The Irish Earl Read online

  “Of course you can,” Felicity said. “They are a gift from me to you. And someday you can give them to your daughter on her wedding day.”

  “God will bless you for your kindness,” Nora said.

  “Come now. Brian is waiting for us,” Felicity said, uncomfortable with such expressions of gratitude.

  They went outside into the sunlight together.

  Eleven

  The wedding was officiated by Father Harrington, who had made the long trip from Glenmore on foot. At least fifty people were present to witness the vows, for the Connollys and their neighbors had been joined by friends and relations from the east side of the valley. During the ceremony Kilgarvan and Felicity stood in the back, as befitted their status as guests at the Catholic ceremony. But as soon as the vows were over, Kilgarvan had been the first man to kiss the bride, to wish her luck in her new life.

  During the feasting Kilgarvan and Felicity had been given a spot of honor, squeezed together on a bench at the head of the table, next to the newlyweds and Father Harrington. There were ham roasts, mutton pies and salted herring, not to mention the ubiquitous potatoes. Felicity had gamely tried each new dish, seeming to enjoy herself thoroughly. Kilgarvan had dug in as well, but his enjoyment of the simple country cooking was tempered by the feeling of Felicity’s body pressed tightly against his side.

  The Connollys were more prosperous than most of their neighbors, and it showed in the lavish feast they had provided for their daughter. There was food and drink in abundance, and everyone there ate their fill and more. Then one man brought out his pipes, and another his fiddle, and the company rose from their seats, eager to begin the dancing.

  Felicity was swept away by the womenfolk, and Kilgarvan allowed himself to be parted from her. He glanced her way from time to time, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. Luckily the Connollys were a progressive family, and most of them spoke English, so there was no worry there.

  The fiddler struck up a reel, and the piper joined in. Brian seized a laughing Nora from a circle of her friends and dragged her to the open space just beyond the tables. There the two began to dance and were swiftly joined by other young couples.

  Kilgarvan accepted a glass of native whiskey and stood with the older men under the shade of an oak tree, watching the dancing and listening to their conversation. After they complimented Thomas Connolly on his hospitality, and compared this wedding to other weddings they had attended in the past, the conversation soon turned to the usual topics: the weather, their cattle, the market for butter, and the prospects for the potato and oat crops.

  At Kilgarvan’s request they shared news of Glenmore, and he learned that several of the young men had left for England only this past week, seeking employment as seasonal harvesters. Matthew Sweeney, who had emigrated to America five years before, had finally sent passage money so his wife and children could join him. The Hanlons and the Murphys were quarreling again, this time over the ownership of a young bull. Blows had been exchanged, but no blood had been shed, and the parties had agreed to wait for the earl to return to judge the matter.

  Kilgarvan was content to listen, and to soak up the news of home. He realized what a rare privilege it was that these men would share the concerns of their lives with him, treating him with respect but without the false deference that they would give an Englishman.

  Thomas Connolly rejoined them, carrying a jug and making sure to refill everyone’s glass. “And did his lordship tell you that he brought his new bride by way of the old Cork road?”

  There was a general exclamation of disbelief, and heads turned in his direction. Kilgarvan nodded to confirm the truth of the statement, and then held his composure as the men offered their suggestions on how he could have more pleasantly spent his wedding journey.

  “Now, now, there is no need for that talk,” Thomas Connolly said firmly. “Herself is a fine lady, and I know that these blackguards mean no disrespect.”

  “A fine lady, indeed,” Tim Connolly offered.

  “A treasure, and a grace to your noble house,” old Ned Devine added. “Here’s a health to you and to your good wife, and our best wishes for your happiness.”

  “To your happiness,” the men echoed, raising their glasses and taking a drink.

  Kilgarvan drank as well. “My thanks,” he said. His eyes swept the crowd, but Felicity was no longer standing talking with Mrs. Connolly. At last he found her amid the dancers. Sean Connolly, Nora’s eldest brother, was laughing broadly as he attempted to guide Felicity through the steps of a country dance.

  “Your wife has the look of a fine woman. A real lady. And generous too,” Thomas Connolly said, with the hint of a question in his voice.

  Kilgarvan knew the hidden meaning behind his host’s words. No doubt all present knew that he had gone to London in search of a well-dowered wife. And yet his appearance with Felicity, traveling the roughest of roads, with neither baggage cart nor servant, was hardly likely to inspire confidence that he had succeeded. But courtesy was inbred in these people. If he and Felicity had been mere beggars, they still would have been welcomed to the celebrations. And he knew that if he chose to ignore the unspoken question that this would be the end of the matter, and they would respect his rights to keep his own counsel.

  But there was no need for such. He had intended to tell the people of Glenmore first, but though these men were not his tenants, there were still remnants of the ancient allegiance. Those who eked out a precarious living on the slopes of the east valley were the friends and relations of Kilgarvan’s own tenants. They, too, had suffered when Kilgarvan’s father could no longer afford to employ servants and laborers, and when he had raised rents on his own lands, the surrounding rents had been raised as well.

  “I am a lucky man,” Kilgarvan said. “And my good fortune will be shared. There will be work for those that want it. Beginning with setting right the old Cork road.”

  “God bless you,” old Ned Devine said in a quavering voice.

  The desperate hope in these men’s eyes was suddenly too much for him to bear. Kilgarvan excused himself and sought out his wife.

  Weaving his way among the dancers, he tapped Sean Connolly on the shoulder. “This woman is already taken,” he said.

  Sean relinquished his place with a mock mournful sigh, and a pledge to Felicity of eternal devotion.

  Felicity’s face was flushed with exertion, and her eyes sparkled up at Kilgarvan. “Thank you for rescuing me,” she said. “I could scarce catch my breath. Do these dances never end?”

  “Not as long as the sunlight holds, and the musicians are kept well supplied with drink,” he answered. He escorted her to the sidelines, since that was her wish, repressing a pang of disappointment. He would not have minded an excuse to hold Felicity in his arms.

  Felicity sat down on one of the benches and cheerfully accepted his offer to fetch her a glass of water. He returned, handing her the glass and sitting down beside her.

  “They make a lovely couple,” she said.

  “Yes,” he agreed. While it was true that Brian Sullivan would win no medals for handsomeness, it was plain to see that the young man was head over heels in love with his new bride, and it was just as clear that Nora returned his affection in full measure. There was an almost visible glow of happiness around the new couple, which lent a cheerful energy to the celebration. This was how a wedding should be, and he pushed aside memories of their own wedding day.

  “I take it Nora has you to thank for the combs in her hair,” he observed. “I wonder if she would dance the jig quite so vigorously if she knew she had a year’s rent adorning those brown locks.”

  “Every bride deserves to feel beautiful on her wedding day,” Felicity said.

  Her words were reflective, but nonetheless he felt a stab of guilt. He knew full well that Felicity had felt anything but cherished and beautiful on her wedding day. They had gone through the ceremony with all the warmth of two strangers executing a business contract. And then
, on that one night when she should have felt special, he had allowed his pride and anger to rule him. He had rejected his wife, refusing to share her bed.

  He had been stupid and blind, and he knew he had wounded Felicity deeply. But instead of responding with bitterness she had treated him with forbearance, in her own stubborn, headstrong way.

  He would give anything to be able to take back those words. To be able to start afresh, and to treat his wife with the courtesy she deserved.

  A cheer arose from the guests.

  “What is happening?” Felicity asked, looking over to the dance floor.

  He rose and saw that a half dozen young lads had surrounded Nora and Brian, and with whoops of encouragement were escorting the young couple away from the celebration.

  “It is time for Nora and Brian to take their leave,” he said. “The boys will escort them to the cabin where they will live, and post a guard to see that no one disturbs the newlyweds. Save themselves, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  Twilight was falling, and the guests with long walks ahead of them had begun to take their leave. Soon it would be time for Felicity and Kilgarvan to retire for the night. But for now, the musicians were still playing, and Kilgarvan gave in to the desire that had tempted him all afternoon.

  Taking Felicity’s hand in his, he said, “My lady, may I have the honor of this dance?”

  The dancers gave way to them as he led her to the center of the grassy square that served as the dance floor. The musicians finished the hornpipe with a flourish, and then stood awaiting the next request. He was conscious that all eyes were on them. Even the children had ceased weaving in and out among the guests in their interminable game of tag, and stood quietly, trying to fathom what had caused this interruption.

  Kilgarvan took Felicity’s hand in his own, and then placed his other on the small of her back. “A slow reel, if you please.” Sean Connolly had been content to partner Felicity in a country set, but Kilgarvan had something quite different in mind.

  The fiddler nodded, and as the musicians began to play, Kilgarvan led Felicity in the steps of a waltz. There were a few false steps as they adjusted themselves to the new rhythm, but within moments they were moving as one.

  He drew her closer to him, in a manner that would have been quite scandalous in London, but allowed him to enjoy the feel of her in his arms. He marveled at her slender form, which gave no hint of her inner core of steel.

  From the corner of his eye he could see that other couples had joined in, but he paid them no heed. He had eyes only for Felicity.

  “I have wanted to do this all day,” he said, feeling a grin stretch across his face.

  Felicity laughed. “And here I thought you had left your dancing days behind in England.”

  England. It seemed so far away and long ago, as if he had met Felicity there in another life. Or perhaps the man he had been in London had been a different man indeed. It was hard to recall how desperate he had been, knowing that he would lose his birthright unless he won the favor of an heiress. Any heiress. If he had not met Felicity, he might even now be married to Miss Sawyer, or, worse yet, forced to watch helplessly as everything he owned was taken from him.

  Looking down at Felicity’s bent head, he realized how incredibly lucky he had been to find her. Or, rather, how lucky it had been that she had found him. Using the cover of the dance, he pulled her close to him. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.

  “For what?”

  “For everything,” he answered.

  The endless summer twilight began to wane, until only a handful of the Connollys’ closest neighbors remained. The tables and benches had long since been returned to their owners, and the musicians had packed up their instruments while families collected small children who had exhausted themselves into slumber. A few courting couples remained, strolling hand in hand in the meadow, exchanging confidences before they parted.

  “The Connollys have offered us their hospitality for the evening, and I think it is time we retire,” he said.

  “Very well,” Felicity agreed. “Although I can’t remember a time when I have enjoyed myself more.”

  They bade good night to the Connollys, Felicity complimenting them again on the glorious celebration. Then he took Felicity by the hand and led her to the Connollys’ cabin.

  A lantern had been lit and placed on the table inside, illuminating the center of the room but casting dark shadows in the corners. Toward the right the curtain that separated the main room from the bedroom had been tucked to one side, and he could see the faint glow of rushlights on the dresser within.

  Felicity followed him in and then stopped. “There is no one here,” she said.

  “The Connollys have offered us their cabin for the night,” he explained.

  Felicity released his hand and took a few steps inside. Her eyes drifted to the bedroom, and then she turned back to face him. “But this is their home. And they have been so kind to us. Surely we cannot put them out of their own house on the day of their own daughter’s wedding?”

  He advanced toward her slowly. “On the contrary. This is why we must accept. It would be a slur upon their hospitality to do otherwise.”

  “But—”

  “In Ireland the guest is always given the best of everything. There can be no greater praise than to call someone generous, and no greater insult than to refer to someone as stingy and inhospitable. Thomas Connolly and his family will sleep well tonight at his brother’s house across the road, pleased to know that you have accepted their hospitality.”

  Felicity nodded, but she began to worry her lower lip, as if something was preying on her mind. “I appreciate their generosity,” she began. “But there is only the one bed.”

  She turned her head as she said those words. He could not be sure in the dim lantern light, but he thought he saw a blush upon her cheeks.

  He closed the distance between them, taking her hands in his. “There is always the loft, where Nora and her brothers make their beds. If you wish, I will sleep there tonight. But I would very much like to spend the night with you.”

  He held his breath, and tried to still the rapid beating of his heart as he waited for her answer. Eons seemed to tick by, and he braced himself for disappointment.

  Then she lifted her head and looked him directly in the eyes. “Yes,” she said, her voice trembling only a little. “I would like that very much.”

  He released his breath in a rush as her answer sank in. Releasing her hands, he cupped his hands around her face, his eyes drinking in the sight of her so he could remember this moment for the rest of his life. He could see anticipation mingled with trepidation in her eyes, and he felt a sudden rush of tenderness.

  He would be gentle with her, he vowed to himself. He would make up to her all the hurt he had caused her, and teach her the joys of marriage as he should have done weeks ago.

  He bent his head down and brushed her lips with his own. Her soft lips pressed against his own with sweet innocence, and one of her hands reached up to caress his neck. It took all his iron control to keep from deepening the kiss. There would be time for that later, he promised himself. But for now, gentleness and patience were required.

  Reluctantly he ended the kiss and raised his head. The results were all he could have wished for. Felicity’s face was flushed, and her lips swollen. She looked at him with amazement, and the beginnings of a hunger for more.

  “Oh, my,” she said.

  Her inarticulateness was the greatest compliment he had ever received.

  “I promise you there are even more delights to be discovered,” he said, reaching up to loosen the pins that held her hair in place. Her auburn hair cascaded down her back, and he ran his hands through its silky length, as he had longed to do for so many days.

  “Come,” he said, taking her hand in his and leading her into the bedroom.

  Twelve

  When Felicity awoke the next morning, she was alone. But Kilgarvan had
not been gone long, for she could see the impression of his head on the pillow, and, pressing her hand to the blanket, could feel the warmth from where he had lain beside her. She smiled to herself as she remembered their lovemaking the night before. Their kiss had only hinted at the pleasures she had discovered in Kilgarvan’s arms. Never had she imagined it possible to feel such delight. And when their bodies had joined, she had felt as if their souls had briefly touched as well.

  She hoped that she had pleased him as well as he had pleasured her.

  She wondered why so many women had described the marriage act as unpleasant or tedious, and then realized it must be the fault of their husbands. The visage of Sir Percy Lambeth sprang to her mind, and with it the knowledge that if she had not seen Kilgarvan that night at the theater, she might very well have married Sir Percy, or another gentleman very much like him. And yet she could not imagine herself sharing such intimacies with Sir Percy, or indeed with anyone else except Kilgarvan.

  She heard the sound of a door, and then a woman’s voice from the next room called, “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” she heard Kilgarvan reply.

  Heavens! The Connollys had returned, and she was still lying abed. What would they think? She threw back the covers, preparing to rise, only to discover that she was completely nude. Hastily she wrapped the quilt around her, certain she was blushing from head to toe. Frantically she glanced around the room, all too conscious that the only thing that separated her from those chattering in the kitchen was a mere length of cloth that served as the door.

  Rising from the bed she saw clothing laid out on a chair, and on the small chest of drawers was a basin, a pitcher of water and a linen washcloth. She blessed Kilgarvan for his thoughtfulness, for she knew that these had not been there the night before.

  She poured the water into the basin slowly, trying to avoid making any sound that would announce her presence. As she washed herself, she heard someone moving around the kitchen, and then the unmistakable sounds of cracking eggs and sizzling meat. Soon enticing odors were drifting into the bedroom.