Thirty
“Where is she?” Lucas said as he burst into the kitchen. He caught Mrs. Riker’s gaze. “Where’s Meghan?”
“Why, I don’t know, Lucas,” the cook replied. “I haven’t seen the girl since first thing this morning, when she told me she was going to visit Mari Bright.”
“Mari Bright?” Panic had swelled within his breast moments ago when he’d returned to the house and found Meghan absent. No one had seemed to know where she’d gone.
“She’s one of my employees,” Aunt Flora said as she entered the room during the last part of the conversation. “Why do you need Mari?”
“He’s looking for Meghan,” Mrs. Riker said. “I told him she’d left to see Mari, but that was early this morning. I’m sure she should be back by now.”
Lucas caught his aunt’s sly look as he passed her to exit the room. “I’ll check the mill then.”
“Lucas!” his aunt called.
He froze and turned, expecting to see her censure. “Yes?”
“Try the Smiths, two houses down from Patty’s. She may have gone there to see Susan. Although she rooms with Betsy, I’ve noticed that Meghan and Susan are close.”
Lucas raised his eyebrows over the fact that his aunt knew so much about the woman who was only her seamstress.
And then he knew. His aunt had guessed about his feelings for the young Irishwoman and had learned all she could about Lucas’s choice.
“She’s been through a great deal,” Aunt Flora said in a quiet voice.
He nodded. “I … care for her.”
“So she’s the one.” Was that a disapproving frown that touched Aunt Flora’s lips for just the briefest second? She stared at him. “Lucas, we need to discuss this later,” she said.
“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said. Anxious to find Meghan and ask her to be his wife, Lucas then left his aunt abruptly.
He found Susan easily enough at the Smiths, just where his aunt had said. The young woman seemed surprised that Lucas hadn’t passed Meghan on his way, because the Irishwoman had just left her.
“Is she all right? Do you know where she went?”
Susan shook her head. “I thought she was going back to the big house. She seemed upset when she left, but she wouldn’t tell me why,” she said, her glance evading his.
“Susan, please—” he pleaded. “I’m worried about her.”
“She and I were talking about the fire,” she said, “and I mentioned how Priscilla had been through a lot lately. First at the mill and then the fire.”
“At the mill?” he asked.
The young woman nodded. “With Phelps. He’s bothered her just like he had Meghan.”
Lucas felt his chest tighten. “Why didn’t she come forward?”
Susan gave him a look. “Because Priscilla is petrified of him, that’s why!”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “But why would Meghan become upset?”
“It wasn’t learning about Priscilla and Phelps that bothered her,” she began. “It was hearing from Mari Bright that Mathew Phelps was still working at the mill. Only he’d been moved down to the second floor.” She met his gaze with a look of blame.
“We couldn’t fire him,” he said. “No one would come forward; we had no proof.”
Lucas realized that Meghan wouldn’t only be hurt but she’d be angry to learn about Phelps that way. He was relieved that Meghan was still here, but for how long he had no idea.
“I think Meghan went that way.” Susan pointed in a different direction than the way he’d come.
He started to hurry away, only to be called back by Susan.
“Mr. Ridgely, what is Meghan to you?”
“She’s a friend,” he said with a sad smile. “And more if I haven’t ruined things between us.”
Then, he turned from the sight of Susan’s shocked expression to follow the path Meghan had taken. The day was clear. Miraculously, it hadn’t snowed although the previous night’s sky had looked threatening.
He rounded a bend and frowned when he couldn’t see Meghan ahead. Had she become so angry that she’d left Gibbons Mill? The house was directly before him; yet, there was no sign of her glorious auburn hair and lovely figure.
He started to run the rest of the way and nearly tripped when his foot hit an iced patch of ground. Muttering, he righted himself and glanced about. He didn’t think Meghan could have made it back to the house. But where could she have disappeared?
Terror invaded his chest. Rafferty O’Connor, he thought. Had the man kidnapped Meghan? His feargrew as he recalled the conversation he’d had with James Rhoades on the night of the fire. James had confided in Lucas that he suspected Meghan’s former fiancé of setting the blaze. He told Lucas of the man’s persistent attempts to see Meghan, and their successes in keeping him away from her. What disturbed Lucas most now was the memory of the boy telling him of the night when they’d been awakened by a noise and hurried outside to see that someone had been about the house.
“Meghan,” he whispered. He clenched his fists. He’d kill the bastard if Rafferty touched even one tiny hair on Meghan’s head.
Then he heard a sound… a choked sob that made him change direction toward the smokehouse.
And there he found the woman he loved, huddled on the frozen ground, her arms wrapped around her body protectively, her head bowed as she cried softly.
Lucas felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. He rushed forward. “Meghan!” he gasped, hunkering down beside her.
She gave a startled little scream as he took her by surprise. Then she blinked several times as she gazed at him, focusing as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. “Lucas?” she said hoarsely.
He gave a jerky nod and grabbed her arm. “Are you all right?”
She gasped and drew back. “Ye didn’t fire him!” she said. “Ye lied to me! Ye didn’t dismiss Mathew Phelps!”
“Meghan—”
“No,” she hissed, “don’t lie to me again.”
“I said I’d handled it, and I had. Simmons moved him to a floor where we employ mostly male workers. No one from the weaving floor would come forward and tell us the truth. We couldn’t dismiss him without proof!”
“I’m proof!” she said, scrambling to her feet. “What is it? Can’t ye believe an Irishwoman? Is that it? Or is it because I’m from a poor family, unlike yours?”
“I’m sorry, Meghan,” he said. “I believed you, but my hands were tied.” He closed his eyes on a wave of pain. He didn’t want her to find out this way. He would have told her eventually. It had been his intention to keep an eye out and try to trap Phelps into arranging his own hanging.
Meghan caught her breath as she studied his bent head. “Lucas?”
“Marry me, Irish. Marry me and stay with me forever.”
“Excuse me?” she gasped, her eyes widening in shock. Had she heard him correctly? Did Lucas actually propose to her? “But I thought ye didn’t want to marry,” she said.
He caught her other hand and clasped both of her palms gently within his fingers, rubbing her skin, making her tingle. His ebony gaze was bright with feeling, and there was a look of tension in his features that she found endearing in that he appeared extremely vulnerable at that moment.
“Marry me, Meghan,” he pleaded. “Tonight. Tomorrow. In two weeks. Whenever you want. Just say you’ll have me for your husband.”
Meghan took one look into his misty black eyes and she was lost.
“Oh, God,” she whispered shakily.
“Does that mean you will?” He released her hand and sat back on his haunches.
“Ye really believed me?” she asked, and he nodded. “Oh, God, we’re not right for each other. My background is so different. I’m a working woman, Lucas, while ye—”
“Marry me, Meghan.”
“Oh, God. Oh, God…”
“Is that a yes?” he said with some amusement.
Meghan threw herself against him, tumbling him to the ground. She pe
ered down into his face with eyes full of love for him. Throwing caution to the wind, she kissed him. “Aye, Lucas Ridgely, I’ll marry ye tonight and again in two weeks if ye want… whenever and for how many times ye’ll have me, I’ll willingly say ‘I do.’”
Thirty-one
Lucas bundled Meghan against him and headed to the big house. “Let’s say we’ll marry in three weeks,” he said. He paused in his footsteps and turned her to smile down into her blue eyes. “We’ll have a big wed- ding.”
Meghan’s heart tripped. “Lucas, it isn’t necessary to spend money on a big wedding. I’d be happy if it was just the two of us.”
His eyes lit up with loving warmth. “I know you would, but it wouldn’t be right.” He tucked her against his side, and they continued toward his aunt’s house. “We’ll have to keep our engagement a secret for a while, love,” he said after they’d taken a few steps.
Meghan stiffened within his arms. “Why?”
A knot formed in her stomach. Was it because he realized that his family would never accept her as she was? She couldn’t forget that spinner Catherine Brown’s cruel remarks about her and Lucas. It was true that she was well beneath his station and that she’d never be woman enough to hold his interest. And she doubted his family would want her as Lucas’s wife.
“Because it wouldn’t be proper for the people here to know before my family,” Lucas explained gently.
Despite her misgivings, Meghan nodded her agreement. “All right, I can wait if ye can.” Lucas’s answering smile was enough to give her goose bumps.
He paused on the porch steps. “Meghan, the other night—” A bright passionate flame lit up his black eyes.
Meghan felt herself blush as she met his gaze. “I know, Mr. Ridgely.” Her stomach did a flip-flop as she realized that in three short weeks she’d be a Ridgely, too. Meghan Ridgely. She smiled. She could certainly get used to the name.
With a heated look at her, Lucas opened the door and gestured for her to precede him. “Remember, love, not a word to anyone.”
“I promise,” she said. It made perfect sense for his parents to be informed first. But what about Aunt Flora? “Lucas, your aunt—”
He shook his blond head. “Not yet, I’m afraid, Irish.”
And so for a little while, Meghan would have to keep her joy to herself. Lucas wanted to marry her. He hadn’t declared his love for her, but he must care, she thought. Besides, she hadn’t told him she loved him either.
She stifled a silly grin as she greeted Lucas’s aunt, who seemed glad to see her as the woman inquired politely how Meghan had fared since the fire.
Meghan thanked the woman for all the wonderful clothes, blushing slightly because she’d chosen to wear one of the servants’ garments instead of an expensive gown. But she was still an employee, and unless there was a special occasion, she would act and dress like an employee of Flora Gibbons. She knew she’d eventually have an occasion for taffeta.
I’m going to marry this woman’s nephew. She wanted to share the secret. The man she loved wanted her to be his wife. But would it work? Would he still want her if his family disapproved, which they were bound to do?
***
Gifts began to arrive at Meghan’s room daily. Because she’d lost everything in the fire, no one thought Lucas’s generosity strange. It began with a gown of blue satin with white lace trim and pearl buttons. The garment was beautiful, but like the taffeta gown, the satin garment was unsuitable for a house servant. When she expressed her pleasure, but made mention of that fact, Lucas smiled and told her to wear it when his parents arrived on the fifteenth of February.
Meghan tensed, nervous with the prospect of meeting the Ridgelys. “Lucas, I’ve never worn a gown like this.”
“Did you try it on?” he asked.
“Aye,” she admitted, “and it fits perfectly, but—”
He grinned. “It’s yours, love. Now as my future wife, there are things you must learn—like how to accept gifts from me.”
She sighed, not unhappy but uncomfortable with the idea of accepting gifts.
That night she recalled his words and wondered with dismay what else Lucas expected her to learn as his future wife.
Three days later, Meghan was alone in the kitchen. It was late; the servants had left or gone to bed. Lucas had cornered her for a few seconds early in the day, asking her to meet him there. It would be the first time they’d have private time together since he’d asked her to marry him.
Meghan could hear the thundering of her heartbeat as she stood in the dark room, listening for his arrival. The tall case clock in the foyer chimed the hour; it was 2:00 A.M.
Would he come? she wondered, afraid that he’d overslept or changed his mind.
“Meghan.”
She gasped and spun toward the back of the room. She hadn’t heard him enter, because he’d come from the pantry.
“Lucas!” she gasped. “I didn’t know ye were in there.” He must have been there for some time, she realized. He carried a plate filled with food in each hand.
His smile took her breath away. “I know you didn’t. I’ve been watching you for the past fifteen minutes.”
She swallowed. “Why?” It was disconcerting to learn she’d been watched without her knowledge, even though the one who had done the staring was the man she loved.
“Come into the pantry, Irish.” He waved toward the door.
She grabbed her candle from Mrs. Riker’s worktable and followed him into the back room, her pulse racing as she wondered what he had in mind for her.
He led her into the pantry, stopped near the rear wall, and handed her the plates. “Hold these for a minute.”
While she held on to the plates filled with cakes, Lucas slid aside a crate and a huge barrel of flour. The noise made by his actions sounded loud in the quiet of the night. When no one came to investigate, Meghan decided that the volume of sound had been magnified by her concern with their being discovered.
Once the barrel was rolled aside, Meghan could see a small hidden door “What is it?” she asked, narrowing her gaze as she wondered whether or not he expected her to fit through the door opening.
“It’s my escape door.” He grinned, his teeth flashingin the candlelight. “The room behind it was originally built as a priest hole, but I used it as a hiding place when I was a boy… usually when it came time for my parents to take me home to Wind-field. ” His smile became softly reminiscent. “It worked, too. No one could find me, but my aunt knew that I was safe, so she would convince my parents to let me stay one more week after promising to see personally that I got home.
“Once my parents had reluctantly agreed to let me stay, I would come out of my special place from another door behind the house. I’d suddenly appear as if I’d been oblivious to their calling me.”
Meghan listened, fascinated by his tale of youth. “And did ye get to stay?”
He nodded as he caressed her with his gaze. “My aunt had made my mother promise, you see, so neither Mother nor Father would dare go back on their word. Their word was as good as gold coin.”
Lucas looked down at her hands holding the plates. There was no place for her to put them, and Meghan could see by his mischievous twinkle that he’d realized it, too, and was about to take advantage of the situation.
She felt the tingle of anticipation at her nape travel down her spine as he loomed closer, his gaze fastened on her mouth.
“It seems like forever since we’ve been alone,” he said, exciting her with his words.
“Aye,” she breathed.
“I’m going to kiss you, Meghan. Don’t you spill our cookies now.”
Her nod was solemn, but a tiny smile began to form on her lips.
With a groan, Lucas bent and kissed her over the two piled-high plates. It was a brief kiss, but the contactmade Meghan dizzy with happiness, because Lucas seemed as moved by the experience as she.
“Come,” he said. “I didn’t bring you here for this.”
She was disappointed. Then why did ye bring me here? Now that she knew Lucas wanted her for his wife, she wanted—needed—to lay intimately within his arms again. But how does one ask without seeming like a wanton? She’d have to wait for Lucas’s lead, she thought.
“I wanted you to see my private place… the one I had as a boy,” he said, touching her heart with his desire to share what had been special to him. “I mean to share everything with you,” he murmured, thrilling her.
A lump rose to her throat as she became blinded by emotional tears. “Thank ye, Lucas,” she whispered.
His answer was a sheepish smile and an extended hand toward her.
She gave him a look and held up the plates. He laughed, took the plates and found a place for them that she’d overlooked.
A week later she thought back to that night and wondered if it had really happened or if it had all been a dream. Lucas had taken her into his room, which was small, damp, and had a dirt floor, and he’d begun to tell her other stories about his experiences as a boy at Gibbons Mill. They’d shared cookies and drank water from fancy glasses. Meghan regarded the time as one of the most wonderful she’d ever enjoyed, for Lucas had opened up to her, telling her a great many things. She, in turn, had told of her early years, and he’d listened, his expression tender, as she’d spoken of her mother and father. And he’d held her in his arms when she’d cried.
They’d shared no physical intimacy that night, buta stronger, more intimately emotional bond had been formed, Meghan thought.
But the Lucas she’d seen since then seemed like a stranger. His little gifts kept coming to her room daily, but there seemed to be a thread of purpose in the choice of them now.
This week she’d received a jeweled hair comb, a gold bracelet, and a pair of fancy shoes. These items differed from Lucas’s early gifts in that they were expensive and of little practical use, not serviceable and functional as the cloak he’d given her to replace the one she’d lost or the sewing machine that she’d marveled over and quickly learned to use.
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