Blaze Wyndham (46 page)

Aye, she did, he thought, and so he stayed, tucking her into the large bed she had once shared with her sisters, seating himself next to her. “There is not a great deal that I can tell you, my dear. The family name is O’Brian. Not the great lords of Thomond, but distant cousins nonetheless. Our own Father John has a nephew who is also a priest. You will remember that Father John’s mother is Irish, and his nephew, the son of his mother’s brother, one Father Kevin by name, is the priest in the household of the O’Brians of Killaloe. He and his uncle correspond, and it was through Father Kevin that we first received the tentative offer of a possible match between the O’Brians’ son, who is just your age, and one of my daughters.”

“But why have you chosen me, Papa? Both Larke and Linnette are old enough to wed.”

“But you are my oldest unmarried daughter, Delight. Besides, you know that I must see Larke and Linnette wed to brothers who are hopefully as close as your sisters are. They could never survive without one another, I fear. Delight, I will not mince words with you. There is no more time left to cater to your whims. You will be eighteen in another few weeks. Unless the young Irishman and his family prove highly unsuitable, I intend making this match. Surely you understand now that Anthony Wyndham can never be yours. Unless you seek to enter holy orders, you must have a husband.”

Delight sighed deeply. “I am not fit to be a nun, Papa, nor do I have the desire to be one. I know now that Tony really does love Blaze. Even if she had died, he would have not wed with me. I will not fight you, Papa, on this match you propose.”

Robert Morgan patted his daughter’s hand. “There is one other thing, Delight. I must tell your mother of what has passed.”

Delight nodded in agreement. “I know, Papa. You have never kept anything from Mama, nor has she kept anything from you. She will not hate me, do you think?”

“Nay, Delight, she will not hate you,” he answered her, and arising, he bent back down to place a kiss upon her cheek. “Go to sleep now, my child. Your nightmare is over.”

Lord Morgan left his daughter’s bedchamber, and seeking his own, found his wife awaiting him. As gently as possible he told her their daughter’s tragic tale, and Rosemary Morgan’s tender heart broke with Delight’s pain and hurt.

“My poor child,” she wept softly upon her husband’s shoulder. “I must go to her!”

“Aye,” he agreed. “I think that it would ease her conscience to know that you are not angered with her.”

Lady Morgan left her husband, and hurried to Delight’s bedchamber. “Are you awake, child?” she asked as she entered.

“Aye, Mama.”

Rosemary Morgan enfolded Delight into her arms, and the girl burst into healing tears as she clung to her mother’s neck. “Thank God,” the good lady said. “You need to cry, my daughter, but rest assured that I love you.”

When finally Delight’s sobs had subsided, her mother settled her back upon her pillows, and smoothing her forehead with a gentle hand, she left her to return to her husband. Delight felt that a great weight had suddenly been lifted from her shoulders. With a little sigh she closed her swollen eyes and slipped into sleep.

Delight turned eighteen on the seventh of June. She had grown into a tall and slender girl whose long, dark, chestnut-colored hair and deep blue eyes only served to highlight the paleness of her creamy skin. Within the close and loving circle of her family her confidence had returned. Though she had been greatly matured by her experience, there were tiny glimpses of her former merry self. She was not the girl she had once been, but neither was she yet a woman by any means. A fact brought strongly home to her a few days after her birthday, when she once again found herself behind the great hedge near the front of the house with Larke and Linnette, who were fourteen, Vanora, who was twelve, and Glenna, now ten. They were spying upon a visitor who was just arriving at the house. For a brief instant she was hurtled back in time, and she remembered the day that Edmund Wyndham had ridden up to Ashby thereby changing all their lives forever.

“Who is he?” the twins queried in unison.

“He cannot be very important,” Vanora noted.

“Why do you say that, sister?” asked Glenna.

“He has no great retinue with him,” replied Vanora wisely.

“Perhaps he is Delight’s suitor,” answered Glenna.

“I think not,” said Delight. “There is but one man, and Lord O’Brian is coming with his son.”

“There are two riders,” said Glenna.

“One is obviously a servant, you silly,” Vanora chided her little sister.

“Well, I did not know, Mistress Wisdom!” snapped Glenna with spirit. “How is it that you are so well-informed?”

“You have but to compare his clothing with the other man’s garb,” was the smug reply.

Delight smiled to herself. Nothing, it seemed, changed. “I think,” she said, “if we want our answers as to who he is, and for what purpose this gentleman has come, then we had best go into the house. Perhaps he is someone with twin sons for Larke and Linnette,” she teased, and the twin sisters giggled.

They waited until the gentleman had entered Ashby, and then, trailing out from behind the hedge, they hurried toward the house. The other rider, now dismounted, stood before the house holding the reins of the two horses. He was not a very large man, and he was extremely wiry to boot, but he had the merriest twinkle in his eye that they had ever seen. Grinning boldly at them, he tipped his cap as they moved by him.

“Good day to yese, pretty ladies,” he said.

Delight tilted her head politely as she had seen Blaze so often do. The twins giggled, Glenna flushed at having been called a “pretty lady,” and Vanora demanded, “What kind of an accent is
that?
”

“Vanora, your manners!” Delight admonished, pushing her younger sister into the house.

“Well, how am I to ever know anything if I cannot ask questions and get answers?” said Vanora, her tone offended.

Rosemary Morgan hurried forward. “Quickly, Delight! Upstairs! You must change your gown. Lord O’Brian is here!”

“I was right! I was right!” cried Glenna, dancing about.

“Oh, be silent, you smug little toad!” snapped Vanora.

Glenna made a face at her sister, and then scampered off squealing as Vanora chased after her, eager to render a harsh judgment upon her little sister.

“Vanora grows more like Bliss every day,” chuckled Delight.

“And Glenna is more like Vanora at that age as well.” Their mother smiled as they moved up the stairs.

“Where is Lord O’Brian’s son, Mama? I thought he was to come with his father so we might get to know one another.”

“I know nothing,” replied Lady Rosemary. “All I can tell you is that your father introduced us, and then told me to fetch you as quickly as possible.” Lady Morgan helped her daughter change from her simple house garb into a more elegant gown. Carefully she laced her daughter’s bodice of rose-colored silk with its delicate pearled embroidery. The overskirt and underskirt of the gown were of the same rich color, although the underskirt had been lightly embroidered with seed-pearl daisies and small butterflies.

Delight caught up her hairbrush and ran it through her tangled curls, but as she made to put her hair up, her mother stopped her.

“Leave it loose. I know you would appear sophisticated, but it is better you not seem any older than you are, lest Lord O’Brian think we seek to foist an elderly crone upon him.”

Delight made a little moue with her mouth. “You make my situation seem so desperate, Mama.”

“Need I remind you of your age, daughter?” came the sharp reply.

Delight said nothing more, instead putting small pearl earbobs in her ears and looping a beautiful rope of pearls about her neck. These were gifts from Blaze and Tony sent to Ashby for her birthday, and Delight felt almost guilty in the face of their generosity, but as she had no other jewelry of value that would impress Lord O’Brian, she wore the pearls.

Lady Rosemary hummed her approval of her daughter’s appearance, and escorted her back downstairs to Rob’s library. Delight had become quite the beauty, though she would never tell her daughters that they were, lest vanity obscure their common sense. Entering the library, the two women curtsied to the two men already within.

Lord Morgan came forward and took Delight by the hand. “This is my daughter Delight, my lord.”

He arose from his chair, a big-boned tall man with the fierce look of a highwayman to him. His hair was blacker than any she had ever seen, even Tony’s. The oval-shaped eyes glinted green as he coolly assessed her, as if assessing the finer points upon a blooded horse.

Delight felt herself flushing beneath his scrutiny. His look made her feel as if she were some slave girl, naked and upon the block for all to see. Furious, she glared at him.

Lord O’Brian chuckled. “She’s got spirit,” he said in the most beautiful voice that Delight had ever heard. It was deep, yet both rich and musical at the same time.

“She is a well-mannered and well-behaved girl, my lord,” responded Robert Morgan.

“The hell she is, and so much the better!” came the reply. “I want no milk-and-water miss mothering the next generation of O’Brians!”

Lady Rosemary gasped at the frankness of his words, but Delight stamped her foot with outrage.

“And what makes you think I want to mother any generation of O’Brians?” she demanded.

Lord O’Brian burst out laughing at her words, but when he had recovered himself he looked straight at Delight and said, “Because you are eighteen, wench, and this may be your last chance for a decent match!”

“Go to the devil, you great Irish oaf! I would sooner die an old maid than marry any son of yours!” snapped Delight.

“I’ll take her.” Lord O’Brian grinned, turning to Robert Morgan.

“You’ll take me?”
Delight screeched, outraged. “Are you deaf, man, that you did not hear me? I’ll wed no son of yours!”

Rosemary Morgan could not move. What was Delight doing? She was driving away the only good chance that they could possibly have now to gain her a husband.

“Nay,” said Lord O’Brian, “you’ll wed not my son, for the damned fool went and got himself killed in a cattle raid last month. You’ll wed me, my fine-tempered girl, for he was the only heir I had left, and I need sons!”

At last Delight was stunned into silence. Marry this big, fierce man? It was the last thing that had ever entered her mind, for she had expected for a husband a boy her own age.

“Lord O’Brian’s son has, as he has stated, been killed. He has, nonetheless, come to us to propose that he wed Delight in his son’s place. I see no reason not to consent to this match, provided, of course, Delight, that you can refrain from killing the man until you have given him at least several sons,” said Lord Morgan, his eyes brimming with amusement.

Delight could only stare for a moment.

“What, wench, does the news overwhelm you that much?” taunted Lord O’Brian.

Delight immediately recovered at his mockery. “Nay, my lord,” she replied sweetly. “It was just that I had prepared myself to wed with a young man, not an old one.”

He chuckled. “I suspect you’ll get a great deal more from me, wench, than you would have ever gotten from that bullying milksop I sired on my last wife,” came the wicked answer.

“And just how many wives have you outlived, my lord?” Delight was not in the least fazed.

“You’ll be my third, wench, and like the others, I’ll soon have you purring like a kitten.”

“Unlike the others, I’ll long outlive you, my lord, and you had best beware, for this kitten has sharp claws.”

Lord O’Brian laughed again, and then said to Lord Morgan, “Draw up the betrothal papers. I want this hot-tempered wench in my bed before the summer’s out. In Ireland a man needs a wife like this one during the cold winter nights.”

Rosemary Morgan had finally managed to recover herself. “If you do not need us any longer, my lord,” she said to her husband, “then Delight and I will withdraw,” and grasping her daughter’s arm in a death grip, she practically dragged her from the library.

“I will
not
marry that overbearing, pompous oaf!” said Delight, pulling away from her mother.

“Your father has agreed to it,” said Lady Rosemary.

“I hate him!”
shouted Delight.

“You do not even know the man,” her mother reasoned.

“I know all I need to know,” raged Delight, and picking up her skirts, she ran from the house.

Rosemary Morgan looked after her, bemused. She had never seen anyone react so strongly to another person as Delight had reacted to Lord O’Brian. Turning about, she hurried back to her husband’s library. She really must speak with him about this. Perhaps Delight had a point, but upon entering the room where the two men stood toasting each other with goblets of wine, she found herself quickly and completely charmed by the big Irishman.

“Lord O’Brian and I have agreed on terms, my dear. Delight’s dowry is acceptable to him, and I will also include two of my good brood mares, for the O’Brians raise horses.”

“Do not tell Delight that, my lord, I beg of you,” pleaded his wife.

Lord O’Brian laughed. “Nay,” he said, “I do not think the wench would like to know that part of her bride’s price is two horses. If she should ever learn it, however, I should like to be the man to tell her,” and he laughed again. “Where is she, by the way? I would drink a toast with her.”

Lady Rosemary sighed. “If Delight is true to form, then she was headed for the orchards, my lord. Through the front door, and to the right.”

“Thank you, madam,” was the reply, and he bowed most elegantly to her before leaving the room.

When he had gone, Rosemary turned to her husband. “Rob, is this match a wise one? I do not want Delight unhappy.”

“I think,” responded her husband, “that Delight may be a far more fortunate girl than she realizes, my dear. Lord O’Brian is Tony’s age, and although I was surprised to learn that his son had been killed, on reflection I believe that an older husband is a better thing for Delight. A boy might have bored her. I consider this God’s will. She will marry, and live in Ireland far from the scene of her former heartbreak, for though Delight seems recovered, I think to remain so near her sister and Anthony would eventually bring her pain again. Should she have compared a young husband with Anthony, the boy would have certainly suffered by comparison, but Lord O’Brian is a man as Tony is. I think he will keep Delight far too busy to even remember her broken heart.”