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

by Heidi Ashworth

  “I am persuaded that is the case. Do tell Miss O’Sullivan all about it first, and when Mr. Doherty and I have finished, you may show us about. And then perhaps Master Christopher should like to sing for us.”

  Both lads found favor with this plan, and soon they and Fiona were occupied on the far side of the room from the pianoforte.

  “You are very good with them,” Mr. Doherty observed. “We must begin immediately, however. You have seen for yourself how quickly circumstances change when those two are about.”

  Caroline laughed merrily. “Never say so! They are merely being the lads that they are. But, do let us select a song,” she added as they moved to the rosewood Canterbury that overflowed with sheet music. “I have not had a moment to see for myself, though I would be very surprised if we hadn’t a choice of any number of pieces by Thomas Moore.”

  “We must be particular when it comes to Moore,” Mr. Doherty advised. “Many of his songs are laments having to do with the English oppression of the Irish. I daresay those would not be well received by the baron’s guests.”

  Caroline felt her eyes grow wide. “I had not considered. Well, then, it shall have to be,” she mused as she shuffled through the music, “this one!”

  Mr. Doherty took the sheet of music from her hand and smiled. “’Believe Me If All Those Endearing Young Charms.’ Yes, ’tis a lovely one, no? But who is to play for us?”

  “Oh!” Caroline felt her fame burn with chagrin. “I had not thought of it. Do you not play?”

  He shook his head. “I fear not well enough to do you credit.”

  “Well, when the time comes we shall simply have to ask one of the guests to play for us. I am persuaded someone shall. In the meantime, we shall do without,” Caroline said as she sat at the pianoforte. “Perhaps you might give us the proper note before we begin.”

  Mr. Doherty sat on a stool next to hers and put his finger to the sheet of music, his shoulder brushing against hers. “That is where we ought to start, unless that is too high for you.”

  “No, not at all,” she said a little breathlessly. Surely she had brushed against a man before; though, she owned, not one so young and handsome. “Now that we have our note, might it be best if we move to the window? The quality of the light is far superior.”

  “Certainly,” he said as he stood.

  She was pleased when he held out his hand to assist her in rising, but was astonished that the touch of his bare fingers on her own renewed the breathlessness she had been at pains to avoid. “Well, then!” she said, removing her hand from his as they took their places by the window. “Let us take a few deep breaths and begin.”

  By the second note of the song, Caroline knew their voices were indeed an excellent match. As the perfectly harmonized notes soared into the air, her entire being filled with joy. When they drew near to the end of the lyrics, she found herself mourning the fact that Mr. Moore hadn’t written several more verses to this particular song.

  “Is that the end already?” Mr. Doherty said, as if he had divined her thoughts. “It is far too beautiful to be over so soon.”

  “I was more than a little astonished myself,” Caroline agreed. “Let us sing it through again.”

  “I fail to comprehend,” Fiona offered from her place on the sofa, “how your performance could possibly be improved upon.”

  “You are very kind, Miss O’Sullivan. I agree that Miss Fulton has no need of further practice, but I thought my voice rather rough in a place or two.”

  “Indeed, no!” Caroline glanced into Mr. Doherty’s beautiful, fey eyes and renewed her encouragements. “I heard no lacks whatsoever.”

  “I thank you. Nevertheless, I wish to sing it at least once more prior to singing it for the baron’s guests.” He gazed at her intently for a moment before he turned away to address the lads. “But first, Master Charles must give us a lesson on the music room and Master Christopher shall have the opportunity to sing as well.”

  Charles immediately left Fiona’s side. “Miss Fulton, do come see the antique instruments that are kept in the far cabinet.”

  “And then,” Christopher piped up from his place on the brocade sofa next to Fiona, “I shall sing my song.”

  Caroline enjoyed the ensuing tour of the music room, and Christopher’s performance was charming in spite of Mr. Doherty’s rudimentary skills at the pianoforte. To her delight, Christopher sang the very song she had overheard the other day.

  “Bravo,” she said with a sound clap of her hands. “I am so pleased to have learned all of the words. Who has written them and what is it called?” she asked with a look for Mr. Doherty.

  “’My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose’ by Robert Burns,” he said with a faint smile. “I heard many of his tunes performed whilst I was in Scotland. There is one that I thought lovelier than this by far, however.” He went to the music cabinet and rustled through the sheets. “Ah, here it is: ‘Ae Fond Kiss and Then We Sever.’”

  “Sever?” Caroline asked with a tiny shudder. “It sounds rather violent.”

  “Ah, ’tis nothing to the violence of his love. Here, I shall play as best I can so as to give you the tune.” He sat again at the pianoforte and placed his fingers on the keys.

  “I suppose I have been given no choice,” she said for the benefit of a disapproving Fiona. Taking her seat next to Mr. Doherty, she joined him again in song. This time the brush of his shoulder against hers was not in the least distracting. Rather, it seemed a fitting intimacy alongside such tender lyrics. It was not a difficult song, but her voice wavered, particularly when the words spoke so keenly of her particular predicament: Had we never loved sae kindly, Had we never loved sae blindly, Never met—or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

  When his fingers paused on the keys, her gaze was caught in his before she could think to turn away. Naught was spoken, yet so much revealed in the depths of his startling blue-gray eyes that her cheeks grew hot and her breath shortened. She knew that he longed to kiss her. As she listened to the tempo of her pounding heart, she realized that she longed for it, too.

  When a gentle cough sounded from the direction of the sofa, Caroline forced herself to think. “Oh, what a lovely tune!” she said with a bright smile designed to hide her discomposure. “Now, I do believe our time is up, Mr. Doherty. I should tell you that a Mr. Wilkinson has arrived to take your place at table.” She stood and looked down at her skirt, brushing away imaginary wrinkles in the folds of her gown. “I shall not fail to insist that a message be sent as to when Lady Bissell expects you to appear tonight. I so much look forward to our song.”

  There was a short silence before Fiona spoke in reply. “Do give Mr. Doherty your attention, Caro.”

  Widening her smile, she looked at him to find that he gazed up at her with an expression of mild distress. “What is it?” she asked in alarm.

  “Oh, ’tis nothing. Only, the young masters are growing restless, and, as you have said, our time is up. I should prefer to delay our performance until tomorrow night. I shall feel more at ease after we have gone through it again. Tomorrow morning perhaps?”

  The twinkle in Mr. Doherty’s eye was unmistakable, but Caroline dared not acknowledge it without making it known to Fiona. “I am sorry,” she said around a difficult-to-subdue grin. “I did not think. Of course we should wait until we have a better command of the song. I shall speak to Lady Bissell when next we meet and let her know that we shall require the music room again tomorrow morning.”

  “Very good,” he said as he stood and gave her a bow. Before he raised his head, however, he lifted his gaze to her; both of his eyes twinkling now, as something of mischief playing about his lips. By the time he had straightened to his full height, he looked his usual self.

  “Masters Charles and Christopher, we must return to the schoolroom. Mathematics and science await.”

  “I do not wish to study mathematics,” Master Christopher whined.

  “Come now, lads,” Mr. Doherty said briskly.
“You shall give the ladies a disgust of your manners. Whatever shall they think of you?”

  “You should not think less of me,” Christopher said plaintively, his gaze turned up into Fiona’s face, “if I never learned mathematics, would you?”

  “I could not say,” Fiona said uncertainly.

  “Come along,” Mr. Doherty said, his hand outstretched. “Perhaps we shall have our walk now and return to mathematics after luncheon.”

  “Oh, yes!” Christopher cried. “Let’s do! And Miss Fiona shall join us, shall she not?”

  Fiona’s expression flickered between regret and delight until, finally, she turned to Caroline. “I confess, I believe I should enjoy it. Shall it suit you, Caro?”

  “Ah, ’tis flattered by the young rogue, you are, Miss O’Sullivan,” Mr. Doherty suggested. “We would never disdain your company, or that of yours, Miss Fulton,” he added with a slight bow in Caroline’s direction, “but you mustn’t be giving in to his demands.”

  “Yes, Miss O’Sullivan,” Caroline said, perfectly aware that her voice shook with suppressed laughter. “You mustn’t spoil the dear creature.”

  By this time the brothers both gazed up at the adults in mute appeal, whilst Mr. Doherty looked equal parts vexed and resigned.

  “Let us walk with you as far as the front garden,” Caroline suggested, in hopes it would satisfy all assembled. “If we were to stay out longer, Miss O’Sullivan and I must first go to our rooms to fetch our gloves and bonnets.” She didn’t wait for an answer and, putting her arms on the shoulders of the boys, she ushered them through the door of the music room.

  Niall pondered his good fortune as he followed the lads and Miss O’Sullivan from the room, with Miss Fulton at his side. A few more moments with her, even as far as the garden, were most welcome. In light of the arrival of Mr. Wilkinson, Niall wondered how he would arrange to meet her once they had sung for the baron’s guests.

  “There you are, my darlings!” Lady Bissell cried as she hastened forth from the other end of the passage. “Come, I must give you each a kiss before you return to your lessons.”

  “But we are not returning to the school room,” Charles said, his expression solemn.

  “Oh my, I do hope there has been no tragedy,” Lady Bissell soothed. “Have you a pet to bury or some such?”

  “We have merely decided to exchange our afternoon walk for an earlier one,” Niall explained. “They had a delightful time showing the ladies about the music room and are not quite ready to be shut up for the morning.”

  “We had thought today was a holiday,” Christopher said with an overblown sigh.

  “What he meant to say,” Charles corrected, his nose in the air, “is that we believed we were to join the house party.”

  “My poor lads,” Lady Bissell cried as she gathered them to her side. With a penetrating look for Niall, she added, “I suppose your brother would not object if you were to have a holiday. Perhaps we might even arrange some activities with the ladies and gentlemen if they are agreeable.”

  “We are more than agreeable,” Miss O’Sullivan offered.

  “It all sounds quite promising,” Miss Fulton said, a portent of laughter in her voice. “Might we be of some use?”

  “Why, yes,” Lady Bissell said gratefully. “Perhaps you might take the lads to the stables and inquire as to what can be brought out for a race; a pair of ponies or perhaps traps.”

  “What about jaunting cars?” Miss Fulton suggested. “I should think it quite amusing to watch an Englishman attempt to tool one.”

  “Just the thing!” Lady Bissell said, her eyes wide with anticipation. “You all go along, and I shall encourage the other guests to join us in the drive.”

  She hurried away whilst the lads each took Fiona by the hand and drew her on ahead. This left Niall free to escort Miss Fulton again on his arm as they made their way out of the house and on towards the stables.

  She seemed content to be at his side, gazing up at the blue sky before turning to smile at him. “Of what I am about to accuse you does not reflect well on Miss O’Sullivan,” Miss Fulton warned, her serious demeanor clearly feigned.

  “Does it not? Perhaps you ought to remain silent,” he said as he attempted to suppress a smile and failed.

  “Nor on you,” she said, a smile breaking out on her face, as well.

  “In that case,” he replied, “I am persuaded you should keep your own counsel.”

  “Indeed, I shall not,” she said with a laugh. “However, I shall give you the opportunity to defend yourself if you swear never to divulge to Miss O’Sullivan that you have bribed those boys to gush over her.”

  “I most vehemently deny such palaver.” He spoke sternly, but suspected his broadening smile belied his tone.

  “There is naught you can say to prove your innocence,” Caroline teased. “You need only but observe.”

  They watched as the boys tugged Fiona farther and farther ahead until, finally, there was no hope that Miss Fulton remained deceived.

  “If you needs must have the truth,” Niall confessed, “they required little encouragement.”

  “I shall interpret that to mean that it was offered,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

  “I hope they are no bother to her.”

  “She seems to genuinely adore them,” Miss Fulton replied.

  “Those miscreants?” Niall asked in surprise.

  “If you had ever met any of her nieces and nephews, you would then have met a miscreant or two,” Miss Fulton said lightly. “Besides which, I am persuaded that Masters Charles and Christopher have developed a tendre for her.”

  “She is certainly worthy of genuine affection,” he said, perhaps too warmly. He found, however, that he rather enjoyed the notion of a jealous Miss Fulton. “That red hair shines like none I’ve ever seen, and those eyes! Well, who would have thought that all the green of every field in Ireland could be contained in a single pair?”

  “Oh, I thoroughly agree,” Miss Fulton said ardently. “I greatly fear that she shall any moment succumb to the charms of Mr. Wilkinson of London and Wiltshire. I suppose I shall never lay eyes on her again.”

  “What charms are these?” he asked indifferently, despite the spark of apprehension her words induced.

  “Oh, where to begin,” she mused as she put a well-shaped finger to her well-shaped chin. “He is tall, very tall, indeed. And his clothes are exquisite, such as I have never before seen. Most compelling about him is his hair, which is thick and very pale.”

  “Ah, then he is elderly,” Niall concluded in secret relief.

  “Not at all. ’Tis why it is so compelling, I suppose.”

  Niall told himself that it was pointless to be envious of the untitled Mr. Wilkinson. “Sure, it is the baron who is growing old, is it not?”

  Miss Fulton flashed him an uncertain look. “If I did not know better, I would be tempted to believe you wish to discourage me from an attachment to the baron.”

  “Is that not what you are plotting, then?”

  Miss Fulton sighed. “’Tis a plot, to be sure, though not of my making. And yet, if I am to stay close to my father, I must go along with it. Which brings to mind something I must say to you,” she added in a voice that trembled ever so slightly.

  “If it is of a private nature, then we had best come to a halt; I see Miss O’Sullivan and the lads just ahead.”

  In unison, they stopped and turned towards one another. She even allowed him to take her hands in his.

  “Mr. Doherty, after we have sung our song,” she began, but was interrupted by the cries of the lads.

  “Miss Caro!” they called in unison as they ran back the way they had come, Miss O’Sullivan following at a more sedate pace.

  Quickly, Niall let go her hands as they turned to face the coming fracas.

  “We have found another treasure!” Charles said excitedly as he arrived at their side, gasping for air.

  “Do let us see it,” Niall said, hold
ing out his hand.

  “I wish to give it to Miss Caro,” Charles explained.

  “Very well then,” Niall said, pleased.

  “Yes, indeed,” Miss Fulton said as she took something from between Charles’ fingers to inspect it. “It looks to be a stone of some kind.”

  “We think it must be a pearl! Christopher shouted.

  “Surely, not!” Miss O’Sullivan gasped as she joined the group.

  “’Tis round and it appears to be white under all this mud,” Caroline remarked with wonder.

  “May I?” Niall once again held out his hand, and Miss Fulton dropped the treasure into his palm.

  “Is it a pearl, Mr. Doherty?” Charles implored.

  “I am not thoroughly convinced,” Niall said as he held it up to the light. “We shall have a better look at it under your microscope once we return to the school room.”

  “Very well,” Charles said as Niall pocketed the small, round object. Christopher looked as if he might object, but Niall gave him a warning look, one that produced the desired effect.

  “Very good, lads,” Niall praised them. “Now, I must go to the stables. Why don’t you all go on ahead to the paddock and see which of the horses is running about.”

  Charles and Christopher dashed off, and Miss O’Sullivan followed, calling to them to slow down. Miss Fulton moved away at a more gradual pace, as if she were reluctant to leave his side.

  “Would you like to come with me?” he asked as he took her hand. It felt soft and small and all the sweeter when she did not draw it from his grasp. “You may be first to choose a jaunting car.”

  “Yes, indeed,” she said, “I should like it above all things.”

  Surprised that she had agreed, he searched her face. To his chagrin, his gaze fell at once to her bow-shaped mouth. Consumed with the longing to take her lips with his until her luminescent smile should become his own, he forced himself to think of other things.

  “Lord Bissell is a great one for the jaunting cars,” he said as he led her into the stables.

  “Perhaps it is best if I did not have first choice of the cars,” Miss Fulton suggested as they made their way to where the cars reposed. “Shan’t Lord Bissell wish to?”