but it fell short.
“I’m needing soldiers and warriors,” Brigit called out. “Duncan O’Brien just declared war, and Phillip is in his camp. Who’s going to stand by me?”
“We can play Capture the Flag!” someone shouted.
In no time at all, an epic “battle” ensued. In the midst of it, Duncan charged across the yard, vaulted over Brigit’s melting fort, and tossed her over his brawny shoulder. He plowed through the broken-down bales of hay and headed back to his side. “I’ve got the princess! I captured her. We win!”
The children went wild, and the adults cheered.
Breathless—more from his contact than from being carried over his shoulder—Brigit couldn’t say a word. He stopped and set her down next to his team’s fort. Standing like Colossus with his hands on his hips, he asked loudly, “So what say you now, my raven-haired maiden?”
Oh! I’d have been just as happy for him to carry me away. If I stand here, I’m going to make a fool of myself. I can’t let him know I have tender feelings for him. “I’m not a flag!”
“But you’re holding your team’s,” he pointed out. “And I got you.”
Brigit grabbed the scrap of red cloth someone draped over Duncan’s fort. “But you let go, and I have your flag now! You counted your chickens a minute too soon.”
He looked at her and nodded slowly. “We both did.”
“We did?” She sucked in a sharp breath and squealed as a chunk of ice slithered across the back of her neck.
Duncan swept both flags from her hands and chortled. “Well done, Phillip.”
Several of the children cheered and clung to Duncan, and his laughter rang out. The man loved children. Aye, and they adored him back.
Even after the party ended and the house quieted down, Duncan sat on the floor and voiced his admiration for the gifts Phillip received. Brigit gladly finished picking up the last of the mess and hastened out of Duncan’s presence. He’d kept slanting her glances she couldn’t interpret. Lord, I don’t understand why he’s giving me those looks. Has he guessed that I hold feelings for him? What am I to do?
Twelve
The first rays of sun shimmered on the dewy lawn. Brigit looked out her window and touched the ice cold pane. Another day. “Lord, be with me today. Keep me strong and give me wisdom to behave as Your daughter.”
After washing up, Brigit donned one of her blue wool gowns and brushed her hair until it crackled. Her fingers fumbled with the hairpins as she recalled what Duncan called her yesterday. My raven-haired maiden.
The man was a rascal. That he was. He’d acted like an overgrown boy. She refused to give him another thought. All it did was rob her of her peace and sanity. Brigit savagely stabbed one last pin in place. On days like this, she reconsidered her opinion of Miss Emily’s no-cap policy. Wearing a cap might well have merit. In fact, Brigit thought she’d vote for a complete night-styled mob cap if given the chance. Wouldn’t that be just perfect? Then Duncan couldn’t say a thing about her hair. He’d never see it.
She dropped her buttonhook and had to get down on her hands and knees to fish it out from beneath her bed. After she used it to fasten her ankle boots, Brigit frowned at the bed. She’d mussed up the counterpane. That wouldn’t do. No matter that another soul wouldn’t know. She’d know, and that was reason enough to flick it back into order. Miss Emily provided individual rooms for the maids, and the appointments in them far exceeded what a girl in service might ever dream.
Aye, and I’ll be in service until I’m no longer a raven-haired girl, but a gray-haired old woman, she thought as she closed the door and headed down the stairs. Those silly feelings I thought I had for Duncan? Well, they were just a momentary weakness—nothing more. I’ll keep away from him until I regain my balance. Now there’s a bonny plan—full of good sense. She sighed. If it is such a great plan, why does it make me miserable?
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