"Nonsense, girl. What would you have done? Hit one of the beggars over the head with your bonnet?" He forced a grim smile. "Truth to tell, it was rare good fun. Things were too dull around here with you away." Raising her hand, he tugged at her white glove. "What's this I feel on your finger? And who is your tall companion?"
"Sir." O'Ryan stepped into the room. "I'm Michael—"
"O'Ryan, Papa," Anne supplied. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Papa didn't look as bad as she had feared. His weather-tanned face was pale, but his sinewy hands lacked none of their customary strength. "We met in Philadelphia."
"Met and married," O'Ryan said. "It is my honor, Mr. Davis, to be Anne's husband."
"God's teeth! You've wed my girl without my leave?" He flung off his nightcap and halfheartedly tried to climb out of bed. "I should teach you a lesson or two about—"
"No, no, you must not," Anne said, pushing him back. "Please stay where you are." It seemed so strange to see her father lying in bed in his nightshirt in broad daylight. She studied him, looking for some outward sign of weakness. His dark eyes had circles under them but that was normal for him after a late night. His chestnut hair was thinning, and gray streaked his temples, but he was ageless. He looked no different than he ever had.
"Blast and damn, stop lussing over me," Papa grumbled, but he surprised her by sinking back against the heaped pillows.
"I didn't know you were ill," she soothed. "I'm so sorry to shock you like this by—"
"You should be sorry. You disobeyed me when you ran off to Mary's without my permission after I put the fear of the Lord in that no-good..." He trailed off, rubbing his right shoulder. "I should have come for you at once. Would have, if plantation matters hadn't kept me here."
"It was very wrong of me, Papa," Anne said contritely.
He scowled at O'Ryan. "Irish, are you?"
"Aye, late of Belfast."
"No notion of taking my Anne back across the water, have you? I warn you, I'll not permit it."
"No, sir."
"I would have preferred she chose one of her own kind, a Marylander rather than a foreign fop." When O'Ryan remained silent, her father added, "James will do. James I was christened. We stand on little ceremony here."
"James it will be, sir."
"Married, are you? Legally? By a man of God, no civil servant?"
"Yes, Papa," Anne said. "A proper Methodist minister. You can see the paper if you like."
"Damned well will want to see it!" He glared at O'Ryan. "Not a pauper, are you?" he demanded. "Some trumped-up manservant aping his better and seeking a wife with a good piece of land?"
"No," Anne said. "Michael isn't like that. He is the grandson of an earl."
"English or Irish?" her father demanded. "I've little use for the English. Greedy—"
"Irish. My mother's father was Lord Bessborough of County Clare."
"Irish is not so bad as English, I'll grant you. But there were Irish troops among the redcoats we drove off this land not ten years past."
"None of my family, I assure you," O'Ryan replied. "Lord Bessborough was the father of six girls, and my own father was more of a scholar than a military man."
"Papa." Anne hesitated, finding it hard to put the lie into words. She'd rarely been dishonest with anyone, let alone the father she adored. It made her feel sick inside. "Michael and I love each other."
"Love a man you haven't known six months?"
"Please, give him a chance. He's not a man of great wealth, but he's... comfortable."
"Aye," her bridegroom agreed. "Comfortable."
Her father cleared his throat and frowned. "Not a farmer, I suppose."
"I can learn."
"That's to be seen." Her father adjusted his nightcap and looked back at her. "What does George think of your Irishman?"
O'Ryan chuckled. "He can't bear the sight of me."
"First good thing I've heard. George is no judge of men. Stupidest thing I ever did, let him have my Mary. He's rich enough, I suppose, but sour as four-day milk." He patted Anne's hand. "You've a bit of me in you after all. Forgetting common sense to follow your heart."
She blinked back a tear. "You're not angry with me?"
"Angry? Of course, I'm angry." His eyes narrowed. "Some rascal waltzes in and snatches my daughter without a by-your-leave. Why shouldn't I toss the both of you into the bay to sink or swim?" He uttered a sound of disgust. "But I suppose you could have done worse, girl. I could have had the likes of Stephen Preston at my table."
"Please, Papa. I'd rather we didn't talk about him."
Her father didn't appear to notice her distress. "Preston was an English fortune hunter," he said to O'Ryan. "Took one look at my Anne and thought he'd use her to get his hands on Gentleman's Folly. I saw through him at once. Worthless as a dead crow. I took the cad aside and told him to stay away from my daughter or pay the consequences, if you take my meaning."
"I do," O'Ryan replied.
"I suppose if you're truly wed with book and ring, we'll try to make the best of it. But you're both here on trial. I want that understood."
Anne nodded, wanting more than anything to throw herself into his arms and confess everything. But she couldn't. The risk was too great. She had never doubted her father's love, but neither had she doubted his temper or his stubbornness. She couldn't bear to lose him or the home she loved. "Yes, Papa," she replied, falling back into her girlhood practice of pretending to agree with whatever he said.
"Perfectly understood," O'Ryan agreed.
"Do you ride, at least?" James asked. "Shoot?"
"I do."
"Then all's not lost, and my daughter's not the world's silliest wench. A man who can't sit a horse or bring down a game bird isn't worth his salt." He cleared his throat again. "Away with the both of you, while I get dressed. Enough time's been wasted today, and we've much to tell each other, I'll venture, Mr. O'Ryan."
"But, Papa, you're not well enough to get up."
"Out!" he bellowed. "I'll be the judge of how I am and how I'm not. Not a girl not yet dry behind her ears." He glanced at O'Ryan. "I'll give you a piece of advice, boy. Although I doubt you're smart enough to heed it. Start your wife the way you mean to go. I've spoiled her and coddled her for love of her dead mother until she's near impossible to live with. See that you don't make the same mistake."
There was a faint knock, and then a petite black woman wearing a shapeless, brightly patterned dress and turban entered the bedchamber. "Master James, I've brought your warm milk and bread." She smiled at Anne. "Good to have you home, precious," she said. "He's difficult to handle without you being here."
Anne rose and kissed the older woman's cheek. "I've missed all of you, too, Aunt Kessie." She glanced at O'Ryan. "Aunt Kessie is part of our family."
The black woman nodded regally. "I'm the housekeeper here."
"She's more than that," Anne insisted. "Aunt Kessie raised Mary and me from babies. And since Mama..." She trailed off, knowing how even a mention of her mother would trigger her father's grieving.
Aunt Kessie filled the gap. "We would have given you better welcome to this house if Master James wasn't under the weather. I've asked the girls to ready the west rooms for you."
Anne averted her eyes. She'd known, naturally, that the family would expect her and O'Ryan to share a bedroom and the adjoining dressing area. But somehow she'd thought of herself alone in the chamber she'd slept in since she was born. "Thank you," she murmured. "The west rooms will be—"
"Best view in the house," her father said. "You can see the bay from there, watch the sun going down over the water. Closest sight to heaven you'll see in this life."
Aunt Kessie motioned toward the door. "You'll want to freshen up after the journey, Miss Anne. I'll tend your father. Dr. McNeal will be here directly. Daniel saw the dust from the doctor's dogcart on the road. You go along. No sense in Master James wasting good cash by paying for a doctor and not staying put until he's looked at."
Anne took the hint. Squeezing her father's hand once more, she and O'Ryan left the room. "Aunt Kessie can manage Papa better than anyone," she said when they were far enough down the hall to be certain that he wouldn't hear her.
"You do have slaves on Gentleman's Folly?"
"Some. Aunt Kessie is free. She was born in the islands." She stopped to look directly into his face. "No one thinks of her as a servant. I told you, she's part of our family."
"One slave is too many in my opinion. I may as well be honest with you. I don't believe in the practice of enslaving other humans."
Anne sighed. "Neither do I, not really. But slavery has been a way of life in America for generations. Here on Gentleman's Folly, we've always treated our people kindly. We never break up families or—"
"You say that, but I wonder how they must feel. To be owned by another..."
"We didn't invent the practice. Even the ancient Celts kept slaves."
"You're well read for a woman," he replied. "You're right. The ancient Irish did have slaves, but it was a cruel custom then as it is today. Mayhap you'd agree with me if you'd ever spent a day wearing chains."
She looked at him in amazement. "Surely you don't believe my father would put irons on our people? He isn't like that. They are well cared for, given good food and good lodging."
"I'm not judging you or your family, Anne. I only wanted you to know exactly how I feel."
"That's fair."
Turning, she continued on into the oldest section of the house, past another set of stairs and through a low doorway to a newer passage. "Papa built this addition when he and Mama were married," she explained. "I think he expected to father a half-dozen brawny sons."
"There are only you and your sister?"
"Yes. There were two little boys, but both died at birth. They had all but given up hope when I was born healthy. I suppose it's why Papa doted on us." She pushed open a paneled door into a spacious corner room with four windows, high ceilings, and lovely old cherry furniture.
The oversize four-poster bed was hung with white gauze mosquito netting and piled high with pillows. A bouquet of flowers stood on the cold hearth, and two high-backed chairs flanked the brick fireplace. A small antique breakfast table with a window view of both water and pastureland provided an area for private dining.
O'Ryan grinned. "Our bed, I presume?"
Prickles of apprehension ran over her skin. "My bed," she corrected. "There's another in the dressing room that you can use." She indicated an interior door. "It's quite private. There's a bathing tub and—"
"You expect me to sleep in a closet?"
"It's not a closet," she said. "There are books and a writing desk. You'll be quite comfortable."
"I'm sure."
She felt a flush creep up her throat and cheeks. "I told you that this would be a marriage in name only."
"But you intend to let your father and the household staff believe that ours is a real marriage... in every sense?"
"Of course. I—" Anne gasped in surprise as O'Ryan gathered her in his arms and carried her across the threshold. "Put me down!"
"Tish, tish," he soothed. He bent his head so that she could feel the heat of his breath on her face.
"Please..." she managed, but when his lips brushed hers, she closed her eyes and welcomed the kiss.
He tasted of wild mint.
A rush of forbidden yearning swept over her. His tongue touched hers and she groaned in pleasure. Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over, and she found herself standing unsteadily in the center of her bedroom.
O'Ryan's blue eyes gleamed with self-satisfaction. "An old custom in my country," he said. "And it must be here as well."
She swayed, feeling the flush of heat spread up her throat to set her cheeks aflame. "You shouldn't have done that," she managed. "I—"
"It was your idea that we should present the picture of happy newlyweds," he reminded her. "Besides, you seemed to enjoy it as much as I did." He caught her hand and lifted her fingers for a light kiss. "This Aunt Kessie of yours. Does she have a last name?"
Anne took a breath, trying to regain her composure. "Her grandfather was Ashanti from the Gold Coast of Africa. He was a slave, but when Aunt Kessie's father won his freedom, he took the surname Africa. She's widowed, but she still goes by Kessie Africa."
"So she's not really your aunt."
"You know perfectly well that 'aunt' is a title of respect. In many ways she's been like a mother to us. Even when Mama was alive, it was Aunt Kessie who looked after us."
He folded his muscular arms across his chest. "For me, it was a country lass named Edana. She could not read or write her name, but she was a merry soul who filled my head with stories and listened to all my secrets. I loved her with all my heart. Mother sent her away when I was ten because Edana began walking out with our coachman."
The room no longer seemed as large as it had. "Speaking of secrets," she said, "why did you tell me that you were from County Clare and tell Papa that you were from Belfast? I may not have ever been to Ireland, but I know that they are far apart. Which is true? And why can't you keep your stories straight?"
"Miss Anne?" A chubby girl in white cap and apron appeared in the hall doorway. "Dr. McNeal is come."
"Good. Grace, this is my husband, Mr. O'Ryan."
"Please t' make your 'quaintance, sir." She pushed a lock of carrot-orange hair back under her cap and dropped an awkward curtsy. "Glad to have ya home, Miss Anne."
"I hope your mother's well," Anne said. "And the new babe?"
Grace grinned. "Oh yes, miss. Another boy, as red and freckled as the rest of us."
"I brought a gift for him from Philadelphia. As soon as I unpack, I'll call you. That way you can take it home with you tonight."
"Yes'm. And Miss Kessie wants to know will you be wanting hot water for a bath."
Anne nodded. "As soon as I've talked with Dr. McNeal."
Grace bustled off and Anne looked back at O'Ryan. "She's indentured until she comes of legal age. Then Papa will give her a cow and a dowry. Her parents have fourteen children—no, fifteen, including the new one. Grace is the oldest. She's been with us since she was twelve, learning how to cook and sew and manage a household. Perhaps you find some fault with this arrangement as well?"
"No, not at all. She isn't a slave. Her bond will be up when she's twenty and one."
"Of course." Anne wasn't sure what he was getting at. "It is slavery that troubles me," he said with quiet passion. "I ask only that you consider my concern. If Grace's skin was brown instead of white, would she be less deserving of that freedom on her twenty-first birthday?"
Chapter 5
Anne glanced up at him through a fringe of dark, thick lashes. "You have a lot to learn about me, Irish," she said, "and a lot to learn about our ways. Dinner is promptly at one. Any of the servants can show you to the dining room. If you'll excuse me, I must talk to Papa's doctor."
Saucy, he thought as she left the room. He'd always liked that in a woman. A female with a brain in her head and a tongue to share it was like salt on a man's porridge. It made life more interesting.
He smiled. The sway of Anne's hips as she walked was enough to give a man a fever. Perhaps his brief stay on the Chesapeake would be memorable.
He whistled a few bars of "Fair Lady of London" as he unpacked his few belongings and went to the nearest window. Throwing it open, he gazed out at the lush fields and green forests that spread out from the manor house in multicolored splendor and considered his change in fortune.
He'd never expected to come so far when he decided to follow those three footpads that evening on the dock. Annie Davis—Annie O'Ryan, he supposed he should consider her—was not only a lovely armful, but she was endearing.
Anne might not be a great beauty by society standards, which asked a gentlewoman to be as soft and sweet as meringue and as delicate in coloring as a pink-and-white porcelain shepherdess, but to his eye, she was a woman meant to warm a man's
heart. Her hair was a shiny auburn mass that curled in ringlets around her heart-shaped face, tempting him to loosen the pins and let it fall around her shoulders. Her brown eyes were large and spirited, framed by those dark lashes that she used to such effect, and despite the light sprinkling of freckles over her high cheekbones, her fair complexion would have done justice to any Irish colleen.
Anne's mouth was a delight, prettily curved and sensual, a mouth that demanded kissing. And her body... her shape was as lush and fruitful as these Maryland acres.
Some men never found a pregnant woman appealing. He was not one of them. Although Anne's condition was still hidden from view, her cheeks were rosy and her lips the color of ripe cherries. He was certain that she would carry her child with grace.
As Kathleen had done...
The familiar pain knifed through him, and he cursed himself for the hundredth time for not being man enough to do what should have been done. He supposed it was why he had agreed so readily to give his name to Anne's unborn child. Kathleen had begged him to marry her, but he had refused her. And she'd had to bear the shame of giving birth to an illegitimate child alone.
O'Ryan gritted his teeth and studied the broad acres of Gentleman's Folly. It was truly a bountiful land, without rocks or wasteland as far as he could see. Briefly he considered what it might be like to remain here on the plantation instead of taking his payment and leaving as he'd promised. It had been a long time since he'd called Cuchulainn home... a long time since he'd had any home at all.
The life of a wild rover was all well and good in the light of day or the bright lanterns of a raucous pub. But in the dark hours of the night, he was often lonely. Women there were aplenty, but none except Kathleen honestly cared if he lived or died. He wearied of being always alert for a knife in the back and of knowing that every man he met would the next day be a stranger.
He'd never considered himself a greedy man, but here within his reach was a new Eden. He thought of Kathleen at home in the old country, struggling to put food on her table. And he remembered Sean Cleary's hollow-cheeked children. He could provide for them—bring them here to Maryland, perhaps even to the plantation. If he were master here, he could do that and more. Surely he could fulfill his obligations to Kathleen and her babe without hurting Anne.
The Irish Rogue Page 5
