by Connie Mason
“Of course you do,” Katie said compassionately. “We’ll love it because it’s yours.”
“I’ll find you a husband,” Kevin said thoughtfully. “There has to be a good Irishman out there somewhere willing to take you and your child.”
“I don’t want a husband,” Moira insisted.
“You’re not thinking clearly, lass. This is a small village. People here are no more forgiving than the nobility across the Irish Sea. I won’t let you ruin your life. Think of your child if not yourself. He’ll become an outcast. You’ll marry, Moira, and thank me for making life easier for you and the child. I don’t want to see my sister hurt. Will you allow me to find a good man for you?”
Tears gathered in the corners of Moira’s eyes. Jack was lost to her. She didn’t want to marry, but the thought of her child being hurt by cruel gossip made her physically ill.
“I don’t know, Kevin, truly. What man would want a fallen woman? I know you mean well, but I can see no solution to my problem. If you want me to leave, I will.”
“You’re being foolish, lass. This is your home. But you’re wrong about no man wanting you. In fact, I already have a good man in mind. He’d take you, Moira, and willingly.”
Suddenly Katie clapped her hands. “Of course! Paddy! The poor man is beside himself trying to care for his motherless children. Besides, he’s always had a soft spot in his heart for Moira. He never fails to ask about her when we meet.”
“Paddy McGuire,” Moira repeated thoughtfully. “I heard Kayla died recently. What a terrible tragedy. He loved her dearly. I couldn’t saddle him with a child that’s not his.”
“Paddy will think no less of you for it. Granted he’s somewhat older than you, but he’s a wonderful father and a good provider. He’ll be good to you, Moira, trust me in this.”
“I…This is something that demands further thought,” Moira said. “I can’t just jump into marriage.”
“You don’t have a lot of time, dear,” Katie reminded her.
“I don’t know, I just don’t know.” Moira sobbed as she turned and fled.
“I didn’t mean to upset her,” Kevin said sheepishly. “Surely Moira knows I’d never do anything to hurt her. I wish I could get my hands on the man who put her in this predicament.”
“Moira loves the man, Kevin. I don’t know what happened between them, but she says he wanted to marry her. She’s the one who refused him.”
“He took advantage of her,” Kevin said tightly. “I should have never let her leave home.”
“You couldn’t have stopped her. Give her time; she’ll come around.”
“Moira needs Paddy and Paddy needs Moira. As much as I hate interfering in my sister’s life, I’m going to take the initiative and speak with Paddy.”
Alone in her room, Kevin’s words pierced the fog of Moira’s despair. She knew how narrow-minded the villagers could be and what their prejudice would do to her child. He’d be called a bastard and ridiculed. Seeing her child treated as an outcast would destroy her. Moira drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Why must an innocent child pay for something that wasn’t his fault? Moira didn’t want to marry Paddy, but did she have a choice?
Two days later, Paddy McGuire came calling. Handsome in a rough kind of way, his dark eyes held nothing but kindness and respect for Moira. His voice was gentle despite his great size, and Moira thought his shyness rather endearing. Paddy wasn’t Jack—no one could ever take his place—but something in his demeanor persuaded Moira that he’d never treat her or her child unkindly.
The first time Paddy came calling he stayed only a short while, spending scant time alone with Moira. But over the next week, Katie and Kevin saw fit to leave them alone for longer periods of time. By the end of the week, Paddy had mustered enough courage to speak frankly to Moira.
Hat in hand, he stood before her, a gentle giant almost too shy to speak his piece. “Would you care to go for a walk, lass? ’Tis a fine night.”
More than a little apprehensive, Moira nodded agreement. “Just let me get my wrap.”
The night was indeed fine, Moira thought as she and Paddy walked through the fields. After an interminable silence, Paddy said, “I know about your babe, Moira. Kevin told me. You need a husband and I need a wife. I promise to be a good husband if you’ll promise to take care of my children. Kayla’s death was a shock to all of us, ’twas so unexpected. I can’t cope with two motherless children. I need you as surely as you need me. We’ve known one another for years. I remember when you were born. A wee little thing with beautiful eyes. You haven’t changed, Moira. Will you marry me?”
Moira realized that this was probably the longest speech Paddy had ever made, and she was curiously touched. “You’re kind, Paddy, and as good a man as I’ll ever find, but…”
“I know I’m not the father of your babe, but Kevin said there’s no chance he’ll show up to marry you. I don’t think any less of you for…” He gestured helplessly, at a loss for words. “Being in this predicament. God said that he who is without guilt should cast the first stone. I’ll never cast stones at you, lass. Your babe will be treated the same as my own.”
“I know, Paddy. Kevin is right, you truly are a good man. I’ve always known it, just as I know you’ll always love Kayla. It isn’t right to saddle you with another man’s child.”
“Wouldn’t I be saddling you with two children who aren’t yours?” Paddy rebutted. “’Tis the same thing, to my thinking.”
“I need time to think, Paddy. I’ll give you my answer in a day or two.”
Nothing convinced Moira more than Kevin’s absolute certainty that marrying Paddy would be right for both her and Paddy. Since love wasn’t involved, not even considered, she expected no emotional involvement. She refused to think about marital rights, which Paddy would doubtlessly expect. She knew she would have to endure it for her child’s sake no matter how repugnant it was to her. For a brief moment, she entertained the notion of returning to England and becoming Jack’s mistress. But what man would want a mistress large and ungainly with child?
Did Jack even want children? She vaguely recalled him mentioning that he wanted her for the mother of his children, but she didn’t put any faith in words uttered when lust ruled his brain. Men often said things they didn’t mean when thinking with their loins instead of their minds. God, she was confused. Jack had been so angry with her before she left, she could well imagine his rage when he found her gone without a word or message.
The very fact that Jack hadn’t followed her to Ireland proved how little he cared for her. Stealing his money probably hadn’t endeared her to him, but she’d had no choice. He would have forced her to become his mistress had she remained. A man’s pride was his honor, and she had wounded Jack’s pride by refusing to marry him. Perhaps she should have wed him, she reconsidered. That idea died as soon as it was born. She couldn’t bear watching his love wither and die when his friends cut him off and he became an outcast in society.
Two days later, Moira agreed to marry Paddy. Kevin was overjoyed to see his sister’s honor saved, but Katie had reservations. Paddy’s rather sterile kiss sealed the bargain and afterward, recalling that passionless kiss, Moira imagined living out her life in joyless companionship. Of course the children would bring her a certain amount of happiness, but it wasn’t the same as lying in the arms of a man she loved, responding to his caresses with nearly mindless ecstasy.
Jack paced the length of his room and back, his mind sluggish, his legs unsteady beneath him. Lord, how could he have fallen so low? He’d been drunk before, but never had he suffered guilt over his inebriated condition. Spence had lost patience with him, and Pettibone’s staunch disapproval was the bane of his existence. The sorry state of the food Matilda placed before him when he took time to eat hardly passed for civilized fare. Jilly acted as if it were he who had turned Moira out of the house. He’d wanted to marry Moira—didn’t they know that?
To make matters worse, Spence still hadn’t di
scovered the identity of the man pictured in Moira’s locket. Though vaguely familiar, Spence hadn’t come up with a name. Jack couldn’t understand why the man in the locket should be important, but something told him he was.
Planting himself in a wing chair, Jack stared into space, remembering the taste, the scent, the utter joy of possessing Moira. When he was with Moira, he felt so alive, so content and at peace with the world. Then he recalled how she had refused to marry him, and the joy he felt withered inside him. She had hurt him deeply, and he had retaliated by demanding that she become his mistress. Unfortunately, Moira had reacted in a manner he’d not expected. He wondered if she’d have left him if she’d known his old devils made him treat her in such a despicable manner. Now it was pride that was keeping him from following her to Ireland.
Hurry.
Jack raised his head and peered bleary-eyed into the dark corners of the room, seeing nothing but hazy shadows. But he didn’t have to see her to know Lady Amelia was about to pay him another visit. He shot to his feet and poured himself a drink from the decanter sitting on the table next to his chair. He raised his glass in salute and said, “Here’s to the Devil, milady.” He drank deeply, nearly gagging at the vile taste. He raised the bottle to inspect the date and found it a very good year. With a curse, he threw the remainder of the brandy into the fire. He watched numbly as the fire flared and Lady Amelia materialized from the center of the flames.
Hurry.
“Go away, damn you! Can’t you see I don’t need you? You’ve brought me nothing but trouble. I was happy until you decided to reform me. I told you it was too late. The Devil’s clutches are too deeply embedded in me.”
He shan’t have you.
Jack gave a bark of laughter. “You’re too late, milady, he’s already claimed me.”
You must go to Moira. She needs you.
“She doesn’t want me. She made that abundantly clear.”
Men are such fools.
“What about pride? Aren’t men allowed their pride?”
Lady Amelia bowed her head, and Jack swore he could see tears flowing down her cheeks. He knew he hadn’t been mistaken when a drop of water splashed on the floor at her feet.
“What in bloody hell do you want from me? Go away, damn it, just go away!”
Lady Amelia pointed a finger at him, saying nothing, merely looking at him with the saddest expression Jack had ever seen. “Moira doesn’t want me. She’s gone. She played me for a fool, milady.”
Your child needs you.
“I have no child,” Jack scoffed. “Perhaps you’ve gotten me confused with some other Graystoke from another generation.”
Your child…Your child…Your child…
Lady Amelia’s words pounded against Jack’s sodden brain until he thought it would burst. Clapping his hands over his ears, he tried to obliterate her words. Instead they grew louder and more insistent. Finally Jack could take no more. Grasping the brandy decanter by the neck, he flung it at the ghost. It passed through her and crashed harmlessly against the wall.
Remember my words. I won’t be back.
“Good riddance,” Jack snapped peevishly. “Find someone else to haunt.”
“Lord Jack, are you all right?” Pettibone burst into the room, a candle held high to light his way, his nightshirt flapping around his bony legs. “I heard a crash, milord.”
Jack glanced toward the fireplace and was relieved to see that Lady Amelia had vanished. “Go back to bed, Pettibone,” Jack said grumpily. “I dropped the decanter. You can clean up in the morning.”
Pettibone glanced at the wall, saw rivulets of liquid trailing down to the floor and knew Jack’s explanation was far too simple. “Very good, milord. Good night, then.” He closed the door quietly behind him, fearing that his young master was losing his sanity.
Jack sat brooding long after Pettibone left, wondering if Lady Amelia would return or if she’d really meant what she’d said. The longer he brooded, the more puzzling her words became. She knew he had no children, so why did she insist his child needed him?
“Damn you,” he muttered plaintively. “What did you mean?”
Lady Amelia chose not to answer. Nor did she reappear.
Suddenly Jack bolted upright in his chair, stone-cold sober for the first time in weeks. Could it be? Was Moira carrying his child? Had she left specifically to deprive him of his child? Rage seethed through him. The anger he felt before was nothing compared to what he felt now. Moira had no right, no right at all to keep something as important as his child from him. She may not want him for a husband, but the law was on his side. He still had the special license. If she was indeed pregnant, he would make her his wife no matter how fiercely she protested.
The following morning, Pettibone found Jack not only up at an ungodly early hour, but he appeared to be sober. “Ah, Pettibone, you’ve arrived in time to pack a bag for me.”
“A bag, milord? Are you going somewhere?”
“To Ireland. Instruct the coachman to ready the coach for a journey to the coast. Young Colin will accompany us. ’Tis faster than taking a packet from London. With any luck, I will be in Kilkenney inside a week.”
Pettibone’s face lit up. “You’re going after Miss Moira? Thank God you’ve finally come to your senses.”
“Aye, Pettibone, I’ve regained my wits. Moira has something of mine, and I want it.”
Pettibone blanched. “If you’re referring to the money she stole, ’twas a paltry sum. Surely you don’t intend pressing charges, do you?”
Jack sent him an oblique look. “Don’t worry, Pettibone. Pressing charges is not my intention, though I can’t promise not to wring her graceful little neck once I get my hands on her. Enough chitchat. Bring my bag down when it’s packed. I’ll leave directly after breakfast.”
Jack’s departure was delayed by the arrival of Spence, who appeared in a high state of excitement. “Going somewhere, Jack? I saw a bag in the foyer. I’m glad I caught you before you left. I have information on the man pictured in Moira’s locket. You’ll never guess who he is.”
Somewhat distracted by Spence’s unexpected appearance, Jack’s attention sharpened when Spence blurted out his news. “Come into the study and tell me what you learned. I’m glad you caught me before I left for Ireland. It could be important or it could mean nothing, but either way, I want to be armed with the knowledge when I confront Moira.”
“You’re going after Moira,” Spence said, more or less resigned to the fact that Jack was head over heels in love with her. Despite his warning, Spence knew Jack intended to flout society and marry Moira. Perhaps the resulting scandal wouldn’t be quite as bad as he assumed it would be, Spence reflected. But if it was, he imagined Black Jack Graystoke would weather the storm in his own inimitable fashion.
“Aye,” Jack admitted, “the moment you tell me what you learned.”
“You’ll never believe it, Jack. I certainly didn’t. The man is highly respected and his name a legend of his time. He was a personal advisor to King George. He retired five years ago due to ill health. He now resides quietly in the country.”
“Sweet Lord, you don’t mean…No, it couldn’t be. Why would Moira carry a picture of the Earl of Pembroke?”
“Aye, ’tis true. Herbert Montgomery, the Earl of Pembroke. The miniature looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. It wasn’t until yesterday that I learned it might be the earl.”
“Then you’re not sure,” Jack said, clearly disappointed.
“Not entirely certain. Only the earl himself can identify the picture. But he was once in the British army and quartered in Ireland.”
“How did you come by the knowledge that it was the Earl of Pembroke’s likeness in Moira’s locket?”
“As a last resort, I showed the likeness to Father. He said he’d seen the very same picture hanging in Lord Herbert’s gallery when he was invited to his country home for the hunt many years ago. He assumed it was Lord Herbert as a young man. So th
ere you have it.”
“You may be right, but I understand none of it. Moira said the locket belonged to her dead grandmother, handed down to Moira by her mother.”
“What do you think it means?” Spence asked curiously.
“Damned if I know. Before I return to England, I’ll have the answer. You’ve been a tremendous help, Spence. I owe you a debt of gratitude.”
“Don’t mention it. I just hope the information helps you in some way. I’m not sure we can ever get Lord Herbert to verify the fact that he is the man in the miniature, for he’s a virtual recluse now. His only son died years ago, and he has no children or grandchildren to inherit the title.”
“I’ll contact you when I return. Moira isn’t going to get away with keeping me in the dark about…” His sentence trailed off, unwilling to disclose information that may or may not be true. But true or not, Moira belonged to him, and willing or not, mistress or wife, she was going to remain his.
Chapter Nineteen
Moira stared at the pounding rain through the tiny window of her room. The day was as bleak as her heart. Bloated clouds turned the sky dark and forbidding. The air was heavy, thick and depressing; the wind was becoming brisker by the minute. The dismal day matched her mood. It was too late for tears, too late for second thoughts. Today was her wedding day.
The quiet ceremony was to take place that morning in the village church, witnessed by her family. It wasn’t a match made in heaven but one of convenience. Moira was certain the whole village knew of the wedding, but not the reason for haste. She hoped they would assume it was because of Paddy’s need for a mother for his children and not because she was swelling with another man’s child.
A timid knock on the door brought Moira out of her reverie and back to the present. “ ’Tis Kevin, lass.”
“Come in.”
“We’ll wait a while longer for the rain to let up before starting for the church,” Kevin said, taking note of her paleness. “Are you all right, lass?”