The Irish Bride

by Alexis Harrington

  “There she is, Noel. That was our general store, where it all began.” George Gray pointed out a grubby little storefront bordered by a sagging, gap-planked sidewalk. “It looks like the new owner has made some improvements.”

  Their open carriage, driven by Seth Fitch, paused in the road so that they could all view the Grays’ former place of occupation.

  Noel was hard pressed to be civil at this point. He had been saddled with these clodhoppers since New Orleans. On yet another appalling ocean voyage, he’d traveled around Cape Horn, a harrowing experience in itself. This time he’d had the Grays with him and had almost welcomed the seasickness—it had given him a reason to stay in his cabin and away from them. The only thing that made them at all tolerable was that they were still footing the bill for all of his expenses. Not only did he find this to his liking, it enabled Noel to pay Seth Fitch to continue his search for Aidan O’Rourke, the reason Noel had traveled west to begin with.

  “We’ve come far since those days, haven’t we, Dolly?” George inquired of his powdered and highly perfumed wife.

  “Oh, my and haven’t we?” She held a parasol over her head, but the autumn sun still revealed the gray roots of her hair, telling Noel that she’d used a concoction of some kind to alter its natural color. “To think we were just small-town hicks back then. Didn’t know a thing. But not anymore! Just look at us—we’ve seen the world, traveled on a sailing ship around the end of South America. Now we have sophistication.” Noel did his best to disguise a laugh with a loud cough and hoped it was convincing. “And best of all,” she went on, “we’ve made friends with dear Lord Noel Cardwell.” Discreetly, she patted his knee with her chubby, beringed hand.

  Lately, Dolly had begun making some very obvious overtures when George wasn’t looking or was out of the room. It was rather trying, but Noel had no trouble fending her off while keeping her on the string. Sometimes, he thought with private amusement, that he should have been born a woman. He would have married very well and had a string of wealthy lovers on the side. “Ah, lovely Dolly, it is I who have been enriched by our friendship.”

  They completed their carriage tour of Sacramento, the California state capital, and now they were all going to dinner.

  When they arrived back at their hotel to change to evening clothes, Noel had a chance to talk with Fitch in his room.

  “Well, man, what have you learned, anything yet?” Noel asked as he threaded the studs through his shirtfront.

  Fitch remained standing in his presence. It wasn’t necessary and Noel had never demanded it of him. But he liked it. “I’ve had a message from a private investigation agency in San Francisco. They have an operative in Portland and they think they’ve located O’Rourke.”

  “Really? He’s in Portland?” Noel had learned a little about the major cities on the west coast, and Portland was about six hundred miles north.

  “No, but in Oregon City, nearby.”

  “By God, this is fabulous news, Fitch, fabulous. Can you book passage for us on a boat north?”

  “Yes, sir. As soon as the ticket office opens in the morning.”

  “Excellent.” Noel pulled his wallet from his coat pocket on the bed and extracted a ten-dollar gold piece. “Take this and find some pleasure for yourself. You’ve earned it.”

  Fitch gazed upon the coin as if it had been hand-wrought by President Pierce himself. “Yes, sir, your Lordship! Thank you, sir!”

  “Well, didn’t I promise bonuses?”

  “You did, sir.”

  “Off with you then. Just don’t have so much fun that you forget to book that passage.” Fitch bowed his way out of the room, leaving Noel to consider the situation.

  At last.

  Aidan O’Rourke was within his reach at last, and he could finally rid himself of the tedious Grays. Noel sank into an upholstered chair next to the bed and considered his prospects. He had enough money to see himself and his manservant, which was how he’d come to view Seth Fitch, to Portland. He’d have only a bit of capital left, but with some discreet inquiries, it shouldn’t be too hard to connect with the right circle of people who would love to entertain a titled gentleman as their guest.

  Not only was O’Rourke close at hand, more importantly, so was Farrell. He’d heard that she’d married that Irish scum, which struck him as odd. In Ireland, she’d been engaged to the other O’Rourke brother, Liam. Maybe she wanted no more of Aidan than Noel did. The rumor of marriage might not be true, but even if it was, a widow would be unencumbered in any event. In fact, he might be doing both her and himself a favor by dispatching her husband. He smiled to himself at the prospect. After he had performed this deed for her—not that he would do so personally—how could she refuse him? In fact, she might be so grateful, she would be willing to do anything to repay him for her outrageous assault and for ridding her of her loutish husband.

  That certainly opened up some interesting possibilities. He poured a drink for himself from the bedside brandy decanter while his imagination went to work with a flame-haired woman who had a temper to match. He swallowed the drink in one gulp. He’d tame that temper and enjoy the process immensely.

  She probably would not, but that didn’t matter to him. He’d teach her a lesson about insulting her betters, one that she would not forget.

  The next evening at dinner, with passage secured, Noel broke the news to the Grays that their own personal lord would be moving on. God, their jaws nearly fell into their blancmange. Despite his joy at leaving their company, their disappointment was most gratifying.

  “Oh, no,” Dolly mourned, her small blue eyes filling with tears.

  “This is disappointing, Noel,” George agreed, but perhaps not for the same reason as his wife. “We’ve had such jolly adventures together.”

  Noel nodded with feigned regret. “We have, it’s true. But business calls. I’ve put this off as long as I can to remain in your wonderful company, but now the situation has become critical and I can’t delay any longer.”

  “Then we must drink to your success.” George signaled the waiter to bring them a bottle of their very best and oldest brandy—well, old for America—and the pair drank toast after toast to him, until they were so besotted, Noel worried that they would begin singing, right there in the hotel dining room. It was bad enough that Dolly was blubbering like the shop girl that she was. George had moved his chair next to Noel’s and slung an arm over his shoulder, slurring compliments in his face. In a way, it was all quite flattering, but Noel wanted to leave before the management asked them to leave. That moment appeared imminent, with the headwaiter casting baleful looks at their table. With his white towel draped over his arm, the man started across the dining room.

  Noel stood and bowed slightly. “I shall wish you goodnight, then, and goodbye. My ship leaves early in the morning and I won’t have a chance to see you before I go.” He made all the right comments, all the proper, gentlemanly thanks, and managed to get away before he became part of the scene that was about to occur.

  Later that night, after he had gone to bed, he heard a cautious tapping on his door. Surely it wouldn’t be Fitch at this hour. The man knew better than to bother him. At least Noel thought he did. Noel ignored the tapping and rolled over. The knock sounded again, louder this time.

  “Bloody Christ!” he muttered, throwing on a dressing robe over his nightshirt. He went to the door and opened it to find Dolly Gray standing on his threshold, dressed in a red Japanese kimono.

  “Dolly! What are you doing here?”

  “Shhh!” she whispered and pushed him into the darkened room, closing the door behind her. She brought with her the lingering fumes of brandy along with her perfume. “I just had to see you one last time. I couldn’t let you leave without telling you . . . telling you . . . ”

  Noel fumbled around and lit his bedside lamp with a match, throwing harsh light on Dolly’s tear-puffy face. “Telling me what?”

  She flung herself into his arms. As round as she was s
hort, it was like holding onto a big ball. “That I love you! I’ve loved you from the first moment we met. You’re so suave and debonair and cultured. You’re just the kind of man I’ve always hoped for.”

  Noel was horrified and yet perversely amused. “But Dolly, what about George?”

  She dismissed her husband with an impatient wave of her hand. “He doesn’t know the first thing about what a woman needs.” She pulled back to look at him with her wet eyes. “But you, I know you would. I know you’d do more than just climb on and grunt a few times, then roll off. Oh, Noel, we’d be so perfect together, me and you.” Without warning, she grabbed the back of his neck and dragged his head down to her smacking lips.

  “Dolly, I think you might have gotten the wrong—”

  She shook her head, refusing to hear any protest he might be about to offer. “I’d do anything for you, darling. Anything at all.” To prove it, she dropped to her knees like a beggar.

  With those words and her action, he felt his erection spring forward, and a hot white light flashed on in his head. Despite the woman’s completely revolting manner and appearance, her total self-abasement affected him like an aphrodisiac. She was willing to degrade herself for him, to let him use her however he chose. And he could not resist.

  “Anything?” he asked, just to hear her reassure him.

  “Oh, God, yes.”

  He put out his hand and helped her to her feet. “Then come here, little dove, and prove it.”

  He led her to his bed and took off his robe. Then he pulled his nightshirt off over his head. He heard her gasp of delight and she reached out greedy hands to touch his flanks.

  “No, no, not yet.” He lay down and said, “First let us see how clever you are with those lips and that tongue. Then we’ll explore parts of your body that I’d wager George has never considered during his grunting sessions.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  In a month’s time, Aidan and Farrell moved into their new home near the mill. Geoffrey Brother and Aidan had been able to reach an agreement that was satisfactory to them both. Farrell didn’t know all of the details, but she suspected that they would be working for a long time to pay off this purchase. Or rather, Aidan would be working. She had understood what she would be required to do as a farm wife. As the lady of a house, she was not as well versed.

  Their first night under this roof, she and Aidan had run through the halls like children, opening cupboards and drawers to see what was in them, whooping and laughing and acting like fools in general. But they had a wonderful time pretending to be the lord and lady of the manor, even though that was a station neither of them craved.

  Farrell’s independent explorations revealed three bedrooms, including the master, the dining room, a study, a good-sized kitchen, a root cellar and the attic. The attic was filled with old furniture draped in sheets, empty picture frames, and a lot of other miscellaneous knickknacks. Worried that it was a fire hazard, Farrell wanted to get rid of the stuff up there, but Mrs. Hill carried on so, she abandoned the plan.

  Mrs. Hill had asked to stay on after the sale. She’d worked in this house for nearly twenty years, she said, and after all that time, didn’t know what else to do with herself. Aidan was more than amenable to the idea, but Farrell, less so. If she had a housekeeper, what was she supposed to do with her time? At least he hadn’t argued about letting the cook go. She wanted to prepare their meals, and Aidan couldn’t justify the expense of another servant right now.

  Servant! Farrell thought with a shudder. Somehow it all seemed wrong. This wasn’t what she’d envisioned when she thought of that new start he’d talked about.

  Brother had told them that he had regular, loyal customers who would probably be happy to remain with Aidan. So far, that had proven to be true, and Aidan was up every day before the sun so that he could not only learn and oversee the operation of the mill, but could also call upon those customers as a gesture of goodwill. He didn’t come up to the house until after the mill closed for the day, then when did, he closed himself in the study to go over the books and try to get a sense of the expenses and income of the business.

  Mrs. Hill had wanted to serve him his supper in the study, but Farrell put a fast halt to that. If he wanted to eat, he had to come to the table and eat with her.

  At the end of the long day, he’d fall into bed, worn out, then start the whole thing over again before dawn. He worked like a man possessed, and when she objected, he told her he’d be a fool to let such an opportunity pass him by. In Ireland, as dear as their homeland was, they’d starved and suffered centuries of subjugation. He had the chance to turn everything around for the both of them and give Farrell the best that money could buy.

  Farrell regarded his explanations with a shadow of doubt. They already had so much more now than they’d had in Skibbereen, it seemed greedy to wish for more. But she also understood what drove Aidan—or thought she did.

  Now it was November, and the days had grown short. The good thing about it was that nightfall came on at around five o’clock and Aidan couldn’t work in the dark. So at least he was in the house.

  One night he came to bed and began nuzzling her neck, pulling her closer to him with both hands on her buttocks. He smelled wonderful, like fresh wood and a touch of whiskey, and his bare skin was warm against hers. But she wiggled away.

  “What? What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She rolled over and faced him in the moonlight. “I haven’t seen you all day. You were gone before I woke and I ate supper by myself again. Now ye come in here like a wraith, wake me up, and expect me to make love with you? I wouldn’t mind except that it’s like this every day. I didn’t know I’d be living this ‘better life’ you promised me by myself.”

  Aidan withdrew to his own side of the big bed, feeling her coldness. “I’m sorry, lass. It won’t always be this way. I’m just trying to make a success of this mill and it takes long hours. Ye have the house to keep you busy, don’t you?”

  “Mrs. Hill won’t let me change anything. Whenever I try, she starts weeping and carrying on about the late Mrs. Brother, and how she liked things thus, and how she liked things so. It’s as if the house belongs to Mrs. Hill instead of us.”

  “You have to take charge of the help, Farrell. That’s your job. You have to let her know who’s boss.” He rolled to his back and put his hands behind his head. “My job is to get the knack of the business part of this, get new customers, keep the crew in line. I still have a lot to learn.”

  “Aye, that’s the truth, Aidan. You do.”

  A silence fell over them in the darkness. He loved Farrell with his entire soul. He had for years. But, so far, knowing that she might still adore Liam, he hadn’t been able tell her with words. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard her correctly the night they’d consummated their marriage, when she’d said that he had her trust and her heart. He couldn’t bring himself to ask her about that either. He knew she wanted security and stability. All he could think to do was work harder to give her a life of ease. Maybe then he could win her love.

  “I’m sorry lass,” he repeated. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I’ll say goodnight, then.”

  She waited so long to respond, he wasn’t sure she would. He lay down and closed his eyes.

  “Goodnight.”

  * * *

  “God, what a primitive backwater this is,” Noel said to Fitch as they arrived at the dock in Portland. Compared to some of the other American cities he’d seen, this was nothing but some wood frame buildings and trees, trees, trees. The post office was a log cabin, and then there were more trees. He’d heard the stories of people packing up their belongings in wagons and making the six-month journey across the country to travel to Oregon. It was a perilous trip, it was said, and many died of disease and accidents along the way. Why in hell would anyone risk life and limb to come here? he wondered.

  As they waited to disembark, he gave his henchman his instructions. “Our first order of business to fi
nd out who the influential people are in these parts. If possible, I’d like to meet some others like the Grays.” He didn’t come right out and tell Fitch what amazing dupes they’d been, because in many ways, Fitch was also a dupe. But despite some truly grating moments, his association with George and Dolly had worked out well, especially at the end. He had left the woman in the hotel sobbing over his departure, after he’d used her like a common doxy in every possible way, and without the cost. In fact, she’d given him her massive diamond ring as a farewell gift, which he’d sold for cash. It had been most delightful.

  “Then we must find O’Rourke. Find out where Oregon City is.” He let his gaze stray to the muddy river banks. “I certainly hope it’s more cosmopolitan than this place.”

  * * *

  Farrell stood in the dining room, removing the china from the cabinet and putting it in an empty tea crate she’d found in the attic. She packed the dishes in wood shavings she’d gotten from the mill to keep it from breaking.

  “Oh, no! You aren’t going to put the china in the attic, are you? The poor missus loved it.” Mrs. Hill was already groping in her apron pocket for her handkerchief.

  Startled by the woman’s trumpeting, Farrell jumped and nearly dropped the plate she held. She clenched her teeth to keep from saying the first rude thing that came to mind, that she didn’t care what the “missus” had liked, and that if the housekeeper missed her so, she could go sit by her grave on the back acres. Instead, she replied, “Mrs. Hill, this is my home now, and my china. I know that ye grieve for your former mistress, and I’m sorry that you lost her. But my husband is working to pay for all this because it doesn’t belong to Mr. Brother any more. He sold it all to us. I thought you understood that when you asked to stay on—when you asked us to keep paying you. Now, Mr. O’Rourke has bought new dishes for me and I’d like to put them in the china cabinet.”

  Mrs. Hill ran from the room, sobbing into her apron— again—and Farrell clenched her teeth again, this time so hard that she began to get a headache. Or maybe she’d been getting a headache anyway. She’d been feeling poorly lately, irritable, and with an appetite that waxed and waned. Sometimes it seemed she couldn’t get enough to eat and other mornings, she woke up too sick to even look at food. She was sure it had to do with the commotion in her life.