The Christmas Secret (6 page)

“As much as Mabe would like to have that be true,” Molly said, with a pointed look for her sister, “he was not gazing at her, he was gazing at
you
. And there is a rumor about that he is to inherit his uncle’s estate and title. How does Lord Canavan sound to you?”

“Lord Canavan sounds as if he will be a pompous bag of wind to me,” Donnelly said.

“Have we invited Mr. Canavan to the first day of Christmastide?” Lady Donnelly asked thoughtfully, staring off for a moment as if she mentally reviewed all the invitations.

“Of course we have,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “One cannot invite his mother and not invite Mr. Canavan. They are inseparable.”

A mother’s pet,
Henry thought, and looked at Erin. She smiled in a way that made him think she knew precisely what he was thinking.

“You may all afix your sights on some other unsuspecting young woman for Mr. Canavan,” Mrs. Sullivan said with a sniff. “Rumors of a title are not enough to suit us. He is simply not what we hope for Eireanne.”

Oh, yes. The titled gentleman from London, who will magically appear to save them all,
Henry thought dryly.

“You’ll be in attendance, will you not, Mr. Bristol?” Molly asked, leaning around Mabe to have a look at him.

“Of course!” Lady Donnelly said, and smiled warmly at Henry. “He’s so far from home, and at Christmas, too. You’ll spend Christmastide with us, will you not, Mr. Bristol? We shall have our Christmas feast, naturally, and then a New Year’s celebration, and the Twelfth Night ball—”

“The
bal
l
?” Donnelly interrupted, peering down the table at his wife. “I thought we’d agreed on a quiet gathering.”

“I do not intend a
big
ball, my love.”

“We did not—” Donnelly started, and then frowned, slumping back in his chair and glaring at her. “Never mind.”

Lady Donnelly was quite unperturbed by his stern look and smiled at Henry. “You will join us, won’t you?”

“Thank you, but I cannot impose,” Henry said.

“It is no imposition!” she cried in unison with her sisters.

“But you have already extended such generous hospitality.”

“You have a room, young man,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “I will not allow you to sit in that room during the Christmas season writing your family to tell them what wretched people we are.”

“I would never—”

“Mr. Bristol, it won’t do to argue,” Erin said sweetly. “I should warn you that when my sister-in-law puts her mind to something, she must have it.”

“I will attest to that,” Donnelly said, and winked at his wife.

“My grandmamma is no better,” Erin added. “Please say you will be our guest.”

Who could refuse her? Henry could not. He smiled and picked up his wineglass. “Now I shall write my family tonight and tell them I have been extended the warmest of invitations, and that you aren’t the least bit wretched. Thank you,” he said, and lifted his glass in toast.

“Sláinte
!”
they called out to him.

Chapter Four

All her life, Eireanne had been as attached to Molly and Mabe Hannigan as if they’d been blood, but she was blessedly relieved to escape their attentions one afternoon when Mrs. Hannigan insisted the girls accompany her to Galway and Keira begged to go along. Naturally, Declan did not want Keira to leave, what with her delicate condition and the cold air that was beginning to sink down on Ballynaheath. Keira was nothing if not strong-willed. She ignored his protests and kissed him on the cheek on her way out, promising cheerfully to accept any punishment he would mete out when she returned.

When she said that, Declan grabbed her and wrapped her in a fierce embrace, kissing her openly and long, and then let her go. Eireanne had never seen her brother so passionate about anyone as he was about Keira—not even his horses. She hoped, she prayed, that one day she would know that sort of passion for her. And that she would feel it for someone as worthy as Declan.

Funny how an image of Mr. Bristol scudded like an oak leaf across her mind.

As the day wore on, and the only sound in Eireanne’s suite was the ticking of her mantel clock, she decided to go and see Mr. Bristol.

Molly and Mabe thought him very handsome, and had said so, although Mabe had qualified it by calling him handsome in an “American manner.”

“What do you mean, an American manner?” Eireanne had asked curiously one afternoon after they’d gone down to the paddock to have a look at the American.

“Quite rugged, I suppose. Very fresh-looking, aye?” Mabe had said. At Eireanne’s puzzled look, she’d added, “He has that look about him of having spent a life out of doors. I rather imagine Americans spend their days out of doors. Building things and whatnot.”

“Why ever would you think so?” Eireanne had asked with a laugh. “I have never thought of Americans being in or out of doors any more than any other nationality.”

“But of course they are!” Molly had agreed with her sister. “If you think of it, there was really nothing there but little houses made of logs and a lot of Indians milling about. The Americans have spent all this time building things.”

Eireanne had blinked. She’d looked at the twins, who had calmly returned her gaze, and had laughed. “On my word, where did your father find your tutors?”

“Don’t you think him handsome?” Mabe had asked, neatly skipping past her rather pitiful interpretation of American history.

“Of course,” Eireanne had said. “He is male, is he not?” The twins had laughed with her, but privately, Eireanne found Mr. Bristol quite handsome. He was handsome in a way she’d never found another man handsome. In an American manner, she supposed.

She had a desire to see that American man.

The afternoon was cold but clear, so she bundled up in her wool cloak and walked down to the paddock where Declan and Mr. Bristol were working. The men didn’t notice her when she approached the fence, but then again, she did not sound like a gaggle of old geese as she did when Molly and Mabe were with her and they were laughing and talking.

Eireanne leaned up against the post to watch them. Declan had turned the hoof of a horse up and was showing something to Mr. Bristol, who was squatting down beside her brother, studying the hoof. After a few moments, Declan dropped the horse’s hoof and the two of them stood up and stepped back, watching the horse prance around the paddock. That was when Declan noticed her; he waved across the paddock, and Eireanne lifted her chin.

The horse flung its head and pranced around the paddock once more, then loped to the gate that led to the stables. Declan clapped Mr. Bristol on the shoulder, said something to him, and followed the horse into the stables.

Only then did Mr. Bristol look across the paddock to Eireanne. He smiled instantly and the force of it slid through her, out to her fingers and down to her toes. She could feel her own smile; it was impossibly wide. She climbed up onto the bottom rail and leaned over the top as he strode across the paddock to her with his cloak billowing out around his boot tops.

“A welcome surprise, Miss O’Conner,” he said. “I did not see you here without your retinue.”

“They’ve all gone to Galway.”

“Without you?” he asked, seeming surprised.

“Thanks be, yes, without me,” she said dramatically, and laughed. “I am dearly fond of Molly and Mabe, but they can be exhausting.”

He grinned. “So I have noticed.” He put his hand on the railing beside hers, his fingers touching hers. “Mabe has informed me that she and her sister would like to visit America,” he said lightly.

Eireanne laughed. “I would never presume to offer advice, Mr. Bristol, but in this case, I shall make an exception. Do not allow it.”

“Thank you, but I had determined quite on my own that America is ill prepared for the invasion of comely Irish twins. I told Mabe that we are not as accustomed to the lively gatherings she seems to enjoy.”

Eireanne grinned. “That should have put her off, aye?”

“Perhaps it should have, but it did not,” Mr. Bristol said. “She opined that was the reason America would never survive as a nation distinct from Britain. She seemed very firm in her opinion and was inclined to argue.”

Eireanne laughed roundly. “I am astounded, for Molly and Mabe Hannigan generally agree with every word a handsome gentleman utters.”

Mr. Bristol grinned, his soft brown eyes shining up at her. “Well now . . . I am heartened to know that you find me handsome,” he said, playfully placing a hand over his heart and bowing over it. “Miss O’Conner, would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a short walk?”

Eireanne would have liked nothing better and stepped down from her perch on the split rail fence. “I would be delighted.”

“Splendid,” he said and leaped over the fence in one fluid movement, landing beside her and presenting his arm. “Which way shall we wander?”

She gestured to the path into the woods. “A short walk through there leads to the cliffs and the sea, if you’d like.”

They strolled along a path that led into the woods. Eireanne had always loved this walk, as had many before her; the path had been beaten down by generations of O’Conners. On either side, a soft down of moss covered the floor beneath towering trees. Eireanne looked up at the spots of crisp blue sky that could be seen through the treetops, and pulled her cloak more tightly around her. “Ballynaheath is so lovely this time of year. I am happy you agreed to join us for the Christmas feast,” she said. “I do believe it is my favorite event of the season.”

“Then it shall be mine, as well,” Mr. Bristol said agreeably.

Eireanne gave him a dubious smile. “I wonder, Mr. Bristol, if I said that jumping off the cliffs was my favorite sport, would you agree?”

“Naturally,” he said. “I am a man, and I am, therefore, easily persuaded by a pair of pretty blue eyes.”

“It would appear that you have been in English society long enough to have perfected the art of flirting.”

“Flirting?” he said, feigning surprise, then he laughed. “If I may be so bold, Miss O’Conner, in your case, it is very much the truth. I am doing my best to flirt. And now I must ask, who has made you so cynical? Mr. Canavan?”

Eireanne choked on a laugh. “Mr. Canavan! I scarcely know him. Do not believe the chatter you hear at supper, Mr. Bristol. Mr. Canavan holds Mabe Hannigan in high regard, and he always has. Not me.”

Mr. Bristol’s brows rose. “You seem quite certain of that. How do you know what is in the man’s heart?”

“It is obvious in the way that he looks at her, aye?”

“Is it, indeed?” Mr. Bristol asked. He paused in his walking. His gaze skated over her face, across her eyes, to her lips, and down. “And how, pray tell, does he look at her?”

The way you are looking at me now,
Eireanne thought. Her pulse ticked up a notch or two. “He, ah . . . His eyes never leave her,” she said, as Mr. Bristol’s gaze lingered boldly on her chest.

“Mmm.” He casually lifted his gaze to hers again. “What else?”

“He agrees with her at every opportunity, even when she is
quite
wrong,” she said. She could feel the warmth spiraling through her again, but it felt deeper, stronger than before. Mr. Bristol’s gaze was intent and, if she allowed herself to believe it, full of want. “And she is often wrong, really. Sometimes dreadfully wrong, and apt to say outrageous things.”

“Is that how Mr. Canavan endears himself to the fairer sex? Tacit agreement in all things?” He chuckled. “Frankly, I do not see the point in it. There is no amusement in constantly agreeing with one another, is there? I prefer a lively conversation and lively thinking. But never mind me—if I understand you, Mr. Canavan’s agreeable nature is your proof of his esteem? Beside the look,” he added with a wink.

“It is the truth,” she said with certainty. “A woman knows these things.”

“Aha,” he said, as if he’d heard that before. “Then as you are a woman, you must know that a gentleman could not possibly make
your
acquaintance and not instantly esteem you.”

Eireanne blushed all the way to her roots. She smiled a little sheepishly. “That is very kind, sir, but it is hardly true. The heart is a fickle thing, is it not? Particularly an Irish one.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said congenially. “If an Irish man’s heart is fickle to you, he must be mad.”

Eireanne couldn’t help giggling. “You know as well as I that there is more to esteem than attraction to this person or that.”

“Such as?” he asked, nudging her playfully with his shoulder as they resumed their walk.

“Such as . . . other considerations,” she said, beginning to feel a wee bit uneasy.

“You must mean the size of the man’s purse.”

“I do not!” she exclaimed, but she saw his eyes twinkling with gaiety. He was teasing her.

“The size of a man’s family?”

She laughed. “No.”

“Then what?”

“Something like . . . a name,” she said carefully.

“I rather like your name. Erin. It has a softness to it.”

“Eireanne,” she smilingly corrected him.

“A perfectly fine name,” he said. “But I think you mean something else entirely. Is there something about your name I do not understand?”

“Oh, Mr. Bristol, it is an old story—”

“One I should very much like to hear.”

Eireanne sighed. Normally, she wouldn’t speak of it, but there was something about Mr. Bristol that invited trust. “I mean only that . . . my brother has seen his share of adventure,” she said. “Well,
some
might call it adventure, but others have called it debauchery.”

Henry chuckled. “Is that why everyone is so keen to see you whisked away to London? So that you are away from all the debauchery?”

It went something like that, but Eireanne debated on how much to tell him. Her hesitation earned her a more pointed look from Mr. Bristol. “Actually,” she said, believing she could trust him, “years ago, we suffered a tragedy here at Ballynaheath. A girl was assaulted. When she was found, she was so ashamed by what had happened to her that she leaped to her death from the cliffs.”

That clearly startled Mr. Bristol. “Good God,” he muttered.

“Unfortunately, there were those who blamed my brother for it.”

“Donnelly? Why?”

“They said it was his estate. Or they believed he should have organized a search party sooner than he did, even when he’d been led to believe she was with her friends.”

Mr. Bristol’s expression was solemn. “Such a tragedy,” he said, and glanced to the trees a moment. “Yet I do not see what it has to do with you.”

“Oh.” She waved her hand as if it had been a trifling matter, instead of the thing that had consumed her life for as long as it had. “Scandal is the one thing that is not tolerated in a match. If anyone had been foolish enough to court me after that incident, their families would have warned them away.” At Mr. Bristol’s puzzled look, she said, “To court me would have been to court scandal, and once the breath of scandal has touched a family, surely more scandal will follow.” She sighed wearily. “Unfortunately, one or two scandals did indeed follow,” she said, thinking the better of telling him how Declan and Keira had come to be married. “And I must add that it does not help matters that we practice the Catholic faith. Catholicism is vilified in English society and even in some parts of Irish society.”

Mr. Bristol breathed in deeply and glanced away from her for a long moment before releasing that breath. “That,” he said at last, “is not only ridiculous but entirely shortsighted on the part of your entire country.”

Eireanne couldn’t help but laugh. “Do you not have such scandals in New York?”

“I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,” he said. “But where I am from, people are judged on their own merits, good or bad. One’s actions, good or bad, do not reflect on every member of the family. I find that notion absurd, really.” He looked curiously at Eireanne. “Is that why they want you in London? To remove you from scandal here?”

“Ah, London,” she said with playful cheer. “My family—and especially Grandmamma—believes the only way to redeem our good name and my future is to have me marry a titled man. There are very few of them in Ireland, and even fewer that would have me. London, however, apparently is teeming with titled men in search of scandalized debutantes to wed.” She laughed. “There you have it, Mr. Bristol. I am the great hope to restore honor to this family, and once I finish school, I will reside in Declan’s house in Mayfair.”