Irish Linen (25 page)

Meghan woke up and stretched. Her lashes fluttered as she reached across the bed linen. “Lucas?”

The bed was empty beside her. She opened her eyes and sat up quickly. He’d left her! Her heart thumped wildly as she recalled the dark hours she’d lain willingly within his arms. Why did he leave?

Then, she recalled the servants. It wouldn’t do for them to know that she’d allowed Lucas into her bed. She smiled. Lucas was being thoughtful again.

Her gaze fell on the hearth in her room, and she shuddered, recalling the fire. She felt chilled and rubbed her arms. Everything she owned was gone. Her clothes and belongings, even her only pair of shoes! All that was left was her smoke-stained nightdress.

Meghan rose, naked, flushing as she caught sight of her discarded borrowed nightgown and recalled when Lucas had removed it from her with tenderness. A tingling heat invaded her abdomen at the memory of Lucas’s hands on her breasts … his mouth everywhere. That time with him had been glorious! If she never knew what it was to have a husband, at least she’d had this.

I love him.
Tears filled her eyes as she realized that she couldn’t stay, for when the time came that Lucas no longer desired her, she’d be devastated. Better to leave now, she thought, before the pain became unbearable.
But how could she leave when she had nothing to wear?

A lump rose in her throat, making it difficult to swallow. She grabbed the night garment from the floor and slipped it over her head, glad to see that the gown wasn’t ripped or damaged in any way. Then she opened the door and peered into the hall, hoping to see one of the upstairs chambermaids, but she saw no one.

She shut the door and leaned back against it, closing her eyes.
Now what am I to do?
She opened her eyes, saw a dresser, and went to rummage through the drawers, hoping to find something more modest to wear than a bed gown. Although the garment adequately covered her from neck to ankle, it was still meant for sleeping.

The top two drawers were storage for bed linens and blankets, and the rest of the drawers were empty. But before Meghan had a chance to fret, her attention was drawn by a knock on the bedchamber door, and she answered it. It was Rachel, one of the housemaids.

“Mrs. Gibbons sent me with some garments for ya,” the girl said.

“Oh, thank ye,” Meghan said. “I was wondering what to wear.”

The maid smiled with sympathy and handed her an armload of clothes. “There are a few extras there as well from me and the others.” When Meghan would have protested, Rachel said, “We’ve got everything we need, Meg, while you’ve got nothing.”

Meghan blinked back tears as she murmured her thanks. “I’ve got friends, it seems,” she said.

Rachel nodded. “Do you need any help?”

The Irishwoman shook her head. “I’m sure I can manage. Thank ye.”

The girl started to leave. “Well, then, if you need
anything, you let one of us know.” She paused. “I’m sorry about the fire, Meghan,” she said after Meghan had thanked her again. “But at least no one was harmed.”

“Aye.”

“I wonder who wanted to hurt Patty.”

Meghan stiffened. “The fire was deliberately set?” It was the first she’d heard of it.

Rachel told her what she’d heard from James about the lantern and whiskey bottle he’d found near Patty’s back door. When the girl left, Meghan suffered a strong feeling of foreboding. She recalled Rafferty’s vow to get even with her. Dear God, could Rafferty O’Connor have done such a thing? There was a time when Rafferty had a terrible weakness for whiskey, but that was a long time ago, so long ago that she’d been a child. She’d forgotten about it, because Rafferty no longer drank. But he’d changed so much, and she wondered …

Meghan recalled Rafferty’s occasional outbursts of anger and shivered.
Oh, Lord, don’t let it be Rafferty who did this.

She dressed in a servant’s gown and went downstairs to eat. When she saw the servants hard at work, she felt guilty for having slept so late.

Mrs. Riker seemed unconcerned when she glanced over and saw Meghan. “Meghan, you’re up.” She gave her a smile.

“I’m sorry for sleeping in,” Meghan began.

“Of course, you should sleep! You’ve had a terrible night.” The cook’s expression was sympathetic. “Come and sit, dear, and I’ll give you some breakfast.”

“But Mrs. Gibbons—”

“Said you’re to take it easy today, Meghan,” Mrs. Riker assured her. “Both she and Mr. Ridgely left specific
instructions to see that you’re well cared for while they’re gone, and I aim to follow them.”

“Gone?” Meghan’s heart tripped. Lucas had left without telling her again.

Mrs. Riker wiped her flour-coated hands on the skirt of her apron and put water on the stove for Meghan’s tea. “The Mrs. and her nephew had to go to Philadelphia.”

“Oh.” At least, Lucas hadn’t returned to his home in Kent, she thought. Meghan watched Cook set a plate filled with cinnamon buns before her. Then Mrs. Riker went about preparing eggs.

“Please,” Meghan said, “there’s no need to trouble yerself.”

“It’s no bother, Meg,” a kitchen girl said. “Mrs. Riker loves fussing, don’t ya, Mrs. Riker?”

The older woman shot the young maid a look. “Get back to work, girl.” But her expression was soft and her eyes kind.

“Have ye heard how Patty Rhoades and the others are faring?”

“I spoke with Peter this morning, Meg,” another girl said, referring to Patty’s middle son. Meghan learned that the young woman was Mrs. Trill’s daughter. “They’re all fine. Shaken, but glad to be alive.”

“Aye,” Meghan murmured with a shiver, recalling the fire. “We’re all glad to be alive.”

The morning passed quickly for Meghan, as she went to see Patty and her sons. But by the afternoon, Meghan was having doubts about staying in Gibbons Mill. Everyone had been wonderful and kind to her, but then they didn’t know that she’d given herself to Lucas.

Guilt began to gnaw at her conscience. She had lain with a man outside the bonds of marriage. She’d sinned, but—God forgive her—she loved Lucas
Ridgely, and it was impossible for her to be properly penitent.

Meghan became more nervous and ridden with guilt with each new hour of the day. When asked, Mrs. Riker had confessed that she didn’t know when Lucas and his aunt planned to return. It could be tomorrow, she’d said. Or could be as early as this evening.

Despite orders to enjoy a free day, Meghan went back to her sewing, for she needed something to keep herself occupied. But she learned that busy hands still left a mind to think and worry. Several times during the course of the day, she’d found herself getting up to check the time on the mantel clock in the sitting room. On each occasion that someone opened or closed a door during the day, Meghan’s heart would race until she learned that the noise hadn’t been created by the returning aunt and nephew. Only then would her heart slow, and her breathing flow easier.

Meghan had worked herself into such a state by bedtime that she felt shaky as she undressed. She’d convinced herself that to stay at Gibbons Mill wasn’t a wise thing to do after all … not since she’d responded so wantonly to Lucas’s experienced touch.

Experienced,
she thought with pain. How many women had Lucas taken to bed? Had he kissed and caressed them like he had her? Had he cried out the way he had with her when he’d finally found his satisfaction?

She went to her bedchamber window and peered out into the February night. It was cold, but fortunately there was no snow. Her gaze rose to the sky, and she judged from the look of the cloud-hazy moon that it would snow soon.

Should she leave now and chance it? And if she left here, where would she go? She owned nothing …
not even the clothes on her back … not even the shoes on her feet.

Her eyes stung as she turned from the window to examine the lovely room. She could be happy here if not for her feelings for a man who only desired her.

He’d left for Philadelphia without telling her. If things had changed between them, he would have left a note—something!—if he loved her …

Love! She made a face. Lucas lusted for her; he’d never professed to love her.
Did ye forget what he wanted from ya from the start?
He’d been honest; she couldn’t find fault with him for trying to trick her.

Meghan threw back the bed covers and climbed onto the feather-tick mattress. Lucas’s scent still lingered on her pillow, and she could almost feel him beside her, touching her again. The pain was bittersweet.

Tomorrow she’d speak with Patty. Patty would know where she could go, what to do, Meghan decided.

Then she recalled Patty’s devastation upon seeing her house burn. No, she couldn’t bother Patty.

Mari Bright.
Mari had been a friend to her from the first day, Meghan thought. She’d ask Mari if she knew where a woman could start a new life.

He was anxious to see her again. Yesterday morning, it had nearly killed him to leave her room. He’d risen before the sun and lingered for a long while just studying Meghan as she’d slept. The wealth of tenderness he’d felt toward her had amazed him. He’d never known he was capable of experiencing these feelings. He’d looked at Meghan and experienced a rush of warmth and happiness that he choked up just thinking about it now.

Lucas glanced at his aunt on the carriage seat across
from his. To his surprise, he found her watching him with a speculative gleam in her dark eyes.

He questioned her with a smile. Inside, he felt quivery and vulnerable; it was both exciting and frightening for a man who’d never been in love before. He decided then what he must do about it.

“You seem anxious to get back,” Aunt Flora said softly.

A jolt passed through him. “Why do you say that?” he asked, managing to keep his tone light

His relative smiled. “Son, it wasn’t hard to figure out when you woke me at five, hurried me to breakfast, and then bullied that poor Mr. Abernathy into loading the wagon at six.”

Lucas shrugged as if he thought nothing unusual in his actions. “If it wasn’t for Mr. Abernathy, we’d have had the new machines by now. I paid that man good money weeks ago to see that they were delivered …”

Flora raised an eyebrow. “I suppose that might be true—”

“Are you angry that I disturbed your night’s sleep?” her nephew asked with amusement.

“Are you saying I’m irritable?”

He chuckled at his aunt’s sharp tone. “Darlin’,” he soothed, “you’re never irritable, irritating perhaps, but never irritable.”

His aunt scowled. “Whatever—or whoever—is calling you back to Gibbons Mill,” she said, “I hope she realizes how impossible you can be. Charming perhaps, but impertinent and impossible.”

Lucas grinned. “I’m sure George Simmons appreciates me just fine.”

Flora’s undignified snort told him that she didn’t believe for one second that it was business calling him back. “I hope
she’s
worth it,” his aunt murmured, making his amusement fade.

Lucas looked away.
Oh, she is, Aunt Flora,
he thought, recalling Meghan’s loving response.
She is worth it enough to me that I plan to marry her.

He stifled a niggle of misgiving that his family wouldn’t love or accept the woman he’d chosen. A poor woman. A woman of Irish birth.

They’d accept her, he vowed, because he loved and wanted her.

Marriage to Meghan seemed like a wonderful, exciting adventure. She wasn’t his mother, and he wasn’t his father. He and Meghan would stay happy together for the rest of their lives.

Marriage could make a person happy, couldn’t it? “Aunt Flora?” he said.

She glanced away from the window to meet his gaze. “Yes, dear?”

“You were happy with Uncle Walter, weren’t you?”

Her soft smile was all the answer he needed. “He and I were very happy together.” Suddenly, she frowned. “What is this all about, Lucas?” Enlightenment entered her dark eyes. “Nephew, not every marriage is like your parents’.”

“Lord, I hope not,” he said with great feeling.

Her regard intensified. “Are you thinking of getting married?”

“Perhaps.”

“Someone I know?”

“Perhaps,” he said with a smile. When she tried to question him further, he refused to answer. Instead, he called up to the carriage driver to pick up the pace for home, and his excitement grew as he looked forward to seeing Meghan again.

“Where is she?”
Lucas said as he burst into the kitchen. He caught Mrs. Riker’s gaze. “Where’s Meghan?”

“Why, I don’t know, Lucas,” the cook replied. “I haven’t seen the girl since first thing this morning, when she told me she was going to visit Mari Bright.”

“Mari Bright?” Panic had swelled within his breast moments ago when he’d returned to the house and found Meghan absent. No one had seemed to know where she’d gone.

“She’s one of my employees,” Aunt Flora said as she entered the room during the last part of the conversation. “Why do you need Mari?”

“He’s looking for Meghan,” Mrs. Riker said. “I told him she’d left to see Mari, but that was early this morning. I’m sure she should be back by now.”

Lucas caught his aunt’s sly look as he passed her to exit the room. “I’ll check the mill then.”

“Lucas!” his aunt called.

He froze and turned, expecting to see her censure. “Yes?”

“Try the Smiths, two houses down from Patty’s. She may have gone there to see Susan. Although she rooms with Betsy, I’ve noticed that Meghan and Susan are close.”

Lucas raised his eyebrows over the fact that his aunt
knew so much about the woman who was only her seamstress.

And then he knew. His aunt had guessed about his feelings for the young Irishwoman and had learned all she could about Lucas’s choice.

“She’s been through a great deal,” Aunt Flora said in a quiet voice.

He nodded. “I … care for her.”

“So she’s the one.” Was that a disapproving frown that touched Aunt Flora’s lips for just the briefest second? She stared at him. “Lucas, we need to discuss this later,” she said.

“There’s nothing to discuss,” he said. Anxious to find Meghan and ask her to be his wife, Lucas then left his aunt abruptly.

He found Susan easily enough at the Smiths, just where his aunt had said. The young woman seemed surprised that Lucas hadn’t passed Meghan on his way, because the Irishwoman had just left her.

“Is she all right? Do you know where she went?”

Susan shook her head. “I thought she was going back to the big house. She seemed upset when she left, but she wouldn’t tell me why,” she said, her glance evading his.

“Susan, please—” he pleaded. “I’m worried about her.”

“She and I were talking about the fire,” she said, “and I mentioned how Priscilla had been through a lot lately. First at the mill and then the fire.”

“At the mill?” he asked.

The young woman nodded. “With Phelps. He’s bothered her just like he had Meghan.”

Lucas felt his chest tighten. “Why didn’t she come forward?”

Susan gave him a look. “Because Priscilla is petrified of him, that’s why!”

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “But why would Meghan become upset?”

“It wasn’t learning about Priscilla and Phelps that bothered her,” she began. “It was hearing from Mari Bright that Mathew Phelps was still working at the mill. Only he’d been moved down to the second floor.” She met his gaze with a look of blame.

“We couldn’t fire him,” he said. “No one would come forward; we had no proof.”

Lucas realized that Meghan wouldn’t only be hurt but she’d be angry to learn about Phelps that way. He was relieved that Meghan was still here, but for how long he had no idea.

“I think Meghan went that way.” Susan pointed in a different direction than the way he’d come.

He started to hurry away, only to be called back by Susan.

“Mr. Ridgely, what is Meghan to you?”

“She’s a friend,” he said with a sad smile. “And more if I haven’t ruined things between us.”

Then, he turned from the sight of Susan’s shocked expression to follow the path Meghan had taken. The day was clear. Miraculously, it hadn’t snowed although the previous night’s sky had looked threatening.

He rounded a bend and frowned when he couldn’t see Meghan ahead. Had she become so angry that she’d left Gibbons Mill? The house was directly before him; yet, there was no sign of her glorious auburn hair and lovely figure.

He started to run the rest of the way and nearly tripped when his foot hit an iced patch of ground. Muttering, he righted himself and glanced about. He didn’t think Meghan could have made it back to the house. But where could she have disappeared?

Terror invaded his chest. Rafferty O’Connor, he thought. Had the man kidnapped Meghan? His fear
grew as he recalled the conversation he’d had with James Rhoades on the night of the fire. James had confided in Lucas that he suspected Meghan’s former fiancé of setting the blaze. He told Lucas of the man’s persistent attempts to see Meghan, and their successes in keeping him away from her. What disturbed Lucas most now was the memory of the boy telling him of the night when they’d been awakened by a noise and hurried outside to see that someone had been about the house.

“Meghan,” he whispered. He clenched his fists. He’d kill the bastard if Rafferty touched even one tiny hair on Meghan’s head.

Then he heard a sound… a choked sob that made him change direction toward the smokehouse.

And there he found the woman he loved, huddled on the frozen ground, her arms wrapped around her body protectively, her head bowed as she cried softly.

Lucas felt like he’d been kicked in the gut. He rushed forward. “Meghan!” he gasped, hunkering down beside her.

She gave a startled little scream as he took her by surprise. Then she blinked several times as she gazed at him, focusing as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. “Lucas?” she said hoarsely.

He gave a jerky nod and grabbed her arm. “Are you all right?”

She gasped and drew back. “Ye didn’t fire him!” she said. “Ye lied to me! Ye didn’t dismiss Mathew Phelps!”

“Meghan—”

“No,” she hissed, “don’t lie to me again.”

“I said I’d handled it, and I had. Simmons moved him to a floor where we employ mostly male workers. No one from the weaving floor would come forward and tell us the truth. We couldn’t dismiss him without proof!”

“I’m proof!” she said, scrambling to her feet. “What is it? Can’t ye believe an Irishwoman? Is that it? Or is it because I’m from a poor family, unlike yours?”

“I’m sorry, Meghan,” he said. “I believed you, but my hands were tied.” He closed his eyes on a wave of pain. He didn’t want her to find out this way. He would have told her eventually. It had been his intention to keep an eye out and try to trap Phelps into arranging his own hanging.

Meghan caught her breath as she studied his bent head. “Lucas?”

“Marry me, Irish. Marry me and stay with me forever.”

“Excuse me?” she gasped, her eyes widening in shock. Had she heard him correctly? Did Lucas actually propose to her? “But I thought ye didn’t want to marry,” she said.

He caught her other hand and clasped both of her palms gently within his fingers, rubbing her skin, making her tingle. His ebony gaze was bright with feeling, and there was a look of tension in his features that she found endearing in that he appeared extremely vulnerable at that moment.

“Marry me, Meghan,” he pleaded. “Tonight. Tomorrow. In two weeks. Whenever you want. Just say you’ll have me for your husband.”

Meghan took one look into his misty black eyes and she was lost.

“Oh, God,” she whispered shakily.

“Does that mean you will?” He released her hand and sat back on his haunches.

“Ye really believed me?” she asked, and he nodded. “Oh, God, we’re not right for each other. My background is so different. I’m a working woman, Lucas, while ye—”

“Marry me, Meghan.”

“Oh, God. Oh, God…”

“Is that a yes?” he said with some amusement.

Meghan threw herself against him, tumbling him to the ground. She peered down into his face with eyes full of love for him. Throwing caution to the wind, she kissed him. “Aye, Lucas Ridgely, I’ll marry ye tonight and again in two weeks if ye want… whenever and for how many times ye’ll have me, I’ll willingly say ‘I do.’”