“There you are, Gilbert. I haven’t had a chance to speak to you all night.” James hooked his thumbs in his vest pockets.
Gil managed a feeble smile. “I’ve been busy meeting an endless stream of people. This is quite the party.”
They stepped together onto the stone balcony. Thankful for the cool evening breeze, Gil inhaled deeply as he looked out over the darkened gardens embellished with dozens of candles and a lit fountain at the center.
“Is everything in place that we talked about?” James’s urgent question jarred Gil’s brief moment of tranquility.
Gil nodded. “Our betrothal will be announced right before the fireworks display.”
The tension seemed to drain from James’s stiff frame. “I knew I could count on you, Gilbert. I want you to know your loyalty means the world to me, and I will find a way to repay you.”
“No need, sir. Consider this my thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”
This man had been his surrogate father through Gil’s most formative years. He deserved Gil’s respect and allegiance. Would a son do any less for a father?
“I’m very proud of you, son.” James’s gruff voice hinted that he was experiencing the same swirl of emotion as Gil.
Gil closed his eyes and pictured Irish Meadows in all its glory—the magnificence of the sun shining over the meadows, the beauty of the horses thundering around the track. He needed to remind himself just what was at stake here. If he could help the O’Learys keep their beloved home, as well as the source of their livelihood, then he would do whatever was necessary—no matter the sacrifice.
James cleared his throat. “Looks like Arthur is gathering the guests. We’d best go inside.”
Gil almost wished he had some of that brandy right now to dull his senses for the upcoming speech. Aurora materialized out of the crowd like a ray of sunshine in her bright yellow gown. His thoughts went back to earlier in the day when he’d fumbled through the worst marriage proposal ever. Aurora hadn’t seemed to notice. She’d thrown herself into his arms with happy tears. And she’d been smiling ever since.
Guilt squeezed Gil’s insides, creating spasms in his stomach. If only he could forget about Brianna, perhaps he’d have a chance at a happy life with Aurora.
He wanted to pray for help, for deliverance from this path he’d chosen, but his conscience wouldn’t let him. He didn’t deserve God’s help. Not when Gil was about to perpetrate such a terrible deception.
With quiet dignity, Aurora led him to stand beside her father as he gave a rousing speech to his guests. Finally, when Gil feared his legs wouldn’t hold him a moment longer, Mr. Hastings announced the betrothal of his daughter to Mr. Gilbert Whelan.
Gil pasted on a smile so brittle he thought his cheeks would crack as he shook his future father-in-law’s hand and then bent to kiss Aurora’s cheek amid the polite applause of the audience. His gaze swung out over the sea of people who blended together in one massive blur, landing first on James’s beaming features, then moving on to Mrs. O’Leary. In direct contrast to her husband’s jubilation, stark sorrow shone from her eyes.
Eyes so similar to Brianna’s that Gil’s insides froze.
Perspiration beaded on his forehead as the nausea intensified. With a quick apology to Aurora, Gil turned and dashed out the patio doors. He raced down the balcony stairs and fell to his knees in the grass, where moments later his stomach heaved. His own body could not tolerate his treachery.
“Forgive me, Bree,” he whispered, but his only answer was the wind singing its disapproval through the trees.
“May I have this dance, Miss O’Leary?”
Lost in thought after Mr. Hastings’s unexpected announcement, Colleen barely noticed the gentleman in front of her. She blinked as she took in the handsome face before her. She hadn’t danced much all evening, being very picky about whom she accepted as a partner. Finding herself with no excuse at hand, she nodded. “Very well, Mister . . . ?”
“I’m sorry. I assumed you knew me. The name is Charles Sutton. Our fathers are business acquaintances.” He gave a low bow, then reached for her hand.
They slipped into the mix of couples already gliding to the music. At one time, Colleen would have been thrilled to be remembered by the son of one of Daddy’s wealthy associates, but tonight all she could think about was Rylan.
Colleen forced her lips into a smile, wishing Rylan would ask her to dance. He hadn’t graced the floor with anyone other than her mother and some of the older ladies, seeming to purposely avoid the younger girls so as not to encourage any wrong notions. Colleen scanned the crowd as they twirled, hoping for a friendly face, but not many girls her age wanted to befriend her, fearing she would attempt to steal their suitors.
A small sigh escaped her. Even Brianna’s presence would be welcome right now.
Brianna. A pang hit Colleen as she imagined the devastation this betrothal would wreak on her sister. Colleen wanted to ask Bree why she and Gil had never pursued a relationship. Had her father forbidden it?
A wandering hand at Colleen’s lower back brought her attention crashing back to her dance partner. She frowned into his bland face, which revealed nothing save for a heated gleam in his eyes. Annoyance flickered through her as she shifted in his grip, trying to make him move his hand, but it only inched farther down. They had come to a near standstill in the far corner of the dance floor, and she realized he’d maneuvered her there on purpose.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” she said through her teeth, “but you had best move your hand to a more suitable location unless you wish to lose your fingers.”
A scowl brought Mr. Sutton’s fair eyebrows together. “There’s no need to pretend innocence with me, Miss O’Leary. I’m well aware of your reputation among my peers.”
Shock had Colleen’s mouth agape. Her footsteps faltered, and she would have stumbled if a hand hadn’t gripped her elbow from behind.
“I believe you owe Miss O’Leary an apology.”
The steely voice of Rylan behind her sent a wave of relief surging through her. She stepped closer to Rylan, and his arm came around her like shelter from a storm.
Mr. Sutton stared at Rylan, and his face contorted into an ugly sneer. “It’s obvious, sir, that you don’t know Miss O’Leary very well at all.”
Rylan glared at the man who had been groping Colleen. In an attempt to control his temper, Rylan flexed his fingers, trying not to imagine punching the man’s pasty face.
“I know her far better than you ever will. Now if you’ll excuse us . . .” He gathered Colleen to him and spun her away from the louse’s leer.
When he had put some distance between them, Rylan peered down at Colleen. Her features were pinched, her skin blanched of color. In the circle of his arms, her frame trembled.
“Are you all right? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” Hot curls of anger wound their way through his chest.
“No.” Shame surfaced in her gaze. “I’m only sorry you had to hear that,” she whispered.
The sorrow on her face tore at him, adding to his fury at the man who caused her to feel this way. “You’ve nothing to be sorry about. That lout is the one who needs a lesson on how to treat a lady.”
She shook her head. “Not many people think I deserve to be treated as one. It appears I have a”—she gulped—“bad reputation.” She bit her lip and turned her head away.
The music, something sad and haunting, seemed in keeping with her mood. Rylan longed to see her return to her spirited self, filled with confidence. Even anger would be better than this apparent self-loathing. He pulled her closer, as if to protect her from the gossip and disapproving stares while they danced. “Perhaps I should have let you break the man’s fingers,” he teased.
That coaxed a slight twitch of her lips. “Perhaps.” She sobered. “I want you to know something, Rylan. Besides a few kisses—ill-advised as they may have been—I have done nothing to warrant—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to m
e, Colleen.”
“But I want to.” Tears gathered in her eyes, creating two twinkling pools of violet.
Rylan tightened his arm around her waist. “I know you’re not that type of woman. And no one should treat you as anything less than the good person you are.”
A single tear dislodged to trail down her cheek. “But I’m not a good person, and I don’t deserve—” She broke off in a stifled sob and lowered her head to his chest.
He needed to get her away from the stares of curious onlookers until she’d gained control of her emotions. Discreetly, he led her off the dance floor, through an open door, and onto the balcony. Once outside, she broke away from him and rushed to the stone railing, gripping it with both hands. Rylan moved quietly beside her and handed her his handkerchief. The cool night air blew tendrils of her red hair about her cheek and fluttered the folds of her dress. She didn’t seem to notice the chill in the air or the fact that she had no wrap.
Help me to get through to her, Lord. To convince her of her worthiness. Of Your great love for her.
He stood near her at the railing, not daring to touch her. “Did you not believe me when I told you God loves you unconditionally and that nothing you do can keep His love from you?”
She sniffed, dabbing her cheeks with the handkerchief. “I want to believe that, Rylan. It’s easy for you. You don’t do anything wrong.”
“I’ve done my share of disreputable things in my youth, before entering the seminary.”
“Nothing like what I’ve done.”
Something in the devastation of her voice told him there was more to her story than a few stolen kisses. “What could be so terrible you think God won’t forgive?”
“I can’t tell you.” She glanced over at him with tortured eyes. “I don’t want to ruin your opinion of me.”
Rylan ached to comfort her, but other guests had come out to the balcony for some air. In order to avoid prying eyes, he took her hand and led her down the nearby steps to walk in the candlelit garden. After a few moments, they came to a stone bench situated between two large bushes, and he motioned for her to sit. He lowered himself beside her, careful to keep a respectable distance between them, then shrugged off his jacket to drape around her shoulders.
They sat in silence for several minutes.
“I promise,” he said at last, “that nothing you tell me could ruin my good opinion of you. Not even if you told me you’d murdered someone.”
She twisted his handkerchief in her lap, not looking at him. “I think murder would be easier to confess.”
She’d done something worse than murder? For a moment, doubts crept into Rylan’s certainty. He petitioned God for guidance and forged on. “Have you never told anyone of this great sin?”
She shook her head. “No one.”
“Not even your priest?”
Her eyes grew wide in horror. “Especially not a priest.”
He was about to remind her of his intended profession but thought it wiser to let it go. Colleen had something eating at her soul, and the only way to remove the power it held over her was to confess it. “Don’t you think it’s time to get this off your conscience?”
“Not if I lose your respect.” She met his gaze. “Your opinion matters to me, Rylan.”
He couldn’t help it. He took her hand in his. “I promise you won’t lose my respect.”
Her eyes searched his a moment longer, then she dipped her head and pulled her hand free. He could almost sense the battle raging within her.
Finally, she released a weary sigh. “I made a priest break his vows.”
Rylan jerked on the bench, barely keeping from falling onto the grass below. He swallowed hard to hide his dismay. “How exactly did you . . . accomplish this?”
Her hands shook on her lap, and he forced himself not to touch her again.
“I didn’t mean to. I had no idea what he was thinking.”
“Was it Reverend Filmore?” he dared to ask, praying it wasn’t.
“No. It was another priest many years ago.”
A host of emotions rioted through Rylan’s chest. “Many years ago? How old were you then?”
“Thirteen.”
It took all his willpower not to scream his outrage. Whatever had happened between Colleen and this priest, it could not be the fault of a thirteen-year-old child. “Tell me everything,” he whispered, not trusting his full voice.
The blue intensity of her eyes stood out in her pale face before her lashes swept down to shutter them. “He was at the school for a prayer service. I . . . I was in trouble with the teacher and had to stay after school to clean the chalkboards. He told Mrs. Stephens she could leave. That he would make sure I did my job and then escort me home.”
Nausea curdled in Rylan’s stomach as he imagined the rest of the scenario. “What did he do?” He dreaded hearing the rest of the sordid tale but knew for her sake he must.
Her hand fluttered like an injured bird. He caught it in his and held on tight.
“He told me I was a tease and I deserved to be spanked.” She gulped as a sob tore from her throat. Her shoulders slumped as she collapsed toward her knees in a storm of weeping.
Rage, more violent than he’d ever known, shook Rylan’s frame. He would learn this monster’s name and make sure he could never harm another innocent girl again. He took her shoulders gently in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. One more question had to be asked. “Did he . . . violate you?”
She was crying so hard she could barely answer. “Not that way, no. He started kissing me, touching me . . .” She shuddered. “I didn’t know what to do.”
Rylan pulled her near and closed his eyes. God may preach forgiveness, but Rylan doubted he could ever forgive this man for betraying a child’s trust. Right now his heart felt as cold and hard as the stone bench beneath him. “It wasn’t your fault, Colleen. He was the one who sinned.”
“But he said it was my fault for being so bewitching. For flaunting my wiles, I think he called it.”
“And ever since then you’ve been trying to live up to his description,” he murmured, almost to himself.
She stiffened in his arms and began to pull away, but he held her tight.
“Not on purpose. That’s not what I meant. But he made you feel that you were the guilty party when he knew he was to blame.” He tilted her chin to force her gaze to meet his. “Colleen, love, you did nothing wrong. Not a thing. That man lied and made you out to be the temptress, but you were a child. He was a man of God, in a position of trust. He abused that trust in the worst possible way.”
“You really believe that?” she whispered.
“It’s the truth. You did nothing wrong. I’ll keep saying it until you believe me.”
She sagged against him once again, and he held her until her sobs quieted, his heart breaking for her misery. In direct contrast to her pain, the sound of laughter drifted out from the open door to the ballroom.
“Why did you not tell your parents?” he asked. “Surely they would have believed you.”
She exhaled slowly. “I couldn’t add to their burden. My brother, Danny, had just died a few weeks before . . .” She trailed off.
“I see. There was already enough grief in the house, and you didn’t want to make things worse.”
She nodded against his chest.
“Which only proves how unselfish you really are, Colleen O’Leary.” He let out a long sigh. “It seems I have my work cut out for me to make you see your true worth. Your value in the eyes of God, in the eyes of your family, and . . .” He paused. “And in mine.”
She lifted her head to look into his face, her eyes liquid pools. “So you . . . you don’t think badly of me now?” The vulnerability on her face made him want to weep.
“Never.” A fierce wave of emotion enveloped him. His heart began a slow, heavy thump as the reality he’d been trying to avoid for weeks now hit him hard.
Heaven help me! I’m falling in love with this girl.
“I could never think badly of you. Especially not for something like that.” He paused, searching for words of wisdom. “You must let go of the guilt you’ve been harboring all these years. And if you’re able, try to forgive the sorry excuse for a man who robbed you of your innocence. Only then will you truly be free. Only then will your heart be able to heal.”
“I’m not sure I can,” she whispered, “but I’ll try.”
“God will help you if you let Him. And so will I.”
She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Rylan.”
He cleared his throat and rose. “We’d best be getting back before we start any new rumors. Especially since I’m not wearing my collar tonight.”
The sadness and longing in her eyes twisted his insides. He only prayed she wasn’t falling in love with him, too.
For he was not free to love her as she deserved to be loved.
22
WITH BRIANNA NO LONGER living at home, Gil felt free to spend the night in his old room at Irish Meadows, even though being there after announcing his engagement to Aurora seemed like an added form of betrayal. Sleep eluded him most of the night, and in the pre-dawn hours, he dressed quickly and left the house.
His burdened soul required solace, and the one place he hoped to find it was at church. He’d been leaving God out of his life too much lately—making decisions without the guidance of prayer, ashamed because in his heart he knew his actions were wrong.
Now, in the early morning hours, Gil sought the silence of the large church he used to attend with the O’Learys, hoping for answers, hoping to find a way out of the impossible predicament he found himself in.
The wooden door creaked open as he stepped into the dark interior. Knowing the inside of St. Rita’s as well as the Irish Meadows stable, he had no need to illuminate the space. Waiting a minute for his eyes to adjust, he made his way to the front of the church and entered the first pew, lowering himself to the hard wooden kneeler. Hands clasped so tight his knuckles ached, Gil bowed his head and willed peace to descend on his troubled soul.
Irish Meadows Page 18
