Dark Torment (43 page)

“That damned convict attacked me!” Percival got his
say in first from his half-sitting, half-prone position on the floor. The
remains of a flower arrangement peeked incongruously from beneath the seat of
his dusty brown breeches.

“He did not! He . . . !” Sarah came hotly to
Dominic’s defense. Dominic frowned at her, but since Sarah knew him well
enough to know that he would say nothing in his own defense unless asked
directly, she was determined to present to her father the truth of what had
happened. “Percival . . . !”

But Percival’s enraged bellow drowned out her voice.
“Damn you to hell, Markham, I told you that convict was nothing but
trouble! I told you that I was right to beat him for daring to touch
Sa—Miss Sarah. But you wouldn’t listen, would you? And now you know
what’s come of it? Have you heard her plans?” He laughed, the sound
nasty. “She says she’s going to marry that damned
convict
!”

Sarah saw Dominic stiffen, and stepped hastily to his side to
place a restraining hand on his arm. It would be best if he stayed silent, let
her handle her father. . . . Edward’s head swiveled around so that he was
staring at her. His face was suddenly gray, his eyes bulging at her.

“Is that so, daughter?” His voice was hoarse, his
breathing labored. Groping behind him, he rested his hand on a polished
tabletop as if he needed its support. Sarah felt sorry for him, but the moment
could not be put off any longer.

“Yes, Pa. I’m going to marry him.”
Dominic’s eyes touched her face in a brief caress before shifting to
fasten again on her father. Edward was staring at her, his lips pale.

“I won’t permit it.”

Sarah’s lips tightened and her chin came up. Dominic would
have spoken, intervening between father and daughter to draw the onus on
himself, but Sarah’s fingers tightening around his arm stayed him.

“You can’t stop me, Pa.”

He closed his eyes, visibly wincing. Then he opened them again to
regard her with pain.

“Sarah, Sarah, I am thinking only of your good. I
won’t allow you to marry this—man. I’ll take whatever
measures I have to, to prevent such a disgrace from befalling you.”

“It won’t be a disgrace, Pa, but a blessing. And
there’s nothing you can do to stop me, short of locking me away in
chains.”

“If I have to.” Edward sounded infinitely tired.

Sarah shook her head. “If you do, Pa, you’ll only be
letting me—and yourself—in for worse disgrace.” Sarah
hesitated, swallowed, shooting a lightning glance from her father’s ashen
face to Dominic’s watchful one. Then she plunged ahead. “Because
I’m with child, Pa. Dominic’s child.”

Three pairs of male eyes seemed to burn holes in her face.

It should have been a happy occasion. Usually brides were married
amid lace and flowers, smiles and kisses. But Sarah’s wedding more nearly
resembled a wake.

She wore a simple silk dress that had once been her
mother’s. Jane Markham’s wedding dress was stored in the attic,
wrapped carefully in clean sheets, but under the circumstances, Sarah had not
wanted to wear it. She felt that it would have hurt her father too much. But
Dominic had insisted that the color of her gown be white—after all, as he
reminded her in one of their few exchanges since that dreadful scene in the
front parlor, she had been a virgin when she first came to him, and that was
what counted.

Her father seemed to turn into an old man before her eyes as he
watched her become Mrs. Dominic Gallagher. He
was
old, Sarah realized
as she glanced at him over her shoulder as the priest spoke the words that
would bind her to Dominic forever. Her father was nearing sixty. . . .

Lydia was present, a spitefully amused light in her eyes as she
witnessed what she regarded as her stepdaughter’s ultimate fall from
grace. Liza stood beside her mother near the hearth in the front parlor, her
eyes huge and a little fearful as she watched Sarah wed a convict. Both ladies
were dressed in mauve—the color of light mourning, though Sarah was
determined to think that it was not a deliberate choice, at least on
Liza’s part.

Dominic was dressed in a black frock coat and gray breeches. His
cravat was snowy white, and he looked so handsome that his appearance was the
one bright spot in Sarah’s day. The clothes had belonged to Sarah’s
father, and Mrs. Abbott had labored prodigiously to alter them to fit. She did
not witness the ceremony—Lydia and Liza had said pointedly that they
would find business elsewhere if the woman stood in the front parlor with the
family—but Sarah knew that she was in the kitchen even as the vows were
being said, putting the final touches on a towering white cake that Sarah
hadn’t the heart to tell her no one wanted.

Since the scene that had occurred in the very room in which they
were now being wed, Dominic had been unlike himself. He seldom smiled and never
laughed. His eyes were very dark, almost brooding. Sarah had tried to get him
to talk to her, to tell her what was wrong—she was afraid that he was
unhappy about the baby—but he would not. He would merely look at her out
of those hooded eyes and ignore her question. Sarah didn’t know whether
to shake him, throw something at him, or burst into tears at his feet. In the
end, she did nothing. After the ceremony there would be time enough to get to
the bottom of what ailed him.

“Do you, Sarah Jane Elizabeth Markham . . .” The
priest was addressing her now, intoning the age-old words of the marriage
service. Sarah’s hands were icy cold as she gripped the Bible that she
held instead of flowers; when it came time to respond, her voice was equally
cold and clear. The crystalline pureness of her words surprised her. Inside,
she was a trembling mass of nerves.

The priest turned to Dominic. Without so much as a glance at his
bride, Dominic said the words that would make her his wife. Sarah stared at his
profile as he did so, suddenly not sure that she knew this tall, black-haired,
incredibly handsome stranger. With his hair neatly brushed, and his fashionable
clothes, he looked impossibly remote, not at all like the man she had fought
with, bedded, and loved. Until the priest pronounced them man and wife, that
is, and he turned to look at her at last. Even after a thousand years had
passed Sarah thought she could not mistake those Irish blue eyes.

His lips as they touched hers in the obligatory kiss were as cool
and remote as his manner. He smiled afterward when Edward, with the determined
air of one who has made up his mind to make the best of a bad situation,
offered a toast to the newlyweds’ health. Sarah smiled too, as
mirthlessly as Dominic, as the priest added his congratulations. The cake was
brought out and cut, another toast was drunk, and the wedding was over. And
Sarah’s new husband had not spoken a word to her.

Mrs. Abbott had returned to the kitchen after bringing in the
cake, Liza and Lydia had drifted off to their rooms for the afternoon naps so
necessary to their beauty, and the priest had taken himself off in Mrs.
Abbott’s wake, lured by the promise of a hot meal. Left alone with his
daughter and new son-in-law, Edward swallowed the wine left in his glass in a
single gulp, set the glass down with a purposeful click on a polished
sideboard, and crossed the room to where Dominic stood.

“Gallagher, you know that I don’t like the idea of my
daughter being married to you. I think it very possible that the silly puss has
ruined her life.” During this speech, Dominic’s eyes rose from
their contemplation of his wine-glass to regard his father-in-law with a
darkening frown. Edward continued, “But, be that as it may, what’s
done is done and you and Sarah are married now. And about to make me a
grandfather, I guess. So . . .” He held up a hand as Dominic, his dark
face hard, started to speak. Dominic obligingly held his tongue while the older
man finished. “So I want you to know that as far as I am concerned
we’re starting with a clean slate. As my daughter’s husband, you
are welcome to remain with her on Lowella for as long as you will.”

“Thank you, sir, but . . .” Dominic’s face had
changed, become less shuttered as Edward completed his speech, but the negative
attitude was clearly there in his look. Sarah, coming up to them with a package
that Tess had just given her, heard the last part of her father’s words
and the beginning of Dominic’s reply. He was going to refuse, she knew.
But Edward waved him into silence.

“I know there’s a lot still between us, but I think
for the sake of my daughter and grandchild, your wife and child, we could work
it out. All I ask is that you think about it. You would be a free man, of
course. I’ve already had my man in Canberra petition our new governor,
Sir George Gipps, for commutation of your sentence. I have every reason to
believe that it will be speedily granted. And with Percival leaving as he
did—no, I’m not blaming you for that, but there’s no denying
that he left because you were marrying elsewhere—” This aside was
addressed to Sarah, who had been looking guilty; she knew as well as anyone how
much Edward had depended on Percival. Edward’s gaze shifted back to
Dominic. “I need an overseer. If you want it, the job is yours.”

“Thank you, sir. I’ll think about it.”
Dominic’s words were formal, but his expression had warmed.

Sarah felt hope rise inside her. Maybe they could stay on Lowella
after all, if only Dominic’s colossal pride did not stand in their way.
She watched wide-eyed as her father looked at Dominic, hesitated, then thrust
out his hand.

“Welcome to the family, Gallagher.”

Dominic looked at that outstretched hand for a moment in silence.
Then he smiled, crookedly, and clasped Edward’s hand with his own.

“I’m honored, sir.”

Sarah looked at those joined hands, the one short and wide, with
splayed fingers spattered with freckles, the other brown as teak, long-fingered
and, as she knew from experience, strong, and felt a lump rise in her throat.
These two men whom she loved more than anyone else in the world . . . she
wanted to hug them both. Instead, she smiled mistily as her father harrumphed
and disengaged his hand, turning away. Then she gave in to the urge to plant a
kiss on his weathered cheek. Whatever else happened, she could not but be
grateful for the events that had restored her father to her. For the first time
since she was a tiny child, Sarah felt secure in his love.

“Be happy, daughter,” he said gruffly, his eyes almost
as misty as hers. Before either of them could fall further under the sway of
their emotions, he stepped away from her, his attention shifting to the flat
brown parcel in her hand.

“What is that you have?”

Sarah looked down at the package, remembering it for the first
time since Tess had called her into the hall to give it to her.

“It’s addressed to you, Pa.”

“Ahhh. I’ve been expecting this.” He took the
package from her and tore it open, a satisfied expression on his face as he
inspected the governor’s seal. “Your papers have arrived,”
Edward continued, addressing Dominic, who still looked brooding. “As of
this moment, you’re a free man.”

“I thank you for your efforts on my behalf.”

“No thanks necessary. You’re a member of the family
now, and I do for you what I’d do for Sarah or Lydia or that girl of
hers.”

“Still, I appreciate the effort.”

Edward nodded his head once in acknowledgment, and signaled to his
daughter with his eyes that she could escort him to the door.

“He’s a proud man, Sarah, and you may have trouble
with him yet. I doubt he’ll be willing to stay on at Lowella—under
the circumstances, I don’t think I would myself, so I can’t blame
him overmuch.” He sighed. Sarah noticed that his face was gray beneath
its sunburned ruddiness. A twinge of concern pierced her.

“Pa . . .” she began, her hand coming up to catch his
arm as he staggered a little before grasping the edge of the doorjamb to steady
himself. “Are you all right?”

“Must have had too much wine,” he muttered, not
looking at her. Then he thrust the papers into her hand. “You keep these
by you, Sarah. I don’t want to give them to
him.
I’ve had
dealings with that kind of damn-your-eyes Irishman before: liable to take
offense at the drop of a hat. And we don’t want that. I’m looking
forward to seeing my grandchild.”

Sarah laughed a little unsteadily. Her father was taking that
aspect of the situation—indeed, every aspect of it—far better than
she had expected.

“Don’t worry, Pa, you will. I’ll see to
it.”

“Planning to rule the roost, are you, girl?” He
chuckled, pinching her chin. Sarah was relieved to see that he was standing
without support now, and the normal ruddy color had returned to his cheeks.
“You two should have some bang-up battles. I only wish I could be around
to see them.”

Sarah frowned quickly. “What do you mean, Pa?”
Something about his tone made her uneasy. Was he ill, and not telling her? It
would be like him, she thought.

“Why, what do you think I mean? Just that like all married
women, you’ll likely be going to a home of your own, if not now then in
the future. And I won’t get to witness the taming of the shrew.”

“Or vice versa,” Sarah said, smiling. Edward chuckled
again in response.

“Or vice versa,” he agreed, grinning at her. Then,
with a look over her shoulder: “You’d best be getting back to your
husband. He’s looking a mite serious. And I’m going upstairs to lie
down for a bit.”

This was so unlike her father—he was far more likely to
leave his daughter’s wedding directly for the breeding pens—that
Sarah’s earlier concerns were roused once more.

“Pa, don’t you feel well?”

“I feel fine. Oh, you’re wondering about me lying
down?” His grin widened, and he winked at her roguishly. “Now that
you’re a respectable married woman, I guess I can tell you: it has to do
with Lydia. She’s taking a nap, don’t you know.”