He shook his head. “No. Someone more unexceptionable. Only she,” he said and paused. “Pray, forget that I spoke.” He mustered a melancholy smile. “This is for you,” he said, thrusting the parcel at her. “I am pleased that you returned, as I have been longing for you to have this.”
“For me?” she asked in astonishment. “If I had but known... But truly, I could not approach you, then. There was someone from Mrs. Hill’s,” she stammered. “I could not have him see us together.”
He frowned and looked studiously away. “Let us speak of other things, such as what is in the parcel.”
She had so many questions she wished to put to him, but he did not look as if he were inclined to answer a one. Carefully, she reached into the package and removed the first wrapped bundle. As she drew away the paper, the item flashed in the sun. “My mother’s perfume bottle! Mr. Doherty, how came you by this?”
“There’s more,” he said, his eyes less stricken and a smile playing about his lips.
She opened the second bundle, which contained her mother’s brush and comb. Her heart squeezed with gratitude. “But you must have stopped at the local pawnbroker’s after you visited The Hollows,” she said in wonder, unsure as to its meaning.
He was smiling in earnest now. “Just open the rest,” he urged.
The third packaged contained the coral combs that her mother had worn in her hair the day she married. “Oh! How I have wished for these! But this is no accident. You cannot have stumbled upon all of my things by chance.”
“There’s one more.” He looked into the parcel, his eloquent blue-gray eyes dancing.
The last was larger than the rest and took up the entire bottom of the parcel. She knew what it was the moment she took it in her hands. Eagerly, she pulled away the silver tissue to uncover the beautiful water color box. “My father made a present of this to me when I was very young. I have treasured it, as I did all of the rest. I was forced to sell them to pay for my journey here to Dublin. But, somehow, you already know this,” she said in wonder.
“Pray forgive me; the shepherdess with her little lamb shattered when it all went tumbling to the ground,” he said, his brow furrowed with anxiety.
“Pray, do not concern yourself! I expected never to see any of these things again!”
Wordlessly, he took the paint box from her hands and placed the entire parcel with its contents on the ground at their feet. Then, taking her hands in his, he looked steadily into her eyes. “When I learned from the servants that you had sold these treasures, I wanted nothing more than to restore them to you. I knew I ought not to have brought them to Mrs. Hill’s, nor was the college the appropriate place.”
“You were quite right,” she replied. “Is it for this, only, that you wished to see me again?” she asked in tones she hoped did not reveal her blighted hopes.
He swallowed and looked away as if he were ashamed. “It seems I need make another confession. On your last day at Oak View, I was looking for Mr. Wilkinson’s room. I knew that was where I would find the physician for Pierre. When a maid opened the door to a room, quite naturally, I seized the opportunity to look inside. I knew immediately that it was not Mr. Wilkinson’s chamber, and as soon as the maid had gone, I went inside. It was yours,” he said looking up to gauge her reaction. “I knew that I would feel closer to you there than I would ever be again.”
“What does any of that matter?” she asked, dismayed. We are together. Now. On this bridge, were the words she dared not add.
“There is more,” he said, gently squeezing her hands. “I noticed a letter you had written to your father, one in which you informed him of my ‘fine qualities,’ as you put it. It was crumpled as if you no longer wished him to read it.”
She felt a wave of humiliation wash over her. “I did so wish to tell him how very admirable you are; how worthy you are of his daughter. Then I realized it would do no good. I thought I had thrown it out.”
“I am so grateful that you did not,” he said in earnest. “I cannot express my gratitude for your words, for the good they did me. I should never have had the courage to speak to anyone about a position at Trinity if it weren’t for that letter. It wasn’t so much that I recognized myself in your compliments; it was that I knew I would never be happy until I became the man you described.”
“You were that man!” She tightened her fingers around his. “You are still.”
His answering smile was a happy one. “I am grateful to know you believe it to be true.”
“It is for that you purchased my things,” she said, failing to disguise the lifeless tones in her voice.
“Yes,” he said, squeezing her fingers in his. “I wanted so much to thank you.”
It was not what she wished him to say. She dropped her gaze to her hands so that he would not see her tears. “I am grateful, as well,” she replied in a voice that wavered. “I fear that I shall never be able to thank you properly. You cannot know how much it means to me.” She took a deep breath and looked up at him, praying he would comprehend what she hoped to imply. “I have always imagined I would be wed wearing those combs as did my mother.”
To her astonishment, his face fell as if he had just heard the worst news of all. Sighing, he dropped her hands and turned to look out over the water. “I had meant to ask you,” he said, his voice dull. “Shall you inform your father? I imagine he would make the journey to witness the marriage of his only daughter. When is it to be?”
“I? To be married?” She felt as bemused as if she had returned from supping with the fairies to learn that a hundred years had passed.
He turned to look into her eyes. “You are not betrothed?” he asked listlessly, as if he did not know how he ought to feel.
Nearly overcome with relief, she smiled and put a hand to his cheek. “No, Mr. Doherty, I am not. And yet, I very much hope to be before the sun sets on this day.”
His smile spoke of a joy difficult to restrain. “I had thought... Rather, I heard something that led me to believe... Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“No, it does not,” she said, holding back tears of happiness.
“But, wait!” he cried as he looked wildly about. “I have just met Miss Lynch,” he said, his eyes wide and his brows beetled in agitation.
“Mr. Doherty,” she said, putting her hand again to his face so as to draw his gaze to hers. “I do not know where Miss Lynch might be. However, I am here, standing before you.”
He looked into her eyes and swallowed hard. “Miss Caroline Fulton,” he said as if he intoning the spell of a druid. “I choose you.” His eyes shone like water in the sun as he took her shoulders in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers. He kissed her tenderly, his lips warm against hers, until she knew the last shattered piece of her heart to be finally redeemed.
It was over far too quickly, but Caroline had no wish to be disagreeable. “Very well then, Mr. Doherty,” she said with a sigh of contentment, “if you shall insist on bestowing kisses in full view of all and sundry, it is only right that you should know my true name.”
“True name?” he asked, searching her face in unaccountable alarm. “Your name is not Caroline Fulton?”
“It is not as if I set out to deceive you,” she explained, nearly as alarmed as he. “Caroline is my name, but it was not well-favored by Papa. Once my mother had died, and my brothers also, he began to call me as he pleased.”
“Yes! What? What is it?” he demanded urgently, his fingers pressing into her shoulders.
“It is only a nickname,” she explained. “He has called me thus all my life, though Fiona does insist on calling me Caro which infuriates Papa to no end!”
“Miss Caroline Fulton,” he implored, the look in his eyes such a mingling of love and hope, fear and misgiving, that it set her entire frame to trembling. “Tell me your name this instant!”
“Lina,” she gasped out around her uncertainty. “I am called Lina.”
He stared at her in such disbelief she
feared he condemned her for a liar.
“Pray, believe me,” she asserted, “for what reason would I prevaricate about such a thing?”
“You believe me to be angry?” he exclaimed. Before she could reply, she was in his arms, bonnet askew, her face pressed into the linen of his cravat, her ear against the wild staccato of his heart.
“My darling Lina,” he murmured into her hair, his words rumbling in her ear. “It was you. From the very beginning, it was you.”
She could not remember when she had felt so safe, so loved; so at home. When he loosened his arms, she felt more bereft than she could recall. Then he tugged at the ribbon under her chin until her bonnet slipped down her back. Whatever its fate was a matter of indifference to her. She could not look away from his fascinated gaze. It was as if she were a loathly lady, a hag who had transformed into a beautiful young woman in his embrace.
Finally, he gave her a smile of such sweetness, one that utterly banished the lonely Mr. Doherty of Oak View. “I was desolate when we parted; I have been desolate each day since,” he revealed, his voice rough, his breathing ragged. “Say that I need never be desolate again.”
In reply, she lifted her lips to his and closed her eyes in anticipation of another tender kiss. To her astonishment, he swept her into his arms, lifted her off of her feet, and pressed his lips to hers with a breath-taking urgency. This kiss was hot and demanding, as if he were the sun above and she the only river that had the power to quench his thirst. When he lowered her again to her feet, she felt as if she had been made his, irrevocably and forever.
With a sheepish smile, he retrieved her bonnet and placed it on her head, tying it under her chin with a bow. She stared up at him, unable to wholly believe that he wanted her for his wife. “Am I to be Mrs. Doherty, then?” she asked with a smile that spoke of all of her hopes and dreams.
“It could never be anyone but you, nothing doubting.” His eyes shining, he took her arm and turned towards the water. She leaned her head upon his shoulder and watched as the vibrant sun settled into the cool waters of the River Liffey.
“Before you escort me home,” she murmured, “you must answer me one question. How can the name I was given as an infant be of any consequence whatsoever?”
“Ah, well now,” he said, looking down at her in delight, his eyes gleaming in the light of the setting sun. “’Tis a story for the tellin’!”
Find these other books by Heidi Ashworth on Amazon.
Via Montlake Romance~
Miss Delacourt Speaks Her Mind
Miss Delacourt Has Her Day
Via Dunhaven Place Publishing~
Lady Crenshaw’s Christmas
Lord Haversham Takes Command
The Lord Who Sneered and Other Tales
Miss Armistead Makes Her Choice
Via Mirror Press~
A Timeless Romance Anthology: Winter Collection: It Happened Twelfth Night
A Midwinter Ball: Timeless Regency Collection: Much Ado About Dancing
Heidi Ashworth is the award-winning author of numerous regency romance novels, including the Miss Delacourt series. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, three children and two dogs.
Pronunciation Guide
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
About the Author
O'er The River Liffey (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 25