She frowned. “What evil things did they do, Evie?”
Evangeline shrugged. “Nothing one could really put a finger on, but there was something wicked in the way Rory and Joleena ganged up on Corbin. First Joleena broke or stole his toys, and then there were the humiliating beatings. And my son would never tattle, never complain, but when I discovered the marks on his body, he admitted Rory stripped him naked and beat him with a switch whenever he pleased.”
“Did you tell Shamus?”
“Aye, but again, he didn’t want to believe ’twas anything more than an older brother keeping his younger brother in line while the father was away.” She sighed. “And Shamus was often away.”
“Rory said this time of year was the anniversary of Corbin’s death.”
“Aye,” Evangeline agreed. “’Twas six years ago, on the morning of the hunt the accident happened. Corbin and Rory had gone out together and within an hour’s time, Rory returned with Corbin draped across his saddle, dead.”
She gasped. “How?”
“According to Rory, he and Corbin split up, in order to corner the fox. For some reason Corbin dismounted from his horse and decided to continue on foot. Rory mistook him for the fox and shot Corbin.”
Her eyes widened. “How terrible for Rory…for you…for all of you.”
“Truth be told, Raven, Rory didn’t seem all that troubled over the accident.” Evangeline smirked. “If indeed ’twas an accident.”
She sat forward in her seat. “What gives you a reason to think it was not?”
Evangeline shrugged again. “I haven’t absolute proof of any one thing, I would say ’tis a mother’s intuition. All I do know, is Rory wasted no time at all in consoling Corbin’s fiancée, Rebecca Hennessey, the daughter of Shamus’s good friend Angus. After Angus and his wife Anna died in a carriage accident, Rebecca came to live with us as my husband’s ward, until she was of age to run her own affairs. The estate her parents left her in Dublin. But as time went on, Rebecca and Corbin fell in love and planned to marry. Rory envied Corbin and not long after his death, Rory persuaded a grieving Rebecca to marry him. They were wed the following year.”
“Rory’s married?”
“Was,” Evangeline corrected. “Rebecca died two years ago.”
“How?”
Evangeline took an audible breath. “Rebecca’s parents left her a handsome amount of money and of course the estate in Dublin, as I’ve already mentioned. ’Twas there Rory and Rebecca moved after their nuptials. As her husband, Rory took over her finances and had a free hand in everything she owned.
"About six months after they wed, Rebecca summoned Shamus with the complaint Rory was running the till into the ground with his gambling. Well, Shamus and Rory had it out with each other, and my husband believed he’d mended the problem. He returned to Glenview and neither of us heard a word more on the trouble, but about a month later Rory sent word to Joleena, inviting her to come to Dublin for a visit. Joleena stayed for a week and one afternoon she persuaded Rebecca to go riding.”
“Rebecca did not like to ride?”
Evangeline wrinkled her nose. “Nay, she was never an accomplished horsewoman, and Joleena knew that. Why she insisted on them going riding doesn’t set well with me to this day. Nor why Rory allowed Rebecca to go.” She stood and gazed out the large solarium window. “’Twas then Rebecca fell off her horse and broke her neck.” She turned to face Raven. “And Rory, sole executer of Rebecca’s estate, went through all she owned in a matter of months. He even had to sell the Dublin property in order to cover his gambling debts. He had no money and no where to go, so he came back to live at Glenview.” Evangeline returned to her seat.
“Now, you know it all, Raven,” she concluded. “Hopefully, you won’t judge me for my actions.” She cast a weak smile. “The only way I can get through the hunt each year is to become numb, disconnected. And the rum helps me to do that.” The elder woman’s lips thinned. “In fact, sometimes ’tis the only way I can live with my step-children.”
****
Raven recalled the disturbing conversation with Evangeline O’Neill throughout most of the day and into the evening. Coupled with the bodice stays piercing her sides, and listening to the large woman on the Opera House stage bellow her song in a foreign tongue, she was quite miserable. The performer’s bodice looked stiffer than hers, how the singer could get enough air into her lungs to sing the high notes, was something she wondered about. Braiton sat beside her and leaned over on occasion to explain the story’s meaning, which was played out in song. The characters dressed in costumes and the instruments accompanying them were all quite fascinating. Actually, she enjoyed many of the scenes, when she was not self-conscious of her stupidity to understand the plot.
Joleena giggled every time Braiton translated the words, adding to her shame. The O’Neill woman’s rude behavior caused Raven’s stomach to churn, twist into knots. Had she not been a long time friend of her husband, she would have ended the humiliating cackling with a slap across Joleena’s prudish face. After learning from Evangeline the spiteful ways of the O’Neill offspring, clouting Joleena would give her great satisfaction.
Joleena’s dainty, porcelain hand touched Braiton’s arm now and then, as she conversed about the play. This was done on purpose to aggravate Raven. She looked down at her own hands and grimaced. Though they were small, the nails clean and cut even; they were also tanned and weathered. Not the hands of a featherhead. They did more than hold a china cup at tea, a book, or an embroidery needle. She knew of Braiton’s disgust for the featherheads, he boasted about his dislike many times, yet she was not what he wanted either.
How can I expect any man to want a tainted woman, such as I am? Used goods, is what I am now, and no man would want the shame of having me as their wife.
She realized Braiton’s advances the night before were the cause of too much of the white man’s drink, and she was repulsed at herself for giving into his drunken desires. Now, she hoped he would never remember what happened between them. It would only cause him anxiety and her embarrassment. She wanted nothing to change their agreement, or to keep her from leaving for England when the time came. Living in an unloving marriage, a union of convenience only, was something she did not want for her life.
The woman’s performance ended and the people in the theater stood, clapping their hands and yelling, “Bravo.” The singer bowed and threw kisses to the crowd. Then she was presented with a huge bouquet of roses. After the gas lamps were lit, Raven walked arm and arm with Braiton to the lobby and smiled like a good wife when he introduced her to others he knew. No one would ever guess the real status between her and her husband. To those looking on, they appeared a happy, newly wed couple.
At dinner, she ate without tasting the food, continuing to smile at whatever was said. She noticed Evangeline did not come down to dinner. The poor woman lived an unhappy life, and after all these years, too tired to smile when she did not feel like it, as Raven was doing. She frowned. When did she become such a fake? She supposed it was easy to do when practiced daily.
How time had a way of changing a person. She thought back to the first time Molly helped her bathe. She'd pulled away, embarrassed for another to wash her body. Now she stood with arms out, while Molly rubbed scented oils into her flesh. She did not even comb her own hair anymore. What would her father think of such behavior, about the things she'd grown accustomed to?
Morgan Wade broke through her thoughts. “Lady Shannon, as always, you look lovely.”
She looked deep into his large dark eyes. They shone with genuine kindness and sincerity. Of all the people she had met, thus far, Lord Wade was the one she liked best, he was not artificial. “I thank you, my lord.”
“I thought you’d like to know I sent the letter for your sister on ahead to England with one of my assistants. Miss Eagle should be receiving it any day now.”
“I cannot thank you enough for all you have done.” She sighed. “I miss my sister a
nd brother so much, and up until now I worried how they were getting on.”
Morgan gave her arm a paternal pat. “I know they’ve felt the same about you. Your letter will relieve their thoughts as well. And when I return to England, I will make it a point to tell them how well you’ve taken to your position as Lady of Limerick.”
“May I speak free and in confidence to you, sir?”
Morgan nodded. “Always, my lady.”
“I know of the troubles you and my husband are having, and I would want you to know, Braiton is a good and honest man. Whatever happened to make the problems, I have no doubt he will correct. I only ask you give him the chance to do so.”
Morgan smiled. “Lord Shannon and I have come to mutual terms at this point, so no need for you to fret further on the matter.” He searched her face and the heat rose to her cheeks beneath his scrutiny. “Your husband is a fortunate man to have you, my lady. If I were but a few years younger…” his words trailed off, and he shook his head. “Forgive me.”
The same words Lord O’Neill spoke, though she wondered if they knew she was spoiled goods, would they still feel the same? “None is needed, my lord,” she said, forcing a smile. “Thank you again.”
She was relieved when the time came for her to retire to her chamber. She undressed and put another log on the fire. Too tired to care when Braiton would come up to the room, she slipped beneath the quilt and marveled in her quiet warm surroundings. All she wanted to do now was sleep.
****
Braiton was gone when Raven awoke, a blanket draped over the lounge by the fireplace the only indication he had been in the room. Molly bustled in with a cheery smile upon her plump face and hurried her out of the bed.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to you, m’lady.” She pulled aside the quilt. “’Tis a fine day for a hunt.”
She made a face and swung her legs off the side of the bed. “Oh, is that today?”
“Aye, m’lady,” she said, busying herself around the room, setting out the riding habit and boots.
She stood, yawned, and stretched. “Where is Braiton?”
“Waitin’ for you to join him downstairs,” she said, helping her off with the nightgown. “Let’s get you washed and dressed before his patience thins.”
“It will do him good to wait,” she mumbled.
Molly arched a brow. “’Tis not only him that waits, m’lady.” She wet a cloth and washed her back. “Can’t you hear the hounds all a howlin’?”
She nodded, hearing their cries. “Poor fox.”
Molly dried her and slipped the camisole over her head. “Aye, but ’tis the way o’ things.”
“So, then I gather we will have fox for dinner?”
Molly frowned. “Oh, gracious nay, child. The fox is never eaten. The hunt is merely for sport.”
She gasped. “Are you telling me the fox’s life is to be ended, just for fun?”
Molly helped her on with the skirt. “Aye, m’lady.”
“But why, Molly?”
Molly shrugged. “The hunters enjoy the challenge of bringin’ the animal to bay, conquerin’ its spirit, but have no taste for the meat.”
She fumed. “But that is just wrong, so very, wrong.”
Molly helped her on with the jacket. “Wrong or right, ’tis a sport they’ve been doin’ for many years, m’lady.”
She slipped her feet into the boots. “My people never kill an animal unless it was to be eaten, then every part of it is used to serve a need. We do not take a life just to waste it.”
Molly pulled out the dressing table chair and reached for the brush. She sat down, and their eyes met in the mirror. “These folks are not your people, m’lady.” Molly pulled the brush through her hair. “Their ways are different, and you must learn to respect the difference.”
“But their ways are wrong,” she protested.
Molly pinned up her hair. “Not wrong, just different.”
Her mouth thinned. “I cannot do this today. I cannot do what I do not believe in.” She folded her arms across her chest. “I will stay at Glenview and keep Lady O’Neill company.”
Molly arched a brow. “You would disappoint and disgrace your husband, then?”
She bit her bottom lip. “No, I cannot do that either.”
Molly smiled. “There are times, m’lady, when doin’ somethin’ for the ones we care about takes precedence over what we feel.” She stood back to admire her work. “There you be, now, lookin’ as lovely as ever.”
She stood with a pout. “I will hate every minute of this day.”
Molly ignored her grumbling, handing over the hat and gloves, then opening the chamber door. She cast an encouraging smile. “Your husband waits.”
She found Braiton sitting with Shamus O’Neill in the dining hall. He stood when she made her way to him and pulled out the chair beside his own. “Are you ready to hunt, my lady.”
She frowned. “As ready as I will ever be.”
Shamus laughed from his seat at the opposite end of the table. “You don’t look like it, lass.”
She forced a smile. “I am just trying my best to adjust to another thing that is different.”
Shamus gestured to the pastries on a tray in the center of the table. “Well, food is food wherever one lives, and since ’twill be a long time till the next meal, eat and enjoy.”
She reached for a sweet roll and nibbled on it halfheartedly. Braiton poured her a cup of tea, and she drained the cup, the warmth of the liquid comforting as it slipped down her throat. After breakfast, they joined the others on the mansion’s front lawn. She mounted her horse sidesaddle, which was not the way she would like to ride but did so for appearance sake.
Braiton checked the strength and circumference of the horse’s legs below the knee. “In this way I can size up the weight a horse is expected to carry,” he explained. Giving the horse’s rump a gentle slap, he smiled up at her. “This one has good bones, my lady. You should have no trouble keeping the fox at bay.”
Her horse broke into a gallop, and she sighed, still feeling sorry for the fox’s fate. Because she despised killing an animal just for sport, she had a harder time mustering the excitement felt by the others.
Joleena pulled up beside her and brought her horse to a slow walk. Raven did the same so they could talk. The other woman’s hat sprouted a silly looking feather atop the derby she wore and a ruffled blouse, the collar appearing tight. She eyed Raven’s riding habit. “You look quite fashionable, my lady, even if you appear uncomfortable.”
She straightened her spine, and forced a smile, thinking the same about Joleena’s outfit. “I am fine, thank you.”
Joleena allowed the men to pass. “Shall we take a wee bit of a rest?”
“Why, we’ve only just begun.”
Joleena shrugged. “I thought perhaps we’d have a bit of time to get to know each other better. ’Twill be quite all right,” she added. “We can catch up to the men in ample time, I know a shortcut.”
She nodded and followed Joleena to a shaded patch of trees.
“They will jump over hedgerow and ditch,” Joleena complained. “The scent of the fox will be caught by one of the hounds, and then lost again. And so goes it throughout the day.” She halted her horse beside a tree and climbed down. “Finally after a long afternoon of such foolery, the fox will be at long last brought to bay.”
She dismounted her horse as well. “You do not sound like you like this sport.”
“’Tis because I don’t,” Joleena sulked, plopping down beneath the tree. “But ’tis better than sitting around an empty mansion, bored to tears.”
Joleena reminded her of the china dolls she saw in the shop windows during her trips to town. They were pretty to look at, all dressed in their finery, but could only be admired from a shelf. A child could not really enjoy playing with such a doll, because it was too fragile. As a toy, it had no real purpose.
She summed up Joleena’s life to be somewhat the same. The woman was always expected
to appear a perfect and proper lady. Riding sidesaddle in tons of clothing was not really riding, and forced to listen to idle gossip while sipping tea, was not really fun. Talking about a gown recently purchased or arranging your curls in different ways for an evening guest was not really challenging.
She sat beside Joleena. “Does Ireland ever get warm enough to swim or bathe in the river?”
Joleena’s eyes widened. “Saints preserve us, one does not bathe in the river, and a lady never swims.”
She slipped off her gloves and set them aside. “Why not?”
Joleena gasped. “Because she’d be perceived as permissive.”
She arched a brow. “Who would think this of a woman who only wanted to swim?”
“Why, everyone, or anyone that mattered,” Joleena added. “Certainly no gentleman would seek her company.”
“I think any man who judged a woman’s virtue by such a thing, would not be worth the bother.”
Joleena stood. “Things are different in Ireland than on the wild plains of your country, my lady.”
She sighed. “So I have been told.”
“Then ’tis best you begin to remember, learn to act accordingly so you don’t bring shame upon your husband’s good name.” Joleena hurried to her horse. “Enjoy the rest of the hunt, my lady,” she called over her shoulder and rode away.
Angry with herself for allowing Joleena to lead her away from the others, she stood with clenched fists and kicked her gloves aside. How will I ever find the rest of the hunting party now? She took a calming breath and scanned her surroundings. The early morning fog clouded most of her observation and she frowned.
“Which way should I go,” she mumbled. Then, as if her father stood behind her, she heard his words…“Just follow the holos.”
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