A Love by Any Measure (22 page)

“Do you know the funny thing about this, Murphy?” August no longer felt need to continue the ruse. “The last time you and I sat in a pub, it didn’t end so well for you either. I have a feeling that history is about to repeat.”

August leapt from the stool and seized Owen by the collar, lapels twisting in his hands as he pushed him back over the bar, sending the whiskey glass shattering on the floor.

“If you knew where Maeve was, why the hell didn’t you tell me? Everyone in Killarney knew I would have done anything to find them. I could have found her out on my own and kept this tragedy from happening.”

“Calmer heads and cooler manners can solve this, now!”

But August’s ire would not yield. “You have taken away the love of my life!” he bellowed. “You’ve denied my daughter the only mother she has ever known.”

“She made me promise not to tell you!” Owen pled. “Turning Maeve in was the only card I had to play when the redcoats came for me, so I took it. Not like you would marry her. Not like I ever would have let her linger in shame the way you did.”

August snarled, and before he knew it, the meeting of his fist to Owen’s face had set them both back a step.

“You’re right,” August growled. “You never would have. Nor would you have ever loved her the way I did. The way I … ” His voice broke as he struggled, wondering if he could admit it to himself, let alone Murphy. “The way I do. Just tell me one thing. Did you marry her?”

Owen’s head sunk in shame, muttering, “No, she wouldn’t have me. Still loved you too much, even after what you did.”

His words stuck like a poker into August’s heart. “What? What did I do? Why did she leave?”

Owen’s half-smile was mocking, even as a stream of blood dripped from his nose and over his lips. He understood as clearly as August did; what August was really asking was, ‘Why did she come to you?’

He gave a low chuckle. “Tell me, Grayson, what wouldn’t you do for the woman you loved? Rather,” he leaned forward and spoke in a leading tone, “what didn’t you do?”

A Posteriori,

Norwich, England, March 1867

W
omen never ceased to amaze August. That his wife and his lover would somehow form so tight a bond was unfathomable. In the weeks that followed the odd return to Meadowlark, the generous nature of both those fair creatures overrode whatever discontent they had felt with him. In passing one day, Caroline mentioned that she was even somewhat jealous of Maeve’s kinship with her. Amelia was quite curious of Ireland, the land her husband had pined for and dreamed of for so long, and took advantage of Maeve’s vivid descriptions. At the same time, Maeve tried to decipher August’s past and what kind of man he truly was by querying Amelia. In coming to know more of August from each other, they came to know even more so about themselves.

Though often the air was tense and the mood pensive when all three were together, the two ladies passed most days in languid repose and in each other’s company. August, of course, had matters of business to which he needed to attend, and Caroline had been in a tizzy of wedding planning.

The circumstances being what they were, often the men of Meadowlark found themselves sanctioned to the library or stables, particularly when matters of a matrimonial nature were on the slate. Caroline had always been a superstitious soul, and not only did she think it would bring bad fortune for Jefferson to chance a look at her wedding gown before the blessed day, but also that his seeing anything inappropriate would rain disaster upon their good fortune. August scoffed at the notion, of course, asking why not make the journey when one’s already read the map.

“Caroline, by your admission, he’s already seen the most precious thing you could reveal to him,” August snickered at her one night as all lounged, individually occupied, in the sitting room.

Amelia rolled her eyes. “Tut tut, August. It’s hardly gentlemanly to say such things of your little sister.”

Caroline’s cheeks stained red, but always his equal, she wasn’t about to stand down. “I am sorry that not all of us wish to be such prudes to wait for our wedding night as did you, dear brother.”

Maeve, quietly reading next to the fire place, smacked her book shut and shot up.

“Well, I’ll be off to bed, then. Caroline, Amelia, Jefferson.” She turned only a burning gaze to August before spinning on heel and marching from the room.

August ground his teeth in frustration, and Caroline’s accompanying look indeed conveyed some sense of apology and regret. She had been conflicted about which way to advise Maeve. Surely, as August’s sister, she wanted to see her brother happy, but she loved Maeve and Amelia nearly as much. Still, she had never actively sought to rally one way or the other, choosing instead to stay uninvolved in the matter. Reminding the present company, however, that he and Amelia had consecrated their marriage as recently as within the last year was hardly aligned with that neutral posture.

August put aside his correspondence, took one of the lamps from atop the fireplace mantel, and pursued Maeve. He squeezed Caroline’s shoulder in passing to let her know he held no ill feelings. He caught Maeve at the top of the stairs as she turned down the hall toward her room.

“Maeve, please wait … ”

Her eyes were afire and if it had been possible, August was certain he could have burst into flames from that look alone.

“Why must you constantly remind me of my shame?”

“Your … Your shame? If anyone should feel ashamed, it’s me,” he pled in tones mixed with embarrassment and abhorrence.

In the light of the lamp’s glow, August saw her face soften. He knew better than to let go the opportunity.

“Rest assured, I am not proud of what I’ve done. To know that I’ve caused you such pain and torment, to know that you trusted me and, perhaps, hoped for that which I knew fair well I could not give you … Well, I know I am not worthy of you. I have never been and could never be. But I cannot change what has happened. I cannot undo—”

“How many times?”

Her question came out of the blue and took him off guard. August cocked his head to the side.

“How many times have you lain with Amelia?”

Should he answer? Was it really any of Maeve’s affair to know, no matter her place in his heart? Would she hate him more if she knew the truth?

“The occasions were few.”

Maeve nodded, but the look on her face was hardly affirming. “Mel said you laid with her every night after you were married, until you were certain she was with child, at least for two months.”

Dryness parched his throat. “She … She told you? I was only trying not to hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to—”

“Did you like being with her?”

Her eyes sharpened, a warning not to be so imprecise again. August decided it would be of no use to try. Clearly anything she was asking now was solely for verification.

“Yes, I did.” His tone was sincere but remorseful. August lowered his eyes, staring into dark nothingness beyond reach of the lantern’s light.

She seemed somewhat assured. “There, that’s the truth. Now, tell me truly, and don’t be trying my patience with beating around the bush. After your child is born, and sufficient time is passed, will you lay with her again?”

His eyes widened in horror and shot up to her most stern of expressions. Was this what she feared? Was this what tormented her?

“Never,” he pledged. “Maeve, it was necessary, and I will not deny that I enjoyed her. Amelia is beautiful. But that pleasure was only skin deep, and the action only a means to an end. There was no purpose in my intent other than to have her taken with child. And Mel was conflicted as well in liking it, which you will have known if you’ve discussed this with her.”

Maeve seemed as though she was debating acceptance or disgust. “And yet you continued to bed her.”

“If we failed to produce a child quickly, Caroline would have been disinherited,” he reminded her. “There is not benevolence without bane to be found in this. We are all victims of our best intent.”

From her distracted expression, he could see that the thoughts were turning over in her mind.

“Then you and Amelia … ”

“Wife and husband, as deemed by the church and law and, as need be, in the eyes of English men,” he answered. “But in my heart and at the gates of Heaven or Hell, I am yours completely.”

A smile fluttered across her face.

“August … ”

He held the lantern high to better illuminate the space between their bodies.

“I don’t know if I can … This is all … How can we possibly … ”

With his finger pressed to her lips, August quelled her rambling. “It is what it is. The only decision you need to make is, are you willing to let it become what it may?”

Her lips pulled into an uncertain smile as his hand dropped away. She came into his arms like a benediction, a cleansing of his soul. She did not kiss him, and yet August felt himself burn in her proximity. Her scent filled his lungs in fullness as she settled her head against his shoulder. A tremble registered against him, and with silent heaves, August realized she was weeping.

“There, now,” August cooed, stroking her hair. “You’ll make me much aggrieved if you should forgive me.”

She gave a small chuckle without pulling herself away. “Don’t you want my forgiveness?”

His fingers pulled under her chin, drawing her eyes up to meet his. “I said I would wait until the day after forever for you. Take me into your heart, and does that mean forever has come to pass? It simply will not do, as I intend to spend forever with you.”

Her lips, wet with tears and red from excitement, quivered.

“Then I shall never forgive you.”

“Bloody Hell, August, kiss the girl already!”

Amelia’s voice rang from the bottom of the stairs where she and Caroline stood expectantly.

The lovers grinned.

Their kiss, their promise, and love renewed. August was hers, and she was his, and so it would be until the fates turned them to soil.

Reverence

M
orning light cascaded over Maeve’s form, enhancing her graceful figure, naked and soft. August pulled himself to her side and threw his arm around her. Not waking, she stretched nonetheless and shifted closer. Silently, August prayed that his father somehow knew from beyond death’s gates that he had not won. He had Maeve, and had still followed through with the cursed requirements of Emmanuel’s last wishes.

Both their heads perked up when the first tick echoed through the room. It was an impossible thing; the clock had not worked since before Eliza had died. It sounded again, then again, and August heard Maeve give a low chuckle. She rolled over, circling her arms around his neck.

“I don’t recall exactly where we left off, Lord Grayson. Was it eleven minutes I owed you next?”

The steady cadence of the clock’s rebirth marched in time with his heart. August lowered his mouth to hers.

“For a start,” he teased, as he sought her kiss, moving his lips against hers in a build of mounting need and desire. “We can do so much in eleven minutes, but if we’re lucky, we’ll lose track of the time, and do far more still.”

“One can hope,” she purred as he moved his mouth to her neck. “August?”

“Hmm.”

“Why did you … ” She gasped as he lowered his mouth over her collarbone, then lower. “Ungh, I missed that a bit.”

August smiled, but didn’t let her see, moving his lips instead to the other side to pay equal homage.

“August, stop a moment, I want to ask you something sincerely.”

In frustration, he bit his bottom lip as he pulled back. She smiled and placed her hand over his cheek in comfort. August’s eyebrows arched in reflection of the curiosity now welling within.

“Why did you go through the ruse? If you wanted to open the mine on the land under our cottage, why didn’t you just compensate us and move us out? Or even just kick us out? It was your right.”

This was the question he had been dreading many a long night. He only wondered now if she would believe him. With a sigh, he began.

“Growing up, my father had been so crass, and when my mother died, he seemed to somehow blame it on the fact that she was Irish. He treated you horridly that day when you brought me back home, and I was an even larger ass for acting the same way, feeling for a moment that my father’s approval was more desirable than your friendship. The moment haunted me for years. I don’t know … I remembered seeing the few above-ground spikes in the hills near your house, and I knew the land was rich with copper. But I also knew how much your cottage meant to you and you’d hate me when I took it from you, no matter what compensation I gave you. And when you found me in the stable that day, my mind twisted.”

August paused and looked up at her. Maeve’s gaze seemed to say she trusted his veracity, but still hadn’t decided if the intent was credible.

He continued. “I still wanted you so badly. But I knew it was too late; I was married, and later I found you were engaged. I never thought you’d accept the arrangement, much less carry on with it. When I kissed you that first day—”

“Five seconds,” she interrupted.

August smiled. “Yes, five of the most glorious seconds of my life. But even then, I was certain you wouldn’t come back. But you did. And did again. Our lines started getting blurred. I knew I couldn’t give you what you deserved, and sometimes I didn’t care. I’d try to keep our roles firm, but every movement you made and every word you’d say would soften me. Even as the time increased, I rationalized I’d be doing right by you in the end. Opening the mine meant helping Killarney, and helping Killarney was helping you. But then I got to thinking: from my perspective, the agreement you made with me wasn’t so different from the agreement you made with Owen. You didn’t really have a choice on either count. I wanted you to, Maeve. I wanted you to have freedom to choose, and I prayed you would choose to be with me … for the right reasons.”

“So you gave me the bakery,” she concluded, a dawn of understanding coming over her. “You really didn’t mean to make me look a kept woman, did you?”

“Not in the least. I thought, since Rory would be living with you too, how could anyone say I was keeping you there just to have access? And if that rumor spread, who could argue you were more accessible to me while stationed at the bakery than you had been way out at Middle Lake? Besides, no one would associate Rory with such a heinous arrangement, given his reputation.”

“His reputation as an occasional drunk?” Maeve joked.

But August was sincere in his response. “No, his reputation as a Fenian.”

She crooked his head at him. “You mean my father is part of the Brotherhood?”

“Part of it? He’s one of the principles. And how could such a Fenian allow his only daughter to be sneaking about with an Englishman for something as petty as money?”

Maeve’s tears came suddenly. “He must hate me now, I know it. I’m as good as dead to him.”

Immediately, August wrapped her in his embrace. “Shhh, there now,” he cooed, smoothing down her hair. “He’ll forgive you. A father’s heart never can sever from his daughter. It is only the son whom he holds in contempt for daring to be the man he once dreamed of being.”

She looked at him, perplexed.

“Trust me, on this I speak with authority.”

“But your father created this whole situation. And Caroline—”

“My father,” August interrupted, cutting her off, “did what he thought best for Caroline. I think Amelia is wrong on that matter. You see, in our society, Caroline would never have been able to find what my father considered a suitable match if her rebellious older brother had gone out and wed a peasant. The fact that Caroline is marrying a commoner — and a Yank, nonetheless — is just one final comeuppance for his misguided efforts. But if Caroline had wanted to marry someone of nobility, I would have wanted that for her. My father’s intents, though ill-construed, were driven by love.”

“And if you have a daughter?” Maeve wondered.

August could see where that conversation would take them, and refused to be mired down again in malady so soon after reclaiming Maeve’s heart.

“We shall deal with everything as it arises.”

The knock on the door drew both of their attentions. As the staff was likely aware August was in Maeve’s room, he wasn’t surprised.

“Yes, what is it?” he called out.

A very elderly gentlemen’s voice, which August recognized as that of one of the staff, returned answer. “Apologies, sir, but you have a very insistent caller. He claims he’s on errand from Ireland.” Maeve and August’s eyes went wide. “A Mr. Woodrow.”

Ease overcame August. “It’s only my barrister from Killarney.” He rolled over and kissed her before rising from the bed. “Still, I wonder what the devil he’s doing here. Get dressed, darling. I want to take you out today, show you the town.”

“Out?” She seemed sincerely confused. “However will we … ”

He winked at her as he went to her closet and pulled out a uniform he had had the servants prepare and place there just the day before. “Congratulations on your employment, Miss O’Connor. After an exhausting search,” he tossed the black taffeta over her naked body, “we have selected you to be head nanny. Unless you’d prefer being a chamber maid.”

Maeve sat up and held the dreaded, unflattering garb against her frame. “I suppose it’s better than being sent to the kitchen to bake the bread.”

Downstairs, a dressed and hastily tidied August found an agitated and disheveled Woodrow in the foyer. “I’d offer you breakfast, but you look like you’ve already been fairly scrambled.”

Woodrow gave a little yelp at the sudden appearance of his employer, as though he feared to be in his presence. August could see the nature of this visit was far from social. The man was a white as a winter morn, and frozen nearly as solid.

“Goodness, Woodrow, what has happened? Here, sit down.”

He motioned to the nearby sofa as August took seat on the chaise and waited.

“M … m … m … Morning, sir. I c … c … come with ter … t … t … terrible news.”

Suddenly concerned, August leaned in, his voice rising. “Terrible news? What is it, the mine? Is there a set back?”

“Please, I will t … t … tell you in full. But, please, don’t interrupt.” Woodrow closed his eyes, forcing his breath to slow and his voice to steady. “Several days ago, I received a visit from Mr. O’Keefe, who resigned his position as middle man.”

“Did he say why?”

“Yes, sir, and that is part of this whole mess,” Woodrow continued. “He was leaving with his family for the Americas, and as he left my office, he advised me to leave Killarney as well. I didn’t think much of it — people in departure from any one place often ease themselves of the experience by casting the place in dark colors. Makes the place they’re off to seem brighter, more hopeful. But there was such immediacy to his words, as though he was telling me not to leave any time, but right then, that very hour. Still, I went on with the day, and it wasn’t but the very next day that the shots rang out.”

August knew too well, though he had hoped Rory’s efforts to keep violence from bubbling over would have worked.. “The rebels.”

“Yes, that so-called Brotherhood of theirs. Well, the rebellion was quickly squashed. The police seemed to have been tipped off before of their intentions and were ready and waiting for the Irishmen to make themselves known.”

Rory did go through with turning on his own, August confirmed inwardly.

Woodrow continued. “But I regret the whole affair did result in some damage … and some casualties.”

A shaky hand extended across the distance, offering August an envelope. August took it quickly and pulled out the contents, a clipping from the previous day’s Killarney broadsheets.

With the rendering of this item, Woodrow’s tension began to ebb. “I hope you don’t begrudge me for coming unannounced, Lord Grayson, but I thought it proper to deliver the information in person. She should know.”

Stunned and shaken, August blinked rapidly, hoping the words on the paper would rearrange themselves into something less horrid. “No, it was very good of you to make the effort. Please, if you’ll excuse me.”

In later years, August would try to recall walking up the stairs that day, the clipping in his hand weighing two tons. He would try to remember the agony of arriving at Maeve’s door, only to open it to find his Irish lover examining herself in her mirror, taking in her appearance as she donned the nanny frock. He would try to summon the taste of ironic bitterness on his tongue as he brought this woman whom he adored and had promised to protect, the dark wave of despair that was typed into a passing sentence on the page Woodrow had delivered.

He would never remember this. Years later, the only moment of that day that remained in his memories was Maeve’s face, stricken white before she fainted, having learned that, as the paper reported, “The first of the rebels to fall in the square upon charging the English Guard was a former groundskeeper from Middle Lake, Rory O’Connor.”