Rescuing Mr. Gracey (41 page)

Heaving a sigh that dispelled his growing melancholy, Alec paced toward the house.

Mary would be his bride. Little else mattered compared to that blessing. A prayer of thanksgiving rose within his chest—how empty his life until Mary tripped down the hill on the road to Castlewellan.

In his mind, the worst his father would do was disinherit him, yet Alec did not worry about that financial consequence. He retained sufficient funds in his own name since a large bulk of his inheritance from his mother’s side had been forwarded to him years ago. His bride would want for nothing.

However, family disconnects would prove emotionally difficult. He loved both his parents, and his siblings. Yet they were worth the sacrifice if he needed to take Mary to America…

Alec started running, most anxious to unfold the plan. When he was with her, he knew destiny wished them to join. Right now, he ached to see her smile, to hear her say yes, eliminating doubt and worry.

Sara once more turned him away, and his concern multiplied. It was not like Mary to nurse an illness all day long. Perhaps she was seriously ill and the simpleton of a maid did not know enough to send for a doctor.

A bizarre thumping began in his chest as something fearsome traveled to his gut, tightening to a painful cramp. Needing reassurance, he searched without success for his mother. Surely she would not offend Mary by attending to her needs. Finally, after almost an hour, Alec discovered Isabella exiting the carriage.

“Mother. Where have you been?” he asked, knowing alarm threaded his tight voice.

“I’ve been to see your sister Margaret in Banbridge. Why?” She touched his shoulder. “Alec, you’re frightening me.”

“Mary. She’s been abed the whole day, and she continues to bar me from the room. She may need medical attention.”

Isabella flew to the house. “Why didn’t the staff inform me of her ill health this morning?” As she hurried up the stairs, Alec walked directly behind her. Though the maid stood by the door, she fled in the opposite direction on their approach. “Who is that?”

Alec looked confused, noting the disappearing woman. “Sara. She said she is new and replaced Betsy for the day.”

Isabella’s expression hardened, and then she glanced toward her husband’s library. “I see.”

His mother’s worried expression, the mysterious maid, and the door barred to his entrance made Alec’s heart freeze. Rushing past his mother, he rapped impatiently on Mary’s door. When no answer came, he shoved open the door.

The empty bed, already made, stilled his heart. Two notes waited on the pillow. “Mary…” he whispered, belying bewilderment.
No. She did not leave. She did not.

His mother lifted the notes, handing the one addressed to Alec over to him. Her mouth quivered as she scanned the contents of her letter. “Oh, Alec. She’s gone home.”

“No,” he whispered. “She would not leave without saying good-bye.”

Isabella’s head dipped. “I’m so sorry. Perhaps you need to accept the inevitable.”

“No,” he said forcefully.

On tiptoe, she kissed his cheek. “I’ll let your father know.”

Black panic swept him. His legs collapsed. His tall frame melted onto her bed. Could it be she just missed her family too much and wanted to be with them for a few days? Could it be she did not want to say good-bye because it would be too hard? But why post a maid to keep him at bay?

He scanned the room for a little bit of her. Things given her by him remained—the dress, the jewelry, the slippers. Yet her little cloth bag was gone, along with her meager possessions.

Doubt seeped into his confidence. Her reassurances, promises, love proclamations teetered, poisoning assurance.

His gaze locked on the unread letter where answers waited. How would he bear the loss if she was truly gone? Shaky fingers broke the seal.

Foreign words jumped from the page and stabbed his heart. This language, unfamiliar, harsh, made his stomach clench with nauseating revulsion.

Alec,

I am writing this note because I have many difficult things to impress upon you. Please believe what I say and listen to this most sincere request.

You and I were never meant to be—I’ve tried to express this most emphatically. However, you are so insistently stubborn, I must bluntly reveal my true feelings.

I do not wish to ever see you again. Though I have enjoyed these last few weeks, ’tis the luxury I enjoyed. I know I used you, Alec, sinfully so, and I apologize. The truth is, I do not care for you. In fact, I find you and your great egotism to be unbearable. Even your arrogant, haughty appearance offends me.

I find your father deeply as insulting. When I recall how your family earned its wealth from the backs of the poor Catholic, I am repulsed by any attention given me by you. I have tried to suppress this emotion, but it grows impossible, especially considering the marching season daily attacks those of my faith.

Therefore, I am severing all contact with you or your family. I intend to marry Sean Dennison as soon as it can be arranged. I find that, over the last few weeks, I have missed him more and more. I look forward to raising our family with my traditional Catholic beliefs. You could never fill that slot.

I am sorry if this pains you, for you have been kind—however, I beg you not to contact me. It is the last request I will ever make of you. Such a meeting promises only to be awkward and painful.

Please respect my wishes.

Mary Smyth

Alec flew from her room, note in hand, yelling for Ringo to be saddled. The note was a fraud, he thought with relief. The words, the pacing, the sentiments did not in any way match the lilt or tone Mary would use.

With hope in his heart, he allowed Ringo a free head. Urgency beat in his chest as he jumped from his horse and pounded on Mary’s warped door. Alec took three stunned steps back when Sean Dennison, wearing a hard scowl, flung open the door.

“What are ya wantin’, sir?” Dennison said, his voice tight as a coil.

Alec bent, the sensation of being slugged in the gut forbidding words. Shifting, he tried to peer around the shorter man’s frame, but Dennison blocked the view.

Alec licked dried lips. “Mary… I wish to speak to Mary.”

“Me bride-to-be is no’ wishin’ t’ speak t’ ya.” Sean stepped out and closed the door firmly behind him.

Blood drained from Alec’s head. Dizzy, disoriented, he heard himself gasp, “No.” Panic wrapped around his throat. Thick words stuttered out. “I just…just…need one moment…”

Sean leaned his shoulder into Alec’s chest. “Too bad for ya. She’s mine now. Be gone.”

Fury, jealousy overtook him. Alec grabbed Sean’s shirt, and with one thrust, he twirled the smaller man from the door and tossed him away. The young farmer tumbled, shattering the porch post.

Barreling forward, Sean slammed a meaty fist squarely against Alec’s jaw. He staggered for a blink, then let his rage-filled fist pummel Sean’s stomach, followed by another in the jaw. He welcomed the throbbing pain in his hand and the burn in his mouth over the emotional crush in his heart.

The smaller man doubled over, crippled with pain. Alec used the moment to pound on her door again. “Mary… Mary, please…”

Suddenly, the door opened. She stood there, her expression distant, hard. “I’m beggin’ ya, be gone.” Her focus flitted to Sean, still rolling in pain on the ground, then back up to Alec. “Did ya no’ get me note?” He tried to touch her, but she batted his hand away.

“Don’t tell me you wrote that note. ’Tis a lie.”

Her eyes checked the paper he held, then returned to his face. “I’m to be wed as soon as harvest is over. Ya need to go now. I’m sorry if I hurt ya.” He saw it then. The beginning of tears. He reached for her, and she shoved his hand again.

Patrick appeared. “What is going on here? Mary. I see you’ve returned.” He scanned the scene: Sean rising from the ground, Mary brushing tears from her eyes, Alec standing inches away. “Are you needing help, Mary?”

Joseph, rushing from the field, maneuvered his way through the cluster of people that had gathered because of the commotion. He too took in the scene, then, frowning, turned to Alec. “I believe ’tis time we say our good-byes, lad.”

“Joseph, I wish to wed your daughter…” Alec said, hating the desperate sound of his voice.

“She’s mine,” roared Sean, finally managing to roll to a stand.

Patrick grasped Sean and held him back. “Steady there, Sean. Da is sorting this out so you don’t have to get more mangled.”

Joseph clasped Alec’s shoulder and drew him off the porch. “I am sorry. I really am, son. I’ve heard all about who you are and where Mary’s been, and she believes she has an affection for Sean. You need to move along now. You’re not meant for Mary, nor she for you.”

Alec refused to move. “No. I love her. Don’t tell me…I can’t. She’s meant for me.” He paused, taking in a deep breath, hoping to regain some dignity. “It can work. Mary… I have a plan,” he begged.

Sean shoved Patrick and started toward Alec. “Ya can’t have her. We’re to be wed.”

Alec started to slug Sean again, but Patrick deflected the aim, then held the fist behind Alec’s back. “I cannot have you beating up me future brother-in-law, Alec.”

Anguished, tormented, Alec whispered to Mary, “I have a plan…a ring… I…”

Mary shook her head. “Please go and don’t be comin’ back.” She abruptly walked into the hut.

“Go home, Alec. ’Tis done,” Joseph said to the shattered shadow of a once-confident man.

He kept shaking his head as Joseph led him toward his horse. “Joseph. She’s lying. She loves me. She does not love him.”

The farmer tried to rush forward again, but Patrick shoved him back. “’Tis done, Sean. Leave it be.”

“As cruel as it seems, son,” Joseph was saying, “affection between a Gracey and a Smyth will only bring disaster. Mary’s moved on. Sean already posted the banns.”

Salty water blinded his stinging eyes. “I love her. I love her,” he whispered as Joseph helped him mount Ringo.

With a final tap on the horse’s rear, he said, “Move on now, son. Go on home.”

Joseph’s shoulders slumped. Swiping a hand over his eyes, he tried to erase Alec’s agonized face. As he turned from the retreating young man, regret flooded his soul. He had really liked Gracey. He had hoped that, somehow, everything could work out. However, when Mary rushed home this morning, begging him to protect her from Alec, Joseph knew something terrible had collapsed all those hopes for his daughter.

“We owed him more than that,” he said.

“We don’ owe no Gracey nothin’,” Sean rebutted as they entered the hut. “He’ll wander back to his rich folk and end up persecutin’ us again. Mark me words.”

“Ya don’t know nothin’ about him, Sean Dennison.” Mary glared at her soon-to-be husband. Bursting into tears, she rushed into the seclusion of her alcove.

~ 39 ~

“Around her head, and cried…”

Drums, thousands and thousands, bang-bang-banged far too loudly to permit sleep. Alec squeezed his eyes to keep from awakening. Instinct warned a pain far worse than the hammer currently in his head awaited should he rouse.

Yet the drum would not cease. “Stop,” he roared just before he clenched his head to hold it together. “For the love of God, please stop.”

The sound stopped for only a brief moment before starting again. He had consumed too much drink last night…or was it the night before? Lord only knew where he was at this moment, for he had no recollection of coming home from the tavern.

“Sir.” The pounding began again. “You told me not to allow you to slumber past midday.”

Against the unfocused, blinding white light, he forced his eyes open. Disoriented, vision blurred, Alec stumbled up, his stomach rolling like a small dinghy in a violent ocean.
What did you do last night?

Then he remembered. Shrouded by thick blankets of sadness, he’d thought perhaps he might numb himself with whiskey. Mary would be ashamed of him.
But Mary is not here. Mary will never be here.

Flashes of her dimpled smiles and tinkling laughter, her wide-eyed expression and rosy scent hit with him with such clarity, he collapsed to the floor.
Dennison held her, walked with her, kissed her. Alec groaned, rocking, holding his head in his hands, her name on his lips.

He heard his mother’s knock on the door. “Alec, ’tis time to come out of there. Please unlock this door.”

Well, at least he had made it home. “Not today,” he roared. “Leave me…”

He heard the doorknob jiggle, then silence fell once more. Alec struggled up from the floor, unsteadily pouring an overflowing measure of whiskey. He downed the contents before he could regret it. Whiskey seemed the only remedy to the unbearable ache of his heart.

Falling into bed, his feet hanging from the side, Alec slept again. He awoke, startled and alarmed. Not knowing what roused him, he staggered from his bed and opened the heavy velvet curtains. The sun was lowering. Perhaps four p.m. His head hung. He’d managed to sleep and drink through another day.

What a pitiful character you are, Gracey. What a disaster…so weak…so disgusting. One wee Irish lass comes into your life, and all is ruined. She would not recognize your deplorable cowardice. She would not approve of this retreat.
His stomach lurched, his body reeked of sweat, and his beard grew in a thick stubble.