Wild Irish Girl

by C. B. Halverson

  An iron hand gripped my arm and whirled me around. With a gasp, I came face-to-face with Castlevane. My heart pounded, and I made to wrench away, but he held me firm.

  “What were you doing with him?” A blue vein in his forehead pulsed, and his face turned a violent shade of purple.

  “Let go of me,” I hissed.

  He pulled me toward his chest, and I winced at the smell of mackerel and tobacco on his lips. “I warned you what would happen to Dr. Moorland if you did not stay away.”

  Bunching up my fist, I thrust against him, tearing myself out of his hands. “You don’t scare me. Nor do you scare Dr. Moorland. We know what you have done. And Lady Aberthorne knows, too. You think because of your power and your position that you own us all, but you don’t.”

  My words echoed across the garden, and I sucked in my breath. All those things I promised to Joseph about playing to Castlevane had vanished on the evening breeze, and now the man stood before me, his chest puffed out, a muscle in his jaw flickering. I had ruined it. I had ruined us all.

  “Oh, I think you will find soon enough the extent to which I own you, Miss Byrnes,” he said.

  A shiver crept up my spine, and I crossed my arms over my chest, gripping my elbows tight. “I will never understand. For years you have haunted my steps, dogged me and prodded me, and now finally forced me into a marriage with you. Why? Why would anyone want a penniless girl from Dublin? Why would you? A man with wealth, connections? Why can’t you leave me alone?”

  His face crumpled with confusion, a deep rent plowing between his eyes as he blinked rapidly. “It isn’t obvious?”

  A disgusted sound emitted from my throat.

  “Miss Byrnes. I saw the scourge of Irish revolution first hand. I knew how it tainted young minds, destroyed the soul of our fair isle.”

  Rage blazed in my chest. “Tainted young minds? Are you mad?”

  He continued, his eyelids still fluttering, a nervous tic sending his neck into contortions. “But I knew if I could marry the infamous Miss Byrnes, the Chieftain’s Daughter, Princess Roisin, the wild Irish girl…I knew I could bring Ireland to heel.”

  I backed away, a cold sweat beading on my forehead.

  He opened his arms, his neck still shuddering in intermittent spasms. “It would be such a poetic marriage. A union. A Union! Just like our two countries!”

  “So all this…for show?”

  “Not for show!” His fingers scrambled in his hair, and he pushed them across his scalp with wild motions. “Not for show. No. We belong with England, don’t you see? England is stoic, measured, pragmatic. Ireland is…wild. Emotional. The Celtic temperament—”

  I stepped back, raising my arms to the sky. “Enough! You are talking nonsense! Propaganda!”

  “No, Miss Byrnes. It is you who talk nonsense. Endless nonsense with your books and your poems and your blasted harp playing. You need control. A powerful hand to guide you. And as my wife, I intend to do that very thing and, by extension, show Ireland what a strong ruler looks like.”

  I rolled a glob of spit in my throat, and with all the violence I could muster, spat it out before his feet. “There! That is what I think about your ‘powerful hand,’ your ‘strong rule.’ You will never control me. You will never use me to justify your own bigotry to Parliament or to anyone else. Ireland is free. It will always be free. It will never belong to you.”

  Castlevane stood there, his left hand flinching and trembling while the other one remained clenched at his side. His neck twitching had stopped, and what remained was doubly terrifying—a calm, cold, collected stare, his watery eyes narrowed on me like a firing squad.

  He nodded. “Very well.” He stepped back into the bushes, his voice carrying on the cold wind. “Very well.”

  I glanced back toward the temple, as if some ancient Grecian god would let loose from its depths and smote her righteous anger down upon Castlevane, but only the silent columns greeted me and a blank grey sky beyond.

  Chapter 26

  Joseph

  My knee bounced up and down, and the woman beside me cleared her throat while giving me a pointed glance. I took a deep breath and tried to keep my focus to the front of the room. The players in Patrick Byrnes’s troupe had somehow converted the music room into a stage, complete with curtains and scenery panels suggesting the rolling green hills of Ireland. Candlelight twinkled in front of the room, lighting up the players’ faces as they debated whether to join in the rebellion offstage somewhere or return to their British squadron. Two brothers faced off, sweat beading their brow, gesticulating with their fake muskets. Lyddy’s play featured the same quality and depth of feeling as her sister’s work, but I shifted in my seat, glancing over my shoulder. Castlevane had not come to the performance at the Aberthornes’ home. It would not be far from disbelief for the busy statesman to have business elsewhere, but his absence left me out of sorts.

  The woman beside me snapped open her fan in annoyance, and I leaned forward, trying to focus on the scene. Audrey peered back at me, her gaze retreating to the door. We were, as always, of one mind, and both of us sensed something amiss. I flashed her what I hoped was a reassuring smile, and she looked down shyly before settling back into the performance. Light shone on her dark hair, and a hungry impulse fired through me, the need to sweep her curls away from her neck, to trace kisses behind her ear, overwhelming. My mind ticked down the hours when I could seek her out again, talk with her, laugh with her. Make love to her.

  A loud commotion stirred in the back of the room and the doors boomed open. The actors onstage flinched, their eyes darting to the audience. I glanced behind me, and my heart raced as a line of soldiers streamed into the room.

  Lady Aberthorne shot to her feet. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Castlevane strolled through the seats, his eyes never leaving the still-seated figure of Patrick Byrnes.

  “Lord Castlevane.” Lady Aberthorne’s dark eyes glittered with rage. “This is a private residence. Why have you come here?”

  “Patrick Byrnes.” Castlevane hovered over the man, a piece of signed parchment in his hands. “You are hereby under arrest and will remain in custody until forthwith you are able to answer for your crimes.”

  I edged closer to the front of the room, trying to get to Audrey, but a mass of bodies stood in my way, and I cursed beneath my breath as I made an attempt to squeeze through them all.

  Byrnes shook his head, his face flushed, and rose to his feet. “Under arrest? On what charge?”

  “For sedition. Treason.”

  “Treason?” Byrnes bellowed.

  Lady Aberthorne stepped in front of the Irishman and faced Castlevane, her small form child-like against the man’s bulk. “Lord Castlevane, Patrick Byrnes is here as my guest. I find this intrusion most indecorous given the circumstances.”

  “Stand aside, my lady.” Castlevane’s eyes narrowed on her. “Lest I arrest you as a co-conspirator.”

  An audible gasp swept through the room, the audience members shrinking against the walls as if they could disappear through them and return back to their respective carriages.

  “You would not dare,” she hissed.

  I edged closer to them, my gaze darting back and forth to Audrey and her father. Audrey had placed her hand on her father’s shoulder, steadying him as the man trembled with anger.

  Lord Castlevane leaned into Lady Aberthorne and whispered something in her ear that made her face turn as white as a sheet. She stepped back on uneasy legs, her hands shaking. Castlevane snapped his fingers, and the soldiers approached Byrnes, raising shackles to his wrists.

  “No!” Audrey let out a gut-wrenching cry as they pulled her father away. Beside her, Lyddy wept, her head in her hands, her thin shoulders wracked with sobs.

  “This is a terrible business.” Lord Weston had appeared beside me, and I nodded to my friend and at Lady Elliot waiting beside him. Her gaze never left Audrey, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

  “What
will happen to him?” Lady Elliot whispered.

  I shook my head, watching the soldiers dragging Byrnes away. As soon as Castlevane turned, I darted for Audrey, collecting her in my arms. She let out a horrible cry, her tears soaking through my white shirt and to my chest.

  “Shh…” I said, my hand tracing her spine.

  She shook her head and wrenched away of my arms.

  “Audrey!” I called after her, but she had already slipped through the dispersing crowd.

  “You promised me!” she screamed, whirling Castlevane around. “Have you no honor? As a gentleman? As a friend?”

  “Do not touch me,” Castlevane roared, nodding for a soldier to pull her off him. “It is you who are without honor, Miss Byrnes. It is you who have played to coquette for all of London, and I swear before this audience, I will make sure everyone knows the true sordid nature of the Princess Roisin.”

  Audrey’s body swayed, and I rushed to her, saving her from the hard floor with my arm. She clutched me tight.

  Castlevane laughed, the sound sending bolts of rage straight from my head to my fists.

  “That’s right, Miss Byrnes. Hold on to your shabby doctor. The son of a grocer is as good as you will ever have now.”

  If Audrey was not almost faint in my arms, I would have punched the blasted man, but she clung to me, her voice shocked with sobs.

  “I would rather marry the son of a grocer,” she cried out, “than a liar and a villain like you, Lord Castlevane!”

  I glanced over my shoulder, drawing Audrey away from the cad and the shocked gazes of Lady Aberthorne’s attendants.

  “Leave this house at once,” I hissed at Castlevane.

  He smirked at me and then followed his soldiers out.

  Chapter 27

  Audrey

  Darkness crowded my vision, arms dragging me through the hallway, the soft cushion of a sofa rising to meet me. Someone shoved a glass of wine in my hands.

  “Drink, love,” Joseph whispered.

  I shook my head, emerging from my fog. “Lyddy?” I asked. “Where is Lyddy?”

  He sat down beside me, his arm moving back and forth down my neck. “Lady Christine is attending her. She is quite distraught, understandably.”

  I stood up on shaky legs, staggering back, the wine glass threatening to slip from my fingers. Joseph caught it before it fell to the floor, steadying me with his wide hand. “Sit,” he commanded.

  I slumped back on the cushions, and he slipped the glass of wine to my lips, tipping it ever so slightly. Snatching it from him, I downed the contents in big gulps, the rich liquid burning the back of my throat. When the glass emptied, I set it down on the table beside me and cradled my head in my hands. My skin was lined with cold sweat, clammy, my curls plastered to my forehead. Sharp tremors shook my shoulders, and I gritted my teeth, trying to still myself. As if reading my mind, Joseph nudged me, and I startled up, flashing him a relieved look as he placed another glass of wine in my hands. This was not the time to fall apart.

  Ten seconds, Audrey…

  I took a deep breath and sipped the wine, lolling it around in my mouth before taking a great swallow.

  I played over the evening’s events in my mind. My father. Arrested for sedition. We had no money for lawyers. Whatever friends I had would abandon us lest they become embroiled in this terrible affair. I was sure Lady Aberthorne was practicing her speech to encourage me to take leave of her house. Christine would let me stay with her for a little while, but her reputation was already so damaged. How could I add “friend and patron to a family of rebels” to such a list of sins? And Joseph…

  I glanced sideways, taking in his concerned stare, his eyes narrowed with rage. Anger. The man was in the prime of his life. His whole career before him. A career I would destroy.

  “You should go,” I blurted out.

  He blinked, shaking his head. “I will not leave you.”

  “Joseph…” I looked down at my wineglass, studying the dregs of cork bits swimming in the last red drops. “This is sedition. Treason. I am ruined. I do not wish to ruin you too.”

  His hand swept across my cheek, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “You have already ruined me, Audrey Byrnes. Ruined me for other women. For the touch of anyone else. Would you destroy me completely by forcing me to leave your side?”

  My heart lurched, a stone lodging itself in my throat. “What am I going to do?”

  He threw his arms around me and held me close to his chest. “We will figure out something. I promise.”

  The door opened, and we sprang apart. Lady Aberthorne flew into the room with Lord Weston in her wake.

  “Well, this is a rotten business,” she said. “A rotten business, indeed.”

  I stood up, Joseph’s presence behind me infusing my limbs with steadiness. “My lady, I apologize for such a scene. I will, of course, leave your house as soon as I can collect my things.”

  She whirled on me, the sequins in her gown glittering in the dim light of the fire. “Leave? Are you mad? You will stay right where you are.”

  I shook my head, leaning forward as if I had not heard her correctly. “You mean for me to stay. After what happened?”

  “If that boorish man thinks he can barge into my home, poison my husband, disrupt a private, a private…party!” She spit out the last word, and I wondered which, in her mind was the graver sin. “How dare him! No, Miss Byrnes. You will stay here. I will not show the man or any of the ton the Aberthornes are afraid of a little Irish play.”

  “I…I don’t understand,” I said.

  Lady Aberthorne quirked an eyebrow. “If you behave like a guilty person, then people will believe it so. Better for you, for all of us, if we act like the innocent party. Besides…”

  The woman poured herself a glass of wine and raised it to the light, staring into the red depths. “Besides. It is not as if Lord Castlevane is completely innocent.”

  Lord Weston snorted, throwing back a tumbler of brandy. “That is an understatement.”

  My head swiveled between the pair as they exchanged knowing glances. I turned to Lord Weston.

  “You know what Castlevane did to Lord Aberthorne?”

  He nodded. “Our statesman has his fair share of miscreant deeds.”

  My mind flashed back to Charles, and something must have registered on my face because Joseph’s hand slipped in mine, pulling me back to the sofa beside him.

  “Fair share?” Joseph said. “What else do we have on the man?”

  Weston threw his head back and laughed. “My goodness, man, love has brought you quite low.”

  Joseph gritted his teeth, shooting daggers at the poet.

  Weston raised his hands in surrender. “My apologies to the good doctor. I am merely surprised.”

  “I tried to find Castlevane’s secrets, something I could use against him,” I said, “but he keeps everything locked tight.”

  Weston and Lady Aberthorne exchanged another glance. The lady nodded, taking a long sip of her wine.

  “Do you remember the night of the Gathering?” Weston said.

  Heat blazed on my face, and I squirmed as a fluttering began in my lower belly. I recalled the way in which Joseph’s hands had slipped beneath my dress, how he had explored my body beneath his domino.

  “Yes,” I choked out.

  “Do you remember the climax of the evening?”

  “The climax?” I kept my gaze steady, ignoring Joseph’s bouncing knee and the way he cleared his throat.

  “The bull?” he said.

  My mouth gaped open. “You mean…?”

  Lady Aberthorne piped up in the corner. “Castlevane threatened me tonight. To reveal all. I say we strike first.”

  I blinked, glancing at Joseph. His brown eyes were wide, but behind them the gears clicked into motion as he calculated how to trap Castlevane.

  I turned back to her. “Strike first? Reveal his identity? But wouldn’t that damn us all?”

  Her eyes flitted up to the
ceiling. “Some of us are already damned.”

  I shook my head, thinking of Joseph. Dr. Moorland. Respectable, smart, capable Dr. Moorland. “No. No, that’s not true. And forgive me, mum, even if such an attack would help you, I don’t see how it would get my father out of jail.”

  Weston stood up and poured another drink. “If we ruin Castlevane, strip him of his credibility, none of the charges against your father will stick in court.”

  “Right, but then there will be new charges,” I said. “Against us. All of us. Lewdness. Debauchery.”

  “Not if the source remains anonymous.” Christine had slipped in the room, and her eyes sparkled with mischief. I knew that look, and nothing about it boded well.

  “How is Lyddy?” I said.

  “She is resting.” Christine swept past the fireplace and poured herself a glass of wine before taking her place at Weston’s side. “Poor girl had quite a shock.”

  I rubbed my temples, saying a silent prayer that she wouldn’t do anything rash. Lyddy still didn’t know I knew she was the real author of The Rebel Sons, and I wanted to keep it that way. Father would keep her identity safe, and I doubt any of the players in the company would speak up about it.

  “So are we going to ruin Castlevane or what?” Christine said, her eyes twinkling.

  I sighed, scrubbing my face and turning to my friend. “What were you thinking?”

  “Well…” Christine smiled, biting the edge of her lip while her eyes shifted to Weston before returning to my own. “I happen to know a poet who has spoken out quite vociferously about his new agenda in Parliament.”