Gracelin O'Malley

by Ann Moore

  There were three fireplaces on the first floor—in the kitchen, the dining room, and the great room—and four more upstairs. The upstairs flooring was pine with a single long carpet running the length of the hallway. There were six rooms total: three bedrooms, a study, a nursery with a small grate and stovepipe, and next to that, atop a short flight of steps, a door that Bram did not open, referring to the room as “unused.” A longer flight of stairs at the end of the hall led to the attic. A peek into the bedrooms showed her that they were complete with ample bedding, wardrobes, mirrors, dressing tables, and washstands. It was all so grand and Grace was thankful that she’d been to Dublin first, so that the shock of this did not render her stupid. The study was at the head of the stairs, across from which was clearly Bram’s bedroom, so Grace was surprised when he led her back down the hall to the room across from the nursery.

  “This will be yours.” He opened the door to the largest room, which was clean and shining, ready to welcome her.

  She turned to him in amazement. “Are we not to be sharing the same room, then?” she asked.

  “Whatever for?” he teased. “Ladies and gentlemen need separate quarters for dressing and retiring.”

  “But …” She bit her lip, unsure how to ask the next question.

  He waited, enjoying her discomfort, then led her into the room and closed the door. “I’ll come to you at night,” he said quietly. “After you’ve performed whatever magic you ladies do before retiring. I may spend the night.” He glanced at the bed. “Or I may return to my own room in order that we might both reap the benefits of an undisturbed night’s sleep.”

  “Oh.” Grace felt very small.

  “Your dresses have been delivered.” He nodded to the open wardrobe and the garments that hung inside. “And your trunk is ready to unpack.” A slight frown took the light out of his eyes. “You won’t require a maid, will you?”

  “A maid?” Grace thought of the prim and proper ladies’ maids she’d seen following their mistresses in and out of shops around Dublin.

  His frown deepened. “To help with all this,” he said. “Your wardrobe and personal tasks. We’ve had them here before, though I’ve never cared for it myself. Little busybodies. Always in the way of … things.”

  Grace was no more fond of the idea of a maid in her life than was her husband. “I can dress myself, you know,” she said quickly. “Haven’t I been doing that all my life?”

  His frown disappeared. “Quite right! There’s the spirit!” he said approvingly. “No need to have a maid around. Brigid can lend a hand when you need it.”

  Grace moved quickly into his arms, kissing his neck. “I’m so happy, Bram. I just want to make you happy, as well.”

  He dropped his mouth to her hair, hands running down her back and up her sides. “You have,” he whispered, kissing her gently, then with greater urgency, arms tightening around her until, finally, he lifted her off the ground. They kissed like that until Brigid came down the hall, clearing her throat and knocking politely at the door.

  “Yes, Brigid,” he said hoarsely, lowering Grace back to her feet. “What is it?”

  “It’s Missus O’Flaherty come to pay her respects to the new bride,” she said evenly. “Shall I say she’s not fit to be seen?”

  Grace’s eyes widened, but Bram shushed her.

  “Tell her Missus Donnelly will be down in a minute, Brigid.”

  They looked at each other as the sound of Brigid’s shoes slapped on the stairs. They heard her voice drift up from the entry.

  “Well?” Bram stepped away from her. “What are you waiting for?”

  Grace bit her lip. “Shall I go as I am or do I change?”

  Annoyance flitted across his face. “Have you never received callers?”

  “Aye,” she said. “Nearly every day! I set them down near the fire for a cup of tea and slice of bread, and we talk a bit about the neighbors and such.”

  He tried to maintain his frown, but amusement won out. “Well, it’s not so different really,” he said. “Brigid will see her into the drawing room and ‘set her by the fire.’ You’ll come in, make her acquaintance, and offer her tea and cakes from the tray Brigid will bring.”

  “All right, then.” Grace raised her chin with determination. “I can do that.”

  “Neaten your hair and wear that shawl around your shoulders, that should do. Say your wardrobe has just arrived and you’ve not yet unpacked. Pour out the tea, and make polite conversation. Not about the neighbors, however, as you’ve not yet met anyone of any standing. And certainly you know not to discuss our private life.” He went to the door.

  “And where will you be?” she asked, alarmed.

  He smiled. “You’re on your own, Missus Donnelly. This is your debut. I’ll be out riding my lands like a good squire. Best of luck!” He gave her a mock salute, then hurried downstairs, pausing only to greet Missus O’Flaherty and ask after her husband before taking leave of the house.

  Grace stood before the mirror, smoothing her hair and pinching color into her cheeks, although they already glowed with good health. She settled the lace scarf over her shoulders, then slowly descended the stairs.

  “Missus O’Flaherty,” she said warmly, coming into the great room. “I do hope Brigid has made you comfortable after your long ride. Tea shall arrive momentarily.” She had to turn away and pretend to adjust an arrangement of flowers to hide her amusement at the oh-so-proper sound of her own voice.

  Missus O’Flaherty perched on the edge of the divan, the long peacock plume in her hat swishing over her head. “Oh, yes. I’m quite comfortable, thank you. I didn’t want to impose, Missus Donnelly, but wished to greet you right away and welcome you to the neighborhood.” She made no attempt at discretion, but took stock of Grace quite frankly while she talked, eyeing the expensive shawl, new dress, and sophisticated hairstyle. “You look well after the rigors of travel.”

  “You’re very kind.” Grace seated herself on the divan opposite her guest. “My husband and I are so pleased to be home.”

  “Such a beautiful city, Dublin.” Missus O’Flaherty spoke longingly. “We keep a house there for the season, but Mister O’Flaherty prefers the pleasures of country living.”

  “Cairn Manor is said to be a beautiful estate,” Grace complimented.

  Missus O’Flaherty smiled weakly. “Indeed it is, but one does miss the uplifting society of sophisticated people. There is so little amusement here for our son when he is home from university, and, of course, no suitable callers for the girls. Not anymore,” she added pointedly.

  Grace did not know what Missus O’Flaherty meant by this, and fought the urge to bite her lip.

  “My daughters could not recall having made your acquaintance, but that cannot be so, as surely you have met one another? Eleanor, my younger daughter, is quite stately in her manner and an accomplished pianist. She is always asked to play at gatherings. Brenda is two years older and has the most lovely skin and elegant head, if I do say so myself. She and your husband were quite good friends at one time. They had many interests in common, and shared a love of fine horses, attending many shows together. Chaperoned, of course.”

  Grace shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting Miss Eleanor nor Miss Brenda.”

  Missus O’Flaherty appeared puzzled, her fingers fluttered about her chest. “No? But do your people not come from this part of the country?”

  Grace weighed her answer. “Yes, but I lived a quiet life.”

  “Kept under wraps, were you?” The old bird tittered. “Where exactly were you raised, Missus Donnelly?”

  “I come from the next valley through the back wood and before the Black Hill. Near the river.”

  “And your father?”

  Grace hesitated only a moment. “Still lives there, of course.”

  Missus O’Flaherty forced a little laugh. “Of course. You’re very charming.” She paused, eyeing Grace’s brooch, the fine bones of her cheeks. “I mean
, who is your father?”

  “Patrick O’Malley.”

  There was a rattle of silver and Brigid entered with a large tea tray.

  “Thank you, Brigid,” Grace said, relieved, and stood to clear a small table near the fire.

  “Patrick O’Malley.” Missus O’Flaherty had ignored Brigid and was working on an appearance of confusion. “Patrick O’Malley. The name is not familiar to me. Though O’Malley is common enough in these counties. What is your father’s occupation, did you say?”

  “He is a farming man.” Grace settled the delicate china cups and saucers, and checked the pot under its cozy.

  “Oh, my. Ah, yes.” Missus O’Flaherty seemed to have become clear to herself. “I do remember someone saying that Bram had found himself a farm girl. But, I must confess, I thought they meant someone to do the milking!” She tittered again behind her hand, endlessly amused. “Oh, my, you must forgive my innocence, dear girl.… I’m quite unused to this progressive notion of one marrying whomever one wishes.” She collected herself and leaned forward with big eyes. “Well. You must tell me all about how you and Bram came to this … arrangement. You must be a very clever girl indeed to have captured him so completely away from us!”

  Grace poured out the tea, though her hands shook and her face was flushed. “How do you take yours, Missus O’Flaherty? Milk and sugar?” She raised her head and caught the look of naked disdain on the older woman’s face. “Or do you, perhaps, prefer a wee drop of Uisage batha for your health?” she added, the words out before she could stop them. “They say it’s the only thing to sweeten soured milk.”

  Missus O’Flaherty’s mouth clamped shut and her eyes narrowed. She rose to her full height, tossing her head so that the feather trembled violently.

  “I cannot stay,” she clipped, pulling on her gloves with a series of short tugs. “You seem to have misunderstood my intentions, dear girl. I merely wished to help you get started on the right foot—so very important if one is going to acquire friends of any standing …” She shrugged. “And, of course, if one has any aspirations for one’s children.”

  Grace’s heart rose up into her mouth and froze there. She had made a promise to her husband and broken it in the same day.

  “Missus O’Flaherty,” she stammered, her speech losing the unaccustomed formality in her race to undo the damage. “Please forgive the stupidity of a young country girl. I confess my wits are all scattered after the wedding, the excitement of Dublin town, and now this grand home that I’ve taken hold of only today. I’m shamed to be caught unprepared, so new I am to all this, and knowing only what we offer guests at home. And yourself such a fine and respected lady of the community. Can you not find it in your heart to forgive me this one time, God willing, as I have no mother to teach me such things and could only benefit from coming under the wing of one such as yourself?”

  Missus O’Flaherty relaxed slightly, reinstated as she was upon her pedestal. “Well, my dear, I would not be a Christian if I could not forgive the slights borne upon me. A woman of my standing invites envy, and I am used to the frantic desires of others to rise above or pull me down.” She smiled sympathetically. “I do feel for you. There is so much one must learn when one is not born to one’s position.” She reached out and patted Grace’s hand. “I could teach you many things and you are wise to look to me for advice. But not today. Another time for tea, perhaps, and you and Mister Donnelly must come to dinner at Cairn House when you’ve settled in here.”

  “You’re very kind,” Grace said meekly. “Thank you so very much.”

  Missus O’Flaherty leaned in conspiratorily. “I’ve known your husband since he first came over from London and I’m sure I can help you with him. He is an aristocrat, you know, and they can be very demanding.”

  Grace glanced at Brigid, who was turfing up the fire and pretending not to hear a thing. “I’d be grateful,” she said, putting out her hand, then letting it drop to her side when it was not taken. “Thank you for calling, Missus O’Flaherty, and a safe journey home.”

  She watched until the trap was brought and the woman had ridden nearly out of sight down the avenue in front of the house.

  “Of all the nerve,” Brigid muttered, coming up behind her. “There’s trouble for you there, Missus, so watch out for it.”

  “She’s right about one thing, though, Brigid.” Grace shut the door. “I’ve a lot to learn if I’m going to get on here.”

  “Aye.” Brigid carried the tray to the kitchen, setting it down on the wide plank table. Grace sat down in front of it and nibbled from the plate of cakes, then poured a cup of tea for herself and one for Brigid.

  “If you don’t mind my saying so, Missus, you shouldn’t be sitting in the kitchen having tea with your housekeeper.” She paused and listened for a moment. “Leastways, not when the Squire’s due home anytime.”

  “Oh.” Grace stood quickly. Then she sat again, her cheeks burning red. “But is this not my house, as well? Am I not allowed to keep company with those around me?”

  “No,” Brigid said shortly. “This is Squire Donnelly’s house and no woman he brought home to it was ever allowed to forget that. I’ll not be saying more on the subject, you being a new bride and all, but take it to heart—he may have wanted a country girl to bear his children, but he wants a lady to run his home. And it is his home.”

  Grace nodded slowly, no offense taken.

  “Not that the old hen didn’t deserve it,” Brigid chuckled. “But it’s bound to get back to the Master, and he’s not going to be pleased. Everyone knows Missus O’Flaherty has a nose for the whiskey, and everyone knows not to say a word.”

  Grace’s mouth fell open.

  “Watch what you say to these people, Missus. It’s all cat and mouse, if you ask me. Best run along upstairs now, and hang up your pretty new dresses.”

  Grace rose mechanically and went to her room, sitting by the window and watching as afternoon turned to night and still Bram did not return. She was undressed and in bed when she heard the sound of his horse come up the gravel drive. Moments later, he appeared in the doorway of their room.

  “Offering the neighbor ladies whiskey in the afternoon is no way to begin your life here,” he said firmly.

  “I’m sorry, Bram.” She pulled the sheets up around her. “It was childish. I’ll not give in to it again.”

  Suddenly, he laughed and collapsed into the chair by the window. “I’d’ve paid good money to see her face, the old warhorse. I’ll bet the carriage wasn’t halfway down the drive before she’d pulled on that flask she keeps buried in her handbag.” He pulled off his boots, coming in stocking feet to sit on the edge of the bed. “Watch your step, though, little wife,” he added, picking up her hand. “I’ll not be made a laughingstock.”

  Grace gasped. “Never! Oh, Bram! Can you not forgive me?”

  “This time only,” he said, his eyes taking in her loosened, glistening hair and flushed cheeks. He leaned over and kissed her. “I’ll let you make it up to me.”

  She smiled at him without blushing, another first in her short married life.

  She awoke in the pale to the clear, strong call of the larks, urging the others to join them for morning song. Next to her, Bram breathed heavily, still deeply asleep, his body warmly pressed against her own. She was glad he had stayed, glad he’d not left their bed for his own. She touched the hair on his arm gently to make sure this wasn’t a dream, that she was here in this grand house with this grand man, and that she was surely carrying the child for whom he longed. She closed her eyes and pictured the life stretched out before her, the bumps in the road nothing at all compared to the length of it, and for this she gave fervent thanks to God.

  Five

  GRACE’S presence lingered on in her old home, her voice whispered in the corner and laughed in the yard, her scent clung to the bedding, her shawl hung waiting on the peg by the door—everyone missed her terribly, though none would admit it to the others.

  Ryan announc
ed that he and Aghna would marry come summer’s end, and it was to celebrate this good news that Grace visited at last. She’d come alone, explaining that she couldn’t stay long, as she was needed at the manor house. Granna was surprised at how quickly Grace’s appearance had changed. And it was more than just the lovely dress and hairstyle; this was an older girl than the one who’d left them six weeks ago—it was in her voice and the way she carried herself. It had taken half an hour of Sean’s teasing to loosen her up and bring out the old spark in her eye; she’d rewarded him with an account of the grand library at Trinity College and her opinion that not one of the students there was half as bright as her own brother. The words spilled out then and their Grace emerged in the eagerness of her tales of travel and the sights of Dublin, the restaurants, theater, concerts, shops, museums, and all the different people. She brought out her presents for them, which they received shyly. Granna only held the shawl gingerly, feeling its luxury between rough fingers, until Grace shook it out and draped it around her shoulders. The warmth was immediate and she settled back into it with a sigh. Sean tried on his sweater, wrestling his crooked arm through the sleeve, and pronounced it a perfect fit. Ryan kissed her cheek gruffly, but smiled with pleasure at the wedding vest and shirt, and Patrick was visibly moved when she put in his hand the silver pocket watch.