One Perfect Flower

by Roberta C. D. DeCaprio

  “Oui, madam.” Bridget took her by the hand.

  She stood and looked over at Tilly. “Must I remove everything?”

  Tilly again waved a hand in the air. “I will start from scratch, m’lady. Everythin’ must go.”

  She was sure it was going to be a very long afternoon.

  Chapter Nine

  Raven did not believe she’d ever stood so long without a stitch of clothing on. While Tilly and Bridget measured every inch of her body; breasts, abdomen, hips, thighs, legs, and even her backside, she stood with her arms out, head up, and back straight.

  “Now, I have your exact dimensions for the special gowns and riding habit I will create,” Tilly boasted. “But you’ll need somethin’ ready-made to take with you for everyday use.”

  She tried on an endless array of day-gowns, nightwear, fancy undergarments, gloves and hats to match. She slipped her feet into soft leather slippers, pumps, and boots. Each outfit was accessorized with a variety of purses, pouches, and hair clips, not to mention the different scents of cologne and bath oils added to the lot. Tilly left nothing out, putting together a wardrobe fit for a queen.

  The dress she wore to the shop was discarded, Tilly curling her nose up at Molly’s handiwork. “I suppose the poor woman did the best she could.”

  The last day outfit she donned, a light blue, full-skirted, day frock trimmed in dark blue lace, she kept on to wear back to Shannonbrook.

  “You’re simply divine,” Tilly said, dramatic emphasis placed on the word divine. “’Tis your color, matches your eyes and against the dark hair and complexion, simply divine,” she repeated.

  Bridget stacked the items purchased, folding them with care, placing them in various sized boxes and garment bags.

  Raven’s eyes grew wide at what was accumulated. “There is not enough room in the carriage to fit all these packages.”

  Tilly’s head flew back with laughter, red curls flopping to one side. “M’lady, such worries are not your concern.” She took Raven’s hand in both of hers. “Pierre will deliver all of your packages.” Again she rang the bell for Bridget.

  Bridget looked as exhausted as she felt. “Oui, madam.”

  “Bring Lady Shannon’s things to the outlet room for your father to deliver to Shannonbrook,” Tilly instructed.

  Bridget nodded.

  “Ashoge, thank you, Bridget,” she offered, wondering if the young woman ever had time to make a pretty outfit for herself.

  “You are most welcome, madam,” Bridget said and hurried off to complete Tilly’s orders.

  Tilly’s red lips curved into a satisfied smile. “We have done well, today, Lady Shannon and by the time you arrive home, everythin’ will be waitin’ for you.”

  She sighed, relieved to be done with it all herself. “I thank you as well, Tilly. You have been so helpful and kind.”

  “’Twas me pleasure, m’lady, now sit and be comfortable, have another cup of tea while you wait for Lord Shannon.”

  She had three cups of tea, and still Braiton had not come to fetch her. Looking out the shop window, she scanned the cobblestone street for a trace of him.

  “Men, when they get with their business dealin’s, they lose all track o’ time.”

  She turned to find Tilly standing behind her. “Can you show me then, the way to Lord Shannon’s warehouse?”

  “Aye, m’lady.” Tilly opened the shop’s door and pointed with a slim finger to the left. “Do you see the large platform where a crowd has gathered?”

  She nodded.

  “That is the town’s square, and when you arrive there you must cross over to the other side of the street,” Tilly explained further. “To your right you will see another street. You cannot miss the large brick buildin’ at the end. That is Shannon Warehouse and Holdin’s.”

  She thanked Tilly again and stepped onto the sidewalk, the bell ringing behind her when Tilly shut the door. Walking through town, Raven lingered at each shop’s window, admiring the displays. There were so many beautiful things to buy. Her father would love to have the pipe in the tobacco shop’s window, and her mother the patchwork throw in the quilting shop. Her sister, Sunny, would beam with excitement to have the pens and pads from the art shop. How she would love drawing with all the colored pastel chalks.

  When she came upon the town’s square, the people pushing and shoving made it impossible for her to cross over to the other side. She found herself being swept up in the confusion and forced to the front of the platform.

  “What goes on here?” she asked the man standing beside her.

  “Brady is holdin’ one of his weekly contests, lass. Today is an archery exhibition.” The man pointed to the right of the platform. “And there sits the prize.”

  She stood on tip-toe, her eyes following the man’s finger. There, sitting gaunt and panting, was a large red-haired dog. Her heart went out to the animal. “What kind of dog is he?”

  “An Irish Setter and a darn shabby one at that,” the man answered.

  “He looks starved,” she said, annoyed anyone could be so cruel.

  “Aye, he probably is, but someone will get one more hunt from him before there’s a need to put him down.”

  “Put him down where?”

  The man turned to look at her. “To death, lass.”

  She gasped. “Why would there be a need to kill him?”

  “Look at him, lass. There’s not much fight left in the old beast,” the man said.

  “He just needs to be fed, that’s all,” she protested. “Given the chance, he will be a faithful pet for many more years to come.”

  “Folks gathered here today aren’t lookin’ for a faithful pet, lass.”

  “What must be done to win him?”

  “Gettin’ the arrow closest to the circled center o’ the target board, will make him yours,” the man explained.

  Three men mounted the platform, each taking a turn at winning. Their aim did not even come close to the circled center.

  “Any more among you,” Brady shouted. “Come now, have we no more who would like to try?”

  “I would like to try,” she called out from where she stood.

  Eyes turned her way, and the crowd broke out in hearty laughter. Brady craned his neck to get a better look at her. “You’re just a wee lass.” He frowned. “These bows are the real thing. They’ll rip the muscle from your arms.”

  She raised a defiant chin. “I thank you for your concern, sir, but I will be fine.”

  “Let the lass try, Brady,” the man behind her shouted. “’Twill be more entertainin’ to watch then your other exhibitions.”

  The rest of the crowd agreed and cleared a path for her.

  Stepping onto the platform, she made her way over to the dog. “I would like to take a look at him first.”

  The crowd laughed again.

  Brady placed hands on hips. “I haven’t all day, lass, so make it fast.”

  She nodded and knelt before the dog, running a hand over his matted fur. Not much flesh covered his bones. She could feel his ribs. “You poor thing,” she whispered. The dog, sensing her kindness, licked her hand. “All you need is some food, definitely a bath, and lots of love to make you strong again.”

  “Time is wastin’, lass,” Brady scowled. “If you wish to make a fool o’ yourself, then let’s be done with it.” He threw a bow and arrow at her feet. “Let’s see you hit the center o' that target board.”

  ****

  Braiton walked past the platform to Tilly’s shop. “Another of Calvin Brady’s exhibitions, I see.”

  “Aye, m’lord,” Patrick said, a twinkle in his eyes. “Shall we see what the bugger’s up to today?”

  He glanced at his pocket watch. Already he was past the time he said to fetch his wife, but remembering how his mother lingered at Tilly’s shop, led him to believe he was afforded a few moments more. “Perhaps there’s still a wee bit of time left after all.”

  They pushed their way through the other onlookers, Pa
trick craning his neck to see what was taking place on the platform.

  “Who is old man Brady making a fool of today?” he asked the man standing next to him.

  “A pretty little dark-haired lass.” The man chuckled. “And she’s a spirited one at that. She’s got the old bugger all fired up.”

  Patrick pushed ahead farther, his mouth dropping wide at what he saw.

  “What is it Patrick? Do you know the woman?” Braiton asked, moving beside him.

  “Aye, m’lord, I do.” Patrick swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “She’s your wife.”

  “What?” He strained against the crowd to make his way to the platform.

  “Should I get her down, m’lord,” Patrick said, following close behind.

  Craning his neck to see past the heads in front of him, he saw his wife place the arrow into the bow. She got down on one knee and pulled her arm back into position. Her form, straight back, head held high, brought a wave of pride washing through him.

  “Should I get her down, m’lord,” Patrick repeated.

  “Nay, let her try.” He watched her take a deep breath, aim the arrow, and pull back on the string. He was awed by the way she made it appear so easy. She released the arrow. It flew through the air, hitting the target dead set in the middle.

  “By God, ’tis a bull’s eye,” the man in front of him shouted.

  The crowd cheered, and his heart swelled with pride. This amazing woman was his. They were legally wed, and by law, all her sensational attributes belonged only to him. He shook his head to clear it, bringing himself back to the situation at hand.

  Raven stood and threw the bow at Brady’s feet, like he had done to her. “I believe the dog is now mine, sir.”

  “How about we shoot for her, Brady,” a man yelled from the crowd.

  Brady’s fat face broke into a devilish grin. “Who will be first?”

  Again, the crowd cheered, and two men stepped up onto the platform, leering at her with hungry eyes. She witnessed the same look in the agent Hall’s eyes. With a racing heart she stepped nearer to the dog. “I wish only to take my prize and go.”

  “Let’s see what we’re gettin’, Brady.” One of the men sneered, lifting the hem of her skirt.

  “Leave me alone,” she shrieked, doubling her fist and catching the man on the chin with her blow.

  The man stumbled back, and again, the crowd cheered. But in an instant, he was near her, grabbing her by the arm and twisting it behind her. He slammed her against the pole where the dog was tied. The animal jumped to his feet, growling at the man. She knew, if the dog was not secured by such a short leash, he would have set his teeth into the man’s leg without hesitation.

  “Let the lady alone,” a deep, familiar voice boomed from the front of the platform.

  She twisted her head around to see her husband, standing with feet placed far apart, hands on hips.

  The man threw her to the floor and spun around on his heels, ready to aim his doubled fist into Braiton’s jaw. But her husband was quick, landing his own powerful punch into the man’s stomach. Bent in half by the potent blow, the man fell off the platform. Seeing Braiton in action, she understood now why the man Baxter in Silver City cowered upon only a word. Obviously, her husband’s formidable reputation preceded him.

  By now the second man made his move.

  “Behind you, my shikaa,” she warned.

  Braiton swung around and took the other man in a strong hold around the neck, then flung him into the archery board. The round target came loose from its stand and slammed down on the second man’s head, knocking him unconscious.

  Brady stepped forward. “M’lord, surely you have better things to do, then to bother comin’ to the aid o’ this little wench. For a shillin’ she’d probably go with any o’ these men.”

  Braiton grabbed Brady by the collar of his coat. “Never call her a wench again,” he said through grit teeth. “If I ever hear you speak disrespectfully about the lass in any way, I’ll rip your tongue from its root.” Releasing Brady, he reached for her hand and helped her down off the platform. “Patrick, fetch her dog,” he called over his shoulder.

  Brady’s voice grated harshly. “What’s the lass to him?”

  “His wife,” Patrick said, leaving the platform with the dog following close behind.

  ****

  Raven held her shaking hands in her lap and licked her dry lips as Braiton stared out the carriage window, his jaw muscles clenched. His even features appeared set in stone. Obviously, he was rehashing the whole incident in his mind.

  “I am truly sorry,” she managed to choke out. “I never meant to bring shame upon you.” She swallowed hard the lump of fear lodged in her throat. “You have every right to be mad at me.”

  He glared at her, gold flecks of anger flashing in his eyes. “Is that why you think I’m mad, Raven? Because you feel you’ve disgraced me?”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak without sobbing.

  “Well, you are wrong.” He sat forward in his seat. “If I was delayed by just a few moments, or had gone straight to Tilly’s shop, do you realize what you’d now be suffering at the hands of those rogues?”

  “Only too well.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “I know I should have waited for your return. But when I saw this poor dog, sno’ta’hae, just lying there all dirty and half-starved…” She reached over and patted the dog’s head.

  “If you wished to have a dog, Raven, why didn’t you simply ask for one,” he snapped.

  “I did not wish to have a dog until I saw this one. I knew I had to win him, to save his life. Sometimes, to right something wrong, the thought of your own safety is the last thing on your mind. Do you understand, my shikaa?”

  He sighed. “Aye, lass, strange enough, I do.” He looked down at the pitiful animal, lying on the seat between them. “And now that you have him, what will you call him?”

  “I thought Nalyudi might suit him.”

  “And what is the meaning?” he inquired.

  “It means, He Runs About. Once he is given lots of food, he will be running about again.”

  He frowned. “Perhaps Brawn might be easier for all of us to remember, lass. With the proper care he will soon be a brawny one.”

  She smiled and tried out the name. “Brawn. Yes, I think it fits him well.”

  “Well, Brawn,” he said to the dog. “Let’s hope with lots of soap and water you’ll smell better, too.”

  “Then I can keep him?”

  “Aye, but first we wash him.”

  She giggled. “We will wash him? You plan on helping me with the task?”

  He smiled. “Aye, I do at that. Who knows, maybe this old bugger does have a few more hunting days ahead of him.” He scratched the dog behind the ears. “I’m really quite proud of you, Raven.”

  She frowned. “How?”

  “There is no one in Limerick, including myself, who could have beaten you in that contest today.”

  “Ashoge for that, but now I fear I have opened the way for troublemakers and gossip mongers to turn the whole thing into something horrible.”

  “There is no doubt, my lady. You definitely made an impression.” He smiled. “But you were also a marksman and such a skill deserves respect and praise.”

  Patrick brought the carriage around to the back of the manor, and Brawn was taken into the kitchen area. Braiton removed his waistcoat and rolled up his shirt sleeves, reaching for the huge basin that hung from a hook upon the wall. His arm muscles tightened as he set it down on the floor, reminding her of the night aboard the ship, during the storm, when Terrance brought him injured to the cabin.

  The splendor of his naked body excited her to the very pit of her stomach. She yearned now for his muscular arms to embrace her and fought the urge to run to him—caress again his hard chest and slim belly beneath her finger tips.

  He picked up two buckets and made his way to the door. “I’ll fetch the water from the pump,” he said, breaking through her t
houghts.

  “Braiton,” she called. The breathless way it came out made him stop in his tracks. It was the first time she had called him by his name, and he quickly turned to look at her. Their eyes met, and she could tell she stirred something within him. Her pulse quickened, and she licked her lips. His eyes went to her mouth, and he swallowed hard. “My father would say you have the roar of a lion but the heart of a lamb.”

  His gaze met hers, a slow smile playing at the corners of his mouth, the mustache spreading across a full upper lip. “Let it be our secret then, lass. People hark far better to the lion than they do the lamb.”

  Once the basin was filled, she went about coaxing Brawn to get in, but the big red dog was having none of it. He straddled his large paws and braced himself in a stubborn stand, making it impossible to budge him even an inch.

  “Come on, now, laddie,” Braiton pleaded. “Have some respect for the lady who saved your mangy hide.” He made his way to the straggly animal and picked him up, placing him into the basin. “I’ll hold him, my lady, while you wash.”

  She set about soaping the matted fur. The dog squirmed and jerked. With all the squirming, coupled by his slippery body, Braiton was having a hard time keeping a grip.

  Brawn shook, spraying soap suds everywhere, soaking the front of her new dress. “Oh, Brawn, you are making such a mess,” she scolded. “You need to hold him tighter, my shikaa.”

  “I can’t, lass, he’s too slippery.” Braiton braced his feet against the wall. “Take the other bucket of water and rinse him a bit.”

  Brawn broke free from Braiton’s hold and lunged out of the tub, knocking her off balance, and dumping the bucket of water over Braiton’s head.

  He gasped, looking up at her with the most shocked expression. Sitting in a puddle of water, hair flattened over his ears, and his shirt drenched made for a comical scene.

  She stifled a giggle. “I am so sorry.”

  He pushed the wet strands of hair from his eyes and began to stand, but the floor had become just as slippery. He lost his footing and with a thump, hit the floor.

  This time she could not suppress her laughter.

  He scowled at her mirth. “This amuses you, my lady?” Once more he made an attempt to stand.