The Irish Heiress

by Kaitlin O’Riley

  This beautiful, passionate, ethereal, sensitive, slip of a girl, with her wide eyes, pert little nose, and sweet smile, had unexpectedly melted the cold, isolated world he had built around himself for the last ten years. Foster would never be the same again. Nor did he want to be. For the first time in his life, he felt wanted. He felt needed. He felt loved.

  In a matter of days, Mara had completely changed his life.

  He never would have believed such a thing was possible. That such a monumental, life-altering change could happen so quickly. That he could fall in love with a woman so effortlessly. He’d heard of love at first sight, but never thought it would happen to him. He never expected to be loved. Or to love someone else.

  And he was in love with her. It was the only explanation for what he was feeling. He was head over heels in love with her. And he never wanted to let her go.

  It was inexplicable. It was madness. It was love. Pure and simple.

  He loved Lady Mara Reeves.

  He belonged to her completely and she belonged to him. Just what they were going to do about this dreadful, tangled, complicated mess they found themselves in, he did not know. He hadn’t quite formulated a plan yet, but he was working on it. One thing was for certain. She was not going to be just his mistress, because she deserved far more than that. She deserved far more than he could give her.

  Basically Foster had spent his entire life alone, even though he was surrounded by people and friends. In his heart, he’d been alone. He’d felt unlovable and undeserving of love. And now that he’d found her, the woman he belonged with, the woman who had brought love into his life, he’d be damned if he’d ever give her up.

  For once in his life he was going to be selfish. He was going to love Mara anyway, even though it made their lives a complex web of lies. He did not care. He’d spent years doing what was asked of him, what was expected of him, what was right. He’d obeyed his nannies and tutors and teachers. He’d acquiesced to his parents’ wishes by being an obedient and respectful son. He’d given in to his wife’s childish and petty demands, forgoing any of his own rights in their marriage.

  And he was miserable.

  Well, no more.

  As he held Mara in his arms, he vowed to himself that from that moment on, he would do things differently. For once he would fight for what he wanted. And he wanted to spend his life with the woman who loved him in spite of all his weaknesses and failings.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Mara mumbled into his shoulder.

  “There is nothing to be sorry about,” he said soothingly, still stroking her back in slow, up-and-down motions, rocking her back and forth. He felt her relax against him and her crying begin to subside. “It’s all right, my love. I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe with me.” And he meant every word he whispered to her. He would keep her safe as long as he was able.

  “I didn’t mean for that to happen in front of you,” she said, her voice full of shame.

  “So then it’s happened to you before?” he asked. It was somewhat of a relief to know that he had not been the sole cause of her upset if she had experienced these effects before.

  “Yes.” Her head was still resting on his shoulder.

  “What was the matter?”

  Slowly she lifted her head and faced him. The sadness and fear in her gray eyes wrenched his heart as she stared at him. “Sometimes I have dizzy spells.”

  “That was more than a mere dizzy spell, Mara,” he countered softly, as he smoothed the tousled hair away from her pretty face.

  “No.” She shook her head in defeat. “It wasn’t just a dizzy spell . . .”

  “What was it then?” he prompted.

  Looking anguished, she finally blurted out, “Sometimes I see things.”

  “You see things? What kinds of things?”

  She pulled away from him in a panic, avoiding his eyes. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I should go home now.” She scrambled to get down from the bed, but Foster blocked her way.

  “Wait. Mara, please stop . . .” He put his hands on her shoulders to keep her from squirming around him. “Wait. It does matter. Look at me.” He paused until she raised her wide eyes to his. “What happens to you matters to me. Something happened to you just now that worried me and clearly upset you. I love you and care deeply for you. I want to help you. Tell me . . . what things do you see? What do you mean?”

  Her delicate brows furrowed. “I’ve never told anyone before . . .”

  “I’m not just anyone.” Foster took her hands in his.

  She looked at him with the most trusting eyes. “It’s difficult to explain . . . but sometimes I get . . . visions of what is going to happen. Little glimpses of the future, you could say. They are not always clear and I don’t always understand the images that come to me. I can’t explain why it happens to me and I can’t control where or when or how often it happens or what I see. Usually it happens in the early morning, just as I’m waking or late at night when I’m alone in my bedroom. It just comes over me without any warning, just as it did now, here with you, and I get very dizzy, and hot and cold . . . and well, you saw for yourself . . .”

  “And what did you see just now?” he asked, mesmerized by what she was telling him. Foster had read a book once about people who had the gift of sight and could see the future. It had fascinated him. Had Mara the sight?

  “I’m not sure what it means . . . but I saw flames. There was a terrible fire somewhere. You and I were both there and in great danger. I was terrified, and I thought I was going to die. I was lost and separated from you, but you found me. I knew I was safe with you . . .”

  “Was it just a bad dream?” he asked. Perhaps she was having a memory of the traumatic events she experienced as a child? Such a ghastly ordeal would scar a grown man, let alone an innocent little girl.

  “I wasn’t asleep, Foster,” she said in an even tone, oddly calmer now. “You saw it happen. I was wide-awake. And it wasn’t a dream. And it wasn’t the first time this has happened to me. I’ve had dozens of these kinds of visions since I was a little girl. Everything I ‘saw’ eventually came to pass, even when I didn’t understand what it meant at that time.”

  “All right then. Let’s figure out what the one you had tonight means,” he suggested. He hated to see her so distressed.

  She seemed rather reticent. “Well, this one was quite different from all the others.”

  “In what way?”

  “Because I’ve had this same vision once before. It’s rather odd, because I’ve never had the same vision twice. It leads me to believe that what I’m seeing is very important.”

  “That makes sense . . .” If any of it made sense. Foster was a bit at a loss as to how to help her with this peculiar occurrence. If nothing else, he hoped he could apply some logic and calm her down. “When did you have the first one?”

  “It was the night we met at my uncle’s party. I had the vision for the first time just before I saw you in the hallway.”

  “Ah, that explains your dizziness and why you were resting.”

  She nodded. “Phillip saw me just afterward and insisted that I rest. But you were in that vision, so clearly! I was rendered speechless when we were introduced just a few moments later.”

  “So you had a vision about me, before you ever met me?” he asked, quite intrigued. There was something rather fatalistic about it and he wanted to know more.

  “Can I tell you something?” she asked with hesitation.

  “You can tell me anything, Mara.”

  “In my vision, we had such strong feelings for each other. It was the most incredible sense of love,” she said. “And when I met you, I knew then that we belonged together.”

  As much as Foster hated to admit it, he had felt the same way about her. As an intelligent and rational person, he knew it made no sense whatsoever, but he had heard of stranger occurrences in the world. And the instant attraction he felt for Mara that night? He had attributed that to the old
saying, love at first sight.

  “Tonight’s vision was remarkably similar to the first one I had,” Mara continued. “There was the fire and I was trapped. I heard screaming and feared I was going to die. Then you found me. Once you had your arms around me, I knew I was completely safe. That I would always be safe with you.”

  The trusting look in Mara’s eyes in that moment was almost his undoing. Foster knew then and there that he would do anything to keep this beautiful and wonderful woman from harm.

  Even though Foster wasn’t sure what any of it meant. He’d never personally known anyone who had visions, or possessed “the sight” before, and he didn’t know if it was dangerous for her or not. Should he be concerned for her welfare? Was she merely reliving the past trauma with this vision of a fire? That actually seemed to be the most logical explanation, but he didn’t believe that.

  “I shall always keep you safe, Mara.” He took her hand in his.

  “I hope so . . .” She smiled sweetly at him. “But I’m concerned. In part of the vision something terrible is happening. There is a great fire and someone is dying. I don’t know who it is, but we are in great danger, that much I could see. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I’ve never had a vision like this before, one that boded ill for me. The visions I’ve had in the past tended to be about others, and they all came true. I saw my cousin Sara marrying the Earl of Bridgeton before she loved him. I saw that my brother, Thomas, would be a boy before he was born. I saw that my cousin Christopher would break his arm . . . I saw ordinary things like that. Those were the types of visions I’ve experienced in the past. Nothing terribly dramatic and none of them ever involved me. So that I’ve had this vision of a fire that included me, twice now . . . I’m worried that something terrible is going to happen, Foster.”

  He pulled Mara into his arms, holding her close to his chest. “Nothing bad is going to happen to either of us. And even in your vision it seems the two of us are still together and safe at the end. That is all that matters to me.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked, her brows furrowed.

  “Yes,” he said. “And who is to say that any of it means anything? You’re probably worrying over nothing at all.” He kissed her. “Now it’s past time that we get you home.”

  Reluctantly they both rose from the bed and readied themselves to leave.

  A little while later Foster watched from his carriage as Mara made her way in through the servants’ entrance to Devon House. It was with a heavy heart that he returned to his own home.

  He had promised that he would keep Mara safe.

  Yet making plans to see her again continued to put the woman he loved in great danger.

  11

  Desolations

  Rose Sheridan, Lady Sterling, stared out the window of her bedroom, which overlooked the wide expanse of fields and pastures that surrounded the sprawling estate known as Sterling Hall. The leaves were beginning to turn and dot the verdant landscape with bursts of gold, crimson, and yellow. It almost looked as if little fires were out there, burning in the trees.

  She stood still, watching the mist rise and dissipate over the hills, taking no joy in the beauty of her surroundings. No delight in the timeless change of the seasons. No pleasure in the scenic view of the woods that used to bring her so much happiness.

  None of it mattered to her. Not after her visit to London.

  “I’ve brought your shawl, my lady. The air has a bit of a chill to it this morning.”

  Rose looked blankly at her lady’s maid, Alice Bellwether, who had been taking care of her since she was just a fifteen-year-old girl and Alice was not much older. With a cloud of red curls around her wide, round face, Alice’s chubby frame had given Rose a shoulder to cry on more than once. Alice Bellwether was the closest person Rose had to a friend in all the world.

  Humming to herself, Alice draped the soft woolen shawl over Rose’s thin shoulders, carefully adjusting the material until Rose was covered to her satisfaction.

  Rose continued to stand motionless, her eyes on the soft clouds dotting the morning sky.

  “You really should sit down and try to eat a little breakfast, my lady. It will help you feel better,” Alice cajoled with a smile.

  “I feel fine,” Rose responded woodenly.

  Alice sighed in resignation. “Well, I’ll leave your tray here a little longer.”

  “You needn’t bother.”

  The servant protested heatedly. “But the doctor said you are to keep up your strength, and to do that, you must eat the meals I bring to you.”

  “Never mind what the doctor said. I’m not hungry, Alice, so I’m not eating.”

  With an irritated huff, Alice announced, “I’m leaving the tray there on the table and I insist you eat something before I leave. At least have some toast. And then perhaps you might go for a walk today. It’s a lovely day and the air will do you good.” Her heavy frame bustled around the ornately decorated bedroom, putting things to rights.

  Rose stared out the window, listless and disinterested. Ever since she came back from London she had been this way.

  Her life was not her own anymore. Not that it ever really had been.

  Not even thirty, Rose didn’t recognize her own reflection in the mirror. She’d never been what anyone would describe as a beauty, but she had once been passably attractive.

  Attractive enough to catch the eye of a handsome and charming young footman who worked in her family’s home, Brookwood Manor. Andrew Cooper had just been hired the summer she was seventeen years old and Rose was instantly smitten with the tall, blond, blue-eyed and laughing young man. She’d never seen anyone so devastatingly handsome. In his presence she seemed to come alive for the first time in her life.

  For Rose Davenport had led a very sheltered existence.

  The only daughter of Henry and Elizabeth Davenport was a disappointment to them in every way from the moment she was born. Henry Davenport, an extremely successful textile merchant, had made quite a fortune for himself. He married the beautiful and elegant Elizabeth Carroway, the daughter of a baron, in an attempt to raise his social status. Then they bought Brookwood, a large Tudor-style manor house, from the struggling estate of James Sheridan, the Earl of Sterling. After years of trying to have a child, the birth of their son John was the true highlight of their marriage and they pinned all their hopes on their bright and handsome boy.

  Over ten years later, Rose was born, and as she understood it, she had not been an expected or wanted child. The pregnancy was exceptionally difficult on her mother, and the delivery was so harrowing it almost cost Elizabeth her life. When it was revealed that Rose was a girl, and not a particularly pretty baby at that, Henry and Elizabeth were less than delighted. They took little interest in her, lavishing all their attention on their only son and heir. While John was given the best of everything and sent to the finest schools in London, Rose languished at Brookwood Manor, left to the care of a succession of nannies as her parents lived their lives in London, with only sporadic visits back to Yorkshire to visit their daughter.

  Each time they visited, Henry and Elizabeth Davenport discovered more about their daughter to disappoint them. Nothing about her compared to their son, and he outshone her in every way possible. Ten years older than Rose, John Davenport was handsome, intelligent, popular, charming and well liked by everyone who knew him. He was quick-witted, athletic, and poised to take over the family’s thriving textile business.

  To Henry and Elizabeth Davenport’s increasing dismay, Rose was not pretty enough, not smart enough, and not charming enough to warrant their time or affection. Their only daughter was too slow, too plump, and too plain. Her mother would shake her head in frustration at Rose’s lack of charm and grace.

  Must you stomp when you walk, Rose? It’s a shame you have such an ungainly figure. Perhaps if you smiled more often you could appear more attractive. Try to tone down the pitch of your voice, Rose, you sound like a squawking goose. If you keep eating sweets, you�
�ll become even fatter than you already are. Why can’t you be more agreeable and pleasant to be with, like your brother? Everyone loves John. You’re such an odd, depressing, and morose child!

  After each visit her parents would invariably return to London even more dissatisfied with her than when they arrived.

  For the most part Rose was left to her own devices, which was not saying much. Her education was sketchy at best. Not having a natural aptitude for academics nor any interest in pursuing it, she left the schoolroom lacking in any real knowledge of the world around her. Instead, Rose spent her days walking the grounds of the estate and sketching the beautiful flowers in the garden and the pastoral landscapes that surrounded her.

  Drawing had become a passion of hers and it filled her solitary days. Rose could lose herself for hours, trying to sketch a perfect yellow daffodil or tender blades of green grass or the spidery veins on a maple leaf. She was mostly self-taught, for her father thought drawing a frivolous pastime and denied her repeated requests for an art teacher when she was twelve years old. And thirteen. And fourteen . . . So she saved her pin money on sketchbooks and pencils that she would purchase in the village nearby. Rose hid all her sketches in a wooden trunk in her bedroom and she had never shared them with anyone.

  Except Andrew.

  Andrew Cooper came into her life like a thunderstorm after a drought and she fell in love with him with a white-hot passion and blind devotion that was almost her ruination. And in fact, it was.

  Loving Andrew Cooper had most definitely ruined her life.

  The summer Rose was seventeen her parents were excitedly preparing for John’s upcoming society wedding to Lady Anne Carlisle, and they had decided to put Rose’s debut on hold for another year. They were so preoccupied with planning their son’s nuptials in London that they did not take any notice of the very handsome young footman employed at their country estate, Brookwood Manor.