Cates, Kimberly (6 page)

If
only she had realized it before it was too late.

"Miss
Linton." The sound of a voice at her shoulder made Norah start, shaken
from her memories. The redoubtable Mrs. Brindle patted her hand. "I didn't
mean to startle you, my dear, but I thought it best to warn you that Sir Aidan
likes his dinner promptly at six."

The
idea of descending those stairs again to confront Aidan Kane was more than
Norah could endure. If there was a God, she would be able to creep away from
Rathcannon without ever having to look on his face again.

"I
don't think I could eat a bite. I'm very tired. I think I will just... just go
to bed."

"And
so you shall, lamb, if that is what you want. And if either of those two
miscreants dares disturb you, they shall answer to Maude Brindle, they shall.
Of course, if it's the master's temper you fear, well, you needn't. Got the
fury of the Irish in him, true enough—but he blazes up in a right spectacular
show and then it burns itself out."

The
woman patted her hand. "If you'd like to have a comfortable chat later,
Miss Norah, I'm a good listener. Lord knows, I've had enough practice with Miss
Cassandra. She can out-chatter even her mama at that age...." Mrs. Brindle
stopped, just a tinge of pink on her cheekbones. "But here now! I'm being
as tiresome as can be. You say you need some rest, and I chatter the ears right
off you, instead of tucking you up nice and cozy. Why don't you let me play
maid to you, get you out of these things and—"

"That
isn't necessary," Norah interrupted hastily. "I can manage on my
own."

Shrewd
blue eyes seemed to peel away Norah's protective layers of pride and
stubbornness, probing to places that were raw. "From the look of you,
you've been managing on your own far too long already."

With
that, Mrs. Brindle swept out of the room, shooing the other servants before her
like a nettlesome brood hen. Norah heard the click of the latch, and with a
sign of relief, she allowed her shoulders to sag.

"Oh
God," she whispered, "how has everything gone so wrong?"

She
let her lashes drift shut as the memories flooded through her, carrying her
back to the London shore, a sky churning with storm clouds, a heart raw with
dreams.

* * * * *

Sea
spray. It stung her nose, bit color into her cheeks, while wild anticipation
mingled with wariness in Norah's heart. Her fingers trembled as she clutched at
her reticule, her dilapidated trunk beside her.

She
was the only passenger waiting alone; the others, from the lowliest sailor to
the most exalted grande dame, were lost in throngs of well-wishers, drowning in
hugs, words of love and caution.

It
wasn't as if Norah had expected anyone to see her off this morn. Her mother had
been stricken with a bout of hysterics, her stepfather a study in grim
satisfaction, sending her off to a future he hoped would prove to be a fitting
punishment for the ungrateful child he'd been saddled with these many years.

Norah
tried to tell herself it didn't matter that no one would care if she tumbled
from the edge of the earth the way the ancient sailors had believed.

But
as she stood with rain spattering her bedraggled cloak, her hands trembling as
they straightened the brim of a much-abused bonnet, a wrenching sense of
loneliness shivered through her, blending with the tiniest sliver of dread that
this mad plunge into Ireland might be just another mistake, another
disappointment, when she had already been battered by far too many.

She
caught her lip between her teeth, wishing for just a moment that she had
someone else to lean on. But showers of embraces, tender farewells were not for
Norah Linton. She should have learned that long ago.

"Norah?"

The
sound of her name made her jump, and she spun around to see the slender figure
of a man limping toward her from a sleek black coach. He was hatless, and his
golden hair clung damply about his cheeks. His greatcoat was all but hidden by
a mountain of parcels caught in his arms. He was the most welcome sight Norah
had ever seen.

"Richard!"
Norah called out to her stepbrother, tears of gratitude and alarm nipping at
her eyelids. "You shouldn't have come!"

"You
think I would send my baby sister off to the wilds of Ireland without saying
goodbye?" Richard asked breathlessly, ducking beneath the shelter of the
eaves.

"But
your father... If he ever found out that you had dared—"

"Defy
him?" Even in the flickering light of the lantern suspended from an iron
hook in the eaves, Norah could see her stepbrother's handsome features darken.
"Devil take the coldhearted bastard! Would God I could fling his
ultimatums back in his face and call him what he is—a villain, an arrogant
tyrant who dared condemn you to this."

"He
didn't condemn me to anything. I chose this fate. Willingly. Thanks to your
kindness."

"Chose
marriage?
To some stranger in that godforsaken wastela—" He broke off, his jaw
knotting as he dumped his bundle of parcels atop her trunk. "I curse my
own weakness, that I could not come up with a better way to aid you. When I
think of my father's cruelty, I could—"

"No,
Richard. You mustn't anger him any further. You've already risked far too much
on my account. No matter what awaits me in Ireland, I will be far happier than
I would have been here in England."

"I
don't doubt that! What Father did was abominable! Trying to marry you off to a
pimple-faced cub, seven years your junior! I swear I could have called the
sop-nosed brat out myself, the way he attempted to paw you at Filderland's
soiree!"

"But
you didn't call him out, Richard. You did something so much more helpful. You
helped to find me a way to escape forever. Escape your father and Purcival
Witherspoon."

"By
offering you up to some Irishman like a virgin sacrifice? Sometimes I curse
myself for even bringing that infernal letter to you. It's possible this man
will be as bad as either of them." Richard raked impeccably gloved fingers
through his hair. "It's possible he'll be worse."

Norah
tried to muster a smile. "And it's possible that he will be everything
I've ever dreamed of. Perhaps you are sending me into the arms of my own true
love."

Richard
looked at her as if he wished very much it were so. "I just don't want you
hurt anymore, Norah."

Her
heart squeezed at his concern, astonished by the man who had of late been
peeking past her brother's spoiled facade. Richard, as shallow as a child's
footprint filled with new rain. Whoever would have dreamed that he could shine
so brightly? Her deepest regret was that this closeness between them had come
so late, when she was leaving.

She
reached out impulsively, taking her stepbrother's hand. "It will be all
right. I'm not a foolish chit with her head stuffed full of happily ever
afters," Norah lied. "The reality of my marriage will probably be
like all others— somewhere between perfect bliss and Armageddon. Contentment is
all anyone can truly hope for." Norah turned her face away from the light,
trying to hide from her stepbrother's eyes her hopes for her future. Her gaze
alighted on the parcels mounded on her trunk.

"What
on earth are these?" she queried, overjoyed to have something to focus his
attention on other than her upcoming marriage.

Richard
started, as if he'd forgotten, then he beamed at her. "I thought that a
bride should have a trousseau."

Hot
tears spilled from Norah's eyes, hot and fast and unexpected. "A—a
trousseau?" she echoed, disbelieving.

"I
know that Father said he'd not buy you so much as a handkerchief if you went
through with this mad plan. And the clothing you have—well...," He
squirmed, a little uncomfortable. "I have eyes. I've seen how drab and
threadbare your things have grown. I just thought that if you insist on running
off to marry your Irishman, you should dazzle him. The first time he sets eyes
on you, you should steal his breath away."

"Oh,
Richard, as if I ever could! I've never been a beauty, but..." How had he
known the secret tears she had shed over her trunk, when there was no one to
see? How had he discovered how disheartened she had been as she attempted to
mend frayed seams and replace faded ribbons?

Guilt
made her cheeks burn as she remembered how often she'd thought Richard was
spoiled and self-absorbed, unable to see the misery of others because he was
too engrossed in indulging his own pleasures. No, she'd not waste time in
regret, only accept this new Richard with an open heart.

Delighted
with his surprise, Richard scooped the largest package from the bottom of the
stack, only Norah's quick movements keeping the other parcels from tumbling to
the wooden platform below.

"The
first thing we hurl into the rag basket is that—that thing you're
wearing." He gave her mantle a scornful tug, discarding it. Then, before
she could protest, he ripped open the paper wrapping as enthusiastically as a
child at Christmas.

The
lantern light spilled across a pelisse of Prussian blue trimmed in swansdown,
the combination impossibly beautiful, like mountain snow pillowed in the center
of a sun-kissed summer sea.

Norah
couldn't speak as her fingers stole out to touch the garment, make certain it
was real.

But
Richard was already sweeping it about her shoulders. She stood like a
moon-struck child as he fastened the exquisite pelisse about her. "There
is a bonnet too," he said, retrieving a confection of blush-colored lace
and myrtleblossoms from another box. He settled it on Norah's curls, his brow
furrowing in concentration as he tied the bow beneath her chin.

"Richard,
how can I ever thank you?" Norah ran trembling fingers across the
cloud-soft down.

He
flashed her his most dazzling smile. "Virtue is supposed to be its own
reward, is it not? Just go off and bewitch your Irishman, Norah. Your marriage...
and happiness will be reward enough for me."

At
that moment, Richard's coachman and postilion staggered over, hauling a shining
new trunk twice the size of Norah's battered old one.

Norah
gasped. "More? Oh, Richard—"

"Mr.
Piggle, you may take Miss Linton's old trunk and dispose of its contents as you
will."

Norah
raised a hand to her throat, dismayed. "No! I, oh, I don't think—I mean,
it's not that I'm not grateful—"

"I'll
brook no argument on this point, sister mine. I know how your devious feminine
mind works far too well. You'd want to
save
the new things—keep them
pristine, for God knows what reason, and wind up 'making do' with your old
ones. I want you to wear the pretties I bought you. Enjoy them."

"But
I—" She started to protest again, but he looked like a small boy she'd
deprived of a sweet. She surrendered with a laugh. What else could she do?
Especially when he was right? "Abominable boy!" she said. "At
least let me take out my treasure box."

She
opened the trunk and removed a hatbox in which she'd tucked her few treasures:
one stray earring of a set that had belonged to her great-grandmother and the
doll her father had given her the Christmas before he'd died—a doll garbed in
refurbished finery to delight a new little girl, the child who would be Norah's
daughter.

There
had been few physical demonstrations of affection in Winston Farnsworth's
house, but Norah flung her arms around her stepbrother nonetheless. Her voice
caught on a sob. "I shall miss you so much. I cannot believe I'm losing you
now, when we've finally grown close."

"It's
dashed unfair, I know. But it's not as if we'll never see each other
again," he said, awkwardly patting her on the back. "Why, I'm certain
you'll come to London from time to time. And I shall see to my brotherly duty
and make certain that all is well with you. In fact, I have already arranged
for a friend of mine to stop by your castle to make certain this Irishman
realizes what a treasure I've entrusted to him."

Norah
felt blood rush to her cheeks, and she pulled away from him, beseeching her
brother. "No! It's not necessary." But her dismay only increased as
Richard laid his gloved fingertips against her mouth.

"I
will be the judge of what is necessary to fulfill my duty where my own sister
is concerned. The Honorable Philip Montgomery has already offered to see how
you fare."

"Philip
Montgomery?" Norah's dismay increased a thousandfold. Anyone but him! She
had cherished a schoolgirl's crush on Montgomery since she was scarce
fourteen—and she couldn't count the number of times in the ensuing years the
elegant aristocrat had caught her staring at him like a love-sick ninny.
"Oh, Richard, please tell me you did not confide the circumstances
surrounding my betrothal to Philip Montgomery!"

Richard
looked genuinely hurt. "I'm not quite the insensitive dolt people think
me! I made your engagement sound quite romantic, as if this Irishman had swept
you off your feet. Of course, Montgomery was positively surly when I told him
the story. But then, he is suspicious of anyone possessed of a drop of Irish
blood. They've had an estate near Sligo for two hundred years, and I vow it's
been nothing but agony for them. Ungrateful devils, those Irish. Never
appreciative of the lengths we English go to to save them from themselves."