The Irish Earl

by Patricia Bray

  Kilgarvan did his part, standing next to her, as rigid as a soldier on duty. From time to time he smiled, but she knew it was false, and wondered if her own smiles were so patently artificial. At last the crowds thinned, and there was no one to speak to except each other.

  “How much longer are we expected to stay here?” Kilgarvan asked.

  Her hand clenched on the stem of the champagne glass. “No more than an hour,” she said after glancing at the clock on the mantelpiece. “Perhaps a little less.”

  Felicity regarded her champagne glass, and then set it down carefully on a small table. She had eaten little, and did not want to overindulge in drink. Not now. In an hour she would leave this house to begin her new life with Kilgarvan. She would be his wife, and he would have the right to do as he pleased with her body.

  She felt a tingle inside her. She was prepared to do her duty, but very much afraid that she did not know what that duty consisted of. She had a vague, general notion of what went on. Lady Rutland had attempted to give her niece the benefit of her experience this morning, but her words had confused Felicity rather than helped her. The act Lady Rutland had described had sounded painful and terribly undignified.

  She had seen couples in love, and her father’s countless affairs. Surely no one would waste so much energy and emotion if the end result was as Lady Rutland had described. She must have misunderstood. Lady Rutland, for all her five daughters, could not have had very much experience.

  And then, before Felicity quite knew what was happening, it was time to depart.

  She went upstairs and changed into her traveling gown. She was not certain what their destination would be. Since the day of their quarrel she and her new husband had exchanged only the barest of civilities. It had been left to her uncle to tell her that Kilgarvan planned to return to Ireland immediately after the wedding.

  Her uncle had arranged a post chaise to take them to Holyhead, from whence they would sail to Dublin. They would spend this night at an inn along the way.

  Felicity made the final adjustments to her traveling gown, and then turned around one last time to survey her room. On the floor were two trunks. A new, modish trunk was filled with finery, including a lace night rail intended for this evening. Next to it was a smaller brassbound trunk. The brass had been shined but could not hide the scratches, nor the scars to the wood accumulated over thousands of miles of travel. In the smaller trunk she had packed clothes suitable for travel in rough country. From her reading and conversations with those who had visited rural Ireland, she knew that travel was often difficult, but no more so than many a journey she had made with her father. And no matter what hardships, this journey would be a pleasure, for it would bring her to her new home.

  Her home. Not an inn, nor a rented villa, nor the estate of a friend. No, for the first time she would journey to a place that was to be hers for as long as she chose. She did not know Ireland, and was a stranger to Kilgarvan’s home. But in time they would become part of her, as she would become part of them.

  The celebration was still going on as she said her farewells to her aunt and uncle. Lord Rutland assured her that she would always be a welcome visitor, a sentiment her aunt echoed with only the barest prompting.

  And then the servant handed her up into the post chaise, and Kilgarvan climbed into the seat across from her. And she was off to start her new life.

  The coach rocked and swayed as they left London. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably. Kilgarvan looked across the carriage at his new wife. Lady Felicity returned his gaze with an uncertain smile.

  “It is a pleasant day for traveling,” she said.

  “Hmm.”

  He glanced out the window, and indeed the sun was shining. Strange, he could have sworn it had been cloudy earlier. Or perhaps it had merely been his own forebodings that had colored the day. He had a wife, and now he realized he had not the least idea of what to do with her.

  Or what to say to her. He was still angry over the marriage settlement, but they could hardly spend the rest of their lives quarreling. And it had been his choice to sign the settlement and to proceed with the marriage. He could have refused. But having taken her money, his honor required that he treat Felicity with courtesy and respect. Not affection, although perhaps in time their friendship could be repaired.

  If he won her friendship, she would consent to change the marriage settlement and to set things right. As soon as the thought occurred, he banished it from his mind. It was bad enough that he had made a mercenary match. He would not scheme to win his wife’s affections out of financial motives.

  What happened between them next would set the tone of their marriage. It was important that he and Felicity reach an understanding before he left her in Dublin.

  “You must be pleased to be leaving London,” Felicity said.

  “I confess, I have been longing for this day to be over.”

  Felicity blushed and lowered her eyes, looking anywhere except at him. He wondered what he had said to raise a blush in her cheek, then realized she must have thought he was anticipating the wedding night. “That is, I am pleased that we no longer have to be on display like creatures at the menagerie,” he said, hastening to correct her impression. “Hopefully in our absence the gossips will find some other unfortunates to slander.”

  “No doubt,” Felicity agreed. “We are lucky that Lady Rutland is such a fine hostess. Our guests will carry tales of her fine hospitality, and of our apparent harmony.”

  Apparent harmony. He could not tell if she was complimenting him on his performance, or subtly insulting him for failing to live up to her expectations. It was difficult to know when she was being sincere and when she was being mocking.

  But he would have a lifetime to get to know her better. Or would they always remain strangers to each other, she in Dublin or London, and he in Kilgarvan, meeting only when required for social functions, or for the sake of their children?

  That was, if there were to be children. With relations this cold between them, Kilgarvan was not inclined to claim his marriage rights. Especially not when he still did not trust his wife and her reasons for wanting to marry him. Prudence dictated that he wait a time to claim his privilege as a husband, until he was certain that Felicity was not breeding.

  And if she was? Well, he would cope with that unpleasantness when the time came. There was always the possibility of a Scottish divorce. He would rather bear the shame of such a divorce than let Kilgarvan pass to an heir that was not of his blood.

  They had begun their travel early in the afternoon, and reached the village of Corby in twilight. As the servants bustled about unloading the luggage and unhitching the horses, Kilgarvan descended and then helped Felicity alight from the carriage. The cobbled courtyard was uneven, and Kilgarvan took her arm as they walked into the posting inn.

  The proprietor himself came out to greet them. “My lord, my lady, I trust you had a pleasant journey?”

  “Fair enough,” Kilgarvan answered. The journey had been only a few hours, but they had had a long day before they had even started. He was bone-tired, not having been able to sleep the night before. Judging from Felicity’s white face and drooping eyelids, she shared his exhaustion.

  “Your rooms are ready, my lord, as you requested. The finest we have, the finest in all of Corby, if I do say so myself. My wife Betty will take you up. When you’re ready, you can come down to the private parlor for dinner.”

  Kilgarvan nodded, and then the innkeeper’s wife led the way up the stairs. She threw open the first door on the left. “This chamber will be yours, sir,” she said.

  Kilgarvan glanced in and saw a spacious chamber, furnished with a bed, nightstand, chair, and a table and washbasin. There was a door in one wall that stood slightly ajar, revealing a glimpse of a room beyond.

  The women continued down the corridor to the next room. “And this will be yours, milady,” she said, opening the next door. Felicity’s room was similarly furnished, with
the addition of a dressing screen for privacy, and a large pier glass mirror.

  Felicity’s eyebrows rose as she surveyed the room.

  “Is there something wrong, my lady?”

  “No, I am certain everything is satisfactory.”

  The innkeeper’s wife looked doubtful, but she managed a curtsy. “There is hot water in the jars, and if you need more, just send for it. The boy will be up with your trunks presently.”

  She backed out of the room. “My lord, my lady.”

  Felicity waited until the innkeeper’s wife had left, then turned to him.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

  “Of what?”

  She waved her hand, indicating the room she stood in. “Separate rooms? We were married this morning, were we not? Or am I mistaken?”

  She had expected to become his wife in truth. The thought gave him an odd ache in his chest. He had assumed that she would be pleased with his decision to wait. But it seemed he had mistaken his wife once again.

  “We are both tired,” he said. “And I thought, under the circumstances, as it were, that it would be best if we, er, if we delayed the wedding night.”

  “I see,” she said frostily.

  “We are still strangers,” he hastened to explain. “We should take some time to get to know each other first.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t try to make excuses for yourself. What you mean is that I am not good enough for you, although you have no problem taking my money.”

  Her words cut him like a knife. There was truth in what she said, and he felt like one of the lowest creatures on earth.

  “I was thinking of you—”

  “Your solicitousness overwhelms me,” she retorted, appearing suddenly vulnerable. She blinked her eyes rapidly, but he could not tell if her tears were of anger or of disappointment. He knew only that he had failed her. What had seemed so right and logical earlier now seemed an act of unspeakable cruelty.

  “Felicity,” he said, reaching for her.

  She slipped out from under his grasp, marching across the room and flinging open the connecting door. “Go,” she ordered. “Do not expect to see me for dinner. I find I have a headache.”

  He looked at her helplessly. He did not know how to put this right. There was so much that was wrong between them. Making love to his wife, tempting though that was, would not make things right. He did not know if they could ever make things right.

  She held the door open as he passed through it, into his chamber. “I will tell the innkeeper to send up a tray,” he offered.

  “No need. I am quite capable of seeing to it myself,” she replied.

  With that, she slammed the connecting door shut. He listened for a moment, but did not hear the sound of a bolt shooting home. Perhaps in her anger she had forgotten it. Or perhaps, despite her anger, a part of her was hoping that he would reconsider, and make her his wife in truth.

  He went down to the tavern room. But no matter how much he drank, he could not erase the memory of the pain in her eyes.

  Eight

  Felicity spent her first night as a married woman alone and wakeful. Gradually, as her anger cooled, she realized that she had misjudged her new husband. She had known that he was still angry over the marriage settlements. And with that anger between them, would it have been right for them to consummate the marriage?

  The laws of the church and society would have said yes, and if Kilgarvan had asserted his rights, she would have accepted his embrace—not simply out of duty, but as a way to bind him to her, and, yes, as perhaps the start of a new family.

  She consoled herself with the hope that it was not lack of desire for her that had kept Kilgarvan from fulfilling his duty as husband, but rather his stubborn pride.

  She did not regret her marriage, but wished with all her heart that she had insisted on a longer engagement. It was their seemingly hasty wedding that had led to the gossip, which in turn had led to the bitterness between them.

  But that was behind her now. She had two choices. She could dwell in the past, using her hurt and anger as a shield against Kilgarvan. Eventually anger would become the pattern of their days, and there would be no changing it.

  But instead she chose to put her hurt feelings aside and work to win her husband’s affection and trust. She had enjoyed his friendship before. She felt confident that she could do so again, provided that she did not let Kilgarvan and his temper drive her off.

  With this resolution made, she felt in better spirits. The Earl of Kilgarvan did not know what type of woman he had married, but she was bound and determined to teach him that he could not lightly set her aside.

  The next morning she put her new resolution in practice. Arising early, she donned her traveling dress and then descended the stairs to the private parlor.

  She opened the door and saw Kilgarvan inside, seated at the table. The remains of his breakfast lay on the table before him, and he held a newspaper in his hand.

  Kilgarvan looked up from the paper and gave a start. Laying the paper down, he rose from the table. His body was stiff, as if braced for hysterics or recriminations.

  “Good morning. It is a fine day, is it not?” she asked.

  “Indeed.”

  The look of confusion on his face was priceless. Kilgarvan looked like a man who expected a tiger, only to find himself confronted by a kitten. She quelled the urge to laugh.

  As she approached the table, Kilgarvan pulled out a chair for her to sit; then he sat again in his seat across from her.

  She poured herself a cup of tea, then glanced at the bell on the table. “Is there time for breakfast? Or do we need to leave at once?”

  “Please yourself. I did not expect you so early, so I left instructions that the post chaise should not be readied before nine o’clock.”

  Felicity lifted the bell and rang it, then replaced it on the table. In a moment a serving girl appeared in the doorway. “Porridge, please, if you have it. And muffins or toast, if they are fresh.”

  “Will there be aught else?” the girl asked. Apparently she had expected a countess to dine on richer fare, but Felicity knew from long experience that if she consumed a hearty breakfast now, she would regret it after a short while in a bouncing and swaying carriage.

  “No, that will be fine.”

  The serving girl disappeared, and Felicity turned to face her new husband. “You will find I am an early riser,” she said. “But I imagine there is much that we will discover about each other in the coming days.”

  Kilgarvan nodded, clearly not trusting himself to reply. He looked longingly at the discarded newspaper, but she would not let him escape so lightly.

  “From Holyhead, we will sail to Dublin on the morrow—is that not so?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have never been to Dublin, or to Ireland, for that matter. So tell me, what should I expect?”

  “Rain.”

  Under her prompting he gradually expanded his single-word answers into entire sentences. Their conversation held little of the ease it had had in the days of their friendship, but it was a beginning.

  The next day they sailed from Holyhead to Dublin. The crossing was a smooth one. Kilgarvan, after his dire predictions of an unpleasant trip proved false, took care to assure her that the trip was seldom this easy.

  Felicity’s resolution toward cheerfulness and equanimity was often put to the test. Even when pressed, Kilgarvan refused to be forthcoming about his plans. He described Dublin in great detail, painting the city as a modern center of culture and business. He was less forthcoming about his estate of Kilgarvan, describing it in only the most general of terms. She had learned more from the guidebooks she had read.

  She began to suspect that he intended for her to make her residence in Dublin, while he traveled on to Kilgarvan in the south. But, exercising her newfound patience, she decided she would not quarrel with him until he actually raised the scheme.

  They arrived in Dublin late
the next day, and spent the night in a hotel. The next morning Kilgarvan informed her that they were to call on his mother, the Dowager Countess Kilgarvan.

  Felicity felt a pang of nervousness at the thought of meeting his family. Would the countess approve of her? Or would she take exception to her son’s choice?

  A hired carriage was summoned for the journey. Felicity drew back the curtains so she could see this new city. Last night she had seen little except the bustling wharves and the hotel. Now, everywhere she looked, she saw signs of prosperity and progress. As they drove down the wide streets, past carefully laid out squares and manicured greens, she saw prosperous shops and elegant residences, all built in the graceful style of the last century. The buildings were primarily brownstone, with ruthlessly scrubbed stairs and gleaming painted doors.

  Kilgarvan cleared his throat, and she turned her attention to him.

  “Perhaps I have mentioned this before,” he began. “But I wanted to remind you that my mother resides with her sister and her sister’s husband, Mr. Throckmorton.”

  Felicity nodded. “And will I have the opportunity to meet the Throckmortons today?”

  Kilgarvan grimaced. “I do not know. Mr. Throckmorton has numerous business interests. It is possible that he may be at his offices today. I sent a note last night informing him to expect our visit today, but…” He shrugged.

  How very interesting, Felicity thought. Clearly Kilgarvan and his uncle were not on the best of terms. She wondered what had caused such a breach. And she was curious about Kilgarvan’s relationship with his mother. From what she had gathered, the countess had chosen to reside in Dublin since her husband’s death, while Kilgarvan had stayed on the estate, occupied with the attempts to bring his land to prosperity. It did not sound like a close relationship.

  And yet there was something in Kilgarvan’s voice when he mentioned his mother that made her wonder how he felt about his mother’s absence.