O'er The River Liffey (Power of the Matchmaker)

by Heidi Ashworth

  He looked about the room and saw that a great number of the women did appear to be shocked. “I beg your pardon,” he began, but was interrupted by Miss Fulton.

  “Do you think so, Lady Bissell? Perhaps your guests are simply unaccustomed to Queen Maeve. The stories of her are among the best-loved tales in Ireland.”

  There was another short silence before one of the English ladies looked up from her cards to venture a remark. “She sounds a most remarkable woman, though I should have preferred a story about fairies or brownies or some such.”

  “Brownies are not the fodder of Irish tales,” Niall explained. “Nevertheless, I know more than a few stories of those canny mischief-makers from my travels in Scotland.”

  “Pray tell us of the brownies,” urged another lady, and another, until they were all in agreement.

  “I should be delighted,” Niall said as he risked a glance at Miss Fulton from beneath his lashes. She was smiling, and leaning forward in her seat with an eagerness that nearly took his breath away. When he had finished the tale, another was requested, and another until his voice grew hoarse. Once the men joined them, Miss Fulton asked for more tales of Maeve, which were met with vast appreciation by all assembled. In short, it was the happiest night of his adult life.

  And yet, when the hour grew late and he had returned to his room, he felt his dissatisfaction to be profound. Since he had come to Oak View, he found himself almost entirely confined to the school room and his airless quarters in a house so grand that in the beginning he had often lost his bearings. From the moment lessons began directly after breakfast until the lads were turned over to their nursery maid for their evening meal, Niall often had sole charge of Charles and Christopher. He had only the time between dinner and when he blew out the candle each night to himself.

  Even those sacred moments were sacrificed once per fortnight when Miss Deakin had an afternoon and evening off, leaving Niall to sit in the nursery to watch over the lads. He only left the house in company with his charges, save on his own rare days off which he spent walking into town or reading in his room. Dublin was more than a few days journey away. As such, the bridge o’er the River Liffey seemed farther away than ever.

  These thoughts consumed him as he removed the former baron’s suit of clothes, washed at the basin, and got into bed. He watched as the candle on the nightstand sent light flickering to and fro on the ceiling. For the first time since he had come to Oak View, he was in no hurry to blow it out and escape into sleep. Instead, he linked his fingers behind his head and reflected on Miss Caroline Fulton. She put him in mind of the dance of light and shadow above, the revealed and the unknown, the spark of hope and the darkness of despair.

  Forcefully he reminded himself that he was but a penniless tutor, and young ladies like Miss Fulton were meant for a life of luxury such as that afforded at Oak View. He was privy to very little of the gossip that circulated amongst the servants, but he knew that the baron was in search of a wife. Niall also knew that the Irish tenants of Oak View had long ago been run off by Lord Bissell’s purely English ancestors, who had no pressing need for their rents or the patience for the lack of them. Generations of lavish living had depleted the family coffers, and the new baron was in search of an heiress to save him from financial ruin. Doubtless Miss Fulton was only too willing to oblige.

  No, Miss Fulton was not for the likes of Niall Doherty. He was naught but a tutor, who needed his sleep if he were to tend to his duties on the morrow. With a sigh, he blew out the candle, but sleep did not find him.

  Caroline woke early the next morning with an ache in her stomach that owed nothing to hunger. As she rolled over onto her back, the dread in her center demanded all of her attention. It was an extraordinary sensation, one she could not recall having ever before felt.

  And then it came to her: she was expected to marry the baron. It wasn’t simply that he was too old and too English; her dread had more to do with a certainty that marrying Lord Bissell would be an error of grave repercussions, not only for her but for others. Why her choice of husband should be of consequence to any but herself was a mystery beyond her power to interpret. The ache in her middle only deepened with the effort.

  It had been her intention to lie abed only until a girl entered and took the chill from the room with a suitable fire. However, the maid’s query as to whether or not Caroline had anyone to assist her in dressing prompted a desire to burrow even deeper into the downy layers. Once the girl had gone, Caroline rose and readied herself as far as she could without help. Then she threw a cloak over her shoulders to disguise the fact that she had not yet been laced into either her gown or her stays and scurried down the passage to Fiona’s room.

  “My darling!” Fiona cried upon opening the door. “Come in quickly before you are seen!”

  “You needn’t create such a pother, Fiona,” Caroline whispered without knowing why.

  Fiona looked down, suddenly contrite. “I do beg your pardon. It’s only that I have come to realize that we are not entirely unexceptionable.”

  “To whom?” Caroline demanded.

  Fiona took her friend by the hands and looked up. “Did you not hear what the young woman in that shocking gown was saying last night?”

  “No,” Caroline said, perplexed.

  “Never mind. Doubtless it will all blow over,” Fiona said with an air of frustration. “Come about and allow me to fasten you up,” she said, forestalling the posing of further queries.

  The discomfort caused by Fiona’s actions was merely a pinch compared to Caroline’s increasing apprehension. “Will you not tell me what was said?”

  “I shall not, so do not ask.” Fiona drew the gown up over Caroline’s shoulders with a jerk and began to tie the tapes at the back.

  “Whatever it is, my dear, it is clear you are troubled. Though, I confess I cannot perceive what anyone might have to say against you.” A sudden realization occurred to her. “It quite simply cannot be because we are Irish!”

  The tapes tied, Caroline turned to discover that Fiona’s face had become crimson.

  “It would seem that we Irish are too unrestrained for the English,” Fiona confessed.

  “’Tis sure that we are,” Caroline said with an indulgent smile. “However, that should come as no surprise. The English are far too humdrum. What else?”

  Fiona looked down at her hands. “I do not wish to say. It would reflect poorly on your papa.”

  “Now, you mustn’t be bothered about that,” Caroline said with a wave of her hand. “You can’t have forgotten our little chat about Papa before we set out. He does not come from wealth and is only tolerated by society because, despite his lack of illustrious ancestry, he is quite rich.”

  “Yes,” Fiona said slowly. “That is part of it. If it were only that, I should take no notice. In my mind, the blame belongs to your father alone. However, that woman is determined to drag you into it.”

  Caroline refused to allow her smile to slip away. “Whatever can you mean, Fiona? Surely we shall not allow the tittle-tattle of others to impinge on our good natures.”

  Fiona went to the dressing table and fidgeted with the various jars and pots. “Of course, we shall not. In which case, what does it matter what was said?”

  “Very well, then,” Caroline said kindly. “You know better than I what should be said and what should not. Now, let us finish with our toilettes and make our way downstairs for breakfast.”

  Their reception in the breakfast room was mixed. There were a few guests who presented a friendly face, as well as those who looked as if they had been caught telling tales.

  “Good morning,” Lord Bissell said, rising to his feet, as did the other gentlemen in the room.

  “Good morning to you,” Caroline said, even as she noticed how most of the assemblage kept their eyes fastened to their plates. She looked about for the young man with the otherworldly eyes, but he was nowhere to be seen.

  “We were wondering when we should see you,”
Lady Bissell said with a faint smile. “I trust that you slept well. Do take up your plates and help yourselves to whatever you wish at the sideboard.”

  “Thank you, Lady Bissell,” Caroline said, and proceeded to pick up her plate. It lay directly across the table from the young lady who had worn the shocking gown the night prior. Caroline received a withering glance in return for her daring, and it was all she could do to refrain from laughing aloud.

  Fiona took up a plate as well, and the two of them went to the sideboard at the far end of the room. The sheer enormity of it afforded them some privacy whilst they filled their plates.

  “You can see how ill-disposed that woman is, can you not, Caro?”

  “Is it the Chorleys’ daughter, Lady Anne, to whom you refer?” Caroline asked. “I believe she need only become better acquainted with us.”

  “She knows us well enough, Caro, and she does not intend to waste a moment on such wretched subjects unless it is to make of us objects of fun and gossip.”

  “Well, then,” Caroline said with a bright smile, “we needs must improve her opinion of us.”

  They returned to the table but the moment they sat, Lady Anne took up her plate and rose to find a seat next to Lord Bissell.

  Caroline felt as if she had been slapped. She refused, however, to allow anyone to know it. She had no wish to add to what must be a great deal of apprehension on the parts of her host and hostess. “What a lovely view this window affords!” It was the very one previously blocked by Lady Anne. “I believe I shall take my watercolor box out into the garden to paint directly after breakfast. That is unless you have plans for us, Lady Bissell.”

  “Not at all,” their hostess replied with a wave of her bejeweled fingers. “Our guests are at their leisure for most of the day, are they not Lord Bissell.” It was not a question. “Please do avail yourselves of all the delights that Oak View has to offer. There shall be time spent together in the evening.”

  “Splendid!” Caroline turned to Fiona. “Do let’s take a stroll to determine the best prospect for a landscape painting.”

  “I cannot think of a lovelier way to spend the morning,” Fiona replied.

  “Then, it is settled,” Lady Bissell said. “I shall have Mrs. Walsh pack up some food, and you may have your luncheon al fresco.”

  “You are very kind,” Fiona replied.

  Caroline squeezed her friend’s hand under the table. She knew what it cost Fiona to be so polite after Lady Anne’s rudeness.

  “I am afraid that I have no one to keep me company but my mother and father, and they are most dreadfully dull,” Lady Anne said with a pout.

  Caroline felt that there was never a more flattering frown, though it was difficult to imagine Lady Anne anything but perfectly lovely. Her hair was a rich, lustrous dark brown, as were her eyes. Her skin was so smooth and creamy that it fairly glowed from her forehead all the way down to the tops of her shoulders. This had been made all too apparent the night previous, so sparsely had the neckline of her evening gown been cut. Caroline suspected it would require more than a sour disposition to render Lady Anne unremarkable.

  “We should be happy for you to join us,” Caroline offered.

  Lady Anne behaved as if she had not heard. Turning away, she laid her hand on Lord Bissell’s arm. “I am persuaded it shall rain today, are you not? I should very much enjoy a look at the house. Surely you are not too busy to escort your guest about the premises.”

  Lord Bissell gave her an apologetic smile. “Plans have been made, already, for a shooting party; men only. They are my guests, too,” he said as he nodded at the men seated at the table.

  “All save Miss O’Sullivan,” Lady Anne said in a whisper meant for all to overhear. “I do believe it boorish of Miss Fulton to have allowed the creature to tether herself to those who have been intentionally invited.”

  “Lady Anne,” Lady Bissell said a bit shrilly, “I should be delighted to escort you about the house. It is truly a beautiful edifice. Now, why don’t you go to your chamber and rest before we begin? There promises to be a great deal of walking.”

  Lady Anne knew when she had been bested. “Thank you, Lady Bissell.” She stood and made her way from the room with enviable grace.

  Once she had gone, Lady Bissell gave Caroline a conciliatory smile. “Your father sent us word that Miss O’Sullivan was to accompany you to Oak View. His letter arrived only just before you did.”

  “Oh!” Caroline felt the blood drain from her face. “I believe my father has been rather indecorous. You are very kind to overlook it, Lady Bissell.”

  She smiled in response, but the atmosphere was strained. She and Fiona were only too glad to escape to their rooms to retrieve everything needed for their outing. By the time they returned to the front hall, Carter, the butler, waited for them with a basket of comestibles.

  “Well!” Caroline said as she looked inside the basket. “At least we shall not starve.” With a determined smile, she led the way through the door and out into the garden.

  Niall foretold disaster the moment the lads appeared in the front hall, dressed in anticipation of their daily, after-luncheon walk. Somehow young Charles had possessed himself of his butterfly net, an article that had been stowed at the back of a high cabinet in the nursery. To obtain it, he would have been required to engage in a plethora of dangerous antics, the very thought of which brought Niall out into a cold sweat.

  “Master Charles, you know very well that you are not allowed to fetch items from that particular cupboard,” Niall said sternly.

  “Yes, I do,” Charles said matter-of-factly. “If I were to ask you to fetch it for me, I should never see it again.”

  “And there is a perfectly good reason for that,” Niall said as pleasantly as he could manage. “If you might be counted on to waft it through the air in pursuit of winged insects rather than drag it through the grass, the water, and wherever else suits your fancy, I would have no need to hide it in the cabinet.”

  “Why mustn’t Charles use it to catch frogs if he wishes?” Christopher asked, his expression quizzical.

  Niall lowered himself into a crouch so as to look into Christopher’s face. “To begin with, it collects filth in the net. What moth or butterfly should wish to find itself caught in such a smelly apparatus?”

  “I should think the butterflies would enjoy it. I know I would!” Christopher said with an abundance of enthusiasm.

  “Perhaps, but your mama does not wish to have such a wet, dirty contraption in the house,” Niall explained for what must have been the hundredth time. “If you insist on treating it so distastefully, we shall be forced to leave it on the dung heap before we go inside.”

  Neither boy verbally acquiesced. Rather, they surged forward with a clatter of boots against the polished marble floor. This prompted the butler to spring forward to open the door before its pristine surface was sullied by a pair of wet noses.

  Niall stood with a sigh. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Carter. I hope to have better management of them as the days and weeks go by.”

  “You can hardly have less,” Mr. Carter observed. “But, lads being what they are...”

  “I suppose you are correct,” Niall said with a perfunctory smile. It seemed that he had offered nothing but lifeless grimaces since he had come to Oak View. Dispirited, he followed the lads down the drive and onto the path towards the copse of trees that grew alongside the stream. They would doubtless use the net to catch frogs, as well as snails and fish, and Niall knew he would allow it. Their habitual walk was the most pleasant portion of his day, one he refused spoilt over a matter so paltry.

  As Christopher and Charles scampered along the path ahead of him, Niall found himself beginning to relax. He looked up into the brilliant blue sky and noted the softness of the breeze against his face. The water chortled merrily between its banks and the mingled aroma of the flowers alongside the stream was intoxicating.

  And then it happened: the cries and the shrieks. Niall broke int
o a run. “Master Christopher? Master Charles! Are you hurt?” He made his way down the bank to the stream and arrived to behold not his young charges, but Miss O’Sullivan and Miss Fulton, her pink face framed in golden curls under her bonnet. The ladies were disposed on a large rock behind a stand of trees, their bare feet splashing in the water. In point of fact, they were attempting to make one another as wet as possible. If he judged based on how damp were the skirts of their gowns, they were succeeding equally.

  Heart hammering as it had the night previous, Niall reversed his direction in hopes he had not been detected. He had just managed to devise the means to a stealthy retreat when he heard Miss Fulton call his name.

  “Is that Mr. Doherty?”

  “Pray, take no notice of me,” he called over his shoulder. “I am looking for the young masters. Perhaps you have seen them?”

  “We have seen none but you.”

  He thought she meant to mock him until he remembered that laughter was ever in her voice. It came to him how blessed any would be to hear such a voice every day, and a genuine smile began to form on his lips. It instantly fled away when his gaze was caught by a slight motion across the stream from where he stood. There huddled Christopher and Charles behind a clump of bushes, barely discernable between the leaves.

  The air seemed to freeze in Niall’s lungs. “Never mind; I do believe I have found them,” he said in a tone he knew the lads would fully comprehend. Before he could find a means of crossing the stream without becoming wet, the lads had scrambled away. To his chagrin, they quickly found a fallen log that took them across the water in the opposite direction of Niall, and directly into the waiting arms of the young ladies.

  “Oh, what sweet lads!” Miss Fulton cried.

  Niall was powerless to avert his gaze any longer. Upon looking, he was powerless to do other than fill his gaze with the object of his admiration. He had yet to behold an unhappy Miss Fulton, but he had never seen her face so effulgent. As the lads buzzed about her, asking questions, inspecting the contents of her basket, and generally doing all in their power to pester and annoy, her face grew incandescent with happiness.