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

by Heidi Ashworth

  Mr. Doherty sat back in his chair as the spell the story wove dissolved into the air.

  Caroline heaved a sigh of pleasure. “That was a most captivating tale. Why is it, I wonder, that the women of Irish mythology are all so gifted and strong?”

  “Do you?” He searched her face. “I have yet to meet one who was otherwise.”

  Blushing, she looked away; she knew his words for the compliment he intended. “You are speaking of Miss O’Sullivan. Lady Bissell, as well.”

  He said nothing in reply as he leaned forward and possessed himself of Caroline’s hand. “Tell me, Miss Fulton. Once you are the baron’s wife, do you see yourself sitting here, with me in the nursery, listening to stories as you are tonight?”

  “That would most likely be impossible,” she said, tears starting in her eyes.

  “And what of singing by the pianoforte after dinner?” He stroked the back of her hand with this thumb.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.” It was the truth; she could think of little but the tingling of her skin beneath his.

  He brushed his finger along her cheek, and held it up against the light of the fire. Caroline turned away from the sight; she already knew that his finger shone with her tears.

  “I cannot stay,” she said, rising to her feet. “I must go.”

  He rose as well. “Wait,” he said, refusing to release her hand. “I will light a candle in the case the fire in your room has been allowed to die down.”

  “Thank you, but there is no need.” She hurried to the door, but he followed.

  “Miss Fulton, please, I must beg of you a boon.”

  She turned to look at him over her shoulder. The pain in his eyes prompted in her an emotion far deeper than compassion or even pity; she felt faint with the weight of his woe. “Very well,” she whispered, so he would not hear the tears in her voice.

  “I must ask you to meet me; at the brook, early; before breakfast. I shall not beguile from you too much of your time; the lads shall be looking for me directly after breakfast.”

  She could do no such thing, and yet she felt her head bob up and down in agreement. Quickly, before she did aught else she might regret, she opened the door and fled down the passage. She descended the stairs as quietly as she was able, and felt herself safe once she turned into the passageway that led to her room. Leaning against the wall, she waited until her heart regained its former pace and her breathing quieted. To her relief, the wall sconces had been lit since she had gone to the school room and she was soon safe in her own chamber.

  The fire had indeed been stoked whilst she was out, and it burned merrily in the grate. There was nothing left for her to do but burst into tears and throw herself onto the bed. It lurched noisily against the wall, but she knew the other guests would still be in the drawing room and would not be disturbed by her actions. This left her free to cry until she was so spent she could not muster the strength to rise.

  Miserable, she lay still until her head cleared and she could decide what was to be done. She did not wish to marry the baron, of that she was certain. Nor did she wish to hurt her papa. To alienate her dearest friend was a thought most untenable; the danger of adding one whit to Mr. Doherty’s sorrow unbearable.

  And what of her own sorrow if she were parted from him? She had never met anyone she liked as well as Mr. Doherty. He was everything she could wish for in a husband. She attempted to picture herself as she boarded her father’s carriage bound for The Hollows and could not. The very notion filled her with desolation. Too weary to stay awake long enough for Fiona to come and help her undress, Caroline decided to sleep in her gown. It would be more convenient should she slip out early to meet Mr. Doherty, anyhow.

  It was as she waited for sleep to claim her that she heard it: the wail from the direction of the ash trees. Her heart immediately began to hammer, and she lay in fear for what seemed like an eternity. Once she calmed a little, she heard what seemed to her a soft echo of the previous wail. Listening carefully, refusing even to breathe, she thought she could make out a low moaning that went on and on. It seemed somehow less frightening than the screeching, and she was soon overcome by fatigue.

  She woke with the sun, knowing she could not prevent herself from meeting with Mr. Doherty. He deserved the opportunity to speak with her, and with what privacy they could arrange. As she bundled her hair into a bandeau, she found that her fears had somehow vanished. Nothing had been resolved but, somehow, the doubts she had entertained in regard to her father’s and Fiona’s disapproval had melted away.

  The house was very quiet as she slipped down the stairs to the first floor, and down again to the front hall. The footmen had not yet taken up their posts by the door, and she was able to quit the house entirely unseen. The gravel in the drive seemed intolerably loud beneath her feet, and she was glad to make her way onto the grass. As she moved towards the stream, she spared a glance to her left. The row of ash trees that edged the park were still in shadow, whilst the stream on her right sparkled in the rays of the rising sun.

  She endeavored to prepare for whatever it was Mr. Doherty wished to discuss, but her thoughts were continually drawn away by the beauty of the day. The lawn she walked upon felt spongy, and the breeze blew soft against her face. The effect of the sun on her skin tantalized nearly as much as the trilling of the birds. Though she had expected to feel utterly spent, she felt every bit as vibrant as the water that chortled along the stream.

  When the stream became a brook, she moved down the side of the bank to the water’s edge. Though he hadn’t mentioned precisely where he would wait for her, she knew she would find him at the spring. Picking her way carefully among the rocks, she looked up and there he was. The sight transfixed her, just as it had the night she had first seen him.

  He stood with his head bowed, his far hand braced against a tree. His other hung at his side, his long fingers turning over and over an object that flashed in the sun.

  She knew she ought not to spy on him, nor did she wish to deprive him of his privacy by revealing her presence. Unsure of which course to take, she continued to watch as he stared into the water. Suddenly, the tension in his shoulders eased, and he began to speak, too softly for her to discern the words. Then he drew back his hand and tossed the object into the deepest part of the water, just below the well of the shrine.

  He peered again into the water and, seemingly satisfied, leaned back against the tree, his gaze trained on the ground. Just as she was about to go to him, he lifted his gaze and saw her. He became utterly still, as if to draw a single breath might frighten her away, his eyes brilliant under black brows. She realized that he had believed she would not come; that he read some significance into the fact that she was there.

  Suddenly she was overwhelmed with doubts and fears. She had come to Oak View to please her father and, if possible, the baron as well. She had promised her dearest friend that she would not entertain the attentions of the tutor. How could she please them and herself as well? As she and Mr. Doherty gazed at one another, the questions were replaced with one consummate truth: there was nothing she wanted more than to ease the loneliness of the man who stood in wait of her.

  She took a step forward, and he sprang to life. Splashing through the water to meet her, he took her hand and led her to the spring. She leaned on his arm in order to gain her footing along the side of the shrine until, together, they stood at the water’s edge and looked about.

  “I heard it,” he said quietly. “The wailing, after you had gone. Does it frighten you?”

  “Not now,” she said, looking up into his face. “Not when I am with you.”

  He frowned as if her words pained him. “There is something else. Yesterday, when I was in the village, there was talk of a highway robbery. It is said that it happened the night prior.”

  “How dreadful! Was anyone hurt?” she asked in alarm.

  “Shots were fired, but I do not believe anyone was injured.”

  “Then I am glad, b
ut,” she said, pausing to consider her words, “this is why you wished to meet?”

  “I hesitated to speak of it before you retired for the night. The wailing that so frightens you was enough, or so I thought. Have I done wrong?”

  “No, you were right to delay; I was frightened enough as ’twas. Only, I wonder that you did not simply tell me of it later today when we are in the music room.”

  He nodded. “Perhaps I was too anxious on your behalf. Truly, I only wished to warn you as soon as possible. I beg you not to go into the village alone,” he said fervently. “Take an escort, such as your father or one of the baron’s other guests; one in possession of a firearm.”

  “Very well, I shall do as you ask,” she said, crestfallen. “Is there anything else you wished to say?”

  He gave her a terse smile, and she knew he meant to deny the necessity for any further confidence. Then his face fell, and he sagged away from her to lean his shoulder against the tree. He said nothing at first as he reached up to pluck a leaf from the branch above his head. Shredding it between his fingers until only the stem remained, he tossed it into the water beneath the well of the shrine. Together they watched as it was carried away by the current.

  “I suppose you witnessed my offering to St. Brigid,” he said with a pointed gaze at the shrine. “It was the last possession I had of my father’s; the only one not claimed by the debtors.”

  “How precious it must have been to you! I myself wear my mother’s ring every day of my life, though I cannot recall ever having met her.” She held out her hand to display the ring with its row of blue-gray rhinestones.

  “It is lovely. So was my pocket watch,” he said wryly. “It was cased in gold and rather valuable.”

  She strained to catch a glimpse of it shining in the water, but could not. “You must have sunk it very deep.”

  “It is best. Should the brook run dry, the offering will be exposed. If so, the gift I seek will be taken from me or never given in the first place. It is what the old ones believed,” he said with a shrug.

  “You must have requested something singularly remarkable to have taken such care,” she prompted, her heart pounding in anticipation of his reply.

  He opened his mouth then pressed his lips together. “I have not the right,” he said, shaking his head. “And yet, I find that I cannot hold back the words.” He turned to face her, leaning his back against the tree. “There is a notion buried deep within my heart that says you are meant to be mine. I cannot argue with it; I cannot silence it; it insists that you, like Eoin’s swan bride, were made for me and no other.”

  Her heart soared; she had hoped for these words! “Mr. Doherty,” she began, but paused in confusion. What exactly was she to say? He had not asked for her hand. She stared into his eyes, willing him to divine her desire. When he did not, she took a step closer and leaned her cheek against his chest. She felt how his heart beat beneath her ear; how his breath caught in his lungs at her touch. Breathlessly, she waited for him to wrap his arms around her and crush her against him.

  Instead, he put his hands on her shoulders and gently moved her away. “Have a care. You do not know what it is you do.”

  “Do I not?” she asked hotly, stumbling a bit as she regained her footing. “Do you suppose my feelings vary so widely from your own?”

  “I cannot say. I have not dared to hope.” He reached out to caress her face, his hand trembling.

  Covering it with her own, she pressed her cheek into his palm. She saw how his gaze vacillated from her eyes to her lips and back again with such affection that her knees weakened, and her stomach fluttered.

  “My dear Miss Fulton,” he murmured, “I have been so alone.”

  “You are alone no longer,” she said breathlessly, yearning for him to comprehend the state of her heart.

  He raised his other arm and took her face in his hands, then suddenly dropped both to his side. “The gift of your affection,” he said as he took her fingers and drew them to his lips, “shall keep me company long after you have gone.” The kiss he seared into her skin spoke of a tenderness unknown by mere affection.

  She looked away, her eyes filling with hot tears. “How I long to have been born in an opposing world,” she murmured, her gaze fixed on the mighty Ben Bulben in the distance. “One in which I might, with ease, behave like Maeve of old and choose my fate. Or even better, the swan bride who not only chose but who gave of her talents so as to determine her path. I should remain silent for seven years as did the daughter of Lir, and happily so if it won me a husband I could truly love.”

  “How do you not perceive the truth?” he said, briefly taking her chin in his fingers and drawing her round to face him. “You are every one of them. You are strong and self-possessed like Queen Maeve. Your talents, beauty, and intelligence have worked magic on my heart. My fate was nearly as lonely as that of a child of Lir until you arrived to rescue me from my solitude.”

  She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. “I am glad of it,” she said, smiling so as to prevent herself from bursting into tears. “I suppose that we now must look about us for a chariot to appear and carry us off to our castle.”

  He gave a shaky laugh. “’Tis true, ’twould require magic such as that.”

  “Or perhaps such as that,” she indicated, tilting her head in the direction of the shrine.

  He smiled as he gazed intently into her eyes. “One can hope. Now,” he said with a sigh. “I must return to the school room, and you are surely expected somewhere, as well. It is best if we are not seen together; perhaps you should go first,” he suggested. “I shall follow when it is safe. As I shall be using the servants’ staircase, we shall not be in danger of meeting on the landing.”

  She nodded again, her gaze full of him; the light in his eyes, the curve of his smile, committing them to memory as if she were never to see him again. Then she turned and fled as swiftly as she dared. She picked her way along the side of the stream and marched up the bank. As she crossed the lawn back to the house, she was relieved to find that all was still quiet; no one stirred. Only the footmen, who had taken up their posts by the door, saw her as she passed through the doorway and up the staircase.

  Praying that it was too early to encounter anyone else, she quickly continued on her way. She was nearly to her chamber when farther down the hall a door opened, and Fiona stepped out into the passage.

  “Caro!” she said. “I have waited for you, but you have not come. I thought I would go to you.”

  “I am sorry. I... I am late,” Caroline said weakly.

  “Oh, no, Caro, this will never do!”

  She fought to prevent her alarm from showing on her face. “Won’t it?”

  “Not the jonquil gown again! What about the dull red jacquard? It is my favorite of your day dresses,” Fiona said as she took Caroline by the arm and drew her into her chamber.

  “Thank you,” Caroline replied with as much equanimity as she could muster. “I wonder that I did not think of it myself.”

  There was a rustling of skirts as Fiona sorted through the gowns in Caroline’s clothes press. “Here ’tis,” Fiona said, pulling it out for Caroline’s approval. “I believe it is finest paired with your blue sash, but you must decide for yourself.”

  “The blue, then,” Caroline agreed. “What say you to this bandeau in my hair?”

  “It’s lovely, but not with this gown,” Fiona said doubtfully. “If it is not rude of me to ask, why did you not come down to dinner?”

  “Oh!” Caroline said, unprepared for such a question. “That is indeed a tale. Do turn about and allow me to tie your tapes whilst I tell you.” Fiona obeyed, and Caroline set to work. “When I left you after the jaunting car race, I encountered Lady Bissell in the passage. She was desirous of someone to sit in the school room with her sons, as Mr. Doherty had not yet returned with the physician. Quite naturally, I was pleased to do so. When she came to see the boys some time later, she asked Mr. Doherty to come down to dinner
, as Mr. Wilkinson is too lame and she did not wish to cope with uneven numbers.”

  “Poor Mr. Wilkinson!” Fiona said fervently. “I am surprised that you were alone, however, with Mr. Doherty in the school room,” she said with such a contrasting lack of concern, Caroline could only wonder.

  “We were not alone,” she said as she submitted to having the tapes of her jonquil gown untied. “There were the lads, and it was only for a few moments before Lady Bissell arrived.”

  “Then why did Mr. Doherty not come to dinner?”

  “It was the nursery maid’s afternoon off,” Caroline replied as she stepped out of her gown. “It fell to Mr. Doherty to sit with the lads until she returned, which, I have been told, is sometimes rather late. I suggested that it was I who should stay with them, but, as he pointed out, even if I did, there would still be uneven numbers at dinner.” Caroline was aware that she was babbling, but she hadn’t the least desire to share the complete account with Fiona. She would not approve.

  “I comprehend that uneven numbers are far from desirable,” Fiona asserted. “However, under the circumstances, everyone would doubtless understand.”

  “Lady Bissell’s guests would, of course. However, the number, in this case, would have been thirteen,” Caroline said meaningfully.

  “Oh! Yes, I see,” Fiona agreed. “So, the both of you remained in your rooms so as to prevent bad luck.”

  “Precisely!” Caroline said. “Now, do help me into the red gown, please.”

  Fiona did as she was asked. “Why did you not come to my room to tell me?”

  “I did, directly after I left the school room, but you were not there.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” Fiona replied, her face aglow. “I have been so wishing to tell you all about my evening.”

  “What is it? Has Mr. Wilkinson proposed?” Caroline jested.

  “You make sport of me, Miss Fulton!” Fiona insisted. “However, if you must know!”

  “Indeed, I must!” Caroline cried in earnest.

  “In that case, I shall tell you. When I awoke, I went in search of you. As you were absent from your room, I went downstairs and came upon Lady Bissell. She was vastly relieved! It seems that Mr. Wilkinson was in need of a nurse of sorts, and there were none she could spare from the staff. A maid or kitchen girl had taken ill, and Lady Bissell was driven to distraction by her attempts to ensure that everything was in readiness for dinner.”