It seemed as if it had taken forever to traverse the maze of corridors and stairways of Rathcannon. But in a heartbeat, Mrs. Brindle had swept Norah into the mysterious Blue Room, enthroning her before a freshly started fire, with a hartshorn pillow at her back and a heartening cup of tea warming her hands.
The irrepressible Rose and three other lively maids rushed about, spreading exquisite sheets on the four-poster bed, dashing blue-velvet draperies back from windows that hadn’t been opened in so many years that their frames were warped shut.
But even if they could have been thrown open, Norah doubted even the sweet-smelling Irish breezes could drive back the mustiness that thickened the air in the chamber, or the shadows that seemed to press themselves into the painted wallpaper and huddle in the corners. Shadows that seemed to lodge cold and dismal in Norah’s own breast.
As a child, she’d been tormented by the oddest notion that at night her stepfather had torn away the floor outside Norah’s room, so that if she set foot beyond that door to seek her mother she would plunge into a black abyss, filled with snarling monsters.
She’d told herself a hundred times to go, to open the door. Certain that if she raced very fast across the chasm, she’d be able to reach the other side and find her mother again.
Of course, she had never dared and had spent the solitary nights trembling beneath the coverlets, listening for the scritch-scratching of the monsters’ claws and the soft, hungry growls of their stomachs.
Tonight she felt as if she had finally dared the chasm, outwitted the monsters, only to find herself at the edge of an even deeper chasm, populated with monsters far fiercer than the ones she had faced before. And there was no way she could turn back.
If only she had realized it before it was too late.
“Miss Linton.” The sound of a voice at her shoulder made Norah start, shaken from her memories. The redoubtable Mrs. Brindle patted her hand. “I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear, but I thought it best to warn you that Sir Aidan likes his dinner promptly at six.”
The idea of descending those stairs again to confront Aidan Kane was more than Norah could endure. If there was a God, she would be able to creep away from Rathcannon without ever having to look on his face again.
“I don’t think I could eat a bite. I’m very tired. I think I will just go to bed.”
“And so you shall, lamb, if that is what you want. And if either of those two miscreants dares disturb you, they shall answer to Maude Brindle, they shall. Of course, if it’s the master’s temper you fear, well, you needn’t. Got the fury of the Irish in him, true enough, but he blazes up in a right spectacular show and then it burns itself out.”
The woman patted her hand. “If you’d like to have a comfortable chat later, Miss Norah, I’m a good listener. Lord knows, I’ve had enough practice with Miss Cassandra. She can out-chatter even her mama at that age.” Mrs. Brindle stopped, just a tinge of pink on her cheekbones. “But here now! I’m being as tiresome as can be. You say you need some rest, and I chatter the ears right off you, instead of tucking you up nice and cozy. Why don’t you let me play maid to you, get you out of these things.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Norah interrupted hastily. “I can manage on my own.”
Shrewd blue eyes seemed to peel away Norah’s protective layers of pride and stubbornness, probing to places that were raw. “From the look of you, you’ve been managing on your own far too long already.”
With that, Mrs. Brindle swept out of the room, shooing the other servants before her like a nettlesome brood hen. Norah heard the click of the latch, and with a sign of relief, she allowed her shoulders to sag.
“Oh, lord,” she whispered, “how has everything gone so wrong?”
She let her lashes drift shut as the memories flooded through her, carrying her back to the London shore, a sky churning with storm clouds, a heart raw with dreams.
Sea spray. It stung her nose, bit color into her cheeks, while wild anticipation mingled with wariness in Norah’s heart. Her fingers trembled as she clutched at her reticule, her dilapidated trunk beside her.
She was the only passenger waiting alone; the others, from the lowliest sailor to the most exalted grande dame, were lost in throngs of well-wishers, drowning in hugs, words of love and caution.
It wasn’t as if Norah had expected anyone to see her off this morn. Her mother had been stricken with a bout of hysterics, her stepfather a study in grim satisfaction, sending her off to a future he hoped would prove to be a fitting punishment for the ungrateful child he’d been saddled with these many years.
Norah tried to tell herself it didn’t matter that no one would care if she tumbled from the edge of the earth the way the ancient sailors had believed.
But as she stood with rain spattering her bedraggled cloak, her hands trembling as they straightened the brim of a much-abused bonnet, a wrenching sense of loneliness shivered through her, blending with the tiniest sliver of dread that this mad plunge into Ireland might be just another disappointment, when she had already endured far too many.
She caught her lip between her teeth, wishing for just a moment that she had someone else to lean on. But showers of embraces, tender farewells were not for Norah Linton. She should have learned that long ago.
“Norah?”
The sound of her name made her jump, and she spun around to see the slender figure of a man limping toward her from a sleek black coach. He was hatless, and his golden hair clung damply about his cheeks. His greatcoat was all but hidden by a mountain of parcels caught in his arms. He was the most welcome sight Norah had ever seen.
“Richard!” Norah called out to her stepbrother, tears of gratitude and alarm nipping at her eyelids. “You shouldn’t have come!”
“You think I would send my baby sister off to the wilds of Ireland without saying goodbye?” Richard asked breathlessly, ducking beneath the shelter of the eaves.
“But your father. If he ever found out that you had dared—”
“Defy him?” Even in the flickering light of the lantern suspended from an iron hook in the eaves, Norah could see her stepbrother’s handsome features darken. “Devil take the coldhearted: bastard! Would God I could fling his ultimatums back in his face and call him what he is—a villain, an arrogant tyrant who dared condemn you to this.”
“He didn’t condemn me to anything. I chose this fate. Willingly. Thanks to your kindness.”
“Chose marriage? To some stranger in that godforsaken wastela—” He broke off, his jaw knotting as he dumped his bundle of parcels atop her trunk. “I curse my own weakness, that I could not come up with a better way to aid you. When I think of my father’s cruelty, I could—”
“No, Richard. You mustn’t anger him any further. You’ve already risked far too much on my account. No matter what awaits me in Ireland, I will be far happier than I would have been here in England.”
“I don’t doubt that! What Father did was abominable! Trying to marry you off to a pimple-faced cub, seven years your junior! I swear I could have called the sop-nosed brat out myself, the way he attempted to paw you at Filderland’s soiree!”
“But you didn’t call him out, Richard. You did something so much more helpful. You helped to find me a way to escape forever. Escape your father and Percival Witherspoon.”
“By offering you up to some Irishman like a virgin sacrifice? Sometimes I curse myself for even bringing that infernal letter to you. It’s possible this man will be as bad as either of them.” Richard raked impeccably gloved fingers through his hair. “It’s possible he’ll be worse.”
Norah tried to muster a smile. “And it’s possible that he will be everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Perhaps you are sending me into the arms of my own true love.”
Richard looked at her as if he wished very much it were so. “I just don’t want you hurt anymore, Norah.”
Her heart squeezed at his concern, astonished by the man who had of late been peeking past her brother’s spoiled fac
ade. Richard, as shallow as a child’s footprint filled with new rain. Whoever would have dreamed that he could shine so brightly? Her deepest regret was that this closeness between them had come so late, when she was leaving.
She reached out impulsively, taking her stepbrother’s hand. “It will be all right. I’m not a foolish chit with her head stuffed full of happily ever afters,” Norah lied. “The reality of my marriage will probably be like all others, somewhere between perfect bliss and Armageddon. Contentment is all anyone can truly hope for.” Norah turned her face away from the light, trying to hide from her stepbrother’s eyes her hopes for her future. Her gaze alighted on the parcels mounded on her trunk.
“What on earth are these?” she queried, overjoyed to have something to focus his attention on other than her upcoming marriage.
Richard started, as if he’d forgotten, then he beamed at her. “I thought that a bride should have a trousseau.”
Tears spilled from Norah’s eyes, hot and fast and unexpected. “A trousseau?” she echoed, disbelieving.
“I know that Father said he’d not buy you so much as a handkerchief if you went through with this mad plan. And the clothing you have—well…” He squirmed, a little uncomfortable. “I have eyes. I’ve seen how drab and threadbare your things have grown. I just thought that if you insist on running off to marry your Irishman, the first time he sets eyes on you, you should steal his breath away.”
“Oh, Richard, as if I ever could! I’ve never been a beauty, but…” How had he known the secret tears she had shed over her trunk, when there was no one to see? How had he discovered how disheartened she had been as she attempted to mend frayed seams and replace faded ribbons?
Guilt made her cheeks burn as she remembered how often she’d thought Richard was spoiled and self-absorbed, unable to see the misery of others because he was too engrossed in indulging his own pleasures. No, she’d not waste time in regret, only accept this new Richard with an open heart.
Delighted with his surprise, Richard scooped the largest package from the bottom of the stack, only Norah’s quick movements keeping the other parcels from tumbling to the wooden platform below.
“The first thing we hurl into the rag basket is that—that thing you’re wearing.” He gave her mantle a scornful tug, discarding it. Then, before she could protest, he ripped open the paper wrapping as enthusiastically as a child at Christmas.
The lantern light spilled across a pelisse of Prussian blue trimmed in swansdown, the combination like mountain snow pillowed in the center of a sun-kissed summer sea.
Norah couldn’t speak as her fingers stole out to touch the garment, make certain it was real.
But Richard was already sweeping it about her shoulders. She stood like a moon-struck child as he fastened the exquisite pelisse about her. “There is a bonnet too,” he said, retrieving a confection of blush-colored lace and myrtle blossoms from another box. He settled it on Norah’s curls, his brow furrowing in concentration as he tied the bow beneath her chin.
“Richard, how can I ever thank you?” Norah ran trembling fingers across the cloud-soft down.
He flashed her his most dazzling smile. “Virtue is supposed to be its own reward, is it not? Just go off and bewitch your Irishman, Norah. Your marriage… and happiness will be reward enough for me.”
At that moment, Richard’s coachman and postilion staggered over, hauling a shining new trunk twice the size of Norah’s battered old one.
Norah gasped. “More? Oh, Richard!”
“Mr. Piggle, you may take Miss Linton’s old trunk and dispose of its contents as you will.”
Norah raised a hand to her throat, dismayed. “No! I, oh, I don’t think—I mean, it’s not that I’m not grateful.”
“I’ll brook no argument on this point, sister mine. I know how your devious feminine mind works far too well. You’d want to save the new things—keep them pristine, for who knows what reason, and wind up ‘making do’ with your old ones. I want you to wear the pretties I bought you. Enjoy them.”
“But I—” She started to protest again, but he looked like a small boy she’d deprived of a sweet. She surrendered with a laugh. What else could she do? Especially when he was right? “Abominable boy!” she said. “At least let me take out my treasure box.”
She opened the trunk and removed a hatbox in which she’d tucked her few treasures: one stray earring of a set that had belonged to her great-grandmother and the doll her father had given her the Christmas before he’d died—a doll garbed in refurbished finery to delight a new little girl, the child who would be Norah’s daughter.
There had been few physical demonstrations of affection in Winston Farnsworth’s house, but Norah flung her arms around her stepbrother nonetheless. Her voice caught on a sob. “I shall miss you so much. I cannot believe I’m losing you now, when we’ve finally grown close.”
“It’s dashed unfair, I know. But it’s not as if well never see each other again,” he said, awkwardly patting her on the back. “Why, I’m certain you’ll come to London from time to time. And I shall see to my brotherly duty and make certain that all is well with you. In fact, I have already arranged for a friend of mine to stop by your castle to make certain this Irishman realizes what a treasure I’ve entrusted to him.”
Norah felt blood rush to her cheeks, and she pulled away from him, beseeching her brother. “No! It’s not necessary.” But her dismay only increased as Richard laid his gloved fingertips against her mouth.
“I will be the judge of what is necessary to fulfill my duty where my own sister is concerned. The Honorable Philip Montgomery has already offered to see how you fare.”
“Philip Montgomery?” Norah’s dismay increased a thousandfold. Anyone but him! She had cherished a schoolgirl’s crush on Montgomery since she was fourteen—and she couldn’t count the number of times in the ensuing years the elegant aristocrat had caught her staring at him like a lovesick ninny. “Oh, Richard, please tell me you did not confide the circumstances surrounding my betrothal to Philip Montgomery!”
Richard looked genuinely hurt. “I’m not quite the insensitive dolt people think me! I made your engagement sound quite romantic, as if this Irishman had swept you off your feet. Of course, Montgomery was positively surly when I told him the story. But then, he is suspicious of anyone possessed of a drop of Irish blood. They’ve had an estate near Sligo for two hundred years, and I vow it’s been nothing but agony for them. Ungrateful devils, those Irish. Never appreciative of the lengths we English go to to save them from themselves.”
Norah pressed a hand to her cheek, her skin hot despite the chill of the wind. There had been a time she might have taken some pleasure in Montgomery’s apparent unhappiness over her betrothal, daring to attribute it to some secret flight of passion. But she had long before abandoned any foolish girlish dreams about the handsome aristocrat. Great beauty might overawe a suitor into excusing a meager dowry, or a generous dowry might prove an irresistible ornament to plainness. Norah had never deluded herself that she had either to attract such a matrimonial prize.
“Richard, it will take some time for me to become—become accustomed to my new surroundings. My bridegroom, his daughter. I would rather not have to do so before an audience.”
“I hardly think Montgomery is planning to move into a room beneath the castle stairs.” Richard clasped her hands with an affectionate chuckle. “You cannot spend your entire marriage hiding from former acquaintances. What better way to have news of your happiness carried to the witchy chits who snubbed you?”
“A lovely plan, assuming there is happiness for Mr. Montgomery to carry tales about.” It was the closest she could come to confessing her fears.
“There will be, sweeting. I’m certain of it.” Richard turned as the doorway opened, passengers beginning to file out, bending their bonnets and the brims of their hats to shield their faces from the dampness.
Norah watched the parade of travelers make their way toward the ship, and a sudden
fear of the unknown shivered in her breast. She reached out, grasping Richard’s hand and holding on tight, her gaze sweeping the storm-darkened sky. “The weather. It seems so wild.”
“Yes, but they say that a voyage begun in storm will end in bliss.”
“I’ll be certain to repeat those words of wisdom to the other shipwreck victims when we sink to the bottom of the sea.” Norah gave a strained laugh, but despite her resolve to plunge into her future bravely, she couldn’t help waving one hand toward the sullen sky. “Do you think this is an omen, Richard?”
“No, I think this is a storm. We’ve had them before, you know.”
“Those were someone else’s omens. This one is mine.” Norah worried her lower lip with her teeth. “I don’t know, Richard. I just wish that I had some idea what he is like. This Sir Aidan Kane.”
Richard heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I only know what I found out before I gave you Kane’s letter—and, I might add, I’ve recounted my discoveries to you a dozen times. Aidan Kane is a war hero who saved his entire regiment in some deliciously noble fashion during the Peninsular War. His wife died in a tragic accident. Since then, by all accounts, he’s been a reclusive widower, living at his Irish estate of Rathcannon with his daughter—quite brokenhearted, I daresay. He needs you, Norah.”
He needs you…. Norah had clung to those words, knowing all the while that it was probably the most dangerous of all feminine delusions—the irresistible desire to heal a man whose spirit had been wounded.
Richard’s soft laugh jarred her from her thoughts. “Of course, unless you hustle aboard that ship, you may never be wed at all.”
Norah cast a helpless glance toward the ship, the last of the passengers trailing up the plank that led to it. Richard called out to two sailors nearby.
Lords of Ireland II Page 77
