“You know, dear, I think it might be best if
you were to leave that topic alone for now.”
“But why?” The young woman crossed her arms
over her chest. “Did we not come all the way to Ireland so that
Nicholas could propose? It would be so much more pleasant to get to
know Clara in the fashion of a sister-to-be than continue in this
required hostess and guest relationship. We are so close in age,
and there is so much we could plan and do together if everyone
stopped tiptoeing around the subject. We…”
Both of their heads turned as Nicholas
emerged from his door. From his shining dark boots to the short,
fitted black jacket to the buff-colored buckskin breeches, he was
the very image of the country gentleman on his way to dinner.
Alexandra noticed, though, the tenseness that had settled around
his lips. The look he was directing at Fanny was impatient, if not
downright dangerous.
“Am I interrupting something?”
“Why, yes!” The young woman was quick to
answer. “You are interrupting my complaints to mother about…”
“Why not be on your way downstairs, young
lady.” Alexandra turned a sharp look on her daughter.
“But mother…I think this is a perfectly good
opportunity for—”
“Downstairs, Frances Marie.” This time the
mother’s tone left no room that she meant to be obeyed. “Tell Sir
Thomas and Lady Purefoy that Nicholas and I will be down
shortly.”
Rankled but dutiful, the young woman
gathered her skirts in two fists and disappeared down the
stairs.
“Thank you.” Nicholas closed his door and
offered his arm to Alexandra. “I love her dearly, but I have lately
acquired so much appreciation for what you have been saving me from
these past few years.”
“Fanny is a good girl. And she is not always
so impatient.” She placed a hand in the crook of her son’s arm, but
refused to go downstairs yet. “Is there anything that you want to
talk to me about?”
He glanced at her cautiously.
“You know, Nicholas…I could be of assistance
to you.” She paused, gentled her voice even more and looked up into
blue eyes that could not hide his distress. “I am still your
mother, and there is no reason why you should shoulder all of this
pressure alone. I can, with great subtlety, bring up a topic. I can
drop a hint regarding your state of mind. Whatever you wish. I can
even distract them, if that is what you desire. I want you to know
most of all, however, that you have every right to take your time
before committing to anything permanent.”
His other hand came up and pressed
Alexandra’s affectionately against his arm.
She looked about the empty hallway and
lowered her voice. “I know I should have had this talk with you
before we even arrived here. But now is as good a time as any, I
suppose.” She paused, gathering her thoughts. “We both know that in
our society there are certain requirements—
formalities
is
perhaps a better word—that must be observed before men and women
enter into a marriage partnership. Yes, indeed, partnership is the
correct way of stating it, for it has become very much a business
relationship. Therefore, a business contract is required of all
parties.”
“What is your point, Mother?”
“I am getting to it, Nicholas. Knowing you
as I do…understanding you better than you think…I believe you need
more than a business partner. You need a woman who can match you in
will and in wit. You do not need some ornament who will expect to
be put on a pedestal as a wife.”
“You are
very
observant.”
“And so are you.” She patted his arm. “A
quality inherited fully from my side of the family.”
He gave her a gentle bow of the head and
smiled.
“I hope you will not consider my comments as
meddlesome, but I have been greatly disturbed by the thought that
perhaps my presence here might press you into making a hasty
decision…” She let the words drift in the air. This was the most
she’d allowed herself to become openly involved in Nicholas’s life
in many…many years.
“As well, you should be the first one who is
told.” He placed a hand on the darkly gleaming wood of the
banister. “She is
not
for me. I shall not make an offer for
Clara’s hand.”
Alexandra stifled a great sigh of relief.
She tried to withhold any sign of jubilation and keep her
expression impassive.
“And I am not for her, either. I shall make
my intentions known to Sir Thomas tonight, for I do not wish for
any misunderstandings or hard feelings to develop. We shall try to
avoid any unpleasantness.” He glanced down the shadowy stairs
before turning his attention back to her. “In fact, if Sir Thomas
and Lady Purefoy have no objection, I wish to remain at Woodfield
House for the fortnight we had originally planned.”
“Splendid!” she managed to squeak, too
pleased to say any more.
As they started down the stairs to join
their hosts for dinner, Alexandra considered telling Nicholas about
her little discovery in the attic that morning. Though he’d never
pursued painting himself, she knew he was as much of a connoisseur
of the arts as she was herself. She was certain that he too would
be much taken by Jane’s paintings. She would like to be there to
see his face as the power of her message conveyed itself to him.
But she refrained from singing the praises of the older sister.
Nicholas would have to discover her all on his own.
And staying at Woodfield House for the full
fortnight could present the most provocative opportunities.
***
“And how did you find the new magistrate,
Sir Nicholas?”
Clara idly pushed the pheasant about on her
plate as they all waited in silence for the baronet to answer her
father’s question. She dared not peek up at him, though, for she
was beginning to suspect that Sir Nicholas had not heard the
question at all. Indeed, for most of dinner he’d seemed
considerably distracted. His interest appeared to dwell
thoughtfully on Jane’s empty place across the table.
Earlier, when her sister and the visitor had
arrived at the rectory in Ballyclough with Henry, Clara had
immediately sensed the tension between the two. The air in the
small dining room felt charged, like a summer night before a
thunderstorm. Indeed, there had been few words exchanged between
the two during the modest luncheon. Thinking about the time there
at the rectory, Clara felt the cold lump form again in her stomach.
Henry had never once looked at her during the meal.
Then, on the ride back to Woodfield House,
Jane had again chosen to ride far ahead of Clara and Sir Nicholas.
No one had said anything beyond the necessary courtesies, either on
the road or upon reaching Woodfield House.
All of this, however, did little to distract
her from her own pain.
Her father pointedly cleared his throat,
drawing their brooding guest’s attention. “I was hoping to get your
opinion on…”
“The new magistrate.”
Clara was relieved to hear the baronet
finally speak.
“Yes.”
“I was considering my response, Sir
Thomas.”
“Measuring it, you mean.” Her father let out
a burst of laughter, and Clara felt her mood lighten. “You didn’t
like him, by thunder. I’m sure Musgrave would be distraught to hear
that.”
Sir Nicholas directed a sharp look toward
the head of the table. “I had no idea the magistrate would care
about my opinion one way or the other. Perhaps I should have shared
it with him before we parted ways this morning.”
“Then you do not deny it.” Obviously
pleased, Sir Thomas shook his head and downed a great swallow of
wine. “Please allow me, sir, to pass on your reaction to the man. I
would very much enjoy ruining Sir Robert’s mood with such
news.”
“You really would waste your energies on
such a pointless exercise? Surely, there must be more stimulating
things for one to do in this country.”
The comment, delivered in a slightly mocking
tone by Sir Nicholas, caused a ripple of amusement to emanate from
all the women at the table. Clara, though, quickly stifled her own
mirth as she saw a dark cloud descend immediately over her father’s
mood.
He cleared his voice in that all too
familiar manner that indicated his displeasure. She stared at him,
thinking desperately for a way to ease the renewed tension.
“I wonder, though,” Sir Nicholas added
soberly, “if your enjoyment in ‘ruining Sir Robert’s mood’ might
stem from the fact that he has succeeded you in a task that you
excelled at for so many years. I believe it is not uncommon to be
somewhat critical of the person who has taken on one’s own position
and responsibilities.”
After a long uncomfortable pause, the older
man’s head nodded once in agreement as he gestured to a servant for
more wine. “Indeed, sir. Very observant. And no harm in it,
either.”
Clara fought back her surprise at the
exchange. She had never heard anyone speak to her father quite so
bluntly. But Sir Thomas’s calm and equally candid response nearly
bowled her over. Her father emptied another glass of wine before
continuing.
“I was the king’s magistrate in this region
for more than twenty years. When I took the post here, the violence
against the gentry was more vicious than anything you might have
heard in the stories of the Sussex smugglers’ war of the ‘40s. But
I handled them, sir. With a strong hand, I made the people here
know that civil authority would be respected and obeyed. Those who
would not respect the king’s law, however, would learn to fear it.
Because of my work, sir, the landlords finally found it possible to
take charge of their own lands and control their tenants.”
Sir Thomas’s hand shook as he lifted his
glass again. “And later…when the investment in pasture became more
profitable than tillage, when some of the landlords decided to
lease the land to graziers instead of to tenant farmers, I was the
one who challenged the rebels…the Whiteboys…or Shanavests…or
whatever bloody hell they call themselves.”
Clara’s stomach clenched in a knot. Her
mother’s face had gone deathly white. Totally unconcerned, Sir
Thomas drank down another glass of wine and continued.
“The Whiteboys only exist because they dare
to defy common decency and threaten their own kind. The wretches
force others of their class to take an oath under threat of
violence. And that, sir, is illegal. Nine years ago, we caught five
of their leaders not far from Waterford. I was one of the judges
who ordered the ruffians hanged. By hanging those five, I was
sending a message to everyone that the administration of oaths in
such a way would be treated as the capital offence it was. In a
single stroke, I curtailed their aggression dramatically.” He
pointed a finger at Nicholas. “And this is the root of the problem
with Musgrave. I keep telling him that instead of wasting so much
of his time socializing with the landed gentry…people who for the
most part find him intolerable anyway…and instead of going around
the district harassing the papist tenants on insignificant matters
like the nonpayment of rents, he should be going after these rebel
leaders. He needs to be concentrating his efforts on scum like this
Egan that you ran into yesterday…or these two others they call Liam
and Patrick, a pair of blackguards as bad as the first. And then
there is another rogue who goes by the name of Finn. That one
doesn’t show his face very often, but we know he has his fingers
into the activities of at least three of the neighboring counties.
Until the day these blackguards’ heads are hung on a post in Cork
City, Musgrave will garner no respect from the gentry. Thus far, he
has done nothing to instill fear into the hearts of these
rebels.”
“I saw a rather large barracks being erected
in Buttevant.”
“By thunder, talk about a pointless
exercise!” Sir Thomas banged his glass on the table. “Those
dragoons will do nothing but stir up these rebels. We need strong
civil
authority in Ireland, not military occupation.”
Stealing a glance out of the corner of her
eye, Clara could see that Sir Nicholas was staring at the brocade
on the silk tablecloth. His face was a mask, but she sensed that he
knew
about Jane. She had not openly questioned her sister
about what had taken place yesterday, but when Clara considered the
cut on his arm, the blow to her face, the silent message that
clearly passed between them when they first met, she was certain.
Sir Nicholas
had
to know Jane and Egan were one and the
same.
“I have even made some recommendations to
Musgrave on how he could proceed to set a trap for them.”
“A trap…?”
Lady Purefoy practically jumped to her feet.
“I…I…believe it would be best if we women retired to the parlor.
This kind of talk is far too shocking, Sir Thomas, and you shall be
frightening our guests out of their wits.” She looked across the
table. Will you favor us with your company tonight, Sir Nicholas?
Or are you staying behind with my husband this evening.
Clara knew it was not like her mother to
take charge such as this, but as her father drained his wineglass
yet again, she was grateful for the interruption.
“If you will forgive me this evening,
m’lady—” The baronet stood and bowed politely as the rest of the
women rose, as well, “—I should like to stay behind and speak with
Sir Thomas. There are a few topics pressing that I believe we need
to discuss.”
Catherine Purefoy practically beamed.
“Absolutely, Sir Nicholas. And please take your time. We shall be
waiting in the parlor for you both.”
Clara felt as if a cold stone had lodged
itself in her stomach. She dragged herself toward the door,
watching her parents exchange a look of satisfaction. The momentary
air of harmony that hung between them, though, was a stark reminder
of the sacrifice that she had decided six months ago to make—the
sacrifice she’d confessed this very morning that she hadn’t the
heart to go through with.