The Fire's Center (35 page)

Yet this inconstancy is such

As you too shall adore

I could not love thee dear so much

Loved I not honour more.

As she read it aloud, she heard a loud gurgling sound from the old man, and looked up to see him staring at her.

"Alanna," he cried, "Alanna!"

"No, no, I’m Riona," she tried to soothe him, and called for Lucien at the top of her voice.

"Don’t make the mistake I did, please. When you find love, hold onto it, no matter what the obstacles," he rasped, and fell back upon the pillows with a choking sound.

"Lucien! Lucien! come quickly!" Riona called again more loudly, and began trembling.

The irrational thought passed through her head that if the house wasn’t haunted, the old man certainly had been.

"What’s happened?" Lucien demanded as he came charging in.

"I was reading aloud to him, then he began to shout, and finally he just collapsed," Riona said tearfully, wringing her slender fingers.

She waited with bated breath as Lucien listened to Oliver’s heart, and looked for any sign of life.

At least he straightened, and sighed. Pulling the sheet over the old man’s face, he sat down on the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands.

Riona went over to his side and put her arm around his neck, so that Lucien pulled her to him and began to weep bitterly against her slender waist.

Sitting on his lap, she cradled his head gently against her bosom, and allowed Lucien to give full rein to his grief.

At last, when his sobs began to subside, Lucien patted Riona on the knee, and sniffed, "I’m all right now, really. You go off and get some sleep, Riona. I have to go see the undertaker now, and make arrangements for the wake and funeral."

"Do you want me to do anything?" she asked as she stroked his unruly hair away from his forehead and stood up.

"I would appreciate it if you would consult with the cook downstairs, Mrs. Weaver, about food, but apart from that, no. Just go to bed. I'll see you later," Lucien said quietly as he strode from the room, leaving her feeling more alone than she ever had in her life.

And more confused.
What on earth had Oliver meant before he died?

The next two days and nights seemed interminable to Riona, for Lucien drove himself like a man possessed, making sure every detail was just perfect.

She could see he blamed himself bitterly for not having seen his uncle more often in his later years, and was more than trying to atone for it now.

Riona sought to reassure him with hugs, caresses, and kisses when they were alone with each other. Lucien did not rebuff her, but gratefully clung onto her like a drowning man.

The funeral was small and quiet. Riona was relieved to see that Antoinette did not take the trouble to come all the way out to Wicklow to pay her respects. She would no doubt have looked down her nose at everyone and everything there.

There were a few neighbours, but the gathering was small, the refreshments modest, and the guests soon departed.

"He was always a very private man." Quentin smiled sadly as he watched the last of the carriages disappear down the drive.

"Aye that he was," Lucien sighed, as he poured himself another brandy from the decanter on the sideboard, and offered his brother one.

"Still, it was good to see one or two of his old army friends taking the trouble to come all the way out here."

"Uncle Oliver was in the army?" asked Riona suddenly, her curiosity piqued.

"Yes, years ago," Lucien confirmed. "He wanted to make his fame and fortune, but the life didn’t suit him, and after my grandfather died, he came home to live with us here."

They sat sipping their drinks for a time in silence, until at last the younger of the two brothers rose from his seat.
 

"Well, are you ready to head back to town? We could all travel together in my coach, with yours following on behind," Quentin offered.

But Lucien shook his head.

"No, no, I think I’ll stay here for a few days, just to sort some things out as long as I'm here, and close up the house. But you can take Riona into town with you, if you don’t mind," Lucien suggested, looking at Riona inscrutably for a brief moment.

She shook her head at once. "But you might need me here," Riona protested. "I’ve taken care of everything at the clinic, the duty lists and so on, for the next two weeks, so I don’t have to be back for a while if you wish me to stay and help with the closing of the house."

Lucien nodded wordlessly. He offered his hand for his brother to shake.
  
"We’ll both stay then, Quentin. I’ll talk to you soon."

Quentin looked at both of them speculatively for a few moments, feeling once again that terrible surge of envy, and left without another word.

Once his brother had departed, Lucien poured himself another brandy and sat on the old horsehair sofa, patting the cushion beside him for Riona to join him.

She joined him silently, and once they had relaxed into
 
their seats, he took her hand and admitted, "I’m glad you’re staying. You’ve already been such a big help. It's selfish of me to keep you here, with the clinic and everything, I know, but I’m glad you’re here."

"I’m always here if you need me, you know that," Riona replied, squeezing his fingers gently.

"Yes, I do know that, Riona. I just think I’m a brute for taking advantage of you, that’s all."

"I don’t feel you're taking advantage of me," Riona said quietly. "We're friends, are we not? Friends support each other in their hour of need."

Lucien looked directly into her sapphire blue eyes then, and confessed, "In that case, friend, it’s getting late. I haven’t slept for two days, nor have you. And I freely confess, Riona, I need you. I need you now, so much."

Riona looked at him for a few moments silently. She knew what he was asking, and was both pleased, and nervous.

He was telling her what he wanted, but offering her a chance to say no. It would have been easy enough for him to sweep her off her feet, yet he respected her enough to offer her the right of refusal

She hadn't the heart to accept that offer. And the plain truth was, she didn't wish to. She
wanted
him, so very much.

She met his gaze head on and said softly, "In that case, let’s go up to bed."

They blew out all the lamps, told the servants to leave the cleaning up until the morning, and mounted the stairs side by side. He gripped her hand, linking their fingers, and the wonderful thrill she always felt at his touch sparked anew.

Once in the small bedroom, Lucien stoked the fire while Riona undressed, daringly removing every item of clothing, which she draped neatly on the back of a chair, before slipping under the covers.

Lucien came over and sat on the edge of the bed, and Riona helped him undo his waistcoat, stock and shirt, and then blew out the lamp.

Bathed with the light from the glowing fire, she held Lucien close as he shed a few tears for his beloved uncle.

When he had finished crying, she laid him on his back and kissed his tears away, until suddenly her comforting became something more, and she made love to him so gently he almost believed he was dreaming.

Unwittingly, Lucien said the words aloud.

"This is no dream," she said, moving her hips rhythmically above him. "I’m real."

"Stay with me, don’t leave me, Riona," Lucien gasped, pulling her tightly to him as all of his pent-up emotions burst forth in a blazing inferno almost painful in its intensity.

"I’ll never leave you, Lucien," Riona whispered as he drifted off to sleep with his arms locked tightly around her. "Never, as long as you need me."

Draped as she was on top of him, he cupped her to his body with both hands like a miser hoarding treasure, as though he would never let her go, and slept at last, a deep, dreamless sleep, the sensation of her embrace like a warm blanket enfolding him.

The next day they rose in a almost leisurely manner compared to their
 
hectic schedule back in Dublin. This time, Lucien made love to Riona, availing himself of her complete nudity to savor her lush perfection in the sunshine that streamed in the window they had neglected to shutter the evening before.

By rights she knew she ought to have felt shy to be seen thus, but from the moment she and Lucien had met, it had all seemed so perfect. As if it were meant to be….

What was it Uncle Oliver had said…

But as Lucien's caresses tipped her over the brink into pure bliss, all rational thought few out of her mind.

Later that morning, she heard Lucien call, "Riona could you stop what you’re doing and come help me up in the attic for a moment?"

Riona got up from the desk where she had been writing thank you letters on heavy black-edged mourning stationery, and followed the sound of his voice.

"Careful, the stairs are a bit rickety," he warned, meeting her part way and guiding her with one hand around her waist.

"All my mother’s and sister’s things as well as my uncle’s and father’s are up here. I was wondering if you would help me sort through some of the things. We can see if anything might be worth giving to the poor or selling at the fete."

"It’s a kind thought," Riona remarked quietly. "Of course I’ll help."

She began opening trunks of dresses, and saw that all of the things were a bit dusty. A fusty smell clung to some of the items from having lain in the trunks for so long, but most of them were perfectly serviceable.

The men’s clothes were good, not too out of date, and there were certainly plenty of them.

Then Riona found an old sketch book.

"Did you draw as a child, Lucien?" Riona asked conversationally as she worked.

"Yes I did whenever I got the chance, but that was Uncle OIiver’s. As a young man he travelled all around Ireland, sketching castles and landscapes and so on. I was always good at portraits of the family, and of course animals, but I was never as good as I wished because my father rarely ever let me draw."