The Widow and the Rogue (21 page)

“You’re back home now, James,” said Agnes consolingly, holding tightly his arm. “And we will never again be parted.”

“Aye that’s for sure, love,” he replied fondly. Patting her hand, he silently vowed never again to set foot on a ship. He envisioned a future of spending his twilight years in a small cottage with his beloved wife, near the sea, looking, but never sailing it.

Kathleen decided to host a celebratory ball to honor the local villagers and the militia. It also allowed her to make amends for her late husband’s questionable involvement with the illegal smuggling.

She’d spent the past few weeks with the household staff preparing for the festivities. As mistress of the hall, she’d begun to put her personal mark upon the estate. Subtle changes had been made to the grounds surrounding the square building. Vines and flowering bushes had been planted, softening the harsh look of the Gothic exterior.

Now when she strolled around the hall, she no longer stiffened with discomfort. It was truly becoming her home. A place she felt comfortable and happy in, where she might one day raise a family.

“What do you want me to do with this, my lady?” asked a liveried footman, carrying one of her late husband’s large marble elephants.

He held it up for her inspection.

The white elephant was gilded purple, pink, and gold. She remembered it being placed next to her husband’s bishop’s chair, the memory of which made her inwardly cringe.

It was gaudy, she quickly decided. She would have had it tossed into the rubbish heap, if it weren’t for the fact that it was gilded in real gold. She wrinkled her nose. What to do with it? Should she try and sell it?

She said with open dislike, “Place it by the ballroom door. And the first person who comments on how lovely and tasteful it is, hand it to them to carry back home—I have no further use for it.”

Little by little she’d been emptying the hall of the ornate bric-a-brac her late husband had collected. She had them auctioned off and the money donated to various charitable organizations. Her generous philanthropy was to be remembered by many. It helped erase the black mark her dead husband’s illegal activities had left.

And it served another purpose. It kept the interfering British government at bay. Under normal circumstances they would have swooped in and confiscated Dovehill Hall, heartlessly casting her out onto the dirt road. They could have easily used Bangford’s black-market activities as an excuse to claim the hall and its adjoining estates for their own. But they didn’t.

Both Beau and the British militia’s captain spoke out on her behalf. They recounted to the authorities how she had valiantly fought the pirates and by doing so, she had demonstrated her unquestionable loyalty to the crown.

Convinced of her innocence, those in power left her in peace. They permitted her to continue running Dovehill Hall’s lucrative estates for the next generation to enjoy and for the British government to tax.

“Look what her ladyship gave me,” she overheard an elderly sheepherder exclaim.

He tottered over to her with a big smile on his wrinkled face, proudly carrying the gaudy white elephant in his arms. A young man, his grandson, stood at his elbow to steady his grandfather, lest the tottering elder should suddenly lose his precarious balance.

“Many thanks to you, ma’am, for this fine elephant.” He pulled on his thinned forelock in respect. “I shall treasure this for the remainder of m’ living days,” the sheepherder said. “I always did like exotic animals. And this one will look right grand over m’ hearth.”

“It is my pleasure, sir, to give it to you. I hope you enjoy it as much as my late husband did,” she replied, thinking about the other exotic objects she wanted to rid herself of.

There must be at least a half dozen or more items I can give away, she decided, pleased that her plan had worked so well and had made someone else happy. But before she had an opportunity to find more, the orchestra struck up a regal tune—someone important had arrived.

It was the Earl of Drennan and his lovely new bride, Lady Beatrice, with her father and aunt, Lord Patrick O’ Brien, and Lady Agnes and Captain Fitzpatrick. Their entrance caused quite a stir. They were the highest ranking landowners and nobility in the vicinity. To have them condescend to attend the ball was indeed a tribute to the hostess of Dovehill Hall. It was an official stamp of approval from the ruling aristocratic class. Her late husband’s questionable activities were to be forgiven and forgotten.

She quickly walked over and gave a low curtsy of welcome. Beau, acting as her guardian and co-host, joined her. “How wonderful of you to come,” she said, warmly embracing Lady Beatrice, the lady she had once helped rescue.

“The honor is all ours,” replied the dark-haired lady, standing next to her husband, the Earl of Drennan, her aunt and the newly freed Captain Fitzpatrick.

“We would not dream of missing the celebration of the capture of those pirates who caused you and my uncle so much trouble. I am certain the entire village rejoices that your ladyship did not come to any harm.”

Kathleen could not help but notice that Lady Beatrice wore an evening gown with a train for the special occasion. Her attire was as much a complement to the importance of the festivity as was her presence.

The gown was made of fine black silk edged in matching lace. Her ladyship’s jewelry, family heirlooms that had been passed from one generation to the next, sparkled at her throat and dangled fetchingly from her ears. Her long black hair was swept up in the Grecian style and strands of pearls were entwined in her hair.

There was not a single person in the room who was not a little awed. Lady Langtry’s esteemed guests were the epitome of what Irish aristocracy ought to aspire to be. They were known to be strong of character, hard-working, and forward thinking. There wasn’t a man or woman in the room who didn’t want to be connected to them.

“Indeed, I was most fortunate to be aided and protected by our local guarda and the British militia. I thank you for your kind wishes for my well-being,” she replied. “But please do us the honor of joining in the dance, in celebration. It would be a great pleasure for our guests if you were to do so.”

“It would be our delight,” replied the earl on his wife’s behalf, smiling, giving his official seal of approval. He turned towards his friend Beau and greeted him warmly.

Holding out his gloved hand for his wife to take, they decorously prepared to dance, as the orchestra struck up music for a stately quadrille.

Couples stood in a square, a pair located at each of the corners. The word for the dance originated from this formation, meaning four or quad. In the early nineteenth century, elements from this dance would develop into the waltz. Both dances had the rhythmic beat of 2/4 time.

All stood back and watched. It was a memorable event for the entire village. And the reputation of Dovehill Hall was completely repaired. No one wished ill of the brave, young widow who had escaped and helped capture the most dangerous pirates in Ireland.

“Aye, for sure now,” many said. “’Twas surely no wonder that Lord Bangford died from the banshee’s curse. He was an evil man and deserved it. But now may his pretty, young widow live in peace. May she be blessed with a good man, like her guardian, Master Powers, for a husband. The solicitor has already done well by taking good care of both her ladyship and Dovehill Hall. Aye, the sweet mistress deserves to be treated with respect. She should have a happy life after having faced down those thieving pirates.”

It was with great pride the tenants and those in service at Dovehill Hall watched their lady dance with the solicitor. Many began speculating if wedding banns might soon be posted. It wouldn’t surprise them if they did. The romantic way the couple gazed at each other proclaimed their tender feelings.

*    *    *

After their guests had left, Beau and Kathleen strolled quietly by the lake. The moon shone clearly upon the water as the two walked, hand-in-hand, along the edge. Tim ran down the lawn in front of them.

Kathleen unwittingly shuddered. She fingered the enchanted brooch, remembering she had stood at this very spot and observed the banshee wailing, the night her husband had died and she was freed from his tyrannical control.

“Are you cold?” Beau asked, placing an arm around her.

“No, I’m fine . . . I was remembering the night Bangford died.”

She drew closer. The feel of his arms around her was comforting. He’d shared in the dangers she’d faced. Courageously, he’d protected her, never giving a thought to his own safety. He had put her first.

Looking out at the lake, she contemplated her life. Orphaned at a young age and then sold by her greedy uncle, she’d been the child bride of a controlling lord. She’d been made a prisoner in her own home, which was ruled over by a dangerous woman, the housekeeper, a female pirate smuggler, but whereas before she had been alone, dominated, and made to feel small, she was no longer. Beau now stood solidly beside her.

He’d helped her from the minute she’d buried her husband up to this moment. Because of him, she was able to live the life she’d always dreamed. She was empowered. She’d faced down death and was no longer afraid that any man would again completely control her life.

She looked up at his profile and tried to picture her life without him. She could not. He’d become too important.

“Beau,” she said looking up into his eyes. “I have made an important decision and I need you, as my guardian, to agree to it.”

“And what would that be?”

“A special love charm was cast upon me,” she said, touching her brooch lightly. “And I have no desire to be cured of it. Indeed, I would like very much for it to continue to enchant me. If you’re agreeable . . . and in love with me . . . I would like you to ask me to be your wife.”

He blinked then gave a shout of laughter.

He turned to her, and gently cupped her face; a tender smile lit his.

“Vixen,” he said, “You’ve become quite your own woman.”

“Yes,” she smiled, “but you have become the other half my heart has been longing for. I think it will break if you do not become completely mine.”

“Well, we mustn’t have that, now must we?” He smiled and went down on one knee.

He took her hand and gallantly asked the question she most longed to hear, “Kathleen, you are the woman I have been looking for all of my life. You’re strong, brave, and yes, beautiful, as well as amazingly resourceful . . . all qualities which I greatly admire. You have made me feel a jumble of emotions that I have never felt before, from terrifying fear to sweet, heady desire. Darling, I cannot imagine my life continuing without you in it. I am in love with you. Please, will you marry me and make me the happiest of men?”

She laughed with delight, nodded her head, and said, “Yes—Yes, I will.”

He stood and took her into his arms. They shared a kiss that warmed her heart and changed her life. Never again was she to be alone. Their lives were to be filled with the challenging adventure of raising a family, running an estate, and being completely enchanted by each other.

Engaging, romantic frolics, with a touch of magic, are how author, Beverly Adam, describes her Regency Romance series:
Gentlemen of Honor
. The redheaded writer currently resides in California where she revisits history on a regular basis as a romance novelist and biographer.