Brides of Virginia

by Hake, Cathy Marie

  “We can all wait,” Duncan cut in. Brigit rated as one of the most clever women he’d ever met. She weighed her words carefully around the children, and that discretion rated as a fine quality indeed.

  “It won’t take me long to tell the story—” Tim protested.

  “’Tis Phillip’s birthday.” Duncan put the slightest bit of pressure on his horse’s side to keep him from dancing and bumping hindquarters with Tim’s mount. “We need to go stable these mounts so we can celebrate Phillip’s special accomplishment, too.”

  “What ‘complishment?” June asked.

  “He got older.” Duncan nodded his head to give weight to his ridiculous comment. “It won’t be many years ere he’s taking to sea, too.”

  Brigit wanted to go hide in the kitchen and help Cook. One look at Duncan let her know she hadn’t been exaggerating how handsome he was when she thought of him. He looked so manly with his brown, caped greatcoat flying behind him as he’d ridden up, and his roguish smile and deep voice gave her the shivers. She might very well make a fool of herself if she didn’t mind her actions. The last thing she wanted was to lose her job because she flirted with a member of the family she was supposed to be serving. I thought Trudy acted like a lovesick puppy, and here I am, twice as bad.

  She and the twins were supposed to greet the birthday party guests, so she’d been out on the veranda, planning to welcome a dozen or more rowdy little boys. Brigit had seen a trio on horses in the distance and expected they were more guests. She’d felt her heart lurch when she recognized who the handsome young man was, riding between the two youngsters. Duncan had come back.

  Brigit promised herself she’d keep her distance from Duncan. What with all the guests, that ought to be an easy thing to do. She figured the last of the guests must have arrived, so she went back inside with the twins.

  Miss Emily believed in simple, honest fun. Instead of setting up several parlor games, she’d specified that Phillip’s guests were to come in warm playclothes. With everyone assembled, she turned them loose in the back. Soon they were chasing a ball and rolling down the hill.

  The maids and the stablemen stayed out on the lawn, overseeing the children’s safety. Brigit soon gathered up some of the children and lined them up to join her in a game of tug-o-war. Duncan didn’t stay in the house with the adults; he’d come outside, too. Phillip shouted with glee, and Duncan eyed the rope and the boys.

  “I want to be on your team,” Phillip said.

  Duncan strode over and had his nephew flex his biceps. He tested the little arms and nodded. “You’re stronger. I think you and your friends should pull against me.” He looked at Brigit and added, “And her. Just the two of us against all of you mighty little men. What say you?”

  “Aye!” Phillip didn’t answer alone. His friends all chimed in with him.

  As they prepared to tug, Brigit stood in front of Duncan and warned, “You made a bad decision. You won’t be getting much from a weakling like me.”

  “You’ll put your heart into it. That’ll make us winners.”

  He turned out to be right on the first match. On the second, Brigit couldn’t dig her heels into the earth well enough. Her boots slid, and her back knocked Duncan down, and she fell over him—or had he let go and caught her so she wouldn’t fall? She couldn’t tell. The very thought that he’d be so chivalrous made her heart patter. She scrambled to her feet.

  Duncan rose. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.”

  Many of the little boys gravitated toward the strapping man, much to Brigit’s relief. It let her scoot farther away. In no time at all, “Captain Duncan” had the “crew” of youngsters making forts from hay bales and ice blocks. It made for a glorious mess.

  “Brigit!”

  She turned when he called her name. White exploded all around her. Duncan stuck his hands in his coat pockets, looked up at the sky, and started to whistle as if he were innocent as a babe.

  “Unca Duncan got you!” Phillip shouted from inside the makeshift fort. “He made a snowball by chipping an ice block.”

  “That was a sneaky thing to do,” Brigit protested.

  “You know what else is sneaky?” Phillip grinned at her. “He made me one for my birthday!” Phillip threw that snowball at her, but it fell short.

  “I’m needing soldiers and warriors,” Brigit called out. “Duncan O’Brien just declared war, and Phillip is in his camp. Who’s going to stand by me?”

  “We can play Capture the Flag!” someone shouted.

  In no time at all, an epic “battle” ensued. In the midst of it, Duncan charged across the yard, vaulted over Brigit’s melting fort, and tossed her over his brawny shoulder. He plowed through the broken-down bales of hay and headed back to his side. “I’ve got the princess! I captured her. We win!”

  The children went wild, and the adults cheered.

  Breathless—more from his contact than from being carried over his shoulder—Brigit couldn’t say a word. He stopped and set her down next to his team’s fort. Standing like Colossus with his hands on his hips, he asked loudly, “So what say you now, my raven-haired maiden?”

  Oh! I’d have been just as happy for him to carry me away. If I stand here, I’m going to make a fool of myself. I can’t let him know I have tender feelings for him. “I’m not a flag!”

  “But you’re holding your team’s,” he pointed out. “And I got you.”

  Brigit grabbed the scrap of red cloth someone had draped over Duncan’s fort. “But you let go, and I have your flag now! You counted your chickens a minute too soon.”

  He looked at her and nodded slowly. “We both did.”

  “We did?” She sucked in a sharp breath and squealed as a chunk of ice slithered across the back of her neck.

  Duncan swept both flags from her hands and chortled. “Well done, Phillip.”

  Several of the children cheered and clung to Duncan, and his laughter rang out. The man loved children. Aye, and they adored him back.

  Even after the party ended and the house quieted down, Duncan sat on the floor and voiced his admiration for the gifts Phillip had received. Brigit gladly finished picking up the last of the mess and hastened out of Duncan’s presence. He’d kept slanting her glances she couldn’t interpret. Lord, I don’t understand why he’s giving me those looks. Has he guessed that I hold feelings for him? What am I to do?

  Chapter 12

  The first rays of sun shimmered on the dewy lawn. Brigit looked out her window and touched the ice-cold pane. Another day. “Lord, be with me today. Keep me strong and give me wisdom to behave as Your daughter.”

  After washing up, Brigit donned one of her blue wool gowns and brushed her hair until it crackled. Her fingers fumbled with the hairpins as she recalled what Duncan had called her yesterday. “My raven-haired maiden.”

  The man was a rascal. That he was. He’d acted like an overgrown boy. She refused to give him another thought. All it did was rob her of her peace and sanity. Brigit savagely stabbed one last pin in place. On days like this, she reconsidered her opinion of Miss Emily’s no-cap policy. Wearing a cap might well have merit. In fact, Brigit thought she’d vote for a complete night-styled mobcap if given the chance. Wouldn’t that be just perfect? Then Duncan couldn’t say a thing about her hair. He’d never see it.

  She dropped her buttonhook and had to get down on her hands and knees to fish it out from beneath her bed. After she used it to fasten her ankle boots, Brigit frowned at the bed. She’d mussed up the counterpane. That wouldn’t do. No matter that another soul wouldn’t know. She’d know, and that was reason enough to flick it back into order. Miss Emily provided individual rooms for the maids, and the appointments in them far exceeded what a girl in service might ever dream.

  Aye, and I’ll be in service until I’m no longer a raven-haired girl, but a gray-haired old woman, she thought as she closed the door and headed down the stairs. Those silly feelings I thought I had for Duncan? Well, they were just a momenta
ry weakness—nothing more. I’ll keep away from him until I regain my balance. Now there’s a bonny plan—full of good sense. She sighed. If it is such a great plan, why does it make me miserable?

  Duncan stood at the foot of the stairs. Brigit wanted to spin around and run back up on the pretense of having forgotten something—but that wouldn’t be the truth. She squared her shoulders and continued down.

  He gave her an appreciative smile. “You’re a comely lass, Brigit Murphy.”

  “Thank you.” She tried to brush past him.

  “Brigit.” He captured her hand and stopped her. “Stop avoiding me.”

  “I’ve work to do.”

  “Yes, you do, don’t you?” His deep voice flowed over her. “Emily tells me you made that fine new shirt I like so well. I told her I want a dozen more—all made by you.”

  She snatched that as an excuse. “With all that stitching to do, I’d best get right on it.”

  He squeezed her hand, then turned it loose. “I’ll let you go for now—but we’ll talk later.”

  Brigit shook her head. “We’ve nothing to discuss.”

  He dared to reach over and touch a tendril at her temple. “I disagree.”

  “I’m needed in the kitchen,” she stammered. With a total lack of grace and decorum, she dashed for safety.

  John glanced up from the newspaper. “Pennsylvania Telegraph didn’t mince words today. Listen to this: ‘We have no notion or idea that Abraham Lincoln will be defeated as a candidate before the American people for the presidency of the United States; but if such a calamity should occur, it would be the worst blow that ever was inflicted on the laboring men and mechanics of this country. It would arrest our progress in every improvement, by opening all the paths of industry to the competition of foreign and domestic slavery.’”

  Duncan nodded and set down the ship’s log he wanted to review. “Strongly put.”

  John folded the paper and slapped it down on the desk. “I’ve never prayed as hard for our nation as I did when I cast my ballot today.”

  “I need to go vote.” Duncan looked about. “Things are far calmer than I expected. How did you manage to make the men keep their opinions on the vote to themselves?”

  “Franklin passed the word: Anyone stirring up dissension or stumping for votes is fired. The men need their jobs too much.”

  Duncan rested his hands on his hips. “I’m supposin’ Gerard O’Leary protested you were curbing his right to free speech.”

  “Yeah, but Old Kemper nipped that in the bud. Told O’Leary his speech wouldn’t be free if he was drawing wages when he said his piece.”

  “Commonsense men like Kemper would straighten out the political mess in no time.” Duncan arched his back to stretch out a few kinks. Em often rubbed John’s shoulders to banish the tautness. Soon Brigit will be my wife, and I’ll relish that kind of closeness myself. He thought for a moment to inform John of his decision to wed, then squelched the notion. He’d given Em his word that she’d be the first to know.

  “Miss Emily,” Brigit asked that afternoon, “I’m wondering where that lovely little figurine went—the one of the lass in the pretty gown and a lamb at her side. ’tisn’t on the hall table anymore.”

  Emily looked startled. “That’s where it always is. I chose that spot because it’s farthest away from the children’s rooms and won’t get bumped. I hope one of the girls didn’t borrow it. It belonged to my sister, Anna, God rest her sweet soul. I’d be heartbroken if something happened to it.”

  No one confessed to knowing where the pretty porcelain piece went. For a brief instant, Brigit wondered if the man she occasionally saw from her attic window might have taken it, but she dismissed that thought. He’d never even come close to the house. In fact, the times she’d spied him, he’d always been by a shrub or next to a tree. Hadn’t she overheard Mr. John say he hired men to patrol the grounds? Whoever the guard was, he’d be competent—John Newcomb would engage a bulldog of a man for the sake of his family.

  Brigit forgot about the missing statue because she was due for her evening off, and she planned to go visit her parents. Bless Cook’s heart—she remembered Mum loved apricots and wrapped a jar of them along with a small crock of whipped cream for Brigit to take home.

  Surrounded by her warm cashmere shawl and holding the sweet bundle to give to her parents, Brigit felt blessed. She loved to be able to give even the smallest thing to help them. As she hurried home, she whispered, “Lord Almighty, I’m thankin’ You from the bottom of my heart for the ways You provide for my family.”

  “Hey there, Brigit Murphy! What are you doin’ here?” a lass asked as Brigit turned a corner and headed down the side street toward her parents’ building.

  Brigit stopped and smiled at the young girl she’d met on the boat as they’d voyaged here. “I’m paying a visitation.” She cradled the apricots and cream in her arms and tilted her head toward them. “I’ve something small that’ll be sure to please my mum.”

  Duncan stood in the shadows around the side of the tenement building as he heard Brigit speak. When he left the polling place, he’d spotted her bright blue dress and contrasting yellow shawl in the distance and recalled Emily mentioning it was to be Brigit’s evening off. Duncan had quickly followed Brigit to the edge of town until they reached here and counted his blessings that the Lord had presented him with this unexpected opportunity. He needed to know where her father lived so he could obtain permission to court her and seek her hand in marriage. Duncan smiled to himself. He’d rather the courtship part of the arrangement be quite brief and hoped Brigit would feel the same way.

  He’d thought ‘twas fitting that the woman he intended as his bride would catch his attention. And why wouldn’t she? A comely lass she was and quick minded. But in the last few days, she’d avoided him. In fact, she’d ghosted away whenever he entered the room. Once she’d been underfoot all the time. No matter where he turned in that house, she’d been there. He smiled. He’d been attracted from the start, and the fact that he’d been so aware of her was ample proof. He suspected the reason she’d begun hiding from him, and he’d help her get over that shyness. He’d likely scared her with that playful romp at Phillip’s party. As soon as he made it clear he had honorable intentions and would safeguard her reputation, the woman would light up his world with her smile once again.

  He’d overheard her say something about having a little something to please her mother. Duncan lounged against a tree and folded his arms across his chest. His bride was a dutiful woman. Devoted, too. The mental list he’d started of her fine character qualities kept growing.

  He’d have to do something at once about her parents’ housing. They’d be his family now, too, and he didn’t want them living in this dangerous, squalid place. Duncan didn’t even want her in there right now. He thought to ask which room her parents rented, but a trollop approached him and offered her services.

  Duncan shook his head. “I’d like information is all.”

  “It’ll cost ye.” The tart gave him a coy smile.

  “Brigit Murphy—do you know what room or floor her family is on?” He placed a coin in the woman’s hand.

  “I couldn’t say. There are Murphys aplenty, so I don’t bother to keep them straight. Brigit doesn’t live here. She’s hired out in service to a fancy family.” The trollop gave him an assessing look. “You’ll have to tell me. Has old Mr. Murphy done something wrong? Is there a reward for him?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  She heaved a sigh. “I didn’t think so. They’re one of the goody-good families. Her da walks her back to the grand place where she’s a maid; my da turned me out to make money.”

  Duncan looked past the rouge and gaudy clothes. “If you were offered a decent job, would you give up this way of life?”

  She shook her head. “Sinnin’ suits me fine. Money’s not bad either.”

  Her attitude left him feeling soiled. Duncan straightened up and walked off. He’d found out what
he needed to know. Brigit’s father would return her safely this evening, and Duncan planned to wait for him.

  He went home with a sense that his life was about to change—and for the good. Aye, ‘twas a grand feeling. He’d have a wondrous wife and a fine ship, and if the election went as he’d voted, the country would have a wise man at the helm.

  The minute Duncan entered the house, Goodhew took his coat and told him in a grave tone, “Mr. John and Miss Emily wish to speak with you at once. They’re in the upstairs parlor.”

  Well and good. I’ll tell them of my plan to wed Brigit. “Thank you, Goodhew.”

  The minute he entered the small upstairs room, Duncan knew something was wrong. Em’s eyes were puffy and red. John stood by the window, tension singing from every last inch of his frame. Duncan shut the door. “What is it?”

  “We have a thief in the house.”

  Chapter 13

  A thief!” Duncan echoed the words in disbelief.

  The fire in John’s eyes made it clear he’d determined the truth.

  “Who is it?” Duncan demanded.

  “I haven’t pinned that down yet,” John grated. “But as soon as I do—”

  “I’m really not sure anything’s been stolen,” Emily confessed. “I could have misplaced my cameo, and I recall allowing Anna Kathleen to borrow my fan. She mightn’t have returned it.”

  Duncan let out a relieved gust of air. “Is that all?”

  “No.” John cleared his throat. “I’ve left money out on purpose—and, I confess, not a single cent of it has been taken.”

  “I’d think money would be the first thing to be taken. If it’s left alone, then perhaps Em’s right and those other things are simply misplaced.”

  John sat next to his wife and took her hand in his. Duncan could see how hard he was trying to contain his anger so Emily wouldn’t suffer any more upset than necessary. He waited. John wasn’t a man to jump to conclusions. He was probably doling out the bad news a bit at a time to soften the impact on Emily.