He narrowed his gaze. “It’s a good position. Why wouldn’t you want it?”
“Because I won’t keep employment meant to control me behavior, Lucas Ridgely. I liked me job in the weaving room. It’s good pay for good work.”
“But I’m paying you twice the amount to stay at the house!”
“Exactly!” she snapped. “You’re paying me, aren’t ye? It’s ye, and not your aunt that’s seeing to me wages. Like I said, I won’t be still and see the injustice of that man’s behavior going unpunished.”
“Vicious little wench, aren’t you?” he said tightly, incensed by her stubbornness.
“If Mathew Phelps is allowed to remain with all those innocent women workers, then it’ll be because of ye! And then I can honestly say that you’re no better than he is!”
Angry with each other, man and woman said nothing more as they walked back to Patty’s, and Lucas deposited Meghan at the door. Only then did Lucas speak, and it was only to wish her a crisp good night.
Inside Patty’s foyer, Meghan felt shaken and slightly off balance. She was free of Rafferty and she’d just exploded in anger, risking her job—her only source of survival. Lucas had been furious with her when he’d left, but then she was mad that he didn’t believe what was happening between Phelps and the workers at the mill! It was hard for her to accept that she’d actually allowed Lucas to kiss her! Why wouldn’t he accept her word?
She thought back over their conversation. Lucas had listened intently to her concerns about work … as if he cared. He had kissed her, but he hadn’t insulted her by asking her to be his mistress, although he’d learned that she had broken off her betrothal to Rafferty.
Yet, she’d accused him of being like Phelps. Her mouth tightened. He was like Phelps! She hadn’t lied, and Lucas knew it! She had a right to be angry! If Lucas allowed that lecherous man to stay at the mill, then as far as she was concerned, Lucas was as guilty of wrongdoing as Mathew Phelps!
Twenty-five
A week had passed since her disagreement with Lucas. Every day she’d hoped he would come to the sewing room to tell her that he was wrong and had fired Mathew Phelps, but he’d stayed away. If he had learned the truth and done something about it, he was still too angry with her to let her know. None of the women at Patty’s had been able to tell her a thing. Rumor had it that some of the women were being called down to George Simmons’s office, but no one on the other floors knew whether or not that was true. Then, she heard from one of Mrs. Gibbons’s housemaids that Lucas Ridgely had left Gibbons Mill to return home to Kent County.
Meghan’s anger faded as her spirits plummeted. I should be glad he’s gone. I could never have a future with him, she thought.
The sewing room seemed particularly hot and close to Meghan this day. She had trouble breathing through her nose, and her chest felt tight as she pulled in each lungful of air. By the end of the day, her head hurt so badly that she begged Patty’s forgiveness for avoiding supper and went directly upstairs to bed.
“Oh, the poor dear,” Priscilla exclaimed after Patty had told those at the supper table that Meghan wasn’t feeling well.
Meghan’s roommate pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ll check on her.”
“Eat first, Betsy,” Patty said. “You must keep up your own strength. Meghan will be all right for another half hour.” She ladled out a bowl of soup and set it before the young woman. “Perhaps I should speak to Mrs. Gibbons,” she murmured as she dipped the curved spoon into the porcelain tureen.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Susan said. “Meghan won’t thank you for it. She’s proud, and she needs the money. If she’s too sick to work, she’ll tell the woman herself.”
“I suppose you’re right,” Patty said with a sigh after hearing the others agree.
Betsy smiled. “Of course, we’re right.”
“You can’t help but worry about her, though,” Susan said. “She hasn’t been the same since she broke her engagement.”
Priscilla shuddered. “If that man comes back to this house one more time, I’ll … box his ears!”
“We’ve managed to put him off twice already. We’ll handle him again if we need to,” Patty said.
Betsy snorted. “The man must be mad to think that Meghan will take him back … even if she hadn’t realized that she didn’t love him.”
“Love never entered into her relationship with Rafferty,” Susan said with conviction. “She wanted a man she could trust, and she thought she could trust her father’s best friend.”
“Well, he proved her wrong, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did, Betsy,” Patty agreed, and then she added softly, “Thank God.”
“Well, the next time he comes I think we should let him see her. Perhaps he’ll leave her alone after she looks him in the eye and tells him to go to hell.”
“James!” his mother said.
“I think he’s right,” Susan said. “She left the store so quickly that day that they’ve never actually exchanged words.”
By the next day, Meghan felt worse instead of better. The throbbing in her head had intensified, and the ache was centered behind each eye. Her limbs were stiff and sore. The sewing room spun each time she made a sudden move. She was gasping and dizzy when she stumbled outside at midday for a breath of air.
She went home to Patty’s for a brief period of rest, and the woman exclaimed with concern as Meghan entered the house and stood swaying on he feet, her face white.
“You must lie down, Meghan,” she said. “I’ll send James to speak with Mrs. Johnson.”
“No,” Meghan protested as she plopped down onto a kitchen chair. Mrs. Johnson was the head housekeeper at the Gibbons’s residence, and the woman had never taken a liking to Meghan. It was only after a comment from Mrs. Riker that Meghan understood why. Mrs. Johnson didn’t like the Irish. When asked why, Mrs. Riker didn’t have an answer, but it became clear to Meghan in her dealings with the housekeeper that the cook was right. Meghan had worked hard to give the woman no cause to complain. And she wouldn’t start now. “I’ll finish the day,” she insisted. “I’m sure I’ll feel better after a rest.”
Patty’s mouth formed a frown, but Meghan couldn’t summon the energy to care about her landlady’s displeasure.
Meghan had some time before she had to go back to work—one of the benefits of working at the big house. After forcing down a bowl of broth at Patty’sinsistence, she went upstairs to her room to lie down for a while.
“Wake me in an hour please,” she asked Patty. She lay on her bed and promptly fell asleep.
Patty spoke to her son after dinner. “I want you to go tell Mrs. Riker—not Mrs. Johnson—that Meghan is too ill to come back to work.”
“But Ma—”
“James,” she scolded. “Do it!”
“Yes’m,” he murmured, and then he left to obey his mother.
“She’ll be angry,” Betsy said, coming up behind Patty as the woman watched her son run across the road.
“I know,” Patty replied softly, “but it’s for her own good.” She met the other woman’s gaze. “It’s like she doesn’t care if she lives or dies.”
“Ah, no, Patty,” Betsy said, shaking her head. “Meghan cares. She’s just tired and ill … and unhappy.”
It was Mrs. Gibbons herself who responded to James’s message. Patty answered the knock, and her eyes widened as she saw who stood at her front door. “Mrs. Gibbons!”
“How’s Meghan?” the woman asked, accepting Patty’s invitation to enter. “I happened to be in the kitchen when your son came in to say that Meghan’s sick.”
“Meghan’s sleeping. I’m afraid she’s very ill.” Patty took the woman into the parlor and gestured politely for her to sit in a comfortable armchair. She sat across from her and shifted uncomfortably. “Mrs. Gibbons, Meghan doesn’t know I sent James. She wanted to return to work, but I—ah—well, she’s too sick!”
Mrs. Gibbons looked outraged. “Why, of course, she shou
ldn’t be working if she’s ill. I’d planned to speakwith her this afternoon anyway.” She leaned forward in the chair. “I’d like to make Meghan’s position in the house a permanent one …”
“You want Meghan to continue to work at the house?” Patty asked.
Flora Gibbons nodded. “She’ll get an increase of wages, of course. I know she enjoyed working in the weaving room, but—well, I could really use her to make clothes for the servants. If she wants, I’ll see that she has her own loom at the house. Do you think you can convince her to stay?”
Patty grinned. “I’ll do what I can,” she promised. “And my name’s Patty.”
“Flora,” the woman offered her the same courtesy. She extended her hand. “Thank you, Patty,” she said as Patty accepted the handshake.
“No, Flora. It’s I who thanks you … for Meghan.”
When Meghan woke up, it was dark outside, and the attic bedchamber was lit by the soft glow of a burning oil lamp. Realizing that it was late, she sprang to sit upright, her heart pounding.
“Betsy,” she gasped as she caught sight of her friend seated on the other bed, “why did no one wake me?” Her head swam, and she cupped it until it stopped reeling.
“There was no need,” Betsy said with sympathy. “You’ve lost your job at the mill.”
“Oh, God!” Meghan cried. The worse had happened, she thought, just as she’d feared. “What am I to do?”
Betsy rose from her bed and sat down on the edge of Meghan’s. “Don’t fret, Meghan. It’s all right.”
Meghan focused her tear-filled eyes on her roommate and friend. “Me money won’t last forever. What happened? Did Mr. Simmons fire me?”
“Mrs. Gibbons did.”
Meghan made a choked sound and started to cry. She felt miserable. Everything in her world had gone wrong. Rafferty … Lucas … and now she’d lost her employment again. “Oh, Da,” she sobbed. “I’ve done it now!” She missed her father fiercely. She’d promised not to cry, but she couldn’t stop the tears.
“Meghan. Meghan, listen to me!”
She felt Betsy’s arms surround her, and she vaguely heard her friend urging her to listen, but Meghan couldn’t stop crying. How could she find other employment when she felt ill? And why did she feel so sick?
“Meghan, you’re not to worry—do you hear me!”
Betsy’s anxious tone penetrated past Meghan’s misery. Meghan blinked several times and saw the tension in her friend’s face.
“Meg, you’re still employed.” Betsy had enunciated each word loudly and carefully to be understood.
The young Irishwoman sniffed. “I’m still employed?”
Betsy nodded. “Mrs. Gibbons made your position as seamstress permanent.”
“Her seamstress?” Had she heard correcdy? Mrs. Gibbons wanted her to work in the big house?
“Yes,” her friend assured her. “It’s good employment with good wages, Meg. According to Patty, it’s all Mrs. Gibbons’s idea. She came to ask you herself, but—”
Meghan became alarmed. “Oh, no. Patty told her I was sick? What must she think of me?”
Betsy shook her head as her lips formed a gentle smile. “Meg, she obviously thinks enough of you to want you on her household staff.” She brushed back Meghan’s hair from her wet cheeks. “You’re to start again on Monday.”
“Monday! But that’s six days away!”
“Don’t sound so alarmed. She’s paying your wages while you recover.
Meghan stared at her friend with amazement. “Truly?”
Betsy laughed. “Truly. Oh, and Meg? Did I forget to mention that she’s giving you an increase in pay?”
As the carriage pulled up in front of his aunt’s house, Lucas had the most insane desire to find Meghan. It was late, in the middle of the night, which was why he felt the urge was insane.
His aunt didn’t expect him back from Philadelphia until tomorrow, but once he’d completed his business there, he’d found he wanted desperately to go back to Gibbons Mill. The feeling became so powerful that he finally gave in to it. He roused the livery man where he’d stabled the horse and carriage. Then he paid the fellow and had the vehicle readied for travel.
Lucas thought of the machinery he’d ordered in England and knew his aunt would be pleased. The new roller printer and power loom had arrived safely and would be delivered to Gibbons Mill within the next three days. He had paid the man at the shipping office a great deal of money to see that the equipment was transported safely.
His aunt’s house was dark, and he had to wake up Stephen, the stable boy, who accepted the duty of settling the horse in without complaint. After apologizing for the hour with a generous tip to the young man, Lucas headed toward the house and his room. He paused for a moment to stare down the lane to the house where Meghan ate and slept. Emotion surged through him as he remembered her smile and the way it lit her beautiful blue eyes when she was amused or pleased.
Lucas scowled. She’d had little enough to smile about lately, but he hoped to remedy that. He thought of the extra item he’d purchased while he was away and pictured Meghan’s pleasure when she realized that the sewing machine was hers to keep. She was a talented seamstress by hand; he could imagine what she could do with the newest in modern machinery.
He turned and climbed the porch steps. The door opened as if his aunt’s houseman, Richard, had been waiting for him all along. With another murmured apology for disturbing the servant’s rest, Lucas bade the man good night and then climbed the stairs to his bedchamber.
Lucas’s thoughts returned to Meghan as he began to shed his travel clothes. She could leave Gibbons Mill with her machinery. With her talent and drive, she’d be able to work and live anywhere.
He threw back the bed covers and climbed into bed naked. Pulling up the blankets, he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.
He didn’t want Meghan to go, he thought. He wanted her to stay where he could see her. He wanted to change her mind about being his mistress.
He wanted to love Meghan with his body until he or she got tired of the arrangement. Would he ever tire of her? he wondered. Lucas smiled. He didn’t think he’d ever grow tired of the lovely Irishwoman with a voice like a songbird and eyes the color of a clear summer sky.
The next morning Lucas thought he was dreaming when he was awakened by the sound of Meghan’s voice. He rolled over, tugging the covers over his head, and willed his imaginative mind to stop. Then, he heard her again, and he sat up as he realized that he hadn’t been asleep at all. Meghan was here in the house.
The door to his room burst open suddenly, and she backed into the room, struggling with her arms full of clothing. He started to rise to help and then thought better of it, because his dreams had made him hard and ready for her. The last thing he wanted to do was to frighten or shock her.
A maid entered seconds later, carrying a sewing basket.
“Just put it over there,” Meghan said, unaware of his presence. She faced the other wall … and he wasn’t supposed to be home.
The maid happened to glance toward the bed and gasped softly when she saw him. Lucas flashed her a mischievous grin and held his finger to his lips, instructing her to keep silent.
“Rachel, what’s wrong?” Meghan said without looking up as she sorted through the pile of clothes. “Did I forget something? Cook’s apron perhaps?”
“No, Meghan,” the girl said in a strangled voice. “Mrs. Riker’s apron is there.”
Meghan flashed the young maid a frowning look. “Rachel—”
“I have to go now.” Rachel shoved the sewing box into Meghan’s hand and then glanced toward the hall.
“Oh, oh, of course. I’m sorry to keep ye. I should’ve guessed …” Meghan blushed. Certainly, the girl had work to do, and she’d been keeping her from her duties!
The girl left, and Meghan set the sewing box on the desk next to the garments that needed mending. I’m in Lucas’s bedchamber. She could feel him as surely as if he were home an
d in the same room.
She had chosen this room to work this day, for there was a loose hem on one of his drapes and several of his garments to be mended.
Her gaze caressed the oak desk where she’d laid her work, and she pulled out the chair to begin.
“Still, why did Rachel act so strangely?” Meghan wondered aloud, recalling the girl’s look of fear. “Is there something about his room that scared her?”
“I sincerely hope not,” a deep voice said from behind her.
Meghan spun, and she drew a sharp breath. Lucas Ridgely was in bed, the covers draped about his waist, exposing his bare chest. She dragged her gaze from his nakedness to hurriedly gather her things. “I’m sorry,” she gushed. “I had no idea. Mrs. Gibbons said you weren’t expected until later.”
Heedless of his state of undress, Lucas sprang from the bed and grabbed her arm. “Don’t go.”
Her breath hissed out on a gasp as heat seared through fabric where he held her arm. “Lucas—” She glanced around, saw that he was nude, and spun back with a choked cry. “Please, sir!”
His chuckle vibrated in her ears as he released her to put on some clothes. “All right,” he said after a few minutes. “I’m properly decent.”
Meghan turned and thought that his dressing gown was far too revealing with its clinging silk to be called decent. The gown was as black as his gaze and looked as wicked.
“What are ye doing here?” she asked, looking at anything but the way his garment hung from his broad shoulders or the length of his bared calves beneath the hem.
“I was sleeping.” He looked amused.
“I’m sorry.” Again, she tried to gather her mending; and again, he stopped her.
“How are you, Meghan?” he asked softly. His ebony eyes caressed her warmly, and a shiver ran down the length of her spine.
“I’m better, thank ye for asking,” she said, her heart thumping.
A slight frown settled upon his forehead. “You talk as if you’ve been ill.”
She blushed and looked away. “I have been.” She picked up a shirt and spread it across the pile of clothing, stroking the fabric until she realized that it was his shirt she touched. She released the garment as if stung.
Irish Linen Page 22
