“Your upbringing?”
“Come now, my lord. Surely you have heard the gossip about me? It is well known that until my return last year, I had spent scarce six months in England in the last eighteen years. My father dragged me off to all sorts of foreign climes, which has had an unfortunate effect upon my character. Naturally I am still sometimes confused by the rules of proper society,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.
“I find that difficult to believe,” he said.
She smiled with a sardonic twist to her lips. “In truth, the courts of Europe are far more rigid and straitlaced than we here in England. Why, in Spain a lady is rigidly chaperoned at all times until the day of her wedding. If we were in Spain I could not speak with you this freely unless you were my husband.” She colored for a moment, as if her tongue had run away with her.
“I see.”
“In any case, my foreignness makes a convenient excuse, and one I am loath to give up.”
With nothing better to do, he fetched her a glass of punch. She grimaced, but then drank it.
“Mr. Dunne’s study is just down the hall,” she said. “I am certain he would not mind if you joined him. Or you could slip away, if you have another engagement.”
“And leave you alone? How could I, after you have rescued me again?”
From time to time they heard the poet’s voice rise as he read a particularly dramatic passage. They chatted together until there was a pause in the reading and they were joined by the remainder of Mrs. Dunne’s guests.
Now that his company was no longer required, Kilgarvan prepared to take his leave of Lady Felicity. He wanted to be far away before the second reading commenced.
He was about to take his leave of Lady Felicity when one of the gentlemen who had been speaking with Felicity earlier came up to them.
Dismissing Kilgarvan with a glance, the gentleman spoke directly to Lady Felicity. “Lady Felicity, are you unwell? Surely there could be no other reason for your hasty departure.”
“Not that it is any concern of yours, but I am quite well, thank you,” Lady Felicity said, looking down her nose at the man. “But if I had stayed there a moment longer I was certain that I would be ill.”
“Harrumph,” the man said, clearly not sure how to react.
“I must agree with Lady Felicity,” Kilgarvan said.
The gentleman turned and looked at Kilgarvan. “I should have known it was you who convinced Lady Felicity to commit such a faux pas. An appalling lack of manners, but what else would one expect from an uncouth Irishman?”
From the way he said Irishman, it was clear that the stranger intended it as an epithet. Kilgarvan’s fists clenched, but he forced himself not to give in to his anger. He would not give the fool the satisfaction of knowing that his words had the power to wound.
“On the contrary, the Irish are well known for their appreciation of fine poetry. And as for manners, a gentleman would know better than to intrude where he was not wanted, or to offer insult to another gentleman.”
“Well said,” Lady Felicity added, turning so she stood by his side, so that they presented a unified opposition.
The gentleman looked from one to another. “I see I was wrong to hope for a civil conversation,” he said, not bothering to conceal his sneer.
Four
Felicity could see anger in the set of his jaw, but Lord Kilgarvan said no more, merely watching as the man stalked off.
“Mr. Hackett was most rude,” she said.
“He is not the first.”
Lord Kilgarvan would not meet her eyes. He took a half step as if to move off, but she laid her hand on his arm, forestalling his departure.
“Why do they dislike you so?” she asked, genuinely curious. “It cannot be simply that you are Irish. I have met other Irish peers: the Duke of Leinster, Viscount Southwell; and, of course, the Duke of Wellington is from Ireland, is he not?”
Kilgarvan hesitated so long that she feared he would not reply. Then he drew a breath. “The peers you mention may hold Irish titles, but in their hearts they are English. They come to London for the Season, and send their children to schools in England. Like as not they have homes in England as well as in Ireland, and may set foot on their Irish property only for the sporting season. My family has always lived on our land, with our people. And, of course, my grandfather had the audacity to marry a Catholic girl, a mere commoner. There are many who hold that against us.”
“So why did you come to England when you knew you would be insulted?”
His eyes locked on hers, daring her to remind him of his poverty. “Because I had to. And once I have accomplished my errand, I pray to God that I never have to return.”
She admired his forthrightness. She could see that he was fiercely proud, but he did not make excuses for himself, nor did he try to hide his circumstances. She knew what it was like to be an outsider in London society—always on the fringes, never quite belonging. At least she had her rank and her fortune to smooth her path. Kilgarvan had only a petty earldom and his own strength of character to make his way.
A small bell rang, as Mrs. Dunne summoned those of her guests who had not fled during the intermission to join her for the second part of the poetry recital, but Felicity felt no inclination to join them.
“It seems an awful price to pay for securing your lands. Tell me, is it worth it?”
Kilgarvan looked at her in amazement.
“You would not understand.”
“How can I, unless you give me a chance?”
“The English do not speak of land. They talk of property, as if it were a soulless thing, simply an entry in an account book or a stake to be gambled away on the gaming table. But it is more than that. It is not just the land; it is the people. Those who live there now, and all those who have lived there before me.
“The first FitzDesmond was a Norman knight, given an earldom for his bravery. For hundreds of years the earls of Kilgarvan have cared for their people and defended their lands. And my father’s mother was a MacCarthy, the daughter of the MacCarthy Mor. The people of the valley have known me from my birth, and I know them. How can I let them down? How can I live with myself, knowing that I have not lived up to their expectations?”
“And yet your father squandered his inheritance—”
“My father was a decent gentleman. Just not a wise one,” he said with a bitter twist to his lips. “Kilgarvan was not rich, but neither were we poor. But my father wanted more, not just for himself but for the people. He hoped his improvement schemes would enrich the land, but instead they impoverished him and he was forced to seek a mortgage.”
“Because of your father, your family stands to lose their estates.”
“I know. And in the end he knew, and I think the knowledge killed him.”
“You must hate the land.”
“Hate it? How could I? Kilgarvan is the most beautiful place in the world. Nowhere else are the valleys as green, the lakes and rivers as clear, the people as warm and welcoming. There is nothing I would rather be than the FitzDesmond of Kilgarvan, no finer title than that of a just master and lord. I would do anything to save them…even take an English bride.”
The fierce passion in his voice stirred something in her. There was no doubt of his sincerity. In that moment she envied him with every fiber of her being. She would gladly trade every pound of her inheritance for the certainty that Kilgarvan possessed. Here was a man who knew who he was and where he belonged. She had not known that a person could be so passionate about a place.
She had not known what she wanted until she heard him speak. And now she knew that what she wanted more than anything on earth was to share the sense of belonging that he had.
“Marry me,” she said without thinking.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Marry me,” she repeated, putting all the recklessness that she had inherited from her father into that one simple phrase.
“Are you mad?” he shouted, so loudly
that she saw heads turn in the salon.
“You are the one whose wits have gone begging,” she said, angry that he had rejected her offer so quickly out of hand. “Did you not just say that you were prepared to do anything to save your land?”
He raked one hand through his hair. “You must be mad, or jesting,” he said. “And I am not prepared to be the butt of your joke.”
“I assure you I am in deadly earnest.” She felt giddy with the knowledge of the risk she was taking, and at the same time felt a strange pleasure in seeing how completely she had thrown him off balance. Kilgarvan, who had never appeared at a loss for words, now gaped at her like a raw schoolboy.
“You cannot be serious.”
She gathered her thoughts. She could not tell him her true reason. How could she say that she had fallen in love with a place that she had never seen? She would do better to stick to practical reasons that he would understand. “Why not? We are of similar rank, and both of an age to be married. Our reputations are good, and you are handsome, and I am not precisely an antidote.”
She had hoped he would smile, but he still appeared grim. “Come now, there is no need to be modest. You know full well that you are considered one of the toasts of the Season.”
“A title that has as much to do with my inheritance as it does my features,” she said sharply.
“And that is another matter. Why would the richest catch of the Season want to marry an undistinguished Irish earl?” He surveyed her figure with uncomfortable frankness, his eyes lingering at her waist. “Could it be that you have some reason for wishing a hasty marriage? I assure you I am no fool, and will not accept a wife who comes to me carrying another man’s bastard.”
How dared he! She raised one arm to slap him for his effrontery, but he caught and held her wrist.
“If you think so little of me, then I withdraw my offer,” she said.
He lowered her hand but did not release her wrist. His thumb traced idle patterns against the back of her hand, causing her pulse to race.
“I apologize,” he said. “But you must admit your offer is most unexpected.”
She nodded, her anger fading as she realized that what seemed so right and logical to her must seem like a mad start to him.
“Just tell me this,” she said. “We are friends, are we not?”
“Yes, but—”
She cut him off, unwilling to hear the qualifications. “Then let go of your stubbornness, and tell me plainly. If you must marry, why not a friend? Or have you formed an infatuation for Miss Sawyer?”
Kilgarvan grimaced. “I bow to your logic,” he said.
Her excitement swirled, along with a rising tide of panic as she realized just what she had done. She had just committed herself to marry a man, someone she realized she hardly knew at all. A proper English miss would have never dreamed of putting herself forward in such a way. But deep inside, Felicity knew that she was taking the right course.
“You do not have to answer me tonight,” she said. “But if you decide to accept my offer, you may call on me at my uncle’s house in Grosvenor Square.”
“His grace is unlikely to look kindly on me as a suitor,” Kilgarvan said, revealing that he was taking her offer seriously.
“Nonsense,” Felicity said firmly. “The match is a respectable one, and my uncle will be grateful to have me off his hands. You will be doing him a favor by taking me out of London and putting a few hundred miles between myself and his precious daughters.”
Gerald could not help thinking that it must all be some strange dream, even as he mounted the steps of the Duke of Rutland’s town house in Grosvenor Square. It seemed impossible that Lady Felicity, the prime catch of the Season, had proposed to him. Half-convinced that he had dreamed this, or that it was all some elaborate jest, he had not even confided in his friend Dennis.
As he mounted the steps he felt himself break into a sweat, which he knew came more from nervousness than the heat of the June sun.
A gleaming brass knocker in the shape of a lion glared at from the center of the door, but before he had a chance to use it, the door swung open, revealing a footman.
He resisted the cowardly urge to turn away, and stepped inside. Inside stood another footman, a senior servant, judging by his livery. Gerald handed his hat and gloves to the first footman and then turned to announce his errand.
“Pray inform the Duke of Rutland that Lord Kilgarvan wishes a moment of his time.”
“His grace is expecting you,” the senior footman replied. “If you will follow me?”
His stomach tightened. So last night had not been a dream, after all.
Kilgarvan followed the footman up a flight of stairs and then down a corridor. At the end of the corridor the footman paused and knocked on the door.
“Come in,” a voice called.
The footman opened the door, then bowed to indicate that Kilgarvan should enter. Standing just inside the doorway the footman announced, “Lord Kilgarvan to see his grace.”
The Duke of Rutland nodded, and the footman withdrew, shutting the door behind him.
Kilgarvan glanced around the duke’s study, which this room plainly was. Windows on two sides filled the room with sunshine, illuminating the darkly paneled bookcases and the deep mahogany of the duke’s desk. Two high-backed chairs were positioned in front of an unlit fireplace.
The duke seemed out of place in the room. A middle-aged man, he had the beefy red face and rotund figure that fit the popular conception of a country squire, but seemed ill-suited for one of the highest noblemen in the land.
There were two chairs in front of the duke’s desk, but Kilgarvan was damned if he was going to sit in one of them like some tradesman come for an interview.
“Thank you for seeing me,” Kilgarvan said, advancing with a bow.
The duke looked him over, his eyes sharp and knowing beneath impossibly bushy eyebrows. He nodded, as if making his mind up about something.
“So you are the Earl of Kilgarvan,” he remarked, rising from his seat. He came out from behind the desk and extended his hand. “Not at all what I expected, from my niece’s description.”
Kilgarvan shook the duke’s hand, vaguely surprised by the courteous gesture. He wondered what Felicity had told her uncle about him.
“Come, sit,” the duke said, indicating the chairs in front of the fireplace. “There’s brandy on the table over there, if you’d care for a glass.”
He did not want brandy, although if the duke had offered a jug of Irish whiskey, Kilgarvan would have been hard-pressed to refuse.
“Thank you, but no,” he said. He waited until the duke had taken his seat, and then sat down.
“May I assume that Lady Felicity has spoken to you?”
“Yes,” the duke said with a sigh. “Came to me this morning, she did, and said that you were to be calling to ask for my permission to marry her.”
“Er, yes.”
“Havey-cavey business this. Don’t suppose it occurred to you to ask me first?”
Actually, no. How could it have? Lady Felicity had proposed to him. But he could hardly tell her uncle that his niece had committed such a shocking breach of manners.
“Things happened quite suddenly,” he said, striving for diplomacy.
“So tell me, what do you have to offer my niece?”
It was a question that had kept him awake all night. What did he have to offer Lady Felicity? It was not that he doubted his own worth. In truth he knew himself equal to any English gentleman. But worth was measured differently here than it was at home, and he knew that by the standards of English society, his marriage to Lady Felicity would be seen as an unequal match.
“I will admit I have little to offer, save a similarity of minds and temperament. And, of course, the lands of Kilgarvan, along with a title that has been borne with honor for over six centuries.”
“Not to mention a crippling load of debts,” his grace observed.
He flushed. “I am certain Y
our Grace is well aware of my circumstances. Yes, there are debts, but once they are cleared, and with the proper investments, the land can be made to prosper again.”
It galled him to have to admit to his relative poverty. He hated having to play the part of a beggar. He knew that if he had a dozen years he could bring the estate back to prosperity without the need for a fat dowry. But he did not have a dozen years or even a dozen months. He had less than three months before Lord Cranfield called in his mortgages, and the land would be lost.
“Humph,” the duke said. “Felicity said as much when she told me of your suit. Still, she could look higher for a husband, even with her odd starts. I see no reason for her to choose so quickly.”
“If Your Grace feels he must forbid the match, I would, of course, abide by your wishes.” A small part of Kilgarvan hoped that his grace would indeed forbid the match. This whole situation made him uncomfortable. He felt out of control, and it was not a feeling he relished.
The duke regarded him sharply, and then smiled for the first time. “I believe you would, though most would call you a fool. But Felicity? If I forbid her, it would only make her more determined. No doubt she would convince you to take her to Gretna Green, and then where would we be? No, no, better to let her have her way than to have her disgrace herself with a runaway match.”
“Your Grace knows best.”
“Besides, she will reach her majority in a few months, and then she can do as she pleases. Not that she hasn’t always done so.” The duke rubbed his hands together. “I must tell you, I will be relieved when she is no longer my responsibility. You never know what she is going to do next. Kept my wife on pins and needles—I tell you that. Always worrying about what strange notion would come into the girl’s mind, and what influence she was having on our daughters. No, no, I will be glad to be rid of that.”
“I have never known Lady Felicity to behave other than with perfect propriety,” Kilgarvan said, rising to her defense. It was nearly the truth, if one overlooked a few trifling matters, such as her being the one to propose the match.
The Irish Earl Page 4
