The duke’s expression tightened. Sighing, Michael headed off the confrontation. “Fiona, you cannot mock those you may need for help. Go blow bubbles at Madeline and have someone pack my bags. O’Connor, write some introductions so I can act swiftly. Seamus, have a horse saddled for me.”
His Irish refugees did not move. Michael could have a marquess and a duke jumping at the snap of his fingers, but this obstreperous lot of miscreants merely glared at him. Now he remembered why he used to disappear without a word to anyone.
“I have my phaeton,” Neville informed him. “If the weather holds, we can take that as far as Manchester. Just pray they haven’t burned the place down before we arrive.”
Seeing his schemes for visiting Blanche go up in flames, Michael prayed for strength. “I must write Blanche. Give me a few minutes.”
Fiona piped up. “I’ll take care of that. You’ll be going on from Manchester, then?” she asked carefully, not mentioning his intended destination.
Michael nodded, regarding her with suspicion but without the time to question her sudden willingness. “I will, if William will do as told.”
O’Connor nodded. “See to your bags, son. I’ll have letters of introduction ready before you leave.”
Narrowing his eyes, Seamus glared at them all and stalked out without a word. When the room cleared of all but the duke, Michael turned his weary gaze on his nemesis. “There’s more?”
Neville nodded grimly. “One of the mill managers has seen Barnaby inciting the radicals. I received this yesterday.” He pulled a folded paper from his pocket and slapped it on the desk.
Michael picked it up using both hands and holding it by the edges. The crudely lettered demand was quite succinct. Put ten thousand pounds at the disposal of the next messenger, or the mills would burn. He let the paper fall.
“I generally don’t kill men,” Michael said calmly. “I think I could make an exception this time. I want guards sent to Dorset, just as a precaution. I’d rather not travel in your company, if you do not mind. I’ll find you when you get there.”
Ignoring the duke’s astonishment, Michael walked out.
When the household searched for him minutes later, he had disappeared without a trace.
* * *
“Lady Blanche will help us,” Fiona argued vehemently. “We cannot wait for them to stop rioters and patch up mills. We must act now. I have no warrant on my head. I can go.”
“You do not know what to look for,” her uncle argued.
“And you do?” she asked impatiently.
“I do,” he said, “and it’s not all that you’re expecting. You don’t know everything yet, young Fiona, so hold your sharp tongue. We’ll ask the Lady Blanche’s help, if we may, otherwise we’ll be all the year finding transport. Seamus may stay here, but I have naught left to lose.”
“I’m not staying here like a tame puppy dog,” Seamus bit out angrily. “I’ll take ship to the Americas and to hell with the lot of ye. I’ll not play cats paw to the rogue while he steals our name and our possessions.”
Fiona rolled her eyes.
“From this day forward,” William said sharply, “he’s the earl, and I’ll not hear more of it. If not for him, you’d be dangling from the gallows tree now. He’s offering you a chance to live on your own lands again. Cannot ye see that he means us no harm? He has a lady wife rich as Croesus. He doesn’t need our poor homes. The bloody title means naught to us but power, and if he wields it in our favor, why should we complain?”
Seamus growled deep in his throat. “I’ll endure the ploy for the sake of the land and people, but I’ll not be stayin’ here any longer,” he warned. “It’s a wonder the damned duke hasn’t sent soldiers after us as it is.”
Fiona grinned. “It’s not as if he knows who we are or cares. Our toplofty duke has bigger things on his mind.”
“And how do you know of him?” Seamus asked suspiciously. “You did not mention hobnobbing with dukes.”
“That’s of no moment. The sooner I reach Lady Blanche, the sooner we can have this done. Do we have enough funds for a coach, or must I walk?”
“We’ll have none of that, lass. The marchioness has a soft heart. I’ll ask for the loan of a carriage.” William eyed Seamus critically. “It comes to mind that you may be of use to your new cousin, lad. It would not do should harm come to Michael before our names are cleared. Can we trust you to find your way to Manchester with a few of your friends? Just having the two of ye there looking alike might throw a bit of confusion into the works.”
Seamus considered it for a moment, then nodded as the idea took root. “I might at that. One of us should keep our eye on him, at least. And Eamon’s at loose ends.”
Both Fiona and William looked alarmed.
Thirty-eight
Blanche looked up with a mixture of hope and alarm as a carriage bowled recklessly up the lane. Now at the beginning of September, the grass had turned gold with lack of rain, and the dirt road billowed with dust. The garish yellow post chaise coated the entire landscape with grit.
Checking to see that Mary still played with the new nursemaid, Blanche straightened her hat, shoved loose tendrils of hair behind her ear, and awkwardly rose from the bench where she sat reading. Her pregnancy gave her no trouble, but she was over-conscious of her size. She wished she had worn a fuller muslin, but she had not expected company. Or Michael. Hope surged at the possibility of her husband’s return.
An unfamiliar man climbed out, offered his assistance to someone inside, and that small hope died. She’d known Michael had his hands full with his Irish rebels and the mills and the miners. One of his painfully scrawled scribbles resided in her pocket at all times, a reminder that he truly had not abandoned her.
“Fiona!” The young woman stepping out of the carriage seemed more mature than Blanche remembered. The stylish gown could explain the change, except Fiona carried herself with a lady’s grace. This young woman even wore a respectable hat with flowers on it. And gloves.
“Lady Blanche!” Fiona hurried across the dry grass, holding out her hands. She caught Blanche’s and almost danced with glee as she eyed the change in Blanche’s shape. “Sure and you’re looking most maternal these days, my lady. It’s no wonder Michael’s after pacing the floor as if he could walk the miles to Dorset away.”
Blanche smiled at the image conjured. “Michael always paces when he cannot act. How lovely you look! I see Dillian’s cooks have fed you well.” She glanced questioningly to the man striding up the lane.
Fiona clasped the older man’s arm. “This is my Uncle William. William O’Connor, Lady Blanche, Michael’s wife.”
Mr. O’Connor made a proper leg and bowed over Blanche’s hand. He had a well-fed, country squire look about him despite the fact that his tweed coat did not match the ill-fitting trousers he wore. But she liked his gentle smile and twinkling eyes, for all they had no resemblance whatsoever to Fiona. She thought she remembered Michael telling her that Fiona’s aunt was the MacDermot, not the uncle. She supposed she ought to wonder that an escaped prisoner wandered England without fear, but proximity to Michael had accustomed her to these things.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, sir. If you have brought Fiona for a visit, I am eternally grateful. I have a dozen questions for you, but let me take you inside for some refreshments. The day is amazingly warm for this time of year.”
“I will admit, refreshments would not go unappreciated. But we cannot tarry long, so do not let us intrude on your activities. We’ve come to beg a favor.”
Blanche nodded. Briskly, she led them toward the cottage, indicating to the nursemaid that she see to the carriage driver. Blanche saw her guests seated in the parlor. “How are Dillian and Gavin?” she asked as if this were just a neighborly visit.
“Working hard, as always,” Fiona replied, her expression tense now that they were out of view of the servants. “Michael asked that we send word. As I said, he’s after climbing the walls to retur
n, but the duke will not give him leave. There’s apparently another to-do at the mills. His Grace arrived in person and dragged him off to Manchester. Michael sends his apologies and his love. Faith, and I believe he looked quite desperate when last we saw him.”
For a moment, the tension eased, and Fiona spoke woman to woman, with curiosity in her voice. “He is not the same man I first met, is he?”
“Michael is a chameleon,” she said in explanation. “He is what he must be when the occasion arises. How is he healing? Has he regained the use of his hands yet? His writing is almost indecipherable, and he never talks of himself.”
“The bandages are off; he healed cleanly. With the scars, he’s after having some difficulty closing his fingers, but mayhap that will change with time.”
After the maid set the tray down and departed, Blanche finally allowed herself to go beyond the pleasantries. “Now will you tell me of this favor you must ask? Is there trouble? Tell me truthfully now. I’m not an invalid.”
With sighs of relief, Fiona and William launched into the story with all its details. Blanche eyed William with suspicion when he stated the reason for his risking life and limb, not to mention his neck, by returning to Ireland. “You would declare Michael Earl of Aberdare?” she asked as they lapsed into silence. “And he has agreed? Would that make me a MacDermot, too?”
Fiona and William exchanged uneasy glances.
Blanche smiled wryly at their reaction. Michael would make her Countess of Aberdare, Lady MacDermot. Neville would have a royal fit and swallow his tongue. An Irish countess in the family. Maybe he’d write her off the family tree.
“Well, never mind about that now. First we must find some way of smuggling Mr. O’Connor into the country. And I have some information here that you might find useful. I’d thought to use it for the benefit of you and your brother, but I can see that this plan might work better. Of course, I’m having difficulty imagining my husband as an earl, but we’ll jump that fence when we come to it. Where is Seamus, by the way? He’s not upset with Michael for claiming the title, is he?”
O’Connor looked uncomfortable and Fiona glanced at her hands rather than meet Blanche’s gaze.
Blanche could see she’d hit the bull’s-eye with that question. Well, it was of little import. She’d married Michael when he had no name. The title was meaningless. What mattered was saving Fiona’s home.
“I think we must have you enter the country as my man of business, Mr. O’Connor. Or perhaps you would prefer to be a solicitor? In either case, we must find you a new suit of clothes. Fiona, you will go as my companion. I think using your real name in the company of your uncle might be dangerous. And you look so much like your brother, that might cast suspicion on us. My companion can dress in a black bonnet and heavy shawls. No one will see you at all. Michael taught me that.”
Looking shocked, her company protested, but Blanche had anticipated that. She carried the child easily. Mary was stronger and might accept a short absence. She saw no reason a little journey by Neville’s yacht should cause any harm. And if she knew Michael, he would go straight from the mills to Ireland.
* * *
A week later, under gray Irish clouds, Blanche winced as the old wooden wagon hit still another stone, then smiled as she covered her rotund belly. Of course Michael’s child would travel well.
Excitedly, Fiona bounced beside her, pointing into the mist rising from the land ahead. “There ’tis! There’s the castle! We’re almost there.”
Blanche poked her with her elbow, and Fiona quieted. Beside them rode two soldiers of his majesty’s dragoons intent on guarding the heiress to a ducal fortune. She wondered if the soldiers also spied on her traveling companions, but so far no one had questioned them. O’Connor made a fine, smooth-talking solicitor, albeit an Irish one. An Irish solicitor would more easily handle the affairs of an Irish earl.
Fiona had played the part of sedate companion as best as her lively spirits allowed. The broad-brimmed bonnet concealed her face. Enveloped in heavy black shawls, her figure did not reveal her youth.
As the wagon drew closer, Blanche admired the castle rising out of the early morning mist. Stone turrets stood proud and high against the backdrop of a gray-blue sky. She could imagine pennants snapping from their peaks in the brisk breeze. Some earl had opened up the arrow slits in the stone walls into gracious windows that overlooked the countryside. She couldn’t think of a more romantic setting for a family like Michael’s.
As they rolled up the lane, she could see how the battlements crumbled where their stones had been hauled away for the foundation of cottages and fences, but the romance stayed. Unlike the yellowing grass and dust she’d left behind, the land here shimmered in the morning dew, gleaming emerald beneath the sun breaking through the mist. Wildflowers ran rampant in the fence rows, and she could imagine paddocks of horses whickering welcome as they approached.
The officer riding beside them approached. “Are you certain this is the place? It looks as if naught occupies the castle but ghosts.”
“There are ghosts aplenty, young man,” O’Connor assured him, whipping the reins for a faster pace. “But the earl kept the interior intact. The library is a monument of his dedication to preserving his family’s memory. The young MacDermots maintained it as best they could.”
“I shouldn’t think the new earl eager to take up a monstrosity like this,” the officer observed wryly. “I do not blame him for remaining in England.”
“He is on his way here as we speak,” Blanche reminded them. “But business detains him. Of course, we do not have proof of his ownership as yet. That’s why we are here. The American branch of the family did not revere family records so much as the Irish branch. I’ve observed this in other Americans. Tradition means little to them, it seems.”
To Blanche’s relief, the soldiers grabbed the topic of Americans in general and carried it until they reached the castle. She did not wish them questioning Michael’s ownership or motives too closely.
O’Connor had disappeared into the bleak interior before the remainder of the party could pick their way over the rocks and through the tangle.
As they entered the cavernous darkness of the foyer, one of the soldiers found a torch and lit it. Fiona could undoubtedly lead them to the library, but as Blanche’s companion, she could not reveal her knowledge of the estate. Besides, Blanche had the feeling that O’Connor had hurried ahead for a reason.
“How fascinating!” she chirped. “We must explore! Sally, you have read all about medieval castles. Which way do you suggest?” With that disingenuous direction, Blanche gave Fiona the reins. If her instincts were correct, Fiona would lead them on a wild goose chase for the rest of the morning.
Blanche, the rebellious, had emerged again.
Thirty-nine
Sitting on a rough chair in the far corner of a dark tavern, a felt cap pulled over his hair, Michael observed all newcomers while burying his nose in a mug of ale. He sipped cautiously, but the taste alone prevented overindulging.
His eyebrows shot up as a slender lad slipped in and blended with the shadows in the opposite corner of the room. Seamus wasn’t half bad. He just damned well shouldn’t be anywhere near here right now. If anyone noticed their resemblance, suspicion would raise its ugly head quick enough.
Of course, at the moment, even the lad hadn’t detected him. So he hadn’t lost all his talent yet. The cap disguised his hair, and the soot-blackened beard disguised his coloring. Seamus probably looked for a haughty fribble in gentleman’s clothes.
Barnaby’s messenger finally dragged in. The man’s narrow-eyed gaze darted all about as he sidled up to the bar and called for a tankard. Michael wondered where Barnaby had gone to find such a scrawny, filthy specimen of humanity, but he supposed if one lived in the gutters, one could find rats.
The weasel on two legs standing at the bar would lead him directly to Barnaby. Michael hadn’t contemplated what he would do with Barnaby yet, but wringing his ne
ck sounded most satisfying. He might be more creative when the time came. Choking him until his eyes bulged out, then dangling him from the roof had appeal.
Michael’s go-between joined the weasel at the bar. When the go-between shoved a sealed note instead of money in the weasel’s direction, Michael prepared for a brawl. He relaxed when Barnaby’s man merely uttered a string of oaths, grabbed the note, and shoved his way toward the door. Taking that as his cue, Michael slipped out the back entrance, down the alley, and with a direction from an urchin stationed on the corner, followed Weasel at a safe distance as he wove his way through the crowded market.
Just as he noted the man’s direction, he was distracted by the sight of a striking golden head in an open carriage rolling through the crowded street.
Michael walked into a fish cart. Stumbling, he caught the cart’s edge, dislodging no more than a trout or two. Flipping the fishmonger a coin, he raced through the throng of chattering housewives and cooks in the direction of the carriage. Finally reaching the carriage on a crowded corner where a dray blocked the intersection, Michael gasped with both dismay and joy. Blanche was here!
Michael elbowed an old woman out of his way and dashed into the street. Hopping onto the driver’s step, he grabbed the carriage side, and lunged into the interior as the horses jerked into movement again.
“Michael!” Blanche screamed, while the woman beside her simply screamed.
With a grin, he dipped his cap and settled into the narrow space at her feet. “I shall cheerfully strangle you, my lady, just as soon as I’ve warmed my weary eyes on your beauty. My God, Blanche, you’ve taken years off my life. What the devil are you doing here?”
He couldn’t stop grinning at her laughing eyes, more blue than the skies today.
“Looking for you, of course. I tired of waiting for you to come home, so I decided to bring home to you.”
Michael rolled his eyes and shoved his hands through his dirty hair. “Now is not the time to prove your intrepidness, my lady. I want you and...” He glanced at the other passenger, and grimaced at discovering Fiona watching him from beneath a gawdawful bonnet. “I want you and your devil maiden to hie yourselves from here as quickly as you can. I haven’t time to round up guards and keep you safe day and night. Go back to Dorset. I’ll find you there as soon as everything is settled.”
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