Irish Linen (10 page)

Beth Ridgely burst from the house, squealing with excitement, as her brother alighted from the carriage and gave instructions to a groom about the horse and the conveyance. “Lucas!” she cried. “You’re back!”

Lucas turned with outstretched arms in time to catch her in a hug. “Elizabeth, you’re a sight for my weary eyes,” he said. Leaving Meghan had shaken him. The odd little pain grew at the sight of his sister. Overcome with emotion, he lifted her high and tightened his hold until Beth laughingly cried out for him to let go.

He released her immediately, apologizing as he set her back from him. Brother and sister exchanged grins.

“It’s been forever since you left,” Beth exclaimed, encircling Lucas’s waist with her arm. They walked together toward the front entrance of their aunt’s large stately home.

“England is not exactly across the county,” Lucas said. He smiled. “Did you miss me?” His sister’s eyes were the color of cinnamon that glowed with inner warmth. She hadn’t changed much in the two months he’d been gone, Lucas thought, except to grow more lovely in her smiles.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Did you bring me a present?”

He thought of Meghan’s green cloak, that had been
meant for Beth, and felt a pang of loss so deep it shocked him. The garment was much better suited to the slip of an Irishwoman with blue eyes …

“It’s all right,” Beth said, sounding sincere. “I was only teasing.”

“I’ve not come empty-handed,” he replied, his expression soft as he met her gaze. Beth looked feminine and grown-up in a house gown of dotted blue fabric. Her hair was bound loosely at her nape, but with curls left to dance near each rosy cheek. She wore a white lace cap upon her shiny tresses, but she loved hats, pretty frilly hats with ribbons and flowers and lace. “I’ve brought you a book,” he said, “and a new bonnet.”

“Oh, Lucas.” She beamed at her brother with pleasure.

Lucas climbed the steps and opened the door for her. “How’s Aunt Flora?”

“She—”

“What’s the matter?” a sharp voice called from inside. “Can’t an old woman answer for herself?”

Flora Gibbons appeared from the shadows with a stern face. She was a short woman with pure white tresses secured in a chignon. Several tendrils of hair had escaped from their restricted confinement, softening her features. Flora’s eyes were dark against her pale coloring, and her skin looked soft and much younger than her sixty-one years of age. Her two-piece gown of lilac and dark lavender-striped silk gave her an air of stately refinement. Pinned near her lace collar was a handsome cameo brooch.

“Still as cranky, I see,” Lucas said with affection.

The woman’s eyes twinkled as she regarded her nephew with warmth. The corners of her mouth twitched upward. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Lucas released Beth to embrace his aunt. “I missed
you .” The scent of roses clung to Flora’s soft cheek as he kissed her.

She sniffed as she stepped back. “I just bet you did. Probably thought of me for the first hour after you left anyway.”

He laughed. “Well, that’s not true, and you know it. It was your business as well my own that I was handling in London.”

“All went well? You found the equipment?”

Lucas nodded. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

Aunt Flora started to question her nephew further when Beth stopped her. “Later, you two. There’ll be time enough for business after Lucas has rested and we’ve visited for a while.”

“When did the ship dock?”

“A few hours ago,” he lied, not wanting to explain where he’d been.

“Why, you must be exhausted!” Aunt Flora said.

“I sailed across the ocean,” Lucas teased. “I didn’t swim it.”

“Never you mind,” the old woman replied. “I’ll see that supper is ready after you’ve changed.”

Lucas glanced down at himself with wry humor. “Change into what?”

Beth giggled when Aunt Flora slapped Lucas’s shoulder. “Get moving, boy.”

“Yes, Auntie Flora.” He exchanged amused glances with his sister.

The house smelled faintly of oil of turpentine, an ingredient in several of his aunt’s favorite receipts for household polishes. The essence mingled with a floral fragrance that emanated from a bowl of dried blooms on a nearby table. The appearance and scents of his aunt’s house welcomed him home with a feeling of comfort and familiarity.

Lucas started up the steps and paused. Glancing
back, he smiled. As usual, the walls had been scrubbed to maintain their original bright white, and the tile floor in the foyer shone with a shiny radiance that would make any mistress proud. “I see, Aunt Flora, that you’ve been keeping your servants busy”

“Damn right!” the old woman retorted. “Isn’t that what I pay them for?”

Beth chuckled at the byplay between nephew and aunt. “It’s good to have you home again, Lucas,” she said.

His features softened. “It’s good to be back,” he said with the realization that he meant it. He was glad to be home in Delaware again.

And as the image of a red-haired woman with eyes of glistening blue invaded his thoughts, he wondered what she was doing. His jaw tightened. He couldn’t help being curious about Meghan’s reunion with her fiancé. Was she happy? Had the meeting gone as well as she’d hoped?

Meghan was dozing in bed when a knock woke her. Her first thought was of Lucas. Fortunately, the man spoke before she called Lucas’s name.

“Meghan,” a deep familiar voice called. “Meghan, me girl, are ye in there?”

“Rafferty!” she breathed. “Oh, aye, Mr. O’Connor,” she replied more loudly. She climbed from the bed and hurried to throw open the door.

“Rafferty!”
she cried. At her first glance, she thought he looked older, but yet the same. She grinned upon seeing his crooked smile and launched herself into his arms. “Dear God, it’s ye. I’ve wanted so much to see ya.”

His thick arms surrounded her without hesitation in
a bearlike hug. “Ah, Meggie, I’ve waited forever for ya. Ye and yer father.”

At the mention of her father, Meghan pushed back from his arms. She saw Rafferty’s gaze scan the room.

“Where is he? Where is Dermot?”

Meghan swallowed against a lump. “Da’s dead.” She touched his arm. “He died coming across the sea.”

Rafferty’s face whitened. “God in heaven have mercy,” he said. “Dear Lord, Meghan, ye came alone.”

She nodded and was unable to blink away the tears that blinded her. “Raff, I miss him.” She turned away to rub her eyes and moved toward the bed. She spun back to face him, choking with emotion. “What are we to do?” she said hoarsely.

Rafferty’s grief became anger. “Damn ‘em!” he exclaimed. He closed his eyes as he fought tears. “Oh, me friend,” he whispered, “why did we wait so long?”

Meghan understood his anguish. She approached and put her arms around him. “Don’t ye be blaming yerself.”

“ ‘Tis not meself I’m a-blaming!” he roared, throwing off her arms. She gasped. “ ‘Tis the bloody
Sasanaigh!”

She jumped back as if stung. She’d known he’d be angry, but the hatred within him frightened her. He was in America now; shouldn’t he have risen above the depths of this animosity? There were no more Saxons to hurt him. His life was better now. Hatred could eat away at a person, she thought, if one allowed oneself to become obsessed.

“But, Rafferty, we’re free of the English,” Meghan reminded him.

Rafferty breathed deeply several times before he seemed to get himself under control. “Aye, Meggie. We’re free of them … at last.” He gave her a half smile.

Relieved, she said, “I’ve missed ya.”

His smile grew as he gazed at her with affection. “I’ve missed ya, too.” He grabbed her hands and stepped back, holding out her arms as he inspected the changes in her. “Ye look well, Meghan, all grownup.”

She nodded. “I’m as healthy as a horse.” She felt a lump form in her throat as she studied her old friend. It was so good to see him. His hair had a tad more gray in it, and there were a few added lines in his freckled face, but otherwise he appeared unchanged.

“There were times I wondered if I’d ever see ya again.”

“Aye,” he breathed, drawing her into his arms.

She felt warm and safe as he wrapped her within his solid embrace. “Thank ya, Rafferty O’Connor. Thank ya and the good Lord for bringing me to America.”

He gave her a squeeze and then released her, blinking back tears. “So,” he said, “how do ye like your new home?”

Meghan glanced about, feeling pleased. “ ‘Tis a lovely bedchamber.”

“We’ll have a cottage of our own when we marry.”

She looked down at her feet. “And when will that be?” Her heart began to thud as she thought of Lucas and realized that she’d never again know his touch.

“Yer father just died … and he was me best friend,” he said, and she experienced relief as she met his gaze. “After a time, when we’ve had a chance to grieve.”

“Oh, Rafferty,” she said, unable to control the rush of tears. For all her promise to Da, it seemed that she was always fighting the urge to cry. “You’re a kind and generous man.”
And I don’t deserve to marry ya.
Unbidden came thoughts of Lucas.

“We’ve a lifetime before us, Meghan McBride,” her fiancé said evenly. “I can afford to be generous.”

She noticed that his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. Had he guessed she had second thoughts?

“Aye, Mr. O’Connor,” she murmured. “Marriage is for a lifetime.”

And she knew she should have been pleased by Rafferty’s patience and understanding, but she wasn’t, for the words
marriage
and
lifetime
were ringing ominously in her brain.

Meghan was uneasy. Rafferty had changed in a way that wasn’t physical, and she didn’t know how to deal with him anymore. For four days now, she’d seen little of her fiancé. He rose at dawn to go to the company store and returned barely in time to eat supper. He was polite and outwardly attentive whenever she saw him; yet, there was something odd about his smile … and a look in his eyes that greatly disturbed her. But as long as his work kept him away for hours on end, she realized, there’d be little or no time to ease her fears or to discuss what might be bothering him.

She stood at the window of her room and gazed into the yard. She felt restless, dissatisfied, in her new homeland. Except for the journey on board ship, she had little experience at being idle, and she wanted— needed—to do something. Even on the
Mary Freedom
, she’d found plenty of things to occupy her time.

During her first two days in Delaware, she’d rested and regained her land legs, but the days since then had been too uneventful and allowed her too much time to think … and remember Lucas Ridgely.

Yesterday she’d found herself searching for Mrs. Pridgly in the hope that the woman could offer her something useful to do in the house. Mrs. Pridgly had been horrified; she’d allow no paying guest to do servants’ work. Knowing that it was pointless to argue,
Meghan had gone outside to wander about the yard and garden, until she decided to shop at the store and visit Rafferty. Last evening Rafferty had brought home two serviceable, storebought garments for her, one made of printed cotton and the other of dyed muslin. She’d never expected him to buy her ready-made clothes. She was skilled with a needle. If she had some fine fabric, she could have sewn a nice gown.

As it was, the gowns Rafferty had purchased didn’t fit her right, but Meghan didn’t have the heart to tell him. It had been a long time since she’d seen the sparkle of pleasure in Rafferty’s green eyes, like the one he’d had when he’d given her the new gowns. She’d thanked him with a hug and then carefully hung her two new dresses on a wall hook in her room.

If I can get hold of some thread,
she thought,
I can alter the garments.
Delighted with the idea, Meghan went back into the house and upstairs to gauge how much thread she’d need.

When the maid, Milly, summoned her to lunch, Meghan ran down the steps, feeling lighthearted.

There were four other paying guests besides Rafferty and herself boarding in the home of Widow Pridgly. And all but Rafferty, who was at work, and Paul Whitehall, who was ill, were seated at the table eating their midday meal when Meghan entered the room and sat.

“Good day to ya, Mrs. Pridgly,” she greeted. “It’s a fine day, isn’t it, gentlemen?” she said to the others.

“You almost missed dinner,” the widow said.

“I apologize, Mrs. Pridgly,” Meghan replied. “I wasn’t feeling well this morning and slept in.”

The woman’s face softened. “Next time I’d appreciate it if you’d send word down with Milly. You’re feeling better now?”

“Aye.” Meghan smiled. “And I’m a-starving for your cooking.” Pleased with her plans, she was anxious to
share her excitement with the others and learn the whereabouts of the store.

Mrs. Pridgly beamed. “Well, that’s fine then. Henry,” she said, addressing an elderly gentleman to her right, “pass Miss McBride the stew.”

“Don’t burn yer tongue, young woman,” Henry warned with a scowl.

Meghan smiled her thanks as she accepted the bowl from the man’s gnarled, shaking hands. She had met Henry Beaton at breakfast the morning after her arrival. He was an endearing old man for all his gruffness, so were the other gentlemen in the house—George Carn and Paul Whitehall. Mrs. Pridgly also leased a room to the new community school mistress, Miss Thomas.

The anticipation of seeing the store and buying thread finally prompted her to ask about the store. “Can ye tell me where the store is?” Meghan blurted out, during a lull in the conversation about the coming change of seasons.

The silence that followed her query gave her the uncomfortable feeling that she’d said something wrong. The notion was reinforced when she saw Henry Beaton and George Carn exchange looks.

“Did I say something wrong?” Meghan said when no one answered her last question.

“No, dear,” Mrs. Pridgly quickly assured her. “May I ask you if you plan to visit Rafferty?”

Meghan frowned. “Aye,” she said. Of course, she wanted to see Rafferty. He was her friend and her betrothed. Why wouldn’t she want to go? “Well, I’d hoped to see him there, but—”

“That wouldn’t be wise, young woman,” Henry piped up, and George Carn mumbled his agreement.