Rescuing Mr. Gracey (23 page)

Restless, Patrick rose and paced in a small circle. “Sean had drunk a few too many, and so I mostly ignored his rambling about strangers and Mr. Jordan. I assured him that Mr. Jordan was a family friend who helped with the field and passage to the Americas for Bridget and escorted Mary to the lake and on evening deliveries.” Lifting his hands, he shrugged innocently. “I just thought he was being jealous and gave his cursing rant little mind. Sean never said anything about Mary’s reputation to me.”

“A third party, do you say? A stranger?” Joseph sipped his potash, then leaned forward. “What did this man spreading rumors about our Mary look like?”

Patrick rubbed the back of his neck. “I hardly paid attention, Da.” He glanced toward the ceiling, and his brows furrowed. “He was shortish, roundish. Wore patched clothes and a big plaid hat, so I can’t even tell you his hair color. I was especially tired last night.”

Joseph rocked back on two legs of the rickety chair. His gaze locked on the fire for a quiet moment before he wondered out loud, “Why would a stranger seek out Sean? Why report about activities no one else noticed?”

“Da, what does it matter how it happened?” Mary covered her face and let more tears fall. “Don’t ya see? Sean proposed marriage and…and…Mr. Jordan left.” Her head hung lower, her dreams crushed. “I’ve got to give Mr. Jordan an answer about my decision tonight.”

Joseph rose and pulled Mary into his embrace. Swaying her gently, he supported her deep sobs against his chest.

“I promise you, Mary,” Patrick murmured. “I always thought you deserved better than Sean. I’d not spread rumors nor ruin your chance with Mr. Jordan.”

Buried inside her father’s arms, his heartbeat steadying her own, Mary clung as would a small child. Eventually, she lifted her tear-streaked face. “I’m sorry, Patrick. You know I have a terrible temper. I do believe you if you say ’tis true.”

Joseph handed her a kerchief before brushing wet hair from her face. Lifting her chin, he kissed her nose. “Now, let us put our heads together and plan how to keep Alec about while we solve this mystery,” he said. “I believe what we need is a compromise that protects both your reputation and your relationship with both gentlemen.”

~ 18 ~

“And the tune we played was

‘The Protestant Boys’ right over Dolly’s Brae.”

The night, slow and tedious, dripped its minutes like a rain that would not cease. He was little more than a condemned prisoner of Joseph Smyth’s compromise. Tonight, Sean Dennison walked Mary through the streets, little brother Brian in tow. Tomorrow was his turn unless, as Joseph put it, his gray brow lifted hopefully, unless Alec chose to walk with Mary in the daylight.

Alec tore from the window and paced.
Ha.
As if he were free to walk with her in daylight through Castlewellan, pushing the laundry, delivering wash to Protestant households. He tugged at his hair, dreading the hours ahead, waiting, waiting for the night to end. Was she letting Dennison hold her hand…touch her cheek…kiss her? Was the farmer proposing again? Would tomorrow be the last time he’d be permitted to see Mary?

Ticking, ticking, ticking.
Time weighed as an anchor—unmoving, lonely, anxious—as hideous jealousy twisted his thoughts. He could not propose, nor could he release her to Sean.
Madness.
One fist slammed against the wall.
A ridiculous farmer who will provide her with nothing more than a meager meal while she tends pigs.
Alec paced more rapidly, attempting to corral the fluid barrage of thought.
Ticking, ticking, ticking.

Alec swiped a hand over his face. There would be no relief tomorrow. Knowing she deserved an explanation, he had to withhold his heart. He pulled out the little cloth that he kept within reach. Bracing against the window, eyes shuttered, he buried his nose in it and inhaled her faded scent. Sweet images soothed him—dimples accenting a lovely smile, flashing eyes that teased and flirted, laughter that tickled his ribs, her silly brogue that utterly charmed him, and those adorable freckles.

The whole charade must end. He planned to quit the insane election, leave his family behind, take up residence in Banbridge—far enough away he would not hear her name, close enough that, if she should need him, he could be there within an hour.

Every muscle tightened. He must gather courage, prepare for her shock, her disgust.

His heart thudded.
What if she cries?
He could not take the tears, and they would surely be shed, for he’d deceived her so completely.

Perhaps write her a note…

Clasping trembling hands together, he dropped his head beneath his shoulders.
She will hate you all the more.
He wanted to howl as a desperate beast.

Enough!

Swift strides carried him across the room. Slamming open the oak door, Alec flew down the stairs.

Bender rushed from his own room, jamming his arms through his coat sleeves. “I will go with you, sir. I’ve a need to be free from this house.”

Alec let his long legs carry him faster, faster, ignoring the man who clattered behind him. Once arrived at the pub, he slipped into a darkened corner and flung a coin at the barmaid. His fingers tapped impatiently until she returned with the drink.

Bender arrived several moments later, huffing from the vigorous race to the pub. Alec had already chugged the contents of his first drink and motioned for another.

“Alec. You are nearly driven mad,” Bender scoffed. “You push the boundaries of safety every day that you let this wretched affair continue.”

“Do not think to lecture me, for my mood is dark indeed.” Alec tried to slow his breathing, but the anxious pressure in his chest grew ever heavier. “You get your money and my political blood, so mind your own business.”

“If you think you perform well, sir, you are mistaken. You’re like a man possessed, all tension and scowls just because the little twit forbids you to escort her but every other day for propriety’s sake. As if that class of people need worry about decorum.” Bender gave a sharp bark of incredulous laughter. “Behold the man who sends women scrambling through traffic just to catch a glimpse. Watch as he licks the boots of a laundress.”

Alec’s eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched into a snarl. “I wonder how you know of Miss Smyth, but I warn you now to be silent, for I am hungry to break open anything that offends me tonight.”

Bender frowned, folding his arms tight against his chest. “Then I too must drown my scruples.”

“Ha. Scruples.” Alec’s tone leaked thick sarcasm. “You know nothing of scruples.” With a flick of his wrist, he signaled the barmaid over. He knew he was drinking too much, too rapidly, but being numb seemed the only way to survive the moment.

“Disgusting what has become of you. Either you are wagging after the lass, or you are depressed because some other fool is.”

The empty glass slammed upon the table with a loud thump. “I warn you one time more, sir. I neither ask for nor welcome your opinion. In other words, close your offensive mouth, or I will have my fist inside of it.”

The maid plopped two more drinks on the table, then leaned toward Alec. Her fleshy bosom threatened to tumble from her low-cut dress as she smiled seductively. “Are ya wantin’ anything else to soothe ya asides drink?”

Alec shivered, not even slightly tempted. He leaned away. James harshly laughed. “The demented gentleman does not realize how easy ’twould be to forget the lass he pines for.”

“Bring drinks when I signal, and you will get your tip without going upstairs,” Alec said, tossing her another coin.

Bender frowned. “You’ve become such a bore.”

“Do not linger on my account.” Alec waved a hand toward the scattering of women. “Do as you wish with whatever is available.”

Sighing, Bender shrugged. “I decline, for I’ve correspondence from home and travel to England to see to my father’s and brother’s affairs. I’ve left a schedule of events you must attend this weekend and the next. However, when I return, I ardently hope this woman is a distant memory.” He lowered his voice to a sharp warning tone. “Let her go before you and all those who support you are destroyed by the deception.”

Alec gulped the third drink. The room spun in slow waves as he turned toward the squatty man. “I do not look to you for advice with affairs of the heart.” He knew his words were slurred, but at least his thoughts had dulled. He called for another.

Bender whispered urgently, “I’ve remained silent for nearly two months, but I won’t much longer. Daily you grow closer to discovery—either by her or your father. What then? How do you dig yourself free from this unless you break from the girl?”

Pounding the table, Alec growled, “Truthfully, one minute with her is worth the anguish when I am without.” Vaguely, he realized he should not admit that to James. Alec flipped the new drink into his mouth. “Meanwhile, you grow rich from the funds I pay you for your silence…so, earn your money and be silent.” Rising upon unsteady legs, Alec fumbled to retrieve his cloak.

“You are indeed wretched. What you need is someone to tell her for you.”

Instantly sober, Alec lurched, grabbing Bender’s jacket. Lifting the heavy man an inch from the ground, he shook him. “You dare threaten me.”

Darting a worried glance about the room, Bender clutched Alec’s hand. “Calm yourself, man,” he urgently whispered. “I only offer a service for one who is too timid to do the deed, nothing more.”

Alec thrust the advisor backward. He was too drunk to fight anyway. Tossing a final coin on the table, he weaved from the tavern. “I am off to sleep.”

“I assure you,” Bender said as he followed him out the door, “once this infatuation is done, there will be no shortage of improved ladies who regularly slip me notes for a chance with you.”

The sound of a creaky cart riveted Alec’s attention. Looping Bender’s arm, he urgently yanked them into shadows. His gaze locked; his breath froze. A tiny figure pushing a heavy cart walked within reach of him. The redheaded farmer, ignorant of Mary’s struggle, stuffed his vacant farmer’s hands into his coat pockets and rambled on about pigs.

Alec clenched his fists. He pressed his lips into a tight line, forcing himself not to call out her name, not to rush forward and shove the rude farmer aside, and not to plead with her to leave all her beliefs and family behind and marry him.

He watched until the night wrapped her in its dark blanket and she faded from view. “I need another drink,” Alec whispered. “I’ll be along shortly.”

“Sir, remember the many commitments made for you this week. I will not be there to make excuses.”

Weighted with a black sadness, Alec ignored Bender and dragged himself back into the tavern. Needing to rinse yearning from his throat, he made the decision to drink until he could think no more.

Someone cleared his throat to get his attention. Thinking Bender had returned to interrupt his fuzzy thoughts, Alec growled as he squinted up. A tall shadow wearing a British uniform stood over him.

“Mr. Gracey. May I join you for a moment?”

The man seemed familiar, but he could not place him. Alec gave the briefest nod.

“I am sorry to disturb your evening, sir, but having long desired a conversation with you, I dared intrude.” His accent confirmed the man was English. “I must share a delicate matter.”

Alec lifted one brow. “Speak, then, man, for I am not sure how much longer I will give you intelligent replies.”

Nervously, the soldier glanced about before scraping back the chair adjacent to Alec. Tossing his hat upon the table, he sat and lowered his voice. “I risk much by approaching you, sir. It is my hope you will keep this conversation close to your breast.”

Lord, all I need is a confidential secret
. He stifled the urge to yawn and straightened his slouching posture. “Your name, sir?”

“I apologize. We’ve met, actually. At Tollymore Park some weeks back, when the Earl of Roden introduced you as his candidate. My name is Captain Edwin Wynne. I am the relief officer for the area.”

Alec was too tired to talk politics. Fearing his words might slur, he waved his hand for the officer to proceed.

The soldier pierced Alec with a hard, gray-eyed appraisal. “I have heard you are a man of conscience.” That statement pricked something deep.
Hardly.

“Many do not approve of how the natives are treated. Some whisper there’s hope of relief in your candidacy, sir.” The captain studied Alec for a long, thorny moment. Tapping his finger against the table as if debating the wisdom of sharing confidences with a man who weaved, he finally lowered his voice to a notch above a whisper. “I must relay information seen personally, for I cannot live with myself should I do otherwise.”

Alert now, Alec tightened his hand on the glass as he further assessed the man. The stranger looked to be in his mid-thirties, with dark hair and long sideburns. His nose had a crook at the bridge, and he had a jagged scar across one cheek. Obviously, the soldier had known battle. His square jaw, pulsing with nervous tics, indicated the level of stress the man had endured.

Alec put his drink aside. “Go on.”

Captain Wynne cleared his throat. “I have recently come from the south, sir.” He heaved a sigh weighted with grief. Lifting gray eyes, he allowed Alec to see the gloom within. “Are you aware that the relief funds are paid to natives only after they perform work, however inconsequential?”