A Love by Any Measure (14 page)

She had a feeling he didn’t mean with the flour. How bold he had gotten. Or desperate that she should be branded a harlot by the end of the day.

“Aye, of course. And believe me, I have a few things to share with you as well.”

Dissolution

A
ccusatory, hostile glares traced her every step. Two options lay before her: be apologetic and claim this was only business and nothing was going on between them – an effort which Maeve knew would fail, as the truth of her conflict would be evident on her face; or she could bluff and take on an air of authority. In this second scenario, the other workers would at least fear losing their position for saying anything, if they believed she was indeed Grayson’s girl.

“We open in thirty minutes, and I don’t see a single loaf in the window,” she barked with false confidence. “Hop to it, eh?”

Maeve drew her eyes to the most fidgety of the shop girls, Clara, whom she knew would be all too eager to please and not dare speak a cross word. With a flex of her arm and pointing of a finger, Clara’s petite frame practically sprang to the back room. As Maeve turned to exit the shop to follow August, a cacophony of banging pans near the ovens arose and baked loaves were shoved in to the display glass.

The stairs to the manager’s flat lay behind a cast iron gate on the side of the building. Maeve waited for August to exit and lead to the quarters that must have been Katey’s until very recently. August’s green eyes twinkled in fervent delight. He still had not understood exactly what he had wrought, making her believe that his intentions had been benevolent despite the dreadful consequences they were likely to bring.

Maeve passed through the door. He followed and waited to be lauded and thanked for his keen plan and humble generosity.

“How could you be so daft?!” Her arms flew up as her balled fist walloped his chest.

He attempted to stutter a response, but she cut him to the quick.

“What did you expect they would think? I’ve been only a shop girl, and that only for a short time. And then some bloody Englishman sweeps into town, puts me up at his place, buys the bakery, and makes me manager?”

“I … ?”

“Don’t you see what this does? Brand me a whore, is what. And for what? Just to have a place where you could continue this arrangement in private with me now that your sister and middleman are privy? Has a fortnight without driven you to insanity?”

Without courage, or perhaps will to look at her, August shook his head wildly and sat on a stout wooden stool next to the door.

“I never ... It wasn’t my intention ... ” He paused, collecting his thoughts before finally making a better retort. “Oh, Maeve, I didn’t think. I ... I ... I was only thinking about ... you. This wasn’t what I meant to happen.”

She scoffed with a cackling grunt. “Aye? And just what did you intend to accomplish by this maneuver then?”

“Your freedom.”

August finally chanced an upward glance on the heel of his sincere admission. Maeve shrank back, perplexed.

“You are asked far beyond what should be of someone who’s already given so much. You went as far as to broker a deal with me that nearly cost you your chastity. I don’t want you to have to choose between having a home and having a choice. And if it’s just a question of money —”

“I never asked you for money. I never asked you for … this.”

He gave a weak half-smile. “I know. You’d rather rent your innocence to me than sacrifice your pride for a penny. If I could have simply given you money, I would have. But I could, at least, have seen the ramifications of that action. Instead, I decided to create an opportunity for you to earn your security. I thought, if I gave you the bakery ... ”

Maeve’s frame eased a little as she began to understand. Crossing the room, she kept her body turned away, yet laid a hand tenderly on his shoulder. She was surprised to feel a twinge of sadness.

“And you would ... What about our contract? I still want the cottage, even if I’m living in town. What would I need to do? Would you have to come to town, or would I have come to ... ?”

“You’d still do that? Just to keep the cottage? Even with this flat, you’d do anything to still have ... the cottage?”

He turned toward her and gazed hopefully into her eyes, as though his very ability to breathe depended on the answer to his query. “Would you not want to be with me, Maeve?”

Brown eyes darted wildly around the room, looking to focus on anything but the optimism etched in his every feature. Yes, she’d want to be with him, but what did it matter? In the end, there was no way of being with August, there was only being under him. If there was a sliver of possibility, a minute modicum of chance that they might ever be together, she’d throw herself at it full force. But wishing simply couldn’t make it so.

“I am engaged to be wed, August,” she finally returned. “What I want is irrelevant. But I will do what I need, and I need my home.”

“As do I,” he whispered in shame.

Maeve looked at him sideways, blinking rapidly three times. “I don’t follow.”

“Your cottage sits on a wealth of copper. I have the mineral rights by virtue of it being on Grayson land, but as long as you occupy the cottage and adhere to the terms of your lease, I cannot access it. My retrieving the land is … not negotiable. “

August had heard stories of the temper of the Irish, of the way their faces could, in the span of a few moments, shade into a red that put the sun to shame, but he had never witnessed such a fervent and sudden spike of ire until this moment, looking at Maeve.

“You … ? What? Why? So, this … this arrangement? I thought you were taking pity on me, on us. But you were after ... our home? And all that … All the things we did. And now that you’ve relieved whatever smidgen of guilt you have for doing it, you’re passing off the bakery on me? You’re getting rid of me and Da and getting our home just for money? Why not just keep me at Shepherd’s Bluff as your chambermaid, August? Then you can have my cottage and my keep.”

“Maeve! Please, you don’t understand! I want to … ”

Jumping up abruptly, he began to pace the meager length of the room, running his fingers through his hair.

“Having you ... in my house, so near ... ” He stopped before her, reaching out with shaky hands as if to embrace her. “Pacing next to your door each night, convincing myself not to go in. You don’t understand how many times I wanted to just ... take you into my bed ... and .... and ... ”

“And what, August?”

Maeve’s breath raced her heart for speed. Her head was spinning as his finger made the lightest contact. She leaned into it, longing to close the difference between them.

August shifted his stance, laying his forehead against hers and closing his eyes.

“I can’t do that to you. And I can’t keep myself from you. I need the distance, for your welfare and mine.”

For a moment, the pain of his desire, of the sincerity in his eyes, tugged at her heart. Everything seemed possible and impossible, intimately close and leagues away.

“Besides,” he said after a few still, quiet moments, “you shouldn’t have to marry Murphy just so you can have food on the table or a roof over your head. That would make you a whore far more than anything I have done.”

The rage returned in an instant as Maeve twisted around and crossed the room to search for something, anything that she could chuck at him. A random loaf pan was the first thing that went flying. It missed its mark, but her anger had not.

“You think I’m marrying Owen just so I don’t starve?” Maeve shrieked, knowing full well at this volume that those below were almost certainly privy to the discussion. For the moment, she didn’t care. “You really think I am such a simple creature that I would marry someone just to be fed? You think I wouldn’t lower to begging first? Or worse?”

She could see that he was afloat in confusion again, struck speechless by the instant reversal in her composure.

“Why else would you marry him?” he whispered, more to himself than her.

“Because I want it all, August!”

Dumfounded, he repeated the word as though foreign to him. “All?”

She sighed heavily. “Yes, all. A happy home with a loving husband and messy-haired little children at my heels. A hearth and a chair by the fireplace where I can sit with a few books and teach my daughters to read. I want my sons to bring home their best girls. I want to sit around a table with my family in the evening. I want a man who will stand by my side in the eyes of God and acknowledge me as his without shame or hesitation.”

His reaction was as swift as it was shocking.

August was before Maeve with two large steps, a hand on each of her arms, holding her framed to his burning gaze. He backed her against the ceiling-high stack of flour on the opposite wall, pinning her mercilessly, rendering her unable — or unwilling — to move.

“Maeve, oh, Maeve!”

August lowered his head, his mouth brushing lightly against hers in a teasing simulation of a kiss. When he spoke again, she felt his words on her lips.

“I want that, too, more than anything. I just simply … can’t give it to you. This, Maeve … ” His arm swept a wide path through the air, indicating their surroundings. “This is the best I can do.”

His voice balanced desperation with anger, sorrow with sadism. She wondered if he was reconfirming the reality to her, or only to himself.

Maeve slipped from his hold and backed slightly towards the door. With his hopeful stare, he was begging, pleading with her.

“I know,” she returned softly. “That’s why I’m marrying Owen.”

As when the Lord had made known their nakedness to Adam and Eve, so both Maeve and August saw the inescapable truth of their lives.

There was a burden of gravity upon them, and she knew he felt it as much as she. August had not considered fully the implications of his actions, but it was too late to reverse the course. Maeve must keep in good standing, and that meant making clear to him both in action and in word that no matter what each felt for the other, the true essence of the world would not forgive and make whole their hearts in the face of such obstacles.

“By breaking the agreement now, will you take back the bakery?”

“Of course not,” he gasped. “It was a gift.”

“And the cottage? Is there no way? Even if I were to continue the contract? Or even if I offered you money?”

“I don’t need money. What will rent taken of one little cottage do?” His voice broke, shameful it its tone. “I need the land.”

Of course, she thought. The tiny sum she could offer would pale in comparison to the profit of a copper mine.

“But I wish … ” Again, he spoke in a tone that betrayed his self-seeking motivation. “I wish you would continue. Perhaps I cannot give you all, Maeve, but I can give you some. We don’t even need to keep time, and you could see me only when you desired. Please, Maeve, please. Just … ”

“You wanted to give me my freedom,” she interrupted, her expression taut. “It is a wonderful gift, and I thank you sincerely for it. But if I keep to our arrangement, even with modified terms, then you’ve taken it back in the same breath. Keep me to the contract, and you will have made me your whore.”

He began to slowly, then more quickly, then frantically shake his head in denial. “Please, Maeve,” he begged, taking her hands into his, falling to his knees. A shudder wracked him as he pressed her knuckles to his forehead. “Please, don’t.”

“August, we must.” Maeve tried to keep stern, but felt on the edge of tears. She pulled her hands back from his and took on as stoic a demeanor as she could muster. “Lord Grayson, I dissolve our contract. If you have nothing further about the bakery to discuss, then please leave. I have work to do.”

A specter of a man who had kissed her just minutes before reemerged onto the Killarney street. As she followed him, Maeve saw the hungry eyes of the workers peering through the glass, waiting for some fodder for gossip to add to their suspicions. Several jabbed each other’s ribs, pointing at August suggestively. In a moment, Maeve knew the scene was playing to her advantage. They no longer assumed that she was his mistress, but rather saw him as a man who had attempted an unsuccessful conquest. He was leaving dejected, and she was emerging purified.

“Lord Grayson,” Maeve called over her shoulder as August began to walk towards his waiting coach. He spun around with a cloak of hope falling over him. “I trust I can count on you to keep my father as your guest until I’m able to collect him?”

Again, he became crestfallen, the whole of his features clouding over. “Of course, Miss O’Connor. You … He is always welcomed to Shepherd’s Bluff.”

She bowed her head in thanks as she turned to re-enter the shop. After a few formal orders to the workers to shore up her place as their superior — whether deserved or not — Maeve stole away to the small, dark storage room at the back of the shop.

At which point she could hold back no more. Closing the door behind her, she fell back against the wall, sliding down into a heap of tears and disheartened gasps, ruining her new dress.

“I can’t give it to you … ”

“No, August,” Maeve spoke into the darkness. “You could. You just wouldn’t.”

Betrothed

E
ven the cold, crisp air couldn’t dampen Owen’s spirits. The wait was over. Today, he would make Maeve his.

As he reached into his jacket pocket, the chilled metal of the ring met his finger. He slipped it carefully over his pinkie and hoped that the remaining blocks until Greenlawns Court would prove enough time to heat the band of gold. Likewise he hoped that this would recall Maeve from the grasp of despair into which she had mysteriously fallen.

Two months ago, she’d given Owen quite a surprise. He had found her flustered and trying to hide her tears. When pressed to explain, she informed him that Grayson had given her management and quarter at the bakery in exchange for the cottage. The tears, she said, were bittersweet. Owen had held her close and tried to comfort her, feeling the same combination of grief and relief as she.

Later, Owen came back to the bakery to check on her and found her in the flat, sitting in the dark, calm and serene. And very, very drunk.

A quick peck on the cheek – all he usually allowed himself, as was proper – had quickly escalated under her persuasion as Maeve pushed him down and kissed him into dizziness. His hands overrode his head for a good part of ten minutes, even at one point succeeding in undoing the buttons of her shirt and the lacing of her corset.

But when he saw his flower bare-chested, Owen had sobered. Maeve apologized the next day, realizing her wrong. They had agreed that, for the sake of both their good names, they must not be alone again until their wedding night. Their determination was aided by Rory’s arrival from Shepherd’s Bluff a few days later, brought by Jared Boyle. With the flat no longer a den of temptation away from peering eyes, Maeve and Owen had succeeded in keeping chaste.

There was little Owen knew about Grayson outside of gossip, which claimed he was the second coming of his father. He had made a quick play in early autumn, buying up an impressive number of businesses in town. Yet he did not take any actions to exploit the muscle of his estate. Rather, Grayson acted contrastively to the manner of his station, seeking to restore and improve. Grayson had given Maeve free reign over the bakery, only writing to learn of its status through post, never inspecting in person, though he made regular Saturday rounds to his other holdings and potential investments. He’d even bought interest in the smithy shop where Owen apprenticed. His not-too-small first orders had finally given Owen the last funds needed to wed his beloved Maeve. Grayson seemed, to Owen’s observations, a good man.

Which made Owen feel a shameful schemer, knowing what loomed on the horizon.

The O’Connor cottage had been brought down in the night, and it was reported that Grayson was busily developing his mineral rights where once it stood. Maeve nearly doubled over at the news, as though she had lost a member of her family. For two days, she neither ate nor slept.

Afterward, she was left changed, though not in a way that others noticed. But Owen knew her well enough. She gave an outward representation of contentment, always with a smile and pleasant in demeanor. Yet she was never really happy — she simply went through the deceptive motions.

As Owen turned into the renamed Killarney Bread & Baked Goods, it was Clara Grady who greeted him at the counter. Her placid smile and chipper spirit always made one grin. Today was no different, and combined with the anticipation born by the ring in his pocket, Owen grinned like a child skipping church.

“Mr. Murphy,” she greeted with a slight bow of her head and twinkle of her eye. “Good afternoon. How are you today?”

“Right fine, Miss Grady. Where’s Maeve?”

Her smile straightened to a perfect grimace. “Mass, sir.”

“Again?”

She attended nearly every day of the week now. To pray for their future, she claimed.

“I heard the bells a few minutes ago, and her father went with her this time,” Clara continued. “They should be back soon. A good thing, too, as we just got a curious order I know she’ll be interested to hear.”

The excitement brimming in Clara’s eyes became palatable, forcing Owen finally to ask.

“Five cakes for the engagement party of Miss Caroline Grayson and Captain Jefferson Schand!”

The news hit him like a bullet at close range. Jefferson was engaged to a Grayson? He knew he had been courting her, but thought it a calculated move, not so unlike Rory O’Connor’s. Or was the Yank still playing the game?

The door of the bakery opened behind and the voice of his angel filled the room as she walked in off the street. Owen spun around to meet her curious eyes, seeing him in her shop on a late Thursday afternoon.

“I wasn’t expecting you until Saturday,” she stated as she laid her bag behind the counter. “Is something wrong?”

His smile stretched from Cork to Dublin, and immediately she became suspicious. Owen saw a half grin tick up on her face.

“What are you up to, Owen Murphy?”

He pulled her by the hand and off to the side where they wouldn’t be in direct earshot. So close to closing time, there was only one customer in the bakery. The sun was getting low in the sky, and Clara was folding up her apron to store in the back room.

“Maeve, we’re ready,” he said simply as he took her hands and kissed her knuckles.

She looked at him with a smile, but clearly didn’t understand to what he was referring. Pulling his hand back, Owen fumbled through his pocket and pulled out the golden band. He held it up in front of him as realization overtook her.

Clara squealed, and Rory gave a hearty laugh.

“Well, do it proper, boy-o,” Rory chuckled, giving Owen a rough push on the shoulder, forcing him to the floor.

Owen took a deep breath to calm his jumping nerves, and took Maeve’s hand in his own as he slipped the band over her slender finger.

“Miss O’Connor, I made a vow before God and man that I intended to take you as my wife. With this ring, I pledge to take you as my bride, if you’ll have me.”

It seemed a silly formality; they had been engaged for months. Yet Owen was soon glad of the coaxing Rory had given as he saw Maeve break into tears, her free hand flying over her mouth.

Owen let out a manly sigh. “This is usually the part where the girl says yes and lets the poor man kiss her.”

With a giggle, her head began to nod vigorously. “Of course, Owen. Yes, of course.”

She was in his arms and on his lips without another moment’s hesitation. Both Clara and Rory rushed forward to congratulate them, and even the round, little woman loading the last loaves of the day into her sack beamed.

“A blessing to you both,” she offered as she took her leave.

Owen nodded before pulling Maeve closer and kissing her full on the mouth. This wasn’t the first time he had made the attempt to partake of her lips, but it was perhaps — with exception of her first night away from her cottage — the most receptive she had been. She met the kiss fully, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling herself up the difference of their heights. Heaven help him, but Owen couldn’t deny himself a moment’s pause when he felt the heat of her feminine frame push into him. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her tighter still. For a moment she froze, and then her tongue very quickly and delicately made contact with his. Rory’s booming voice from behind halted his temptation from carrying any further.

“Blessed be, you two, show a little respect to your old man standing here,” his hearty baritone declared. He put an arm around them both as Maeve was kissed roughly on the cheek and Owen was shaken vigorously. “Now, when will it be? The sooner the two of you are wed, the quicker I can be expecting wee Owens and Maeves.”

“Da, you’re going to trample that cart with your poor horse!” Maeve laughed.

“Well, why wait? All matters with the church have been cleared.”

Rory’s enthusiasm rivaled Owen’s in intensity. He looked to Maeve, and saw a sudden strike of hurt flash through her eyes, but disappear quickly when Rory’s eyes caught hers.

She sighed. “Well, I suppose there’s no reason to wait.”

Rory and Clara pulled off to the side in the talk of what needed to be done, Clara mentioning that a simple dress would suffice for the church.

Owen laid his head to rest on Maeve’s shoulder. She returned the warmth and put her arms around his waist. Then, he felt her go stiff in his arms and heard a small gasp escape her mouth as the door to the bakery opened.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to interrupt.”

The English lilt was unmistakable. The man whom Owen had seen at a distance around town and once or twice speaking with the master smithy stood with his hat in hand and a question on his lips. Owen glanced to Maeve, who seemed petrified, her eyes locked into Grayson’s with a certain sense of desperation and fear.

Grasping her hand, Owen hoped to give her strength in the presence of the man who had ordered her homestead destroyed and who now held the lease over her livelihood. Of course, she was a little taken aback. After a moment, however, she eased in her stance a precious little and uttered a response.

“Of course you’re not, Lord Grayson.” Her voice was shaky, and her smile a thin attempt to gloss over the anger she was certain to be feeling. “In fact, your timing is perfect. Won’t you please come in?”

Grayson entered fully, his eyes darting from face to face in an attempt to read the mood of the now silent room. Owen prayed that Grayson might judge the steadfast hold on Maeve as his effort to keep distance between them. All Killarney had been privy to the rumors that had flown about town two months before, but Maeve had assured Owen that Grayson had made no attempt against her. And in retrospect, he had helped the O’Connors, and by extension, Owen, quite a deal.

No matter the Brotherhood’s long term goal, he could not see the harm in telling Grayson their news.

“If you would offer congratulations to my blushing bride,” Owen said with a smile.

Grayson’s eyes fixed on Maeve, who indeed blushed.

“You are wed?” he asked hesitantly.

“Not yet. Soon.”

“Well, then ... ” he stumbled. Finally, he took up Owen’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Congratulations to you both. Many blessings. Clearly this is not the time for business, I see. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Owen felt bad. Even English as he was, as lord he could have easily exploited any number of devices to push the O’Connors from their cottage. He had given her the bakery, however, and thereby a livelihood. As Grayson turned to leave, Owen called him back.

“Lord Grayson, perhaps you’ll join us at the pub … to celebrate?”

He looked to Maeve. She nodded her consent.

“I suppose I could join you for a pint,” he answered uncertainly, looking to the floor at no spot in particular. “As an engagement present, however, would you allow me the tab?”

“Aye, well, if the English won’t give us back our land, perhaps we’ll settle tonight for their hospitality at the pub. Booze makes brothers like no mothers ever do.”

Clara told the others to go along, that she would finish up the shop for the day and close down. A few minutes later, they emerged from Greenlawns Court en route to the Jolly Root Pub. Rory and Grayson made small talk behind Maeve and Owen as they strode arm in arm. Owen looked to his soon-to-be bride all flushed in the cool winter air and lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing the chilled skin with warm lips.

“I love you, Maeve.”

Though he hoped she would say the same in return, he took comfort in the fullness of her smiling grin, and the twinkle of her deep brown eyes.