A Love by Any Measure (12 page)

Taking Tea

Maeve did not join them for breakfast, taking to Rory’s side instead. August requested the cook prepare a tray to send up. He spent a large part of the day in his library reviewing correspondences and trying not to think about the lovely Irish girl whose presence suddenly made her so accessible. In the early afternoon, Caroline asked if she and Maeve might take the carriage down to the O’Connor cottage. If they were to be guests while Rory convalesced, she said, they would need some things from home — clothes, for example.

The idea of Maeve wearing her meager attire to tea disheartened him. It was not that he viewed it as unpleasant, or her unworthy of company. On the contrary, the fact that Maeve’s beauty could still shine so brightly despite the lack of opulent Parisian fineries was one of her finest attributes. She was deserving of such fineries, nonetheless, and thus August again found himself ascending the stairs to peruse his mother’s things in the attic. He found some dresses there still hung in an old wardrobe.

If there was one credit August could allow his father, it was that he had never withheld from making certain that Lady Grayson’s dresses were at the very height of fashion. Of course, how could Emmanuel live down any public slight that suggested he might be stingy. August reveled in the memory of how keenly attired Eliza had always been. Though the style may now be somewhat outdated, he selected a light blue walking suit and hat from the collection. Not wanting to face the retorts that he knew would certainly come at the presentation of this gift, August hastened to Maeve’s room and left the garments on her bed. Almost as an afterthought, he retrieved the silk petticoat from where he had hidden it in his wardrobe after Maeve left it behind in her mad escape prior, and set it beside the suit.

Rory’s condition perplexed, but the time to ask the old man about his injuries would come later. A letter was due Norwich, and so August returned to the library and scribbled out his obligatory weekly missive bound for the Grayson estate, Meadowlark. A member of his staff arrived at the library door promptly at four o’clock to inform him that tea was ready in the garden, and that the O’Keefes had already been seated.

“And my sister?” August asked. Caroline was usually the first at the table.

“She has been trapped behind doors since returning with that girl,” his housekeeper answered somewhat bitterly.

“Miss O’Connor,” August corrected. “Her name is Miss Maeve O’Connor, and she is my guest.”

The servant blushed and gaped, before clearing his throat and nodding. “Of course, sir. Miss O’Connor.”

The Norwich letter was signed off with due civility, and August sealed the envelope properly before taking his leave to the garden.

Patty and Patrick sat, speaking in low whispers, Patrick running his finger tenderly up and down the back of Patty’s hand. He appeared so much more approachable to August now than he had at their last meeting, a placid smile emanating from ear to ear. Patty reflected much the same. The love the two shared had impressed August from the moment he had met Patrick’s other half three months prior. They could hardly pass a moment together without making contact with each other in some way or another.

“Mrs. O’Keefe, you’re positively radiant,” August declared as he approached them from behind and, by way of such, made his presence known. “I take it you are well?”

Her smile melted into an indifferent straight line, and in a tone that was neither rude nor kind she replied, “I am, Lord Grayson. Thank you.”

August sat across from them at a table heavily laden with jams, jellies, biscuits, and sandwiches as he nodded his greetings to Patrick, who dipped his head quickly in response. Silence followed as Patrick’s eyes grew hungrier with each passing second.

“Please, do not wait,” August suggested finally. Patrick seemed confused at the change of etiquette, clearly not Grayson’s normal style. “Caroline’s guest is yet due to arrive, and my house guest will be along shortly. I will wait.”

Just at that moment, one of the servants announced formally, “Captain Jefferson Schand.”

Schand descended from the back stairs with a gait brimming of confidence and poise. Walking swiftly, he nonetheless had a grace that was nearly artistic. Ruby-red locks nearly shoulder length and a mustache slightly overgrown the length of his beard must have been the American fashion. His attire was adapted to the Irish mode; though a nice suit he wore this day; he was clearly a man setting about a courtship. Yet August could picture him dressed in a soldier’s uniform, saber in hand and orders on his lips.

August rose, meeting Schand on the pathway to the garden table.

“Captain Schand, August Grayson.” August motioned to those seated behind, who rose at the gesture. “My middleman, Mr. Patrick O’Keefe and his wife, Patty. Miss Grayson is attending to our house guest and will be along shortly.”

A quick, knowing glance passed between Patrick and Captain Schand. An observer might have claimed the gentlemen flushed red at the sight of each other.

With invitation to the table, they all assumed a seat.

“Captain, Caroline has told me so little of you. May I ask what brings you to Killarney, all the way from the Americas?”

His Dixie drawl was one with which August was not familiar, the twists and tones even more foreign in the land of Eire than August’s British flavor.

“Well now, I’ve always been partial to the islands,” he began, his words fully annunciated and slowly dictated, making August believe Schand to be a man of some learning. Fools rushed to disclose every measure of their being, but the wise man dotted the conversation with only enough of himself to remain relevant.

“My own ancestors emerged from Cornwall, but my mama came from Scot roots. When the war ended, a gentleman in Atlanta told me of reformation efforts being undertaken in Killarney and I decided to cast in my lot.”

“So you work then?” August hoped it didn’t sound too rude or accusatory, but he needed to be sure Caroline’s potential suitor could provide for her.

Schand nodded. “Foreman at the North Mines. It’s tough and grueling work, but the men are hardworking and dedicated to a fault.”

A foreman was hardly an earl or a duke, but it was a position of some responsibility, though it was true that Schand seemed to August somewhat short in tooth. If he’d achieved the rank of captain at so few years — he couldn’t be more than thirty — it boded well for his long term prospects. His pedigree, of course, was one which Emmanuel hardly would have approved, but that fact only seemed to Captain Schand’s credit.

“I often find that men who take up positions of power are neglectful to rise to the opportunity presented them,” August commented, getting a curious look in exchange from his guests. “That is, if one believes in providence, Captain, then one must believe that the Lord God in his infinite wisdom places a man in a position to effect change as a test of his very valor. We all know these stories of men whom – due only to their inherited station — were assumed representative of their class’ shortcomings. Yet when given opportunity to prove otherwise, they became an inspiration to all, regardless of lineage. We must never forget that it was a simple carpenter who was King, and the King who fell down to kiss his feet.”

“Are you the King or the carpenter in this scenario, brother?”

Caroline made her way down the pathway, dressed in a pale yellow walking suit and frilly lace-trimmed hat. The gentlemen rose respectfully. Captain Schand, not as well versed on codes of comportment, hastened to her, however, placing a kiss upon her hand in a bold Yankee manner.

“My dear woman, you are positively beauty personified by the grace of God and painted on this earthly canvas by the brush strokes of angels.”

Caroline blushed fervently and nearly stumbled in her attempts to remain proper. “You are too kind, Captain Schand. I am so pleased that you were able to join us today.”

Not to be displaced, August too approached Caroline and kissed her cheek. Indeed, in the presence of Schand, she seemed to glow. August thought, perhaps, their meeting in the marketplace had been much more impressive than he was first led to believe.

“Where is Maeve?” August whispered in Caroline’s ear as the others sat back down.

“She is nervous about the suit,” she whispered back as she rose on the tips of her toes to return the kiss, “though a lovelier specimen of eighteen-forties fashion I have not seen. She is coming directly. Look.”

Maeve was transformed. Surely, it was Aphrodite herself walking up the pathway in slow, measured steps. Caroline had no doubt spent a large part of the day coiffing the unbridled tresses into submission, and they were bunched atop her head in a configuration of twists and pulls that would have left a sculptor dizzy. After a good nights’ rest and a milk bath (August had Caroline order the staff to provide her one), her skin was soft and begging to be touched, though the restrictive cut of the suit did not offer much campus for such endeavors. August suppressed every urge to cross the lines of propriety and expectation, to take this beauty into his arms and worship her properly. As it was, he stifled his impacted breath and gave her a respectful bow as he approached, keeping an honorable distance despite the drive of temptation, and with full recognition that Patrick O’Keefe’s face was fast approaching the color of mulberries.

“Miss O’Connor, I’m told by the staff that your father’s fever has broken. Wonderful that he’s recovering so quickly.”

“Thanks to your hospitality, Lord Grayson,” she returned, putting emphasis on the title.

“Captain Schand,” August said, turning back to the table, “may I present Miss Maeve O’Connor, my tenant and temporary house guest.”

A startled look came over Patty’s face and August could almost see the wheels of her mind twisting in contemplation as to why Maeve was staying at Shepherd’s Bluff.

“Miss O’Connor’s father went missing last night and I was able to help in locating him,” August explained, cutting off the accusations that were all but being spoken from Patty’s countenance. “We found him in the hills, somewhat injured but none the worse for wear. He’s resting upstairs.”

“The woods?” Patrick asked. “Is that where he —”

He cut himself off as simultaneously Jefferson’s expression flashed. August made an effort to move the conversation to more temperate subjects instead, and due to the ladies’ desire not to speak of unpleasant things, was successful in doing so.

The rest of tea was spent in mostly idle chatter, with a little business discussed by Patrick and August regarding irrigating the back pastures and turning the field to crops. Despite initial hesitation, August found Schand a most enjoyable conversationalist. Caroline was all but sold on him, that was sure. Maeve quickly relaxed into pleasant discourse, despite her initial discomfort upon arriving.

In the by, as the men waxed on as to the nature of sovereignty, August overheard low chattering between Patty and Maeve and realized that they were conversing in Irish. Knowing their intent was to keep him in the dark, he smiled inwardly at the vainness of the effort.

“Seems you took no lesson from my warning yesterday. Fine, then. What are you really doing here?”

“It’s exactly like he said. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Aye? And where did that pretty little dress come from? Find it up on the hillside, too?”

“I don’t know where it came from. It was on my bed when I returned.”

Speaking in Irish, her voice took on a more natural rhythm to match her accent.

“You’re in love with him.”

Maeve nearly spit out the tea she was sipping. “I’m engaged.”

“Not denying it then, are you?”

Maeve chanced a look at August, mid-word with Patrick. Their eyes met for a moment before, flushed, Maeve hurriedly looked elsewhere. “It would be impossible, Patty. Like wishing for the stars in the sky.”

Tea being concluded, Captain Schand asked permission to escort Caroline on a walk of the grounds and down by the lake, a request with which she was all too happy to oblige and to which August conceded, provided that Caroline’s maid chaperoned. Patrick concurred with August’s plan for the back pasture and said he would start drawing up irrigation plans, and then he and Patty made their way back to the middleman’s cottage to relieve Mary Bernice’s minder.

Thus, Maeve and August found themselves alone at the table.

“I suppose I should check on Da.”

“May I join you?”

His compassion made her smile. “Of course. Thank you.”

As Maeve and August passed the library doors, August took a quick survey of the hall to be certain they were out of anyone’s witness, and pulled Maeve inside. As the doors shut with a ruckus behind her, August pushed her up against them, pinning her in place. He held her at arm’s length; though it was clear to Maeve he was struggling with his own temptation to close the distance between them. Much as she found herself struggling to do the same.

“Is it so wrong to wish for the stars from the sky, Maeve?” he asked as he smoothed her hair and cupped her cheek. His eyes focused on her lips, drawing himself near as he dared without making contact. “I swear, if I could reach them for you … ”

“You speak Irish!” she whispered in dreaded realization. “You understood everything we said, didn’t you?”

He nodded, licking his lips, getting closer, closer.

“I don’t … I know I can’t … This just … We simply can’t.”

Was he trying to convince her, or himself?

“I know, I know. And no, there’s nothing wrong with wishing for the stars, but it’s only a fool who expects to catch them.”

“I want you laid across my bed.” He pressed her body fully into the door with his own, letting her feel his arousal against her. “What are you doing to me? Why is it that I want you so – more than any woman I have ever known? Why can’t time diminish this pull?”

She slipped from under his restraint and opened the door, effectively ending the conquest.

“You know exactly why,” she whispered. “You can’t have me, not in the way you want. And you feel powerless at being unable to keep the women you love in your life.”