Irish Linen (16 page)

“What do you suppose Daddy saw in her?” she asked, her thoughts apparently mirroring Lucas’s.

Lucas thought of his socially upstanding, prim and proper mother and recalled the long-ago beauty of her face and smile. He saw a glimpse of what his mother had been, before discontent had soured her and made her difficult to understand. He thought he understood what had first drawn his father. “Mother was a beautiful woman once,” he said.

Beth’s eyes widened. “Beautiful—Mother?”

“I remember when I was very young … when she smiled the whole room seemed to light up.” He gave his sister a smile tinged with sadness. “I guess she was happy then.”

“I wish she was happy now,” Beth said as she preceded him out the library door.

Lucas sighed as he followed her to join his family. “I do, too,” he said with great feeling. It was a shame, he thought, that his sister had known only discord in his parents’ household. He had escaped it somewhat when he’d moved into the plantation’s caretaker’s cottage. It was his now, and with its small interior rooms came a measure of the peace lacking in the big house.

But his peace had been disturbed since Meghan’s entry into his life. Would he ever get to bed her and be free of her? He sure as hell was going to try!

Meghan sat in the darkened bedchamber in Somerville, listening to Miss Doddleberry’s snores. It was early Christmas morning, well before dawn. She’d been unable to sleep since retiring to her room hours ago.

Rafferty had eventually arrived at Gibbons Mill well past the supper hour, when she’d all but given up hope of his coming. He’d been quiet, but not irritable as he’d steered the carriage back to Mrs. Pridgly’s. He’d offered some mumbled excuse about why he was late that Meghan didn’t understand, but oddly enough she didn’t care. By the time they’d reached Somerville, there had been little time for them to talk, before Mrs. Pridgly suggested everyone up go to bed. All the residents followed her lead.

The boardinghouse parlor was decorated with holly and pine, but it didn’t seem as festive to Meghan as it did at Patty’s. As she stared at the ceiling of the bedchamber, she thought that the house lacked something. What was missing here that made her time spent at Patty’s more enjoyable?

She remembered the warmth generated by the people who lived at Patty’s and the pleasure they’d shown when she’d given each of them the small gifts she’d made: linen handkerchiefs for the women, new stockings for the boys.

Then she thought of the things she’d brought with
her … a new set of sewing needles for Mrs. Pridgly, some cookies and donuts for Henry, George, and the other tenants. Thanks to Patty’s generosity and help in the kitchen, Meghan had gifts for everyone at Mrs. Pridgly’s, too.

For Rafferty, she had a special Christmas gift—a gold fob for the watch that Rafferty always carried with him, the watch that had belonged to his father. It had cost her a full week’s pay, but Meghan didn’t mind. She was grateful to Rafferty for all he’d done for her.

She realized she must have fallen asleep when she was awakened by the sun and Miss Doddleberry, who made enough noise in the room to wake Mrs. Pridgly downstairs. Meghan’s head pounded with a dull ache as she blinked and then eyed the woman with whom she shared the bedchamber.

“What time is it?” she asked.

Miss Doddleberry gave her a scolding look. “It’s six past. Why are you still abed?”

Meghan’s teeth snapped, but she was silent.
Why do ye make noise when ye sleep like the working machinery at Gibbons?
she thought.

“Merry Christmas,” she said with all the politeness she could muster.

The woman sniffed. “Merry Christmas,” she said insincerely.

Voices in the corridor signaled the awakening of the entire household, and Meghan threw back the quilt. She had taken to sleeping in the chair after her first night’s experience staying with Miss Doddleberry. The woman not only snored while she slept, but she thrashed about.

Rising to her feet, Meghan rubbed her throbbing temple.

“Head hurt again?”

To Meghan’s surprise, the woman’s concern seemed genuine.

“Here.” Miss Doddleberry dug inside the top drawer of the bureau chest and handed Meghan a folded paper. “It’s headache powder. My grandmother’s special blend.” When Meghan hesitated, the woman pushed it into Meghan’s hands. “I suffer frequently,” she admitted. “This helps me.”

Meghan stared at the folded paper. “I wouldn’t want to take all of your medicine,” she said.

The woman brushed off Meghan’s concern with a wave of her hand. “I know the receipt. I can make more when I need to.”

“Thank ye,” Meghan said, warming to the woman. In a moment of a shared experience, the animosity between the two eased.

Miss Doddleberry moved to the door. “I’ll tell Mrs. Pridgly you’ll be down shortly.”

Murmuring her thanks, Meghan set down the powder to be taken downstairs at breakfast and dressed. She suspected that Lucas Ridgely was actually the cause of her recent headaches. The man had done nothing but disturb her sense of well-being from the first moment she’d looked up in his ship’s cabin and met his gaze. Well, she didn’t know how she was going to solve matters. The confrontations between them weren’t over yet. She needed the mill job, but she wouldn’t suffer a loss of self-respect to keep it. The throbbing in her head intensified. She didn’t want to deal with Lucas Ridgely, but circumstances were forcing her, and she’d just have to make the best of things.

By the time she joined the others at the table, her head hurt so badly, she could barely tolerate noise.

“Meghan, what took ye so long?” Rafferty asked.

“You poor dear!” Mrs. Pridgly exclaimed, causing Meghan to wince. “You look terrible.”

Meghan tried to smile, but the effort made her feel worse.

The women at the dining table began to fuss, rising to pull out a chair for her while scolding the men for not taking the initiative, and pouring Meghan a cup of tea.

“Did you take the powder?” Miss Doddleberry asked.

“No,” she whispered. She pulled the folded paper out of her pocket and poured some into her tea. She could sense Rafferty’s irritation mingled with concern as she tentatively took a sip of the medicine-laced tea, but she didn’t care. She had enough to worry about without her fiancé.

“Please,” Meghan pleaded when the others continued to fuss over her. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

The diners settled back to finish their breakfast; and although Meghan didn’t feel like eating, she took two of Mrs. Pridgly’s hot cinnamon buns.

She sipped her tea and nibbled on a bun, listening to the conversation at the table, and soon the pain in her head began to diminish.

Rafferty turned to her when they’d finished eating. “Are ye feeling better now?” he asked.

She nodded. “Aye. The pain has lessened some.”

He frowned as he seemed to study her more carefully. “What brought it on, do ye think?”

Meghan shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know,” she lied. It was the long night in the chair with little sleep, her thoughts troubled by her anger toward— and her attraction to—Lucas Ridgely.

“I’m glad ye’re feeling better,” her fiancé said, placing his arm about her shoulder.

She had to force herself not to pull away. Rafferty
had been touching her more and more lately, and she was uncomfortable with his change of behavior.

But you’re going to marry him
, an inner voice reminded her.

But it doesn’t feel right, she thought, disturbed by the revelation and the knowledge that as her husband Rafferty would have the right to touch her whenever he desired … and more intimately.

She swallowed hard. The idea had never bothered her before. Why did it now?

Lucas.

Meghan experienced a shaft of pain. She’d never experienced passion until Lucas had kissed and touched her. She hadn’t known what she’d been missing.

It wasn’t that she was ignorant of a man’s lust, but she’d never really thought of it in connection with Rafferty. He was solid, dependable … like Da, she thought. And what she’d once shared with Lucas hadn’t been just lust, it was more, she thought, recalling their shared moments eating “stolen” food. She’d enjoyed the simple pleasure of just being with Lucas … until she’d learned what a misguided cretin he was.

Rafferty escorted her into the parlor where the residents of the house had gathered to exchange gifts. Meghan glanced at the man beside her and was uneasy with the thought of becoming his wife.

But what choice did she have? She had promised to marry Rafferty. He had worked hard to send for her. She owed him a lot, and she was grateful.

But was marriage too high a price to pay?

She’d become betrothed to Rafferty because she had wanted a safe and solid husband. Her decision hadn’t been based on any gratitude or sense of loyalty. It had been a wise one, she’d thought at the time.

But Rafferty was a different man than the one she’d known and felt affection for back in Ireland. He was often preoccupied and angry. That quick flash of fury she’d glimpsed when he’d learned she’d lost her employment at the Somertons had upset her. It still disturbed her, more than she’d previously allowed herself to admit.

Rafferty left her side to search under the sofa, rising within moments with a small trinket box and a boyish grin.

Meghan couldn’t help smiling. His grin belonged to the man she’d once known. Perhaps the real Rafferty was still there, only weighed down by his worries.

He came to her and led her to sit on the sofa. Then, with an expectant look in his green eyes, he handed her the wooden box.

“Merry Christmas, Meggie,” he whispered, leaning to kiss her cheek.

She was overcome with a rush of emotion. “Thank ye, Rafferty,” she said huskily.

“Open it,” he urged.

His excitement transmitted itself to Meghan, raising her level of anticipation. She studied the box and then opened the carved lid. As she stared at the box’s contents, tension coiled inside her, and she couldn’t speak. There, nestled within a bed of velvet, was a ring, a circle of emerald stones that glistened with green fire.

“ ‘Tis your betrothal ring,” he said, sounding uncertain. “I couldn’t give one to ye before now.”

She met his gaze and saw a vulnerability in him she’d not seen before.

“Try it on,” he urged.

No
, her mind cried.
This isn’t right. Ye don’t really want to marry him.
“Where did ye get this?” she breathed.

A look of anger entered Rafferty’s gaze. “I came by it honestly, if that’s what ye’re asking.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that,” she said quickly. “It’s just that it’s so … beautiful …” In a gesture of apology, Meghan lifted the ring from the box and reluctantly placed it on a finger of her right hand. The coil in her chest tightened as she studied its effect. “I don’t know what to say.”

Tell him you’ll not marry him.

Tell him he’ll always be a good friend, and for that you’ll always love him, but that there needs to be more between a husband and wife.

Meghan was surprised by her thoughts. From her— someone who never believed in romance and passionate love.

“A simple thank ye will do,” Rafferty said with mild irritation.

She forced a smile that she hoped appeared genuine. “Thank ye, Mr. O’Connor.”

She must have sounded sincere, because his expression lightened. “Ye’re more than welcome to it, Miss McBride,” he said, and then he kissed her … on the mouth … in a room full of people.

Meghan wanted to protest, to pull away, but she submitted because he was her fiancé, and she’d yet to make a final decision about their relationship.

The kiss was quick and without feeling for Meghan. When he bent his head a second time, Meghan stifled a shiver of revulsion brought on by the moist, insistent clumsiness of Rafferty’s mouth.

As he pulled away, Rafferty looked happier than she’d seen him since she’d come to America, and she suffered misgivings. Murmuring that she had to retrieve Rafferty’s gift, she stumbled upstairs to her bedchamber and rummaged through the bottom drawer of the dresser.

Tears pricked her eyes as she pulled out Rafferty’s gift, for her mind was filled with Lucas’s—not Raf-
ferty’s —image. She couldn’t forget how glorious it had been to be kissed by Lucas. Rafferty’s kiss failed miserably by comparison.

Oh, Lucas, why did ye have to come back?

She blamed her seeing him again for her discontent with Rafferty. If Lucas had not reentered her world, she’d have been happy to marry Rafferty, she told herself.

Or would she?

She had found one excuse after another to put off her wedding. She’d been honest in her feelings when she’d asked for time to get over her father’s death, and Rafferty had understood. But with his gift of the ring, Rafferty was reminding her of their commitment. He’d given her time, and she had a dreaded feeling that he was getting impatient.

Dear God, what am I going to do?

Rafferty offered marriage.

Lucas had offered her shame as his kept woman.

Rafferty’s kisses were lifeless.

Lucas had promised passion and ecstasy beyond her wildest dreams.

Rafferty loved her.

Lucas only desired her.

And why did she have feelings for a man who doubted her word? She was physically attracted to Lucas Ridgely, despite her anger.

Was she mad?

Could she marry Rafferty knowing how she felt about Lucas?

She was a fool for being tempted by physical lust. She’d lose her reputation as Lucas’s mistress. Despite her desire for him, she could never take up such an offer from a man.

She needed to forget Lucas and marry. As Rafferty’s
wife, she’d have her self-respect as well as the children and family home she’d always hoped to have.

But at what price?

Meghan sobbed into the silence of the room.
I don’t know what to do!

Wouldn’t it be better if she remained alone?

She wiped her eyes and straightened her appearance. For someone who had vowed not to cry, she seemed to be doing a lot of it lately, she thought.

With Rafferty’s gift clutched in her hand, Meghan left to rejoin the others.

She couldn’t decide today. She was still Rafferty’s fiancée and she would play the part as if it had been destined for her all along.

She’d allow nothing to wipe away the smile from Rafferty’s face or to ruin her first Christmas in America, her new home.