Wild Irish Girl

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by C. B. Halverson


  “Your honor, it is the opinion of Lord Aberthorne and me that Lord Castlevane has sought to destroy his lordship in order to push his controversial bill through Parliament. The Byrnes family is merely in the crosshairs of this bitter political rivalry.”

  As he uttered my last name, Joseph’s eyes flitted to me. My heart caught in my throat and my hand trembled against the stand, and I dug my fingernails into the worn wood to force myself to remain standing. Was this what Joseph had been working on for so long? The defense of my father? My family?

  “The charges of sedition against Patrick Byrnes and now Lydia Byrnes is merely a means to attack and discredit the Aberthorne name,” Joseph continued.

  “Preposterous,” Lord Castlevane bellowed. “Your honor, I object. There is no evidence for such claims.”

  Joseph took a step forward. “Your honor, I believe there is evidence, and I humbly bring such forth today.”

  Humbly.

  That was Joseph. Humble. Unassuming. This is what he was working on with his specimens and his microscope. It had all been for me. All of it.

  “Your honor!” Castlevane roared.

  “Overruled.” The magistrate glared daggers at Castlevane, and he shrunk back into his seat.

  Joseph looked forward, his broad shoulders thrown back. Every eye in the room focused on the man, and I wanted to throw myself against him, somehow protect him from their contemptuous glances, their disapproving frowns. Not even the Aberthorne name could shelter him from censure from this crowd. Joseph stood completely and utterly alone.

  “As Lord Aberthorne proclaimed,” he continued, “we believe Lord Castlevane attempted to poison him during his stay at Aberthorne Manor.”

  The crowd hissed, the word “poison” echoing through the chamber like the hum of a beehive. Lord Castlevane made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, but with one glance from the judge, he dared not interrupt.

  “Dr. Moorland.” The judge peered down at him with a dark stare. “These are grave accusations. I hope you are prepared to present evidence.”

  “I am, your honor.”

  I shook my head. Was the man some sort of magician? We had gone over it again and again and found nothing we could use to bring down Castlevane. I could not fathom what had changed.

  “You see, I took a sample of Lord Aberthorne’s blood. It is a new science based on the work of the esteemed Mathieu Orfila of France. We can analyze the blood to find traces of poison.”

  “Analyze the blood?” The judge shook his head. “Explain yourself.”

  “Through the use of a microscope, your honor.” Joseph took a deep breath. “I discovered toxic compounds from the sap of the adenium boehmianum, otherwise known as the flowering shrub adenium, a prolific plant of the Arabian peninsula.”

  Castlevane rose to his feet, his shoulders shaking. “Objection, your honor. What Dr. Moorland suggests is circumstantial evidence. Are we merely supposed to take his word for it?”

  “Not just my word,” Joseph said, his voice growing more forceful. “But also the word of my colleagues at Cambridge.” Joseph approached the stand and set down two pieces of parchment, pointing to their signatures. “I would pray the learned men of this court would not doubt their calculations.”

  “Relevance, your honor?” Castlevane’s lips tightened and almost disappeared in his face. “Lord Aberthorne has numerous rivals. I do not see what this has to do with me or the nature of this particular case.”

  “I am getting to that, your honor.” Joseph looked up at the judge with a silent plea.

  “Overruled,” he said in a flat voice.

  “Adenium is a rare poison,” Joseph continued. “It was not difficult to trace the source of the proprietor.” He made a broad gesture to the man behind him. “I present Mr. Mahomet of the riverside.”

  Mr. Mahomet stepped forward, his dark face a smooth wall of stone. He bowed before the judge. “I sell a variety of concoctions for getting rid of household pests, you see.”

  “Objection, your honor.” Castlevane stood up, his knuckles rapping on the desk. With his hulking shoulders, he looked like a gorilla in a traveling show I saw once, the effect equally horrific. “This man is a common criminal. Clearly he’s colluding with Dr. Moorland and the Aberthornes.”

  “Overruled.” The judge leaned forward, his eyes narrowing on Mr. Mahomet. “Proceed.”

  “I do not possess very many vials of adenium, but a man came to me asking for the poison. He explained he had a mole infestation in his garden.”

  Joseph stepped forward. “Can you identify this man?”

  Mr. Mahomet lifted his hand and pointed his figure straight at Lord Castlevane. “It was this man.”

  Castlevane pounded his fist on the desk. “These are outrageous accusations!”

  Joseph turned toward him. “Do you deny you bought the poison from Mr. Mahomet?”

  “I—”

  “You thought you were so clever, to take down Lord Aberthorne while he was laid low. We know what you did to your servant. You killed him because he’s the one who carried the adenium poison to the Aberthorne household.”

  Castlevane breathed hard through his nose, his eyes wide, his pupils dilated. “I didn’t…I…”

  Joseph circled close to his table. “Right. How could you even know how the human body works? How adenium works? You cannot even run a country. How could anyone expect you to pull off a murder?”

  I blinked, unable to fathom my gentle doctor who could attack so readily the most powerful man in England. Pride swelled in my chest, but I knew Joseph’s case could all shatter in an instant.

  Castlevane’s hands gripped his head, and his body rattled with spasms. “No…No…It was supposed to work!”

  A gasp swept through the courtroom.

  “So when you failed to poison Lord Aberthorne,” Joseph pressed, “You went after the Byrnes to try to besmirch the Aberthorne name.” He let out a bitter laugh. “You are pathetic, Lord Castlevane. A disgrace. Any man with half an education could have figured out your ridiculous plans.”

  “They weren’t ridiculous!” Castlevane shouted. “My bill is the only way to have order in this land. And the Byrnes are a scourge upon our Union. I would take them all out if I could. All the Aberthornes and the Byrnes. Disgusting, wretched, vile, debauchers—”

  Joseph slammed his hand on the desk, leaning into Castlevane so closely, only I and a few others standing next to him could hear. “Debauchers? Did you think no one would figure out who you are, Castlevane? The Aberthornes knew your true identity. Everyone knows what you are. Everyone. They have all been laughing at you. For years.”

  “Silence!” Castlevane cried out, clutching at his temples. He collapsed to his knees and pounded his fists on the floor until they bled. Chaos erupted in the courtroom, figures darting to and fro, guards dragging Castlevane away. The judge banged his gavel, demanding order, but all I could see was Joseph’s face, his dark eyes as they pierced me from across the room. I knew he had done this for me. Calculated and planned it all for me. He knew what Castlevane was and knew what to say to force him to confess. All along, he had been my protector, my guide, my knight. His words all sounded like alchemy to me, and yet his heart remained the catalyst in the midst of it all, the philosopher’s stone, the missing piece to everything I had longed for my whole life. My feet willed me forward, and in two breaths I stood in front of him.

  “Oh, Joseph,” I whispered.

  He took a deep breath. “Did I serve you well, my lady?”

  A sob escaped my throat, and I took his hand, my knees buckling. His fingers clamped on my hand, drawing me close, and I smelled his incredible manly scent on his shirt. “Thank you.”

  He cupped my elbow, his touch lingering. “I told you, Audrey. I will always take care of you.”

  I smiled into his chest, another wave of tears washing over me. My family was safe. At long last.

  The judge banged his gavel. “I declare this case a mistrial,” he said and
gathered his robes around him before departing from the court. “Miss Lydia Byrnes. You and your father are free to go.”

  A pair of small arms circled my neck, and I whirled around to find Lyddy, tears streaming down her cheeks.

  “You’re all right,” I whispered in her ear, smoothing her curls back. “We’re going to be all right.”

  Epilogue

  Audrey

  Christine smiled, straightening my pin on my bodice. No green mantle today, but we had compromised on the small gold harp. For luck, of course.

  Her fingers lingered over the delicate lace of the veil trailing over my shoulders. It was Lady Aberthorne’s. Something borrowed.

  “You look radiant, Audrey,” she whispered.

  I glanced down at my simple white dress. Something old. No grand gown at such late notice, but it was my nicest frock and would do for today.

  “Are you sure you want to rush into this?” she said, cocking her head to the side. “Wouldn’t you want to wait for a fancy London wedding?”

  I shook my head. “The Aberthornes’ sitting room is grander than anything I ever could have imagined as a little girl growing up in Dublin. I only wish…”

  My voice caught in my throat, tears pressing against my eyelids. I couldn’t even bear to say her name.

  Christine gave me a reassuring embrace. “Oh my darling, I’m sure Lyddy is going to be fine. She is such a brave girl.”

  I shook my head. “I only wish she had not left so soon.”

  Lyddy was now on a ship bound for the west of Ireland to stay with our aunt in order to escape the worst of the whole scandal. I begged her not to go, but she had insisted, citing hope for a new beginning and a strong desire to clear her head and start fresh. My heart still felt hollow at her absence, but I flashed Christine a weak smile.

  “At least she’s free,” I said.

  A knock sounded on the door, and Lady Aberthorne entered. “Dr. Moorland is ready for you now.”

  I stood up, straightening my skirts. My heart pounded, and a sick, twisting feeling coiled in my stomach. “I can’t believe this is actually happening.”

  She laughed and shook her head. “The wild Irish girl, tamed at last.”

  Christine hooked her arm in mine. “Forgive me, my lady, but our Roisin may never be tamed.”

  “I suppose you are right, Lady Elliot,” Lady Aberthorne said, flashing me a knowing smile. “Dr. Moorland is a lucky man to have such a lively partner in this life.”

  Clutching onto Christine, I made my way to the door, shaking my head. “I believe I am the lucky one in this match.”

  And yet, my fingers shook against Christine’s arm, my throat constricting tighter with every step I took. I had awakened this morning with such assurance, such resolve. All of that dwindled to nothing as a servant led us into the drawing room.

  Joseph sat in close counsel with Lord Aberthorne and Lord Weston, but he stopped as soon as I walked into the room. He stood up, and his face beamed, his brown eyes shining with such pure love and hope. A flood of warmth filled my body, and a strange stillness washed over me, the pull of his body bringing me back to myself, to my love for him. The priest entered the room and cleared his throat, and I jumped at the sound.

  Joseph suddenly stood before me, his hand already in mine, squeezing my fingers. He didn’t speak, but every breath he took told me a story, a story of happiness. Happiness today, tomorrow, and the day after that. Forever.

  Hours later, we walked hand in hand through the garden, gazing at a pale sun as it lingered over the hedges of the labyrinth. Joseph leaned over and kissed me against my neck, and I let out a long sigh before leaning into his shoulder.

  “So, you are thinking Paris for our honeymoon?” he said.

  I nodded. “The new advance for The Brahmin Princess should set us up fashionably, and the Aberthornes have several connections there who have expressed a strong desire to welcome us as patrons.”

  Lady Aberthorne had helped me attain a new contract with another publisher, the amount of the advance a fortune fit for an actual Brahmin Princess. After the trial, Joseph’s own practice had grown exponentially, and he received letters daily from across England, Ireland, and the Continent to host lectures. With my novels and his medicine, we had made quite the tidy sum for ourselves. We were independent and free to roam as we wished.

  “And after Paris, my darling?” he said. “Shall we return to dreary old London?”

  I shook my head. “I was thinking, if you would not be so opposed, of settling in Dublin.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Dublin? Are you sure?”

  I stopped, turning to face him. “Do you remember what we once discussed? About what Lyddy said. About fighting back. I don’t have much to offer, but things are changing, Joseph. Here, and in Ireland. I think maybe…perhaps…Ireland needs me…”

  “To write your stories,” he said, finishing my sentence.

  I nodded, fiddling with the cuff of his jacket. “Yes, but no more Roisin. No more Indian princesses.”

  He placed his hand over his heart in mock scandal. “Ah, your readers will be so heartbroken.”

  I smiled. “Perhaps. But I want to try to write about Ireland as it is. The Ireland as I know it.”

  He pulled me close and kissed me, his lips lingering on mine as the last rays of the sun warmed my shoulders.

  “You know I would follow you anywhere,” he whispered.

  “Even to Ireland?”

  “Especially to Ireland,” he rested his chin on the crown of my head. “I want to know the world that made you. My beautiful Audrey. My wild Irish girl.”

  I leaned away from him and met his heated gaze. “Perhaps not so wild now as Mrs. Moorland?”

  “Lady Moorland,” he corrected, reminding me of his newly anointed title. “And something tells me marriage will not make you so very docile.”

  I kissed him, my hands grazing over the buttons of his trousers. “Let us hope not, Lord Moorland.”

  I turned and raced back to the house, daring him to follow.

  * * *

  Thank you for reading! You can find more about me and my books at www.colleenhalverson.com. Want to stay up to date with the Wild Romantics and never miss a new release? Sign up for my monthly newsletter here: http://colleenhalverson.com/newsletter-signup/

  You can follow me on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/cbhalverson and on Twitter @cbhalverson. I love talking with readers, so feel free to connect with me anytime. Sláinte!

  Author’s Note

  The world of The Wild Romantics is a fictional one, but it is inspired by real personalities who lived during the Regency period. Audrey Byrnes is inspired on the life of Lady Morgan, née Sydney Owenson, the original “wild Irish girl.” She was the daughter of an itinerant Irish actor, and she started writing novels to support her family. She took London by storm with the publication of The Wild Irish Girl, and she would dance, sing, and play the harp for her patrons while dressed up in costume as an Irish princess. She did end up marrying the doctor of a wealthy family, but through their correspondence leading up to the event, seemed reluctant to give herself fully to marriage. I took this hesitation as my entryway into the story, and my colorful imagination ran from there. Some readers might find Audrey’s behavior anachronistic for Regency, but the real Sydney Owenson had a reputation for, as one reviewer put it, “licentiousness and impiety,” and the sin of “get[ting] drunk before noon.” Owenson’s Irish charm, wit, talent, and wealthy connections allowed her a latitude within society that few women could afford, and the public consumed her novels with a voracious appetite. She was a prolific writer, and while many of her novels have fallen into obscurity today, she used her pen to compose some of the most damning works against English imperial policy within Ireland. She may have been “wild,” but she was also tenacious, hardworking, a shrewd businesswoman and book marketer (before such a thing existed!), and a great friend to her lady companions and fellow women writers and artists. I hope by sha
ring this story inspired by her life, that we can remember her and seek out more women like her throughout the forgotten corners of history.

  Other Books by C. B. Halverson

  The Captain’s Rebel

  * * *

  Writing as Colleen Halverson

  Aisling Chronicles Series

  Through the Veil (Book 1)

  Children of the Veil (Book 2)

  Acknowledgments

  The journey to this novel began with Dr. Donelle Ruwe, who first introduced me to the world of Irish women writers of the Regency period. I have immense gratitude toward Dr. Julia M. Wright and her incredible research on the life and works of Sydney Owenson. Without her scholarship, it’s likely that this important figure in literary history would have been forgotten. Thank you for mentoring me when I needed it and for showing me there is a world far beyond Jane Austen that is worth exploring.

  A special thank you to my Historical Hellions, Stacy Reid, Nicola Davidson, and Tamara Gill for their support this past year. You ladies have talked me off the ledge so many times, and I’m grateful to be on this journey with you. Also, much love to my Life Raft ladies for being with me from the beginning and for remaining true friends in this weird world of publishing.

  Thank you to Kim Cohen, Lisa Millham, and Kaelan Rhywiol for your careful feedback on my early drafts. A special thank you to Dr. David May for walking me through an emergency abdominal aortic aneurysm ligation surgery. Any medical errors are completely mine.

  I am grateful to the Killion Group for helping me bring The Wild Irish Girl into the world. You are true professionals and have been so patient with me as I stumble into indie publishing. I appreciate you!

  As always, I thank my parents for their unwavering support of my writing career. A special thank you to my in-laws for being so amazing and for taking extra care of their grandchildren while mommy wiles away the hours typing on her laptop. This has not been an easy year, but I want to thank my children, Skye and Colin, for giving me hope for the future and providing me with the inner strength to continue to follow my dreams. Finally, for my husband, Aaron, I offer my eternal gratitude for his unconditional love. You are the beginning and end to every love story I have ever written, and I thank you for being here with me on this path I’ve chosen.

 

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