As another course was served, Nicholas’s
gaze fell on the profile of Clara, who was seated beside him. The
young woman’s complexion had turned a shade paler, and she appeared
preoccupied with the intricate weave of the tablecloth beneath her
plate. One glance at Jane, who was seated on the left of her
mother—across from him—and Nicholas knew the pulse of Purefoy women
beat the strongest in the older sister. Her face was flushed red,
her temper barely contained. Lady Purefoy laid her hand casually on
top of Jane’s, and the older sister fisted her hand before tucking
it beneath the table.
“Miss Purefoy,” he asked, “What kinds of
activities occupy
your
time out here in this beautiful
countryside?”
“I…I am…” Clara started to answer, but she
stopped abruptly, realizing that Nicholas’s question was directed
at Jane and not at her.
The older sister appeared as surprised to be
addressed. As she searched for an answer, Nicholas enjoyed the
opportunity of staring openly at her.
Despite the severe hairstyle and the
“handsome” bruise by her mouth, there was a vibrancy in the face
that shone through brightly. Considering her manner of dress and
the injury she’d sustained, Jane’s beauty was far different from
the kind aspired to by London’s fashionable set. But looking past
the superficial ornamentation, he saw a vitality there—a natural
beauty and spirit—that was impossible to ignore.
“I believe that there is very little
difference in the way an English woman is expected to spend her
days in Ireland than in England.”
“It has been my observation that what is
expected of women and what they actually do is not always the
same.”
“You seem to be quite the observer of human
nature, Sir Nicholas.” Jane commented.
“You would be amazed at the things one
observes when one takes the time to look.”
A soft blush crept up her cheeks. “Well, I
cannot know anything of that, sir, but I do know that when it comes
to satisfying the curiosity of observers, it is a woman’s duty to
blend what is expected and what must be done. If she is careful
enough in her actions, all that one will notice is…compliance.”
“Do you mean that one should say one thing
and do another, Jane?” Fanny asked excitedly.
“I should hope not, Miss Frances,” Jane said
gently. “Repeated back to me, my own words have a horrifying ring
to them. What I am trying to say is that even within the rigid
constraints of societal decorum—constraints that are imposed on
women practically from birth—there are freedoms that can be
exercised, good deeds that can be accomplished. Though silence is
imposed upon us…”
Sir Thomas’s loud call for one of the
servants to bring in more wine, made the older daughter pause
momentary.
“…we have voices, and we can be heard. Being
a woman should never be equated with helplessness. We…”
“
Now
do you see what I mean, sir?”
The former magistrate glared at his older daughter.
“Jane likes to draw.” Lady Purefoy hurriedly
interrupted. “She has assembled quite a portfolio of her work.”
“Do you?” Alexandra asked with enthusiasm.
“May I see them? I have an interest in art, myself.”
Lady Purefoy cast a nervous glance in her
husband’s direction. “Though I am afraid none of them are
completely finished. Is that not correct, Jane? Perhaps…some time
in the future…we shall have some of her work sent to you. Clara, on
the other hand, has an excellent hand for needlework, Sir Nicholas.
She’s done a fine rendering of Woodfield House. After dinner, I
shall show you and Miss Spencer…”
Nicholas lost interest in the discussion and
stopped listening. Once again, the family had effectively shut the
older daughter out of the conversation. Jane’s face was a picture
of tautly controlled anger. He turned his gaze from Lady Purefoy to
her husband. Nicholas was beginning to resent the blatant pushing
of Clara in his direction. Sir Thomas had all the subtlety of a
horse trader. Though he had once been interested, the Purefoys’
behavior with regard to both daughters was quickly putting him
off.
The host placed his empty glass firmly on
the table.
“Now we shall have some time for ourselves,
Sir Nicholas.” He looked meaningfully at his wife, and she
immediately rose to her feet. “You and I shall remain here for a
cigar and some brandy I have just received from my man in Cork
City. We have a few details to work out that we may put behind us
tonight. I’m sure you have a few questions you’d like to put to me
regarding the settling of affairs.”
The other women followed Lady Purefoy’s lead
and rose from the table. Nicholas shelved his own distaste on the
topic for the moment.
“We shall retire to the Blue Parlor, Sir
Thomas, and leave you men to your discussions.”
Nicholas had no recollection of having yet
offered for Clara’s hand in marriage, though, and the confident
tone of the knight regarding any possible marital discussions only
managed to annoy him further. He had never been one to tolerate
being pushed.
“I believe I will excuse myself from
accepting your invitation tonight, Sir Thomas.” He stood up as soon
as the women had left the room. “The ride up from Cork City,
combined with this injury, will not make me very agreeable company.
Perhaps some other time, we shall have an opportunity to discuss
whatever
it is you had in mind.”
Nicholas knew from the look on Purefoy’s
face that the older man was again surprised, though he shouldn’t
have been. Sir Thomas had been well aware of his reputation as a
bachelor and as a rake when they were introduced in London. Despite
it all, though, Nicholas’s position and his wealth had obviously
made the gamble of inviting him to Woodfield House a chance worth
taking.
“Very well, sir.” The man stood up.
In the hallway outside the dining room,
Nicholas spied Jane Purefoy speaking quietly to a very attentive
and sober-faced stranger he had not seen before. They stood far too
close. Their heads were bent together in a confidential gesture.
The jagged blade of jealousy that ran Nicholas through at that
moment was as unexpected as it was palpable.
“Reverend Mr. Adams,” Sir Thomas called out
loudly, drawing the newcomer’s attention. “You’ve arrived earlier
than expected.”
“Indeed I have, sir.”
Jane murmured something in parting to the
parson and, with a quick look at Nicholas, disappeared toward the
stairs leading to the upper floors. It took great effort by him to
not go up after her.
The minister turned to the two men. “I hope
I’m not intruding on your company, Sir Thomas.”
“Not at all, sir. Not at all. We were just
telling Sir Nicholas about you.”
As the introductions were made, Nicholas
studied the cleric. The man had lean, regular features. His gray
eyes were keen, and his face expressed a seriousness appropriate to
his calling. His boots and his clothes, though spattered with mud
from his travels, were well made. He had the look of a man who
would have proved an able soldier, had that been his calling. The
intimate appearance of the little tête-à-tête they’d broken up made
Nicholas wonder if the dark-haired young minister might be the
object of Jane Purefoy’s affection. The pang of disappointment that
he felt at that very distinct possibility was sudden and sharp.
To the surprise of the ladies, the three men
joined them in the Blue Parlor and, as Lady Purefoy made the rest
of the introductions, Nicholas moved to the younger daughter’s
side.
“I can see that we will not have the
pleasure of your sister’s company tonight. I saw her retire
upstairs.”
“Like you, sir,” Clara replied after an
almost imperceptible hesitation, “my sister has had a tiring day.
She asked me to make her excuses to you.”
“To me?”
“Of course, Sir Nicholas. She would not wish
you to take offense.”
“None taken. She is not unwell, though, I
hope.”
“No. I believe Jane is quite well.”
“The bruise on her face appears serious. Has
anyone looked after it, do you know?”
“I am certain that Fey has,” Clara offered
politely.
Nicholas watched the parson conversing
comfortably with Alexandra. “Reverend Adams is a close friend of
your family?”
“Indeed he is, sir.”
“Is he married? Does he have a family of his
own?”
“No, he doesn’t.” With a strained smile,
Clara moved a step away from Nicholas, effectively stopping any
further questions he might have.
Nicholas casually studied the young woman.
With a pretty smile painted on a pleasant face, she stood quietly,
not participating in any discussion, but still playing the part of
the proper hostess. He found himself suddenly bored beyond
measure.
“If you will forgive me, Miss Clara, I
believe I too shall retire,” he said.
She made no objection and expressed no
opinion. Nicholas bowed to her politely and made his excuses to the
host and hostess, as well.
The parson, though, was quick to make a
comment. “Sir Nicholas, I was sorry to hear of the attack on you
this morning. I hope, however, that you will not judge Ireland as
nothing more than a land of barbarians. The trouble you encountered
was, after all, an isolated incident. There is a great deal of good
that we have to offer here.”
“I am quite certain that is true, Parson,
though I am hardly one to judge. The little incident this morning
was no different than anything one might run into while traveling
from London into the surrounding countryside. Besides, it was a
trifling thing for us. It was Bishop Russell who was subjected to
the greatest fright.”
“Tell me, how much truth is there to the
rumor I heard in the village this afternoon that you unmasked one
of the leaders of these rebellious Whiteboys?”
“No truth, whatsoever.” Nicholas offered,
glancing impatiently toward the door. “We scuffled, that’s
all.”
“But surely you must have some inkling of
the man’s size. His build or his complexion. Something that could
aid in the new magistrate’s efforts to arrest the blackguard.”
“I can offer nothing,” he repeated, no
longer trying to keep the impatience out of his voice. “The
‘blackguard,’ as you call him, could have been anyone. I doubt very
much that I would recognize him if I saw him again.”
“But you unhorsed him…”
“The man I unhorsed could have been
anyone
, for all that I can recall. He could have been
you
, sir.”
“I hardly think so, Sir Nicholas,” their
host replied with a gruff laugh. “What would a respectable
Episcopal churchman be doing fighting for a handful of discontented
papist peasants?”
“My point exactly.” Nicholas offered dryly.
“I know nothing at all of the matter. Now, if you will excuse
me…”
“Indeed, my duties are quite taken up in my
living at the parsonage in a little town called Ballyclough, not an
hour’s ride to the north. In fact, sir, you should see it. It is
beautiful country.” Henry Adams turned and directed his next words
to Lady Spencer. “I would love to have you all come out and visit
us sometime soon. Perhaps even tomorrow.”
“I fear I shall have to decline, Parson.
After such a long day of travel…” Lady Spencer shook her head and
looked meaningfully at her daughter. “Thank you, but no. Frances
and I would never allow ourselves to impose. You would find us dull
company, indeed, after our journey. But Nicholas, on the other
hand, you will find to be generally ready for whatever challenge is
offered to him.”
“Aye, a fine idea,” Lady Purefoy put in
cheerfully. “Clara, dear, why don’t you ride over with Sir Nicholas
in the morning…if he wishes to go. There are a great many things
you can point out to him. I’ll have the cook prepare a basket for
you. You can take your time and stop somewhere for a picnic if the
weather permits.”
Henry Adams turned to Nicholas. “It would be
my great pleasure to have the opportunity of visiting more with
you, sir. I promise that you’ll not find the day a total waste. And
perhaps, Lady Purefoy, you might be able to convince Jane to
accompany them.”
“Yes, indeed, Parson,” Lady Purefoy replied,
obviously taken aback by the suggestion. “I shall certainly ask if
Jane would care to ride along.”
“
I
would also be delighted if Miss
Purefoy agrees to go along.” Nicholas said, turning to meet the
parson’s sharp gaze. “I was disappointed to not have the
opportunity of becoming more acquainted with her this night.”
A deep silence flooded the room. But
Nicholas didn’t give a damn to the suitability of his claim and
continued to size up Henry Adam’s reaction. The man’s expression
appeared impartial.
“Then…I shall…insist that Jane go along.”
Lady Purefoy’s flushed face reflected her confusion.
Pleased with the results, Nicholas bowed to
their hosts and paused by Parson Adams on his way out. “We shall
meet again at Ballyclough tomorrow.”
The household was still alive with the
activities of the night when he left the room. But his mind was
totally preoccupied with the decisions that had to be made.
Nicholas refused to be a deuced deceiver if
he could help it. Despite his wild reputation regarding women, he
found it totally improper to be pursuing these two sisters at the
same time. But was this what he was doing? Had his curiosity about
Jane already settled into an attraction strong enough to disregard
the younger sister?
As he made his way up the stairs, he tried
to settle his feelings toward Clara. She’d appeared to be so
charming in London. He’d imagined she would make a proper wife, now
that the time had finally come to settle down and make a home in
the country. But all of that was before he’d seen her here among
her own family. She appeared too young—too naïve—too indecisive.
The girl lacked will and spirit.