One Perfect Flower

by Roberta C. D. DeCaprio

  She cast a glance to the hands she held clasped in her lap. “It might be best for them to do it all.”

  “Nonsense, lass. ’Tis your touch the manor needs. You’re the Lady of Limerick.” She raised her gaze to meet his encouraging smile, the cleft in is chin deepening. “I have every confidence the woman, who dares to discover the real Braiton Shannon, will also be able to redecorate Shannonbrook.” He arched a brow. “But if you’re truly undecided or become confused about anything, you need only to ask me. I will always be close by for you to seek advice.”

  “I would be honored if you sought my advice as well. I am a good listener, and I can keep a secret.”

  Braiton hushed her with a finger upon her lips. “My dear Raven, I do believe you could drag a confession from the devil himself.” He inclined his head. “And I will remember your kind offer.”

  “You will not forget?”

  “Somehow I have the strangest feeling you’ll not allow me.”

  She cleared her throat. “That is exactly what my father says to my mother.”

  He smiled. “Then I’d say we’re off to a good start.”

  The carriage came to a halt in front of the mansion, and a tall balding man rushed from the double doors, followed by a woman wearing a wide smile across her plump face.

  The man opened the carriage door. “Welcome home, m’lord. I trust your trip was pleasant?”

  “’Twas a successful one, thank you, Brian,” Braiton responded, his long legs unfolding out the carriage exit.

  Other servants emerged from the mansion, taking the baggage the carriage driver handed them and bringing them inside. They worked fast and were efficient. She hoped she could be as well-organized in her role as Lady of Limerick.

  “’Tis good to have you home, m’lord,” the woman chimed in cheerfully. “And I’ve a meal waiting, in case you’re hungry.”

  “’Tis good to be home, Anna,” he said and turned to offer Raven a helpful hand. “And you’d best set the table for two.” He smiled down at her, the cleft in his chin deepening. “I’m sure my wife is hungry as well.”

  The woman’s eyes widened.

  Braiton chuckled. “Aye, a wee bit of a shock to me, as well. But I trust all of you will make Raven feel welcome and comfortable in her new home.” He gestured to the balding man. “This, my lady, is my personal attendant, Brian O’Malley. And this charming lass,” he said, looking over at the woman, “is Anna O’Leary, Molly’s sister and Patrick’s wife.”

  Raven gave the man a gracious nod. “I am pleased to finally meet you, Mr. O’Malley.”

  Brian’s blush rose from his neck to encompass his round, balding head, ears and all. “No need to stand on formality, m’lady. Just callin’ me Brian will do.”

  “Very well then.” She turned to acknowledged Anna with a smile. “And then may I call you Anna?”

  Anna nodded.

  “I have heard so much about you from your sister, Molly.” She bit her bottom lip. “I just hope I will not get in your way.”

  Anna’s return smile consumed her face. “Nay, m’lady, ’tis I who hopes to please you.”

  Braiton took her by the arm. “It has been a long journey, and I’d like you to rest a wee bit before we’re served a meal.”

  She nodded in agreement and allowed him to escort her through the large set of double doors. Once inside the mansion, she could not believe its size. Her bedchamber alone was bigger than three wickiups put together. The carpet, thick and plush, cushioned her footsteps as she made her way to the large canopied bed. It was covered with a lacey spread and adorned at the head with oddly shaped pillows in a deep pink and cream combination, touches of gold splashed here and there.

  She wandered to the dressing table in a far corner. It was draped in lace that matched the bedcovering. The tiers hung in flowing beauty to the floor. Upon the dressing table sat a three sided mirror. She gazed for a moment at her reflection and fingered the gold-handled brush, comb, and hand-mirror placed to one side.

  At the glass doors, she stroked the soft velvet drapery and gazed out at what appeared to be a private garden, the view breathtaking. The trees rocked with the wind, and she shivered. Even standing in the sun, she felt cold in this new land.

  She stood before the large stone fireplace, letting the warmth from the flames penetrate her flesh. Slowly, the chill left her bones. She realized she had not felt this warm since leaving Arizona and turned to warm her backside, surveying the room a second time. She wondered why Braiton thought her touch was needed. The bedchamber lacked for nothing and was lovely just as was. Certainly she could do no better.

  When he had escorted her to the room, he explained it once belonged to his mother. “’Tis only right it now be yours,” he said, throwing open the doors to a walk-in wardrobe. “’Tis empty now, lass, but be assured ’twill soon be filled with gowns specially tailored to fit.”

  She self-consciously looked down at her makeshift dress and then back at him. “I suppose that would be nice.”

  “Not that you don’t look fine in what Molly has supplied,” he added, “but to have your own style is always better.”

  Then he showed her the private cubicle behind a curtain, revealing a table with a wash basin and towels upon it. And in a far corner there was a strange looking chair with a hole in its seat and a pot beneath. Braiton had laughed at her perplexed expression and explained what the strange chair was for.

  She blushed, and he chuckled again at her modesty. “’Tis a perfectly normal function.”

  Now, as her backside warmed, her needs rose, and she decided to use the convenience. She made her way to the strange chair and for a moment stood before it, looking down into the hole at the bottom of the empty pot. She sighed, remembering his words; it’s a perfectly normal function.

  “And one I need to do,” she whispered, turning around and lifting her skirt. She managed to secure the material beneath her chin while pulling down the undergarment. The white bloomers slipped down her legs and wrapped around her ankles. She made sure her skirt was out of the way before she sat her bared bottom down upon the chair.

  The day’s accumulation filled the pot, hitting the basin with a loud trickle. She cringed. Relieving yourself in the woods was much quieter, the dirt absorbed it all. Then a thought struck her. Where was she to get rid of what was in the pot?

  Molly entered the room and seemingly read her thoughts. “When you’re finished there, m’lady, I’ll empty the pot for you.”

  Her face heated. “There is no reason for you to have to do that, Molly, just tell me where I should bring it.”

  Molly rolled down the quilt and fluffed up the pillows. “’Tis not a bother, lass, so trouble yourself no longer about it.”

  She did not want to argue, but the thought of Molly having to empty a pot filled with…with… made her uncomfortable.

  “I know you’ll be wantin’ to wash away the salt o’ the sea from your flesh, so Anna and I will be bringin’ up a tub to fill with water for a bath.”

  Embarrassed over the whole situation, she gathered, rather awkwardly, the full skirt of her dress and reached down for the underwear, now tangled around her feet. Just as her bare behind rose from the chair, Braiton entered the room.

  She gasped and sat back down with a thud.

  Upon spotting her whereabouts, his full lips twisted into a lop-sided grin. “I beg your pardon, my lady.”

  She frowned. “You could have knocked.”

  He turned his gaze away. “Pardon on that account as well, but I was going to ask you to join me for a cup of Irish coffee. I see, however” he cleared his throat, “you are otherwise engaged.”

  Her humiliation at the intrusion turned to annoyance. “I have more privacy behind a tree.”

  His eyes met hers.

  Her heart hammered in her ears as he made his way across the room.

  He smiled down at her and reached for the curtain. “That’s what this is for, my lady.” He closed the drape around her.


  She sat quiet a long time to compose herself, staying behind the curtain long after his booted footsteps left the room.

  ****

  Braiton savored the hearty meal of roasted potatoes, ham with onion soup, and soda bread Anna prepared. After the lavish spread, a delicious rice pudding was served for dessert. Brown bread and oysters later accompanied them as they sat in the drawing room. He lit his clay pipe and sat back in his chair, enjoying a potent stout of Guinness, while Raven sipped Irish coffee from a delicate china cup.

  He watched her from the corner of his eye. She thoroughly enjoyed the warm brew, relaxed and looking refreshed after a bath and a good meal. The yellow dress Molly made over for her dramatically swept off each bronzed shoulder. And her thick, dark hair piled atop her head, complemented the graceful length of her neck, little wisps of hair framing an angelic face.

  “I thought you’d be happy to hear word has been sent to your family in England.”

  She looked over at him from where she sat; blue eyes hooded by dark lashes. “Ashoge, thank you.”

  “And tomorrow I will take you to the village, where I will introduce you to Metilda O’Flannaghan. She owns a woman’s shop and will help you choose a wardrobe.”

  “I do not need much. At home, a few simple buckskin dresses, a skirt, tunic, and a pair of moccasins serve me fine.”

  “I’m afraid much more is called for here, lass. But if you’re fond of leather, perhaps Matilda can fashion for you a riding habit.” He took a sip of the Guinness, picturing the luscious curves of her body draped in leather. “Do you like to you ride?”

  “Bareback or with a saddle?”

  Her response startled him. “You can ride either way?”

  She nodded.

  He sat forward in his seat. “Well, my lady, I’m quite impressed. What other talents are you keeping secret?”

  She brought the cup to her full lips and took a sip of the coffee before answering. “I can hunt, trap, and fish; shoot with a bow, spear, or rifle, and I can sew, cook, read, write, and cipher.”

  Her list of accomplishments astonished him. “I dare to say, lass, you far surpass any lady you will meet in Limerick.”

  She arched a beautifully formed brow. “Did you think all I could do was a war dance beneath the moon?”

  “I make no assumption of you or your people, Raven,” he said, watching the play of emotion upon her face. “I was merely making the comparison of your skills, to that of the women here.”

  “And what are the Limerick women like?”

  He sat back in his chair and reached for his pipe, taking a few puffs while pondering his answer. “Commoners, peasant born women, have no opportunity for an education. First they help their parents tend the land, and then do the same for their husbands after they’re married. Genteel women, the ladies of society, settle into different wifely duties. They spend their time hosting gatherings, planning what silver and china to use, embroidering samplers or purchasing the latest fashions. I call them featherheads.”

  Her eyes widened. “Certainly you do not expect me to be like them?”

  “I don’t believe for one moment, lass, anyone could make you be anything other than what you are.” Which is intriguing.

  She frowned. “Then you do not like the featherheads?”

  “Truthfully, my lady, they disgust me. Turn my stomach. For I find they lack ambition.”

  She giggled. Her lilting mirth lifted his spirits. She rose to put another log on the fire.

  “That’s not your job, my lady. Ring for Brian.”

  She turned from her task to face him, hands placed upon perfectly curved hips. “What, and be a featherhead?” She shook her head and reclaimed her chair. Before taking another sip of the coffee, she muttered into the cup, “I think not, my shikaa.”

  More satisfied then he believed he could be, he smiled to himself and puffed again on his clay pipe.

  ****

  The next morning her new husband and the carriage waited for Raven in front of the mansion. She ran down the long staircase, taking the steps two at a time, and climbed into the carriage beside Braiton. “So sorry for keeping you waiting.” Out of breath, she gave her curls a careful pat. “I have never seen such a fuss over the way one wears their hair.”

  He positioned his long legs in front of him. “And how is a lady’s hair worn in your village, lass?”

  “A maiden wears her hair in a nah-leen, which is an odd-shaped widget that holds the hair back. But married women wear their hair down, flowing freely about their shoulders.”

  “Aye, I can see how that would please a husband,” he mused aloud.

  “If you would like, I could wear my hair in such a way.” She quickly added, “When there is only the two of us at Shannonbrook.”

  A warm smile spread his lips. “I believe I’d like that, lass.”

  The tiny shops along the main street of the harbour village were bustling with people. She found it hard to contain the excitement rising within.

  Braiton helped her from the carriage and escorted her down the street to Metilda O’Flannaghan’s shop. “When I was a wee lad,” he explained, “I’d sit in a large chair in the corner of the shop while my mother tried on every gown that caught her eye.” He smiled fondly with the memory. “Then, I thought the day would never end.” He sighed. “Now, to have her back…” his voice trailed off, and she saw the sadness etched upon his face.

  She was quick to change the subject. “Tell me a bit about Metilda O’Flannaghan.”

  “A smart lass, that one,” he began. “She was married at a young age to a rich, old bugger. He left her a small fortune when he died and the freedom to travel wherever she pleased.”

  “And where did she travel,” she asked.

  “France, Italy, the Orient, bringing back silks and other fine fabrics. When she returned to Limerick, she employed a dressmaker from Paris to fashion all of her gowns.” Braiton paused before the shop’s door. “Soon Metilda, or Tilly as she likes to be called, was the most fashionably dressed woman in many surrounding areas of Ireland. Being the talk of the town gave way to the birth of her shop.” He gestured to the door. “Shall we meet her now?”

  She nodded and preceded Braiton into the shop. A tiny bell ringing above the door announced their arrival.

  The muted shades of pink and aqua gave the tiny boutique a soft, feminine appeal. The sitting room’s high-backed chairs, covered in cream-colored upholstery, accentuated the décor and looked comfortable. No doubt, this was where Braiton, as a boy, waited while his mother tried on dresses.

  Hanging on racks were gowns of every color and size, and for every occasion. Hats of all shapes and styles, some with feathers, some with bows, hung on hooks or were displayed on shelves beside elegant matching scarves and gloves.

  Tilly sauntered into the salon from the backroom. She was of slender build with fiery red hair piled high atop her head. The wide-set chocolate eyes widened as she spotted her new customers. Thin, red lips broke into a grin that consumed most of her delicate face.

  Tilly took Braiton’s hand in both of hers. “Ah, Lord Shannon, ’tis a pleasure.” She glanced at Raven, and then turned her attention back to Braiton, gazing deep into his eyes and fluttering her transparent lids. “What brings you to me shop on this day?”

  Braiton, removing his hand from Tilly’s grasp, reached for Raven’s arm and drew her close. “May I present my wife, Raven Amelia Eagle Shannon.”

  Tilly’s hand went to her throat. “Then the rumor ’tis true, you have wed.” Again she turned to Raven, this time taking her hand. “’Tis me pleasure, m’lady.” She inclined her head with respect. “I’m at your service.” She smiled and gestured around the shop. “What can I interest you in today?”

  Braiton answered for her. “Everything. I wish for my wife to purchase an entire wardrobe, Tilly. I trust your people will help her in whatever she may need to be the most fashionably dressed woman in Limerick.”

  Tilly’s dark ey
es widened. “Aye, m’lord. In fact, I will assist her meself.” She looped an arm through hers. “Come, m’lady. We will first have refreshments, and then we will begin with the essentials.”

  Raven looked back at her husband and cast him a reluctant glance.

  He smiled and gave her an encouraging nod. “I have business at my warehouse, lass. Enjoy shopping. I will return for you in a few hours, that is, if Tilly can handle such a tall order within such a time.”

  Tilly waved a hand in the air. “Go about your work, m’lord, and leave it all to me.” She smiled at Raven. “Your beautiful wife will lack for nothin’ when I am finished. And will be the talk o’the town,” she added.

  Braiton gave her a taut nod. “I thank you.”

  “What colors do you favor, m’lady?” she asked, pulling Raven to the back room. Before she could answer, Tilly rattled on. “Wait till you see the new arrivals from Paris. They are simply divine.”

  She cast one last look over her shoulder at Braiton.

  He winked at her and made his way to the door.

  “Right this way, m’lady, so that I can measure your form,” Tilly said, whisking her through a heavily draped archway.

  She heard the tiny bell ring as Braiton opened and shut the door behind him. Alone with Tilly now, she took the seat offered her and accepted a cup of tea.

  “After you’ve had your tea, m’lady, I will start from scratch.” Tilly took a sip from her own cup, leaving a red lip print on the white china. “Like a beautiful paintin’, I will begin on a blank canvas and build from there.” Tilly reached for a tiny bell on the table and gave it a shake.

  A young woman appeared from another room. She had large gray eyes and a mass of blonde curls, which were pulled back at the nape and fastened with a gold clasp. “Oui, madam?”

  “Bridget, this is Lady Shannon,” Tilly said, placing the bell aside.

  Bridget smiled and curtsied. “Welcome, madam.”

  She gave Bridget a polite nod, setting her tea cup down upon the matching saucer.

  “She is in need o’ everythin’,” Tilly continued. “Take her to the dressin’ room and help her to remove all her clothes.”