by Kit Morgan
Mary let her head fall against the pillow and groaned again. “Oh, why did I have to fall in love with a man I can’t have?” She turned to her side. “And can’t have me.”
Mary closed her eyes, curled into a ball, and did her best to fall asleep.
Three days later …
“You’re doing fine, boy!” Mr. Freeman called to him.
Patrick didn’t dare take his eyes off the man he was fighting. Though it was a practice match he had to keep his wits about him. He couldn’t let himself be distracted by anything. Including thoughts of Mary O’Brien. The squire offered him an unimaginable incentive. The money he’d make just stepping into the ring was attractive enough. But the added bonus offered was too good to pass up. So, here he was, training for a fight he probably wasn’t going to win and might come out injured in the process. But wouldn’t it be worth having it all? “All” in this case consisted of the squire releasing Mary to him. Her contract with him made null and void. Her debt paid by the squire himself. How much money the squire was going to make off the match he had no idea. But it had to be a tidy sum. Why else would he be willing to release his indentured servant to him, so he could marry her?
Patrick took a punch to the jaw and reeled back. He blocked the next blow, a right hook
he then countered with a left.
“Watch it, boy!” Mr. Freeman shouted. “You only have one chance at this. I’ll have you up to scratch!”
His head cleared of thoughts of Mary O’Brien, Patrick took his opponent out in short order. Afterwards Mr. Freeman looked him over. “Not bad, but I’ll have to get you more men to practice with. In fact, I better line up several more than what I already have.” He looked Patrick over a second time. “Cromwell was right. You are good. No matter what happens after your fight with the Bruiser, I want you to think about coming back to New York with me.“
Patrick shook his head. “No, that wasn’t part of the squire’s offer. I’ll be a married man after this fight. I don’t think my wife will want me to go to New York.”
“You’re not married yet, boy. And if you win, everyone will want you to fight. Think of the money …”
“The prize money is nice, Mr. Freeman. But I can think of something nicer. Fighting until I can fight no more is not what I have planned for my life.”
“Ah, yes, an innkeeper’s life is what you want. Mr. Cromwell told me about it.”
“Aye, and a fine life it will be, too.”
Mr. Freeman shook his head. “If that’s what you want, I can’t argue with it. Sometimes I wish I’d have become a solicitor or the owner of a general store …”
“But you like what you do,“ Patrick interjected. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“I do. Very much. Though the traveling and training schedules along with everything else that goes with the job doesn’t attract a woman into a man’s life.”
“Do ye regret it?” Patrick asked, curious.
He nodded. “Sometimes. I envy your youth, Mr. Mulligan. If you want to be an innkeeper after this, then by all means, do.”
“I want to be something more than that,” Patrick said with a smile.
Mr. Freeman’s brows shot up. “Which is?”
“A husband,” he said with a wink. He turned and went to a water bucket sitting on a chair. He splashed water on his face, gingerly touched his jaw and moved it experimentally. He’d have to take a lot worse hits from the Bruiser and was going to have to make sure he was ready for them. He turned back to Mr. Freeman. “Bring in the next man. I need to go a few more rounds.”
“Right away!” Mr. Freeman said. He put two fingers between his teeth and gave a loud whistle. “Send the next one in!”
Mary dusted the furniture in the parlor, the dining room, the squire’s study, the drawing room, and a room no one used. Apparently it had belonged to his late wife and was her private drawing room. He insisted it be kept clean, nothing moved or changed.
“I’ve finished the dusting downstairs,” she told Mrs. Wallace as she entered the kitchen. “I can start upstairs now if ye like.”
“For Heaven’s sake, dear, sit down and take a break. You’ve been working harder than a plow horse these last few days. What’s gotten into you? I’ve never heard of a servant asking for extra work.”
Mary plopped into the nearest chair and shrugged. “I like to keep busy.”
“And you weren’t busy enough before? Does this have anything to do with Patrick?”
Mary let out a long sigh.
“I thought so,” Mrs. Wallace said with a nod. “So, what’s between you?”
Mary shook her head and picked at a fingernail. “Nothing.”
Mrs. Wallace laughed. “On the contrary, dear, I’d say there was plenty. But you won’t admit it.”
Mary rubbed her eyes with her hands. She was already tired. Good. “I’ve told ye, there’s nothing between Patrick Mulligan and I. We have no understanding. We never will.”
“Ha! You say that now, but what about later?”
Mary lowered her hands. “Mrs. Wallace, why do ye insist? There can be nothing between Patrick Mulligan and me. Not for seven years anyway.”
Mrs. Mulligan shook her head. “I didn’t think you’d give up so easy.”
“What?”
“You’re giving up. Why?”
Mary raised her hands in a helpless gesture. “Because there’s nothing either of us can do!”
“Except wait. And in the meantime you get to know the lad better. Much better. As soon as your contract is up the two of you marry. That’s simple enough, isn’t it?”
Mary stared at her a moment. A tiny flicker of hope sprang up, but she didn’t dare let it turn into a flame. “Ye speak of the impossible.”
“I speak of love,” Mrs. Wallace said as she crossed her arms and leaned against the counter. “I’ll share something with you, dear. I’ve been in love with that blustering windbag for years.” She pointed at the kitchen door that led to the dining room. “More than seven. That is the length of your contract isn’t it?”
“Yes, but…”
“If I can wait for ten years, then you can wait for seven,” she countered.
Mary stared at her in shock. “Ye’ve been in love with the squire for ten years?”
Mrs. Wallace threw her hands in the air. “That’s what I said, isn’t it? Have you gone deaf?”
“No, Mrs. Wallace, but I do think I’ve gone daft.”
Mrs. Wallace shook her head in dismay, went to Mary and gave her a hug. “You silly thing, love is staring you in the face and you don’t know what to do with it. If it’s true love, dear, then it’s worth waiting for.”
Mary stepped away, a hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. She shook her head, moved her hand away and turned to the counter. “But Mrs. Wallace, will he wait that long?”
“That I can’t say, dear. I’m still waiting on the squire, but I have no doubt that he loves me.”
Mary spun to her. “Enough to marry ye? Then why hasn’t he?”
Mrs. Wallace shrugged. “He has his reasons. But, he’s starting to… how should I say? Crack?”
Mary laughed as a tear streamed down her cheek. “I saw him kiss ye.”
Mrs. Wallace wiped at her own tears. “Yes, I know.”
“Ye do?”
“Well the way that windbag blows all over a room, how could you not be curious?”
Mary smiled. “Aye, yer shouting did draw my attention. By the time I looked…”
“Well, I had to shut him up somehow.”
“Ye kissed him?” she asked in shock.
“What’s wrong with that? Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
Mary, a hand to her chest, backed against the counter. “Mrs. Wallace!”
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. It’s not as if I kissed him the first time. No, the first time he kissed me was last year. I think he’s scared.”
“To marry ye? But why? Is it his social standing?”
“Oh, heav
ens no, that has nothing to do with it.”
Mary stood, perplexed. “Then why doesn‘t he marry ye?”
“Because then he’ll have to admit that I rule the house, not him!” Mrs. Wallace said with a laugh. “I’ve run this place for years and everyone knows it.” She winked at Mary, went to the stove, and stirred the stew she was making for the squire’s dinner. “Mark my words, dear. You tell that young Patrick Mulligan you’re in love with him and watch what happens.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t!”
Mrs. Wallace glanced over one shoulder. “For Heaven’s sake, why not? It’s not as if he doesn’t already know.”
“Because… well, I’m not sure I am in love with him.”
Mrs. Wallace laughed. More of a cackle really. “Oh, my dear sweet girl, that’s the biggest lie I have ever heard. Of course you’re in love with him. You’re doing everything in your power to keep from thinking about him. Why else would you be asking for all the extra work?”
Mary’s shoulders slumped. She was right. There was no use denying it. “Aye, that’s what I’ve been doing.”
Mrs. Wallace banged the spoon on pot then set it down. “I have to go to market in a few days. I’ll tell the squire you have to come with me. I’ll come up with some excuse why I need you. While the squire and I are having lunch at The Rose and Thorn, you can see your young man.”
Mary blushed head to toe at the thought. She hadn’t seen Patrick in days. “But will he want to see me?”
“Don’t worry about that now. And if for whatever reason he doesn’t return your love, well then. Would staying here in the employ of the squire and me be so bad?”
“Ye mean ye’d keep me on?”
“Of course we would, my dear. You needn’t worry about a thing.”
Mary’s hands flew to her mouth to stifle a sob. “Thank you, Mrs. Wallace! Thank you so much!”
Mrs. Wallace pulled her into her arms once more. “Don’t thank me yet, dear. I have a feeling that after your contract with the squire is up, you won’t be living here any longer.”
Mary, her eyes shut tight against her tears, smiled. “Aye, I hope not!”
Chapter 11
A few days later …
Mary was jolted back and forth as she sat in the back of the squire’s wagon. Mrs. Wallace sat on the wagon seat beside the squire and chatted quietly with him. Mary couldn’t hear what they were saying over the jangle of harness and rumbling of wheels, but judging from their tone, their words were full of mutual affection.
She sighed as she took in the countryside as the wagon rumbled along. Where would she and Patrick live, she wondered, in the back of the brewery? What if he hadn’t saved enough money to purchase his inn by the time they were married? What if seven years wasn’t time enough to save up enough to purchase or build what he wanted?
By the time they got to the village, Mary found it hard to think. Little wonder now that she wasn’t fighting her heart anymore. If she were wise, she’d continue to do so. She didn’t know where Patrick’s own heart stood. True, she could tell he held some affection for her, but if her heart was way ahead of his own, then what should she do? She couldn’t very well let her heart go. What if he broke it?
“Here’s the list,” Mrs. Wallace said after the squire helped them down. She handed it to her. “Tell each merchant the squire will come by later to pay for his purchases. Then we’ll get it loaded onto the wagon. In the meantime, the squire and I are going into The Rose and Thorn.”
Mary nodded, her eyes darting to the inn and back. The brewery was behind it. Mrs. Wallace followed her gaze and smiled.
“The last thing on the list is two more barrels of Mr. Mulligan’s finest ale.” She smiled again as she turned away. “Take your time, dear, getting that last item.”
Mary’s stomach fluttered even as her heart sank. This was it. Today was the day she’d find out how Patrick felt about her. Mrs. Wallace was right. Best she find out now.
She hurried to the first merchant, gave him the squire’s instructions and list of items and then moved on to the next. It took well over an hour, and she feared the squire and Mrs. Wallace would be through eating by now. When she returned to The Rose and Thorn, there was no sight of them near the wagon. They were still inside. Good.
She blew out a sigh and headed for the back. She walked past the stables, wrinkled her nose at the smell, and continued on to the brewery. When she got there Patrick was loading a large barrel onto a wagon. “Mr. Mulligan?”
He turned and looked at her, a huge smile on his face. “Mary!”
She smiled back. “Yer happy to see me then?”
“Am I?” He quickly closed the distance between them, his eyes locked on hers. “I’ve been wanting to talk to ye for days but have been too busy to come to the manor house.”
She gasped. “Ye mean ye’d come to the manor house just to speak with me?”
“Of course, why not?”
“Because it’s just not done, that’s why.“ She noticed a bruise on the right side of his face. “What happened to ye?”
He reached up and touched the spot, obviously knowing what she was talking about. “That’s what I want to tell ye about. Something wonderful has happened!”
“It has?” She said, curious. “What then?”
He put his hands on her shoulders and steered her away from the wagon. “Come inside and I’ll tell ye.” He glanced around. “The squire is in The Rose and Thorn?”
“Aye, he and Mrs. Wallace. They’re having lunch.”
“Fine, I’ll share mine with ye.”
Before she could say another word, he took her by the arm and led her into the brewery. They went to the small desk where he offered her the only chair. “All right, Patrick Mulligan. What is this all about?”
He sat on the desk as she took the chair. He gave her a huge smile. “I’ve got the money.”
She blinked at him a few times. “What money?”
“The money for my inn,” he said happily.
Now she gawked. “You… what? But how?”
He folded his hands in front of him and shrugged. “Oh, never mind how. In another week I’ll have the money in hand. I’ve a mind to leave Mr. Cromwell’s employee and buy an inn east of Shelburne. Come to think of it, I should look at what might be available a day’s ride out of Boston. Aye, that would make a dandy location.”
Mary stood. “Patrick Mulligan, what are ye talking about?”
“I’m talking about buying an inn.” He leaned toward her. “Our inn.”
“That’s well and good, but why would ye want one near Boston? That’s so far from here? I’d never…” She looked away. She didn’t want to say the words. I’d never see you.
“Didn’t ye hear what I said, woman?” He laughed, bent at the waist, then put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “I said our inn.”
She blinked, shook her head, let her mouth fall open. None of which helped to get any words out.
Patrick laughed again. “Don’t ye understand? I’m going to marry ye!”
If she hadn’t been sitting down, she’d have fallen flat on her face. “Yer… what?” She put a hand to her temple. She felt faint. Had she heard him right?
“Aye, Mary O’Brien,” he said and pulled her out of the chair. “Yer going to be my wife and we’re going to own the grandest inn in Massachusetts!”
She weaved back-and-forth as if drunk. “Marry ye?”
“Oh, yes, I forgot!” Patrick got down on one knee.
Mary gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. Was he doing what she thought he was?
“Mary Brigit O’Brien,” he said as he pried her hands from her mouth and took them in his. “Ye’d did make me the happiest man in the world if ye’d consent to be my wife.”
Mary’s legs gave out and she fell into the chair behind her. Patrick was on his feet quick as lightning to keep her from falling out of it.
“I’ve shocked ye,” he said, stating the obvious. “I’m so
rry, but I couldn’t hold it in any longer.”
She stared at him, mouth agape, and said nothing. She was too shocked at his proposal. Her mind reeling, she tried to put together everything she’d heard. “Yer buying an inn … ye want to marry me … and move to Boston?”
“No, no,” he said with a smile and pulled her to her feet. He wrapped an arm around her, causing her head to tilt back. “Ye silly woman, first and foremost I want to marry ye.”
“Ye do?” She squeaked. “Well, I suppose that answers that question.”
“What question?” He asked as his face bent towards hers.
She swallowed hard. “Of whether or not ye feel anything for me, ye daft man.”
“Daft, am I?” he said with a laugh.
“Aye, but then I’m a daft woman, so I suppose we’re even.”
He held her close in a fierce hug. “Ah, Mary, I’ve waited so long for this.”
“Have ye now?” she mumbled into his chest.
“Oh, sorry,” he said and gently pushed them apart. “I felt something for ye the first time I saw ye, Mary. I can only hope and pray that ye feel the same. Mrs. Wallace seems to think ye do.”
“Mrs. Wallace? Have ye been talking to her about me?”
“Not specifically, but she has dropped a hint or two. I think if she’d had her way, I’d have kissed ye days ago.”
She arched a single eyebrow at him and swallowed hard. “Well then, why don’t ye kiss me now?”
He gave her a gentle smile as his eyes locked on hers. “Aye, lassie, I think I will.” He lowered his face and their lips met. It was heaven, it was bold, and it was also her first kiss. Mary didn’t want it to end.
When he broke the kiss, he put his fingers in her hair, loosening it from its pins. One of them dropped to the floor with a little ping. “Say yes, Mary. Say yes and make me the happiest man in the world.”
She took a few deep breaths, trying to compose herself. Her legs were shaking and she wasn’t sure if she’d stay standing up. “Well then, Mr. Mulligan, after that kiss I suppose I’ll have to marry ye. Or rather, ye’ll have to marry me.”