Cat put a hand atop Sadie’s and gave her a genuine smile, free of any theatrics. “O’ course, you must make my dress. I’d trust it to none other. Your work is truly exquisite.”
Tears brightened Sadie’s eyes. “I would be honored.”
Deirdre clapped her hands then placed an arm around each woman’s back. “Perfect! It will be sensational! You must do the bridesmaid dresses as well, please!” she said.
“I will, of course,” Sadie said through a large smile.
Their host returned as they began discussing necklines and bodice materials. His eyes widened with interest and he leaned closer when he set their biscuits and pastries before them. “You’re planning a party, how wonderful! What’s the occasion?” he asked.
A euphoric look came over Cat and Deirdre knew she wouldn’t be able to answer the young man. Indicating Cat with a flourish of her hand, Deirdre answered for her. “Catriona O’Brian and Patrick Fergusson’s much-belated engagement party, and subsequent wedding shortly thereafter.”
The man clapped his hands together before touching Cat’s shoulder. “Congratulations! I’m honored to serve the woman who was able to tame Mr. Fergusson’s wild heart. When is the big day?” The way he said Rick’s last name spoke of something more akin to affection than admiration.
Knowing she had found her first ally, Deirdre grinned. Cat, on the other hand, blushed hot enough to set kindling aflame. She cleared her throat and her features pinched together in that badly affected casual look that meant she was about to lie. “Well, we’ve actually been engaged for several months, so we’re planning a mid-December wedding.”
Though inside she wanted to swallow her tongue, Deirdre retained an outer air of confidence, as if she’d known this all along. Tomorrow was the first of November, which left only a month to plan a wedding and far less to plan the engagement party. And they’d have to work on building their homes during that time as well. But that could work to their advantage. If this Ainsworth believed they were focused on the wedding alone, he might not put so many obstacles in their way when it came to building their homes. She’d have to be sneaky about it, but that had never been a problem for her before.
“How wonderful! That must mean the engagement party is…?” their host pressed.
“Saturday after next,” Deirdre said. “We’re still putting together the guest list, of course, but I have to wire it to New York by this Saturday, as they’ll want it for the newspaper article,” Deirdre said, voice hushed just enough to make the ladies at the far tables lean closer to hear. Every one of them did so. Whispers went up throughout the room.
Their server’s eyes widened. “Well, what of Mr. Ainsworth? He’s one of the most prominent men in town and he’ll certainly be wanting an invite,” he said, rolling his eyes a bit at the last.
Deirdre found she liked this young man quite a bit. Not as a potential suitor, for she had a feeling his preferences didn’t run in her direction, but as a person, most certainly. “Absolutely. I’m most eager to meet him, and the engagement party wouldn’t be complete without him,” she said.
A cacophony of wood scraping against wood filled the room as women pushed their chairs back and rose. They surrounded the table, a flurry of busybodies offering congratulations and vying for either Cat’s or Deirdre’s attention. Calling cards began to pile up on the table. They all but ignored Sadie, no doubt thinking her little more than a servant. None were rude, exactly, at least not by societal standards. The very fact they thought of one of her closest friends as no more than hired help due to the hue of her skin rankled Deirdre to no end. Would this world never advance beyond the Dark Age? They had just fought a war in an attempt to change such things.
At every opening, Deirdre seized the opportunity to introduce Sadie—as did Cat—making it clear to the women she was their friend, not their servant. Most of the women took it in stride. The few who brushed off the introduction became ingrained in Deirdre’s memory. Each time it happened, she and Cat exchanged a hard look. If those women were lucky enough to receive invitations, they’d be seated in a corner somewhere.
Questions poured in, which either she or Cat answered.
“A holiday wedding, how wonderful!”
“What will your colors be?”
“The Widows of the 69th, oh, we’ve heard so much about your organization!”
“How did you meet?”
By the time the women all found their way back to their own tables, they had offers for services of nearly every type they needed. Everything party-related, that was. Not one person had referred them to anyone who would sell them anything remotely close to building materials. But it was a start. The smile on Cat’s face as she gathered up the cards made it all worth it. The only problem was, now they had to invite Ainsworth.
Chapter 8
Wrapped in her warmest shawl, Deirdre gazed out across the frosty field as she sipped her morning tea. The sun’s rays made the tree-covered hills in the distance sparkle. Fir trees choked the horizon, their feathery boughs connecting to make them look like an impenetrable sea of green. What they needed to build their homes and winery wouldn’t even make a dent. But every single tree was untouchable because they grew on Ainsworth’s land.
Deirdre shifted on the porch bench, pulling her shawl closed against the chill. The locals kept going on and on about how unusual the cold was for these parts. To her, it only felt familiar. New York winters started like this, chilly and then striking with a vengeance. If any chance existed of a winter even remotely like that here, they had less time than she hoped. Their good fortune at the teahouse the other day had not continued in their search for merchants. Each shop they visited refused to sell them anything close to building materials. They couldn’t purchase a bag of nails. The cold moving in more each day only deepened Deirdre’s sense of urgency. It was as though the very weather itself conspired with Ainsworth.
The last sip of her lukewarm tea slid down her throat with a velvety heat that turned her thoughts toward Kinan. Every now and then she caught a glimpse of him as he moved about the barn. Over the last two days, she had learned he insisted on caring for his own horses, despite possessing the financial means to hire someone to do it. It perplexed her. Never had she seen a wealthy man muck out stalls. The sight was something to behold.
The sleeves of his fine blue linen shirt strained against his flexing arms. He had rolled the material up above his elbows, which showed a nice amount of his tanned skin. Each time he bent over, his breeches hugged his nicely shaped posterior so closely she didn’t think he had drawers on underneath. Or rather, she hoped he didn’t. No, she couldn’t allow her thoughts to turn that way. The man was all wrong for her.
Movement on the road caught her attention. A plain brown horse she didn’t recognize approached the gate. The rider was wrapped in a long, heavy coat with a fur cap pulled tight over their head; she couldn’t tell who they might be. Kinan looked up from cleaning the outdoor paddock that bordered the road. Grinning and waving, he strode to the gate.
Deirdre rose from the bench and walked over to the railing. She set her teacup on the table beside the bench. Leaning against the railing, she strained to hear what Kinan and the man were saying. The USPS stitching on the rider’s saddlebags doused her curiosity. The man handed Kinan an envelope, then trotted his horse briskly away. With a harsh exclamation she couldn’t make out, Kinan thrust the pitchfork he held into the half-frozen ground as if it were butter. The show of strength thrilled her more than the anger concerned her. From what she had seen of him, Kinan was not a man prone to anger, so he likely had good reason. Renewed curiosity carried her to the steps as he approached the porch.
Thick lashes brushed his cheeks as he blinked long and slow. He blew out a breath, unlocking the muscles of his tense jaw. Even irritated, the man made her breath catch. “My apologies if you overheard any of that. Such talk is ungentlemanly.”
&n
bsp; She loved that he didn’t say it wasn’t suited for a lady’s ears, but instead reprimanded himself for the conduct. The man made it exceedingly difficult to stay uninterested in him, even when he was so clearly out of sorts—or perhaps because he was out of sorts. His constant proper behavior was part of what made her cautious of him. Through his dark tan it was impossible to tell, but she imagined his face to be so flushed it would be hot to the touch. Such thoughts drove away the morning chill in a dizzying rush. She looked down, head dipping to feign a demure demeanor she did not feel.
“There is no need to apologize,” she said.
Chest giving one last heave, Kinan ascended the final step and straightened, facing her. Deirdre’s gaze traveled up slowly from his dirty boots to the gaping neck of his half-opened shirt, enjoying every inch of the journey. The barest hint of his defined chest was visible. Her knees weakened a touch.
“It is with the deepest regret—and aggravation—that I be the bearer of this offense,” he said as he handed her the envelope.
It took a few blinks before she could shift her focus from his chest to the envelope. She had completely forgotten about it. In the upper left-hand corner of the simple white parchment, an elaborate “A” had been scrawled. Anger started a slow burn deep in her chest. She tore into it with complete disregard for the preservation of the envelope. Inside nestled a single item: her calling card.
Two days ago, she had sent it to Ainsworth in the hopes of gaining an audience with him and discussing matters like adults. To return one’s card in such a manner was a refusal to allow them to call upon you that bordered on offensive.
A wordless cry of frustration forced its way through her clenched teeth.
Kinan glared at the remnants of the envelope on the porch floor. “He is deplorable and uncouth to treat you this way, Mrs. Quinn,” Kinan said in a clipped tone.
Deirdre balled her hand into a fist, crumpling the letter within. “Deplorable indeed. To not even speak to me like a civilized person makes me believe perhaps he does not possess a civilized bone in his body,” she huffed.
Kinan nodded. “He does not,” he confirmed.
She pressed her lips tight against the expletives that tried to fly from her mouth. Kinan being the gentleman that he was, she had to be smart about this. He seemed the type to go so far as to challenge the man to a boxing match to defend her honor. Romantic as that notion was, it was equally foolish. Men clinging to such ways often tended to be foolish, she reminded herself. A long breath helped tamp down her anger.
“Thank you for delivering the message, Mr. O’Leary, but I fear I need to be alone with my thoughts for a moment,” she said with a gentle smile that she hoped hid the depth of her anger.
Eyes going soft with understanding, Kinan nodded. “Of course.” He took a step toward the door. “If you need anything, anything at all, please do not hesitate to call on me.” The sincere words and concern in his tone warmed her, but not as much as her anger. She nodded slowly and kept her gaze cast to the porch. If she looked up into those lovely brown eyes of his, she would lose her resolve.
Soft footsteps retreated. The door latch clicked open as he turned the knob. Not until the door closed behind him with a soft thud did she finally look up. A quick glance around confirmed she was alone on the porch. Before Kinan had a chance to tell anyone about the letter, she gathered up her skirts and dashed down the stairs. Not that he would, but she wasn’t about to take the chance and give anyone the opportunity to stop her. Ground softened by the morning’s heavy dew squelched beneath her boots, tugging at them just enough to suggest the beginnings of mud. Overhead, a cloudy sky threatened to make matters worse. But she wouldn’t let that stop her, either. Lifting her skirts higher, she strode to the barn at a brisk pace.
At the first clop of her boot on the dry, hard-packed barn floor, a whinny greeted her.
“Hope you’re done with your breakfast, lass,” she said when Ciaren poked her big black head over the wall of her stall.
The mare bobbed her nose up and down as if in answer, but Deirdre knew it for the eager energy it truly was. Not wasting a moment with niceties, she marched right past and fetched her saddle and bridle from the tack room. Forgoing even the usual brushing, she tossed the saddle pad and saddle on and cinched it into place. She led the horse into the aisle to a mounting block that stood to one side and climbed onto the saddle. Tying her shawl closed, she prayed the wind wouldn’t be too cold. If she went back for a cloak or gloves, someone would catch her and either try to stop her, or go with her. She wasn’t going to risk that.
She let out the reins and tapped Ciaren’s side with her heel. The mare leaped into an animated trot that forced Deirdre to post or else bounce like a babe on her mum’s knee. Posting sidesaddle was no easy task, but she was quite good at it. As they trotted across the drive, she glanced around the grounds. No one stirred save for the horses in the paddocks and pasture. Their whinnies as they bid Ciaren farewell were the only sounds to break the still morning. One stallion in particular, a big white creature with an arched neck and long hair about his hooves, loped up and down the fence line in an animated manner, his knees coming up high. For a moment, his beauty stunned her. She had only ever seen his like in books. A Spanish breed, if she wasn’t mistaken.
To ensure the stallion didn’t try to leap the fence and follow, Deirdre kept Ciaren at a slow trot. Thankfully, she made it past the paddock and the house before anyone came out. If Kinan went to wake Cat or Sadie, it would be some time before they came out. Poor Cat was likely hanging over a chamber pot, at the mercy of morning sickness, and Sadie had been sleeping in late to recover from their long trip.
Around the back of the house, Deirdre came across a freshly plowed field. The moment she let out the reins, Ciaren leaped into a canter. Her horse couldn’t resist the smoothness of a plowed field any more than she could. Despite the cold, she smiled and leaned into the breeze. Soon, the inn faded away into the distance. She breathed a bit easier. For the sake of endurance, she reined Ciaren back into a slow lope.
From speaking with the townsfolk, she had discovered the location of Ainsworth’s home. A few discreet questions gave her a good idea of how to reach it. Unfortunately, it lay nearly half a day’s travel away. The chill in the air worried her a bit, but it was morning. As the sun rose higher, it would warm up. This was California, not New York. Everyone’s warnings about the climate of Northern California being a world different from that of Southern California reared in her memory, trying to warn her. But she brushed such negative thoughts away. California cold had nothing on New York’s. She would be fine. Just for good measure, she slowed Ciaren to a trot that stirred up less of a breeze.
She rode along the rock wall that separated Kinan’s property from the widows’. In places, the moss-covered rocks stood only a foot high, but for the most part they had been stacked to four feet or higher. The sight reminded Deirdre of her grandfather’s stories about Ireland’s rocky soil. Though the memory made her smile, it also brought a pang of loss. The years had not diminished the pain. Worse, her grandfather had given up their plantation in North Carolina for love. When Deirdre married, her husband promptly sold her grandfather’s home in Cold Spring and moved her to the city. The widows’ land would be her new family legacy, one that she wouldn’t let anyone take from her or her friends. While they could purchase another plot of land, it was about more than that. Cat deserved this. Not another piece of land, but this one. The one that blaggard deserter of a husband of hers had planned to escape to with his Southern mistress.
The widows would make this place theirs. Deirdre wouldn’t allow anyone to stand in their way.
After a while the wind developed a bite to it that left her cheeks and hands stinging. It didn’t worry her overmuch, at least not for the first hour. The soft plod of Ciaren’s hooves had turned to a solid clip-clop, indicating at least partially frozen ground. Overhead, a thick,
gray sky prevented the sun’s rays from breaking through. Looking back, Deirdre realized they’d been going uphill, probably for at least the last half hour, considering how far they’d come. The inn was nowhere in sight. She also realized she had stopped shivering, not because it had grown any warmer, but because she had grown numb.
A bad sign, but she didn’t want to turn back now. She looked over her shoulder. Far below, the valley stretched out in a patchwork of plowed or cut fields, some fenced, some enclosed by low rock walls, others only hedged in by a different type of field. Toward the horizon, a sliver of dark blue met the gray, cloud-choked sky. The ocean! She had no idea she’d ridden far enough up to see it. It was little wonder the temperature had dropped so much.
Numb fingers struggled to close her shawl tighter around her neck. Leaving without so much as a pair of gloves—what would her mother have thought? The square-neck dress she wore sat low enough to expose just a touch of her cleavage, which allowed cold air to flow straight down between her breasts.
Pine trees blanketed the hill less than a hundred feet ahead. A dirt road wound its way into them, disappearing into the shadows they cast. The feathery boughs of green wore a heavy layer of frost, and that was in the full light of day. Down in that darkness it would be much colder. But she had little choice. According to the information she had gleaned, Ainsworth’s home was up that very road. She was over halfway there. Another hour and a half was nothing compared to crossing America. She could do this.
Hunkering down into her shawl, she guided Ciaren into the trees. The mare’s hide twitched at the touch of the shadows. Or was it something else? Ears flicking back and forth at every sound, she dropped to a reluctant walk. The press of Deirdre’s boot heels was barely enough to keep the mare moving forward. In the interest of allowing both of their eyes to adjust to the dimmer light, she allowed her to keep a slow pace. The tweet of a bird made Ciaren drop a few inches into a crouch that prepared her to launch into a run should she deem the situation dangerous, and she whipped her head in the direction of the sound.
Deirdre's True Desire Page 8
