A Love by Any Measure (4 page)

Immediately, Lord Grayson’s face transfigured into a disgusted scowl as he barked at Maeve. “And what was your business with my son up there, Missy? Think you’d get a ransom for him? Or try to help him run away?”

“Father, Maeve was only—”

Perplexed, Maeve fell back a step. “No, sir. I just … Everyone was looking for him, and I thought … ”

“Thought you’d take a chance on offing an Englishman? Or think you’d use his misery to gain a favor?”

“Father,” August gasped. “Maeve’s my friend. She’d never—”

“She’d do anything that she’d darn well fancy would work on you, boy! They’re rapscallions, the lot of them. Always a plot, always thinking they’d be better off if we’d just give back ‘their’ land and leave. Always trying to trick us and take advantage of our good fortune.”

Maeve wanted it clear that she was no such thing, and if anything, August was the mischievous and plotting one. The words left her mouth before she could think to recall them. “No, sir! In fact, he kissed me!”

Red stained August’s cheek, complimenting Emmanuel’s crimson.

“Kissed?” It sounded like an abomination on Emmanuel’s lips. “Don’t be so gullible, boy. She’ll have you tricked six ways ‘til Sunday if you give her a chance. These Irish … dirty, dishonest, barely human. Even your mother would … ” He trailed off, the emotional reflection of the day’s passing events echoing in his eyes. Finally, he hissed out, “Your mother left Ireland for good cause. She’d never want something so—,” he vaguely motioned at Maeve, an expression of disgust, as though he had smelled something very unpleasant, marking his features, “—common. Here you are when still her body lays cold and forgotten upstairs, forsaking her.”

August’s face mired in confusion as he tried to make heads or tails of the statement. He looked to Maeve, her expression pleading, her eyes watering with tears, and back to his father, the man whose love he had wanted so long, and whose love he stood to lose in the same instant he had found it returned to him.

“You’re right,” he agreed, his lip curling in disgust. “Common.”

Maeve’s heart broke into ten bits as she ran from the house. Her mother had been right; August didn’t consider her a friend, she was a method of distraction that Emmanuel merely tolerated. Now that Eliza Grayson was dead, Emmanuel no longer required her “services.”

It wasn’t a week later, following the interment of poor Lady Grayson’s body in the Irish soil, that the reclaimed son returned to Norwich with his father, perhaps never to return to Killarney, for all Maeve knew.

He left her with only her slighted heart and the bittersweet memory of a stolen first kiss.

Sayeth the Lord

Killarney, Ireland, 1866

During her life, Sine O’Connor had always held the belief that her daughter was too curious for her own good. Once, when she was eight, Maeve had heard from the boys in church that nuns were naked beneath their habits. Maeve had almost succeeded in raising Sister Mary Agnes’ skirt in front of the whole congregation before Rory had intervened.

As Maeve marched the path from the O’Connor cottage to Shepherd’s Bluff the following night, she cursed her own conflicting cause with every third step. Her only prayer and wish was that August’s indifference would hold, and that he was not intending to check under her skirt. Anticipating the possibility, Maeve had made certain to put on her most restrictive underthings in layers. Just because she had to make herself available did not mean she had to make herself accessible.

She quietly closed the oak door behind her, repeating to herself her plan over and over: go to his room, thank him for the bread, serve her twenty seconds, and then tell him that she was through. It would buy a few days, at least, giving Maeve a chance to talk to Owen about her next course of action.

Grayson sat in his chair by the fire, again dressed in his bed clothes, his face buried in a book. The dancing firelight sparkled off the metallic rims of his reading glasses as Maeve sat wordlessly and waited. Several minutes passed with no movement except for the occasional turning of pages.

“If I’m going to make a fool of myself traipsing up here like a mad woman after dark, the least you can do is look at me when I sit down.”

He kept his face turned downward, turned his eyes upward. Focused emerald eyes met hers with a certain degree of impatience and gaiety. The weight of his stare caused Maeve to shift around in the chair. He let out a small chuckle, removed his glasses, and bit down on the stem.

“If you insist,” he acknowledged as he set the book on a nearby table. “Time runs away from me when I’ve found a passage that enraptures. Surely you understand. Have you been waiting long?”

“Have I been waiting?” she asked, gasping. “I’ve sat here patiently for three whole minutes, counting out the time on your precious clock over there. It seems an awful long time just to fulfill a twenty-second obligation. What could possibly be put into written words that you would find so engrossing?”

He ran the glasses’ stem back and forth over his tongue, making butterflies flutter in her stomach for reasons she couldn’t quite comprehend.

“You’re quite right,” he agreed. “At least as far as finding anything in this room more enrapturing than you. It’s odd, Miss O’Connor. I remember you as pretty, but hardly beautiful. Time has done you good service.”

“And turned you into a scallywag,” she muttered under her breath, though she could not suppress the blush that broke across her face. She turned before he could notice, but heat radiated off her, making him smirk.

“You would find this one somewhat ironically apt: The Tenant of Wildfell Hall. But tell me then, what do you read?” he asked sincerely.

She answered him curtly. “I don’t.”

Grayson’s expression transformed into shock and misunderstanding. “But … I taught you … ” he uttered, astonished and perhaps slightly disappointed.

“I said don’t, not can’t,” she snapped back. She turned her eyes from his and focused on the fire, desperate to break herself from the empathetic stare he suddenly fixed on her. “We don’t own any books, Lord Grayson, except of course for The Book.”

His back molded against the chair. “Ah, well, that’s just a shame. Don’t misunderstand, there are certain passages of the Bible I find thrilling. Why do you look at me so? Did I say something shocking?”

It seemed almost sacrilegious to her that he took a thrill from so reverent a source. Moreover, of course, she didn’t believe him. “What passage?”

Maeve turned back, but Grayson was not in his chair. He had stood without her taking notice and was planted in front of the clock, eying her with devious intent etched into his features. Maeve’s breath caught, but she kept it well hidden. He waited in a silence heavy with expectation, and then slowly raised his hand, pointing at the same spot he had her occupy on her previous visit. Maeve heeded the call, but kept her eyes fixed on the clicking second hand, not allowing herself an opportunity to lose her concentration by again being drawn into his needful gaze.

Without making any contact, Grayson circled her and leaned over her shoulder from behind, bringing his lips nearly flush with her ear, maintaining the slimmest of distances. He whispered softly, the heat of his breath sending a shiver into the pit of her stomach.

“‘Blow upon my garden, that the spices thereof may flow out. Let my beloved come into his garden, and eat his pleasant fruits,’” he quoted conspiratorially.

August had instilled in her the ability to read, and only one book to practice the skill upon. She knew every Bible verse by heart.

“Song of Solomon.”

She felt her breath stagger as he simultaneously cupped her cheek. It was the last graceful action he would allow. It was the last tenderness before he sprang.

He pressed his lips hard upon hers as he spun Maeve around and pushed her back against the wall, attacking her neck. For a moment, the thought crossed her mind that such action might leave marks that she would be hard pressed to explain, and in the next moment she couldn’t have cared less. She even longed for him to do it, if that meant the pleasure coursing through her would continue. She knew she should have been counting the seconds, but Maeve found herself unable to concentrate as he brought his lips back to hers and pressed her into the wall with his hard body.

She found herself actually pulling him closer, if such a thing was possible. He yielded to the fervent clutching as best he could, his hand hooking under her thigh, over the cotton and wool layers of skirt, and pulling it up to hitch over his hip. Maeve’s other leg instinctively wanted to follow, as even through four folds of material, she could feel Grayson’s length press against her with one rough, upward jerk.

“Ungh.”

Breath racing, Maeve realized embarrassingly that it was she moaning from frustration at the barriers between them. She saw Grayson smirk as he pulled his lips from their labor, his breath competing with her own. Maeve eyed him lustfully, but he brought himself no more against her.

Nor did he back away.

He stared at her, motionless, conflict warring behind his eyes. For a passing moment, it seemed as though he ached to say something, or perhaps to continue. Maeve then understood; twenty seconds had passed. Twenty seconds had passed, and he regretted the fact. Her eyes almost pleaded, wanting him to impart one kindness on her, or else throw words to the wayside and continue. She never anticipated desire to stir in her the way it had. Now she understood why the newly wed were so oft in the pursuit of such stolen moments.

The thought of a fresh, blushing bride made Maeve recall her own situation. With a guilty twist, she cursed that she had allowed herself to be swept up in Grayson’s snare. Determinedly, her eyes grew cold and her lips tightened in a spiteful sneer. Grayson took the shift in stride, growing stoic by comparison.

“You’ve fulfilled your obligation for the day,” he panted as he lowered her leg to the floor and backed away. “You can go, and I’ll not call you again until next week.”

She paused, feeling suddenly forlorn. Tentatively and not fully understanding her whiplash desire to touch him, she took a few cautious steps in his direction.

“There’s a sack of bread by the door,” he continued with a quick jerk of his head. “Don’t want Da suspicious now, do we?”

Mentioning Rory sobered her, froze her in place. She was falling into the trap again, not remembering that she was a meaningless object to him. Maeve could have been any tenant in dire straits. And for all she knew, his other tenants had similar arrangements with him. If he could broker such a deal with her, then why not others? Was she so unique?

Fearing her own befuddled thoughts, she crossed the room with determined steps. Maeve grabbed her cloak from the chair and turned toward the door, spying the small brown sack. As her hand reached out to grasp it, her wrist was encircled by his alabaster hand. He held her in place, eyes downcast. Maeve looked at him with beaming curiosity.

“We must tell no one of this,” he reminded her, his voice soft, dare say she, compassionate? “No one. We’ll both be cursed souls if it should become known.”

“I assure you, I would sooner throw myself from a cliff than have this arrangement known. Better I should make a deal with Lucifer himself than a bloodsucking English bloke.”

“Lucifer? Surely my kiss cannot compare with hellfire, Maeve.”

If only he knew …

A playfulness stretched across his eyes. A smile bloomed, but just as quickly, it was gone.

Maeve was surprised to hear her given name spoken from his lips.

“It was … well enough, under the circumstances,” she bashfully admitted, once more averting her eyes so he couldn’t see the depth of his effect on her. “But using the Bible to seduce me. Well, that’s positively devil-like in its device.”

“I assure you, I’ve not even yet begun to seduce you.”

To speak of hellfire and then feel it flood her senses as every reach of her body burned … Maeve felt a quiver in her stomach, an enigmatic desire to ponder if she might have an opportunity to have August proven right. Even his five-second kiss had unraveled her, after all. What possibilities would five minutes hold?

He eased his hold from her wrist and allowed her to open the door. She proceeded into the hall, feeling the presence of him following her at a distance. When she reached the front door, sack of bread in hand, she was startled when he spoke through the darkness, standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Can I recommend a passage for your review before you depart?”

She said nothing, only half turned as she lingered in the doorway, the cool wind twisting her curls around her face.

“Genesis. In particular, the section where Eve sins and, by way of displeasing the Lord, is made to leave Paradise. Remember the price of bringing knowledge to the world.”

“You needn’t worry,” she retorted. “Remember, Eve sinned only because she allowed herself to be seduced by the snake.”

“The snake, Miss O’Connor?”

He caught her guilty as a goon, looking indicatively at a certain prominence that had yet to dissipate about his middle.

He chuckled. “The snake, indeed.” A wink, followed by a nod, and he turned to ascend the stairs. Maeve crept away in the night, and only as she ripped a bite of bread and stuffed it in her mouth did she recall that she had meant to tell August goodbye.

Well, he had said it would be a week, and their next allotment put them at forty seconds. Surely no great misdeed could transpire in such a time. One more visit couldn’t hurt.

DivineInfluence

The way Maeve eyed the confessional, anyone watching would have sworn she was walking to her death. The dark-stained, wooden booth was not so far from one of St. Mary’s side doors leading outside. It wasn’t uncommon that, whenever a girl or man of a certain reputation entered the confines of that box, one of the town gossips would linger nearby, pretending to be caught up in the reverie of the newly completed cathedral’s glorious interior. In fact, they were stationed to overhear whatever sin from which the repentant was asking forgiveness.

Maeve had never been known as a sinner, so the gossips did not hover when she would make her occasional visits. Therefore, that she should hesitate now in such a fashion drew more than a few glances. Understanding at last what suspicions her display would likely spur, she gave herself a firm chastisement and marched the remaining distance, pulling the curtain quickly behind her.

The slice of wood over wood jolted her as Father Corbin slid the door of the window aside, leaving only the lattice barrier.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Forgive me father, for I have sinned. My last confession was a fortnight ago.”

Recognizing Maeve’s voice and expecting no great transgression, Corbin answered plainly, “Proceed.”

“I have twice dishonored my father. I have taken the name of the Lord in vain thrice, and … ” She winced. “ … I have been inappropriate with a man.”

Fearing all the depth of Hell Fire would encompass her after so scandalous an admission, the silence that met her was shocking. She could see Corbin’s visage through the lattice, though shadowy in detail, and watched him take steady breaths. Every exhalation drew the knot in her stomach tighter.

At last, she wondered if perhaps he had not heard her at all. “Father?”

“It does not surprise me, Maeve.”

“Father?”

He sighed heavily. “You are young; Owen is young. Love is new, and everything is exciting and novel. That you gave in to some measure of temptation is only to be expected, not that that means it is anywhere near acceptable.”

Owen? With utter disgust, her guilt was amplified by the fact that it would be the only possible assumption to make, that the other party to her sin would be her fiancé. Her mouth cracked, the correction creeping to the edge of her tongue, before she thought better of it and abstained.

She would admit to that particular lie during her next confession.

And when she foolishly heeded Grayson’s call again, likely much more.

Corbin continued. “What you must remember is that there is no sin in the desire you feel. Once wed, these acts that God has made for us are a great blessing. Matrimony is no easy journey, and God’s grace for a man and wife is the ability to join in the pleasure of their union. When you are wed. Until then, I caution you to keep your encounters with Owen limited, lest you be tempted. Remember that the Bible reads, ‘lead us not into temptation.’ It does not say, ‘give us temptation and then help us to resist.’ Do not allow opportunities to arise, and you’ll not have the opportunity to fall. Tell me, though, to what extent have you sinned?” Silence forced him to clarify. “To help me determine your just penance.”

She shifted uncomfortably, the heat of recollection crawling over her skin and scorching her memories. “We did not … consummate, Father. We only … kissed. Intensely.”

“Kissed intensely?” he repeated back, as though it were a foreign word he was trying to decipher. “On the mouth?”

“Of course on the mouth.” She was able to recall her senses before she added, for my part. “But intensely.”

The last word colored uniquely the extent of the sin. Grayson’s kisses, of course, were not merely on the cheek and lips, but up and down her neck as he gripped her hips, his breath on her ear, his hands tracing up slowly, until they reached …

She felt her breath catch in her throat and prayed that Father Corbin had not heard. If she had been with Owen in any intimate way, she might have felt disdainful of Corbin’s advice. Alas, their infrequent contact had been restricted to pecks on the cheek and hand holding. But with Grayson, she had known it was wrong at the beginning, and hearing the sympathy and reprieve in Corbin’s voice only emphasized that. She was such a fool.

And then she remembered why she had agreed to it.

Her father’s face flashed in her mind, but not in the relatively good state of health which he now possessed, but in the sallow, pale recesses of despair and sickness into which he had fallen after Sine’s death. He had been a shell of a man, a ghost lacking gaiety. Their home was almost like a part of their family, and Maeve suspected if they were forced away, it would be just like losing kin to Rory. And she and Owen had agreed, it would be a better thing once the children came along to be out in the fresh air of Middle Lake, not the hustle and bustle of Killarney.

Not to mention, she refused to give Grayson the pleasure of taking her home from her. Not after the way he had drawn her in once, only to spit her out when the winds shifted.

Corbin interrupted her thoughts with compassionate tones. “I would ask you to reflect on your faith and your dedication to the Lord. Be vigilant in your responsibilities. Make open your heart to His love, that He may fill you.”

“To the Lord, Father?” she repeated. Had she really just heard him say that?

“Yes, Maeve. The Lord has built a home. He only longs for you to come into it and serve Him, that He may love you in return. Do not shun His offerings and He will keep you on the right path that you may walk it together.”

Maeve had never been one to believe in signs. In a land of folklore and superstition, it was unique to her character. Still, the words coming from Father Corbin’s mouth seemed too precisely tuned and surreptitiously selected, that she wondered at the coincidence and thought perhaps there was more to it than met the ear.

Maybe He had a plan for Maeve? Maybe it was her job to save August from his own misdeeds?

“But Father, if I open my heart, might not I be spurned when I err? If I serve him, what will I get in return?”

She could almost feel the smile in his voice. “The Lord’s capacity for love is immeasurable. The Bible speaks often of the Lord’s magnanimous nature and the doubling of blessings for the efforts of the faithful.”

“Doubling?” That convinced her; surely something divine was at play.

“Yes. You see, when you decide to love someone, it is not merely a one-sided act. Your love is reflected back by the other in some measure. Therefore, your single effort has a double effect.”

She pondered for a moment, carefully selecting her words so that she might not give anything away. “But what effect can my … love have on the Lord? I am so simple a person, so meek and so powerless.”

Corbin chuckled softly. “My dear, your humility shows me that your heart is capable of great love. The Lord wants to be loved, but remember, He makes it your choice. It is well within His power to demand your love, but He does not. He simply asks for your obedience, that you allow Him to show you the wonders He can bestow. That you allow Him to earn your love. The world and all creation are under His reign, but He made them all that He may find love.”

Father Corbin mused a small space in the intervening silence before assigning Maeve what he felt was a proper penance. Crossing herself again, Maeve left the church and headed up the crowded Killarney streets.

Sunday was a day of rest by commandment, but in Killarney, it was anything but. Mornings were spent in church, either the Catholic St. Mary’s for the Irish, or the Anglican St. Katherine’s for the English. The French and Americans went to one or the other, if they went at all. It hadn’t always been so. Even in the few years Maeve had to her credit, she had witnessed the change in town. Hardly the dark, dusty macabre silhouette of her youth on the tail end of the famine, the city had become a hub of commerce and thoroughfare. It was as if it had passed through a cruel, desolate winter, and now all the flowers and trees returned to life.

Which was an odd thought. After all, now in mid-October, there wasn’t much blooming anywhere. But here in the market, life, wild and teeming, took root. She spotted the craftsmen’s wares on display; a booth presided over proudly by Billy and Jared Boyle. Jared caught Maeve’s eye as she passed and waved. To her right Patty and Patrick O’Keefe looked over the last autumnal vegetables. She quickened her steps, unsure if Patty was privy to Patrick’s presumptions and hardly wishing to start a discussion regarding them in the market. As she strode past, cloak clutched tightly, she felt all the air whoosh from her lungs as steel-banded arms encircled her and picked her clear up off the ground, drawing a squeal and, in turn, all eyes in the marketplace.

“Don’t panic, you banshee!” the familiar voice playfully reprimanded. “It’s me.”

“Owen!” she exclaimed as she caught her breath and he set her down. She had a good mind to slap him for scaring her so, but knew everyone nearby was watching, and withheld. “In the name of all that’s holy, what are you doing?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, his blond locks scattering over his forehead and masking his blue eyes. “Not sure. Saw my girl and just got excited. Where’re you off to, dearie? Thought you promised me a stroll after Mass?”

Feeling the weight of an accusatory stare from Patrick’s direction, Maeve hooked her arm around Owen’s and led him in a promenade, making sure to give a showplace, exuberant smile. It wasn’t that she disliked Owen. On the contrary, she found his company quite enjoyable usually. She simply did not know if she yet liked him enough to be content in wedding him.

Maeve reminded herself that in her situation, she was lucky to have such an offer. As a blacksmith, Owen was a man of some affluence and respect. He had a kind heart and good humor about him that Maeve admired. Yes, she had been truly blessed.

They were to marry just as soon as Owen saved enough to support both his shop in the city and the rent on the cottage at Middle Lake. If she didn’t lose it first.

“You weren’t at Mass today,” Maeve commented matter-of-factly.

“Stopped in to see Katie this morning, stayed to help her. Poor waif is overwrought.”

“Your cousin?” Owen nodded. “The one with the bakery?”

“Aye. Market days are an endurance for her. Actually, that was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Me?” Maeve laughed. “Whatever for?”

Owen stopped her, circling in front and taking her hands into his. “You should have seen her running the range like a rabbit. An extra pair of hands’d do her a world of goodness, and look at these here ... ” Tenderly, he raised Maeve’s hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to them. “Two of the finest hands in County Kerry.”

The color drained from her face for a moment before it rushed back, causing Owen to fear her ill.

“Are you all right?”

Vaguely, she nodded. “Are you saying … I have employment?”

“Aye, Katie would like it if you could start next weekend. Of course, she’ll let you out to go to mass. Knows your particular on that, and traffic lightens about then anyhow. So what say you?”

“We’ll be able to wed sooner, and I can pay the rent to Grayson so I don’t have to—” She stopped mid-sentence as Owen cocked an eyebrow. “—make excuses for why I can’t pay,” she quickly concluded.

Owen’s look softened as he dropped her hands and drew the still slightly anxious Maeve into his arms, kissing her cheek quickly. For a moment, she thought she should pull away from such a blatant public display of affection. No doubt the gossips would have a fresh bag of seed to feed the other hens if they caught sight of this scandalous behavior. But as Maeve felt Owen’s hold on her tighten, she melted into him, feeling the purity of his feelings wash over her.

He whispered into her ear, “It won’t be long, I promise. Get Grayson or Patrick to give you one more extension, and then you can pay. Another fortnight, and you’ll have the money they want out of you.”

She lifted her arms and embraced him back, her truest way of showing her deepest thanks and appreciation. As she pulled away, a smile flitted across her face. She had promised her father bread, and now she would have an honest, forthright way to give it to him.