“Ye were a confirmed bachelor, then?” she asked. “Is that what you’re sayin’?”
“Marriage has been the last thing on my mind.”
“If you don’t mind me sayin’ so, ‘twas time ye thought of it. Love can sneak right by ye.”
“I thought to arrange a marriage when the time was right.”
“More’s the pity.” But she knew that’s what his upper-crust class did. A body would have to look long and hard to find kindling and fire in a blue blood’s cool veins —unless they forgot who they were. When Charles believed himself to be a man called Charlie, he had enough fire in him to light the city of Boston.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Look on the bright side, me love. Now ye won’t have to worry about any arrangin’. ‘Tis taken care of, you’re a married man.”
“Our marriage...” Charles’s voice trailed off and he swiped a hand through his hair, the rich dark brown of fertile earth. For a well-spoken man, Charles appeared to be having a difficult time.
“ ‘Twas a stroke of luck, to be sure. Do ye not remember how well suited we are in...in bed?”
“Maeve!” A flash of bright silver light sparked in his eyes as they locked on hers.
She’d shocked him. She had stirred genuine, unmasked emotion from her stoic husband. Unfortunately, it was not the emotion she had hoped for. “Do ye not remember?” she repeated softly.
“No. I...I don’t.” For a moment he looked remorseful. His gray eyes reflected a gentleness and concern. But the moment swiftly passed.
‘‘ ‘Tis your loss!’’ Exasperated and angry that he could not remember the most wonderful moments in her life, Maeve turned on her heel.
Charles seized her forearm and turned her back to him. The intensity of his gaze caused her stomach to somersault. “Maeve, is there any chance...do you suppose you could see your way clear to having our marriage annulled?”
“Over me dead body!” she bristled. He might as well have plunged a knife through her heart for the pain nearly doubled her over. But rather than show Charles how he’d hurt her, Maeve unleashed her Irish temper. “Saints above. Ye took my maidenhood, and that’s a fact. There can be no annulment.”
“Shhh.” He hastily placed a finger over her lips.
Which didn’t stop Maeve. “I did not hear ye complain at the time!”
“The servants will hear you,” he warned in a hoarse whisper.
She jerked out of his grasp. “And so?”
“My business is not theirs to know.”
“The servants know your business before ye do.”
He reeled back. “What?”
“My experience at the Deakinses taught me that much.”
“Dear God.”
“Sure’n I know what’s whispered behind the stairs. Have ye forgotten? Ye married an Irish maid.”
“I have not forgotten.”
“Let’s hear no more talk about annulment,” Maeve muttered, straightening her shoulders and marching toward the sitting room. She’d had enough of this conversation. A terrible foreboding settled in the pit of her stomach like a ten-pound stone. Tears gathered behind her eyes. “You’re stirrin’ me temper.”
Charles followed, letting out what could only be interpreted as the sigh of a persecuted man. “Maeve, it is not my intention to wound you but we must consider what to do about this predicament.”
Maeve perched on the edge of the serpentine-backed sofa. “What predicament would that be?” she asked with a haughty hike of her chin.
“You were forced into this marriage as much as I.”
“True, but I did not mind it. Ye are a good man. I could not do better.”
“Well...well, of course you couldn’t!”
“Aye.”
“But that’s not the point.”
“And I’m sure ye’l1 be tellin’ me what the point is,” she said.
Rubbing his brow as if he had a bad, bad headache, Charles turned away. “You are impossible.”“My dear dad and Shea have claimed the same about me on occasion. But you shall grow used to me ways in time.”
Charles spun back to face Maeve with a glower that would have turned a timid woman to dust.
“Or perhaps you mightn’t,” she added quietly.
“Tomorrow, you will pay a visit to my doctor so that he may verify your —”
Maeve leaped from the sofa. Wagging a finger, she advanced on him. For every step she took forward, Charles took one back. “Ye arrogant man! Do ye take me for a fool? Just what would a visit to your doctor prove? Soon ye’d be claiming there was some man before ye. No. No, there was no man before you although there were plenty hanging ‘round me skirts.”
“I...I apologize. I didn’t mean to imply you were—”
“A strumpet, sir?”
“Yes. No!”
“I’ve been a good girl, like me dear mother made me promise before she died.”
“Forgive me.”
The words were spoken so softly, Maeve almost missed them. While she’d had days to grow used to the idea of the hasty marriage, her husband had not.
“I shall do me best to make ye happy and proud of me,” she said, offering what she knew to be only a thread of comfort. “You won’t regret this marriage, Charles Rycroft. That’s me promise to ye.”
Once again, he rubbed his brow. “Yes. Well, ah, we shall continue this discussion later.”
“Are ye leavin’ me then?”
He strode toward the door. “I must see to the recovery of my sketch and pay a visit to the publishing house.”
“What am I to do while you are away?”
“I shall arrange for Mrs. Potts, my mother’s seamstress, to look in on you and fit you for a new wardrobe.”
“A new wardrobe?”
“Certainly there will be Christmas festivities where you will want to look your best?”
Before this moment Maeve hadn’t thought about a future that included anyone but Charles. She wasn’t prepared to assume a role in society. Awash with uncertainty, she nodded. “Aye.”
Maeve knew what to expect in her world. On Christmas Eve she would bake Christmas cakes and prepare a Black Fast for her father and Shea. On Christmas Day she would go off to the Deakinses as usual. Midday, she would join with the other servants to celebrate Christmas with a feast of their own.
In the spirit of the season, the Deakinses would dismiss their help early and Maeve would return home to join her family at Rosie’s saloon where they would dance until their feet grew numb.
But here in Charles Rycroft’s world, Maeve had no idea what Christmas festivities meant. She feared she could not become a part of Charles’s world, that she would be held in contempt, rebuffed at every turn. Charles’s family and friends might never accept her.
Charles opened the door, avoiding eye contact with Maeve. “Mrs. Potts will be here before noon and more than likely will keep you busy for most of the day. Pull this bell rope should you need anything. Dolly will see that you have a light luncheon.”
“Aye.” He was leaving Maeve alone in a strange place. Her brash, brave front evaporated.
“Have I forgotten anything?”he asked.
“Deakins. Ye won’t forget about informing the Deakinses of my whereabouts? I’ve never missed a day of work nor ever been late. About now the Mrs. might be gettin’ upset.”
“No. No, I won’t forget the Deakinses,” he assured her, and hurriedly closed the door behind him without so much as a smile.
“Good-bye then,” Maeve whispered, alone in the large, empty room. The spaciousness made her feel even smaller than she was.
She did not care for her new husband’s high-handed manner. She liked him much better when he was a quiet, genial man unashamed of the vulnerability visited upon him by his amnesia. As Charlie, he’d depended upon Maeve for guidance without ever displaying pride or malice. And yet in bed, his masculine instincts proved to be remarkable.
On their wedding night Maeve had gladly given the gift of her virginity to Charles. With infinite patience and sensitivity, Charles taught her the ways of love between a man and woman. His touch and his kiss were like heaven on earth, transporting Maeve to a wondrous place far beyond the leprechaun’s rainbow. She became lighter than air, lighter than a fairy’s wing. And to her great delight, Charles had seemed unable to get enough of her. He fired Maeve’s desire and satisfied her passion with astounding eagerness. For almost five days, he’d been the perfect man.
How could he forget?
But he had. And he had already asked about an annulment. Maeve worried that Charles meant to divorce her or lock her away up here in this suite of rooms. Her father would never countenance divorce. Besides, she’d grown attached to her husband. She did not want to part from him. She would not.
But sooner than later, Charles would discover Maeve’s pitiful lack of education and be mortified by her. She would rather die than disgrace her husband. Whatever she needed to do to keep Charles wed to her, she must do it quickly.
Maeve knew of only one person who could help her. Although her husband had ordered her to stay in her rooms, she could not obey him. She must seek Pansy Deakins’s counsel immediately.
Maeve slipped into the Deakins household in her usual manner—by the rear door. Using the back steps, she managed to make her way to Pansy’s bedchamber without running into any of the other servants. She knocked softly on the door.
“Come in.”
Maeve slipped quickly into the room. Pansy sat at the vanity brushing her long, rust-colored hair. When she saw Maeve’s form reflected in the mirror, she turned with a great, broad smile. “There you are at last! I had given up hope.”
Unbuttoning her coat, Maeve stepped forward. “I cannot stay.”
“What do you mean? Mother is furious.” Pansy always added more drama to a situation. She longed to be an actress although such a profession was not at all suitable for one of her class.
“Sure’n I’m sorry, Miss.”
Maeve was uncertain how it had happened but she and Pansy had become more than servant and mistress. They were friends. She suspected it had something to do with the fact they were only one year apart in age. Maeve was nineteen and Pansy twenty. The free-spirited redhead constantly rebelled against the strictures that her parents and society presented her.
Pansy rose and crossed the room to where Maeve stood in anxious indecision. Slender and of average height, the only Deakins child possessed remarkable hazel eyes. The changing colors made Maeve think the good Lord could not make up his mind whether Pansy’s eyes should be green or brown.
The light of curiosity danced in them now. “What happened to delay you?”
Shaking her head, Maeve hurried to the window and swept back the lace curtains. “Has Mr. Charles Rycroft been here yet?”
“Rycroft? Heavens, no! What would he be doing here?”
“He was supposed to tell ye that I wasn’t coming to work today. Or tomorrow. Or...” Maeve could not finish. Her throat closed as unbidden tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Rycroft was to deliver this message?”
Swiping at her tears, Maeve nodded to Pansy. “Yes.”
Her socialite friend seized her hands. “Why? And why are you crying?”
“My hu...hu...husband has regained his memory,” she stuttered through her tears.
“Maeve! What secrets have you been keeping from me? I didn’t know you were married. You never said!”
“Several days ago. It, it was quite sudden.” Fresh tears spilled from her eyes.
“Oh, my.” Much to Maeve’s chagrin, Pansy didn’t believe in marriage. She advocated free love since forming an admiration for Victoria Woodhull.
“And now my husband does not remember marrying me.”
“Oh, dear!”
“Ye haven’t heard the worst”
Pansy’s lips rounded and her eyes brightened. “Come sit with me.” After leading Maeve to the striped satin chaise, she sat down and patted the spot beside her. “Tell me everything.”
“He’s...one of you.”
“One of me? You are not making sense, Maeve.”
“Charles Rycroft. That’s me husband.”
“Charles Rycroft!” Pansy repeated in astonishment.
“What am I to do?”
“Charles Rycroft?” Pansy asked again, her eyes wide with disbelief. “No!”
“Yes.”
To Maeve’s surprise, her friend giggled. “The mothers of Boston’s finest young ladies have been after Rycroft for at least a half dozen years. Including my own dear mama.”
Maeve readily understood. “Charles is exceedingly handsome in his own way.”
Pansy did not comment, she only grinned. “How did you manage it? To many him?”
“Me brother Shea accused him of compromising me when Mr. Rycroft wasn’t quite himself. Shea forced me upon him when Charles could not say nay.”
Pansy could barely contain herself. “This is famous!”
“Charles wants to annul the marriage but it’s been—”
“Oh, don’t tell me!”
“Consummated.”
“Consummated!” Pansy repeated, jumping up with a clap of her hands. She regarded Maeve fondly. “Who but you would ever say the word aloud?”
“I’m only sayin’ what is true.”
Pansy’s eyes twinkled with unabashed glee. “You will never have to work again. You will never have to tie my corset nor pack my trunks.”
“Ye are a good mistress, I do not mind.”
“If Charles Rycroft wants an annulment he will be willing to settle on you,” Pansy interrupted.
Maeve stood. “But I do not want his money.”
“Of course you do. You and your father and brother will be able to move to a sweet little cottage by the shore and you will have nothing to do all day but brush your hair and sew samplers.”
“I want me husband,” Maeve declared, digging her hands into her hips.
“Who?”
“Me husband. I’m thinkin’ I love him. Loved him at first sight of him. After I cleaned him up.”
“Cleaned him up?”
“He’d had an accident.”
Pansy raised her rust-brown eyebrows, but went on with what she obviously considered a more important question. “Just how long have you been married?”
“Five days.”
“‘Tis only infatuation you’re feeling.”
Although Maeve didn’t like to disagree with Pansy, she did. “Sure’n I think it’s more, but I’ll never know unless I stay married to the man for a time.”
“Have you considered that you will most likely be ostracized by society?”
While Maeve never cared what others thought, she cared for what they might say or do to Charles. “I am not frightened,” she bluffed.
“Good. For you will need your courage.” Pansy slanted her a wide smile. “You have always been my friend and will remain so. We shall go about together as equals. What fun we shall have!”