The Irish Heiress

by Kaitlin O’Riley

“Is that all you told him, Nellie?” Foster asked.

  “I swear, my lord. I don’t know anything else to tell.”

  He didn’t doubt that. He’d been very discreet. Although apparently not discreet enough. “Did he happen to say why he was going to Ireland?”

  She shook her head balefully, her red-rimmed eyes sad. “I think he just wants to get away from me.”

  “I doubt that, Nellie. You’re a fine girl and any young fellow would be lucky to have you.” He forced a smile. “Thank you for telling me this. I’m going to instruct Preston to give you a little bonus in your wages.”

  “Thank you!” she cried, looking flabbergasted. “But, Lord Sterling, I thought you would dismiss me for being disloyal to you.”

  “No, I’m not going to dismiss you, Nellie, so please stop crying. You’ve actually done me a great favor by coming to me today and telling me the truth. I wouldn’t have known that Lady Sterling was having me watched if you hadn’t told me. I appreciate that.”

  “You do?” Her teary blue eyes widened.

  “Yes, I do. Now go and have a bit of a rest and recover yourself. And do try to stay away from unscrupulous gentlemen in the future, Nellie.”

  She rose to her feet, a hesitant smile on her face. “I promise I will, my lord. Thank you.”

  As she made her way to the door, Foster called after her. “Nellie?”

  “Yes, my lord?” She turned back around.

  “What is the name of this man? Your supposed fellow?” he asked.

  “His name is Bailey Briggs.”

  “Thank you, Nellie.”

  As the housemaid left, Foster tried to remain calm. Why was Rose following Mara to Ireland? Rose had never been any farther from Yorkshire than London. She despised traveling and avoided doing so at all costs. She had always been quite satisfied staying at home. He couldn’t imagine why she would go all the way to Ireland unless to confront Mara and cause trouble. It didn’t bode well for any of them. Foster decided to leave for Dublin right away.

  There was no time to lose.

  20

  Connections

  Mara was home again.

  As she walked along the rocky stream that edged the Cashelmore estate, she pulled her dark cloak tighter around her shoulders to ward off the autumn chill. It was an overcast day and the clouds hung low in the sky. A slight mist began to gather over the fields and hedges, but she did not care. Mara always loved the misty days best. She breathed deeply of the fresh air, thinking how good it was to be away from London. She needed to clear her head, and there was something about being back in Ireland that eased her soul and made her feel calmer.

  She’d arrived at Cashelmore Manor that day only to discover that her parents and her brother, Thomas, had gone back to London to surprise her. It seemed they’d been at cross purposes. Mara had smiled at the sheer absurdity of it all when Collins, the butler, had informed her that she’d missed Lord and Lady Cashelmore by a day.

  In a way it was a relief to not have to face her parents, for she was not proud of what she had begun with Foster Sheridan. Yet with her parents in London, Mara was free to visit her mother’s family without having to answer her father’s questions about why she was doing so. The first thing Mara planned for the morning was to travel to visit her aunt Deirdre, who had moved to Galway.

  Mara continued walking along the stream, stepping over the mossy rocks and stones at its edge. The beauty of the lush landscape inspired her, and the pastoral surroundings filled her with peace. Only the babbling of the stream, the twitter of birds, and her own footsteps could be heard. Such a change from the constant noise and bustle of London!

  She came to a rocky outcropping and climbed upon one of the larger gray stones. The quiet perch afforded her an expansive view of the estate with the impressive sight of Cashelmore Manor in the distance. Since she was a little girl, she had always come to this place to be by herself and think. Which she desperately needed to do just then.

  Mara needed to sort out her life.

  During the journey to Ireland, she had done nothing but think about Foster and her future. She desperately wished she had someone she could talk over things with. Her lady’s maid, Brighton, was sweet, but not the best confidante or adviser.

  She needed her cousin Sara Fleming—or Lady Bridgeton, now that she was married. Sara would know exactly what to do. Sara would be able to help her make sense of this foolish mess that Mara had gotten herself into. However, wishing Sara would magically appear did not help her situation either.

  But talking with her mother’s older sisters might. And that would take some courage.

  Mara had feared her aunts when she was younger. Aunt Deirdre especially. Mara had vague memories of her mother’s sisters trying to take her from her father after the fire. They wanted her to live with one of them, which Mara did not wish to do. She supposed their intentions were good, of course, but they had both been rather stern and exacting women and they had scared her.

  Even as Mara grew older and realized that they could not take her from her father any longer, she did not spend much time with either of her mother’s sisters. Aunt Deirdre and Aunt Ellen had, in fact, been rather distant and cold. They were quite unlike her Hamilton aunts, who were warm and welcoming to a fault.

  But Deirdre and Ellen could help her now. They might be able to tell her more about her mother. At least Mara hoped that they would.

  The more she thought about it, the more she realized that she actually knew very little about her mother, Margaret Ryan. Perhaps because everyone had been too afraid of upsetting Mara by mentioning her mother, fearing it might scare or worry her, Mara had grown up only overhearing things about her.

  Lord knew her father never wanted to talk about his first wife and avoided doing so at all costs.

  Mara reached into the pocket of her cloak and took out the small picture she had of her mother. It wasn’t as clear a photograph as the types available nowadays. This one was rather grainy. Aside from the formal portraits in the gallery, it was the only image Mara had of her mother, and she kept it in a special box in her bedroom at Cashelmore Manor. She had retrieved it this morning.

  Holding the photograph in her hands now, Mara stared at the sepia-toned oval image of a laughing woman. She was quite beautiful. Slender and fair, with her long blond hair spilling around her, Margaret Ryan Reeves wore a simple white gown with long sleeves. She stared into the camera lens with a look of... what? Impertinence? Defiance? Mischief? Mara was not sure.

  Mara definitely resembled her mother. Everyone always said that they looked remarkably alike. But just how deep did their likenesses run? Yes, Mara had inherited her mother’s fair looks. But had she inherited more from her mother than she wished for?

  Had the madness been passed on to her as well? Mara feared it had.

  A sudden sound startled her. Mara turned and looked around her, but didn’t see anything or anyone. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. The grooms knew where she walked and would have announced their presence. No one else would be wandering the Cashelmore estate.

  Since it was growing dark and she was feeling a bit spooked, she decided to walk back to the house. With more traveling ahead of her in the morning, Mara needed her rest.

  She didn’t know what she would discover at her aunt’s house.

  * * *

  “What is it that brings you here, Mara? It’s such a surprise to see you. I can’t even recall the last time you paid me a visit.”

  Deirdre Ryan Hollingsworth was every bit as intimidating as Mara remembered her being when she was a little girl. Mara had not spent a great deal of time with her mother’s older sister over the years, but her aunt had always had a severe look about her then, just as she did now.

  Deirdre’s ash-blond hair was tinged with gray and her thin face was more creased than before, but there was still a faint resemblance to Margaret. She more than likely was never the beauty that her younger sister had been, but she
was not an unattractive woman. Her features were good, possessing a fine nose and clear blue eyes, but her expression always seemed dour, with her lips pursed in displeasure.

  Aunt Deirdre was a widow now, her husband having died about ten years ago. She was left well-off, and her children had grown and married.

  They sat together at a tea table in her aunt’s house. It was a pleasant and comfortable drawing room with a wide window overlooking the rolling green fields outside and a cozy fire burning to ward off the damp chill of the rainy afternoon. The table was covered with an elaborate lace tablecloth and set with lovely Belleek china. Aunt Deirdre loved her tea.

  “I came because I wanted to speak to you, Aunt Deirdre. About my mother.” Mara paused, waiting for a reaction. No one ever seemed to want to talk about Margaret Ryan.

  “That’s truly the reason?” Deirdre’s face continued to look impassive. She didn’t even raise an eyebrow at Mara’s request.

  “Yes. I would like to know more about my mother.”

  Aunt Deirdre suddenly smiled. It changed the whole appearance of her face. Her eyes lit up and she looked almost happy and pretty. Astonished by the transformation, Mara tried to recall if she’d ever seen her aunt smile before.

  “Well, I have been waiting for this day,” she said triumphantly. “It’s about time.”

  “What do you mean?” Mara asked.

  “I mean that you’re twenty-two years old and you have never come to me before to learn more about your mother.” Reaching across the table, Deirdre placed her wrinkled hand over Mara’s younger one. “Mara, you were practically a baby when Margaret died. Of course you didn’t know her. I doubt if you can even recall much about her at this point. Oh, I’ve wanted to talk to you about your mother for years.”

  “You have?” Incredulous, Mara stared at her aunt, whom she had been so fearful of for her entire life.

  “Of course, my dear. I was much older than Margaret, and our parents were not in the best of health, so I practically raised my sister. When she died so tragically, I wanted to raise you as well. But your father wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted to keep you himself.”

  “Yes.” Mara recalled that battle between her father and her aunts. She was very grateful for staying with her father and she shuddered to think how different her life would have been if she had been made to live with Aunt Deirdre.

  “I suppose it all worked out for the best, but I always thought it sad that you didn’t spend more time with Ellen and me instead of becoming all involved with your stepmother’s family the way you did.” The smile had disappeared from Deirdre’s face and the austerity had returned.

  Mara grew defensive, thinking of her lovely Hamilton aunts and how good they were to her. “Paulette’s family was very welcoming to me.”

  Deirdre put on an injured air. “I’m sure they were. But they’re not your blood relatives. They didn’t know your mother.”

  “No, they did not.” That was the truth and Mara could not deny it. But she loved her Hamilton family as much as if they were her blood relatives.

  Deirdre poured hot black tea into the fine china cups. Mara spooned some sugar into hers and let it cool a little.

  “Your mother was an incomparable beauty. Men would fall over themselves for her.” She eyed Mara. “You do have a strong resemblance to her.”

  “Thank you. I shall take that as great praise.” Mara knew she wasn’t half as beautiful as her mother was, but it was compliment enough to know that she resembled her.

  “As a child Margaret was delightful. A prettier baby you couldn’t imagine! Our parents, everyone who met her, all of us were captivated by her. We doted on her every whim and, I suppose, we all spoiled her terribly. But no one could refuse her. As she grew, she blossomed into a stunning young woman. She was renowned for her beauty and we had arranged a fine marriage for her. To the Duke of Kilcarragh, no less, and he was head over heels in love with her. But then Margaret met Declan Reeves, and that was it. Declan was young and terribly handsome, and a fine catch too. It was no wonder that Margaret threw over the old duke and ran off with your father.”

  “My mother and father eloped?” Mara was stunned and fascinated. She had never heard this story before. It was the most intriguing thought that her parents had run away together!

  “Oh yes. She was only eighteen and Declan not much older than that, and they ran off to Galway just before she was to marry the Duke of Kilcarragh. He was fit to be tied when he found out Margaret jilted him, let me tell you. Such a scandal, that was! But that was our Margaret. She never thought things through. She never thought about the consequences of what she was doing. But the main trouble with Margaret was that once she finally got what she had been longing for, she completely lost interest and didn’t want it anymore. Which is what happened with Declan.”

  “What do you mean?” Mara asked, a bit confused. How could her mother lose interest in her father after marrying him?

  “Margaret, God rest her soul, was a flighty girl. She could never settle on one thing for long and she always wanted what she couldn’t have. What was out of reach or denied to her . . . that was what she wanted most! She didn’t want to marry the duke, because he was much older and not nearly as handsome as Declan, of course, but also because she was being told to marry him. But the duke would have been able to manage her better, I believe. Declan never knew how to handle Margaret properly. He was not the right man for her, as he soon came to realize after it was too late. But there was no talking to her, and before we could stop her, Margaret ran off and married Declan anyway. She was in love with the romance and adventure of eloping and all that. She adored doing things she shouldn’t. As soon as she defied us all and married Declan, she was then expected to behave as the proper wife of an earl. But oh, our little darling wasn’t having any of that!” Deirdre shook her head ruefully.

  “What happened?” Mara couldn’t imagine her mother acting the way Aunt Deirdre depicted her.

  “Well, after we discovered Margaret’s marriage to Declan, we were trying to have it annulled, but then she discovered she was having his child. You. So we accepted Margaret as the Countess of Cashelmore, which was the next best thing to being a duchess. But if Margaret didn’t like the duties of being a wife, she really despised the responsibilities of being a mother. Oh, she loved you!” Deirdre said when she saw Mara’s expression. “You were a beautiful child and a credit to her, Mara. Your mother loved you as much as she was capable of loving anyone. But motherhood was not exciting to her. To be sure, she was a sweet and loving girl, and when her love shined upon you, it was a glorious thing. It’s just that it didn’t shine on one thing for very long. I suppose Margaret was rather vain and flighty, and she wanted other men to love and adore her. And, Declan . . . Well, Declan was also very young and very jealous. It all added up to tragedy.” Deirdre sighed heavily and took a sip of her tea.

  Mara quietly considered all that she’d just been told about her mother. It was quite a surprise and it was no wonder her father was reluctant to talk about her. But Mara kept waiting for her aunt to mention something about her mother’s madness. Perhaps she was too ashamed to bring it up? “The tragedy of the fire, you mean?”

  Deirdre nodded sadly. “I know you were there the night of the fire, Mara dear, but I don’t think you know what led to it. Margaret always confided in me through her letters. She was terribly unhappy with your father, she said. I know Declan had been besotted with her at the start, but after you were born, he began to see Margaret for what she was. Spoiled and selfish. It gives me no pleasure to say that about my sister, but it is the truth.”

  It was rather disconcerting to discover that her mother and father had such troubles. She had always imagined them happy together up until the night of the fire, although she recalled the two of them having a terrible quarrel that night.

  “Margaret grew more restless and demanding, as Declan’s attention, and love, shifted to his baby daughter. I’d never seen a father so enraptured with
a child as your father was with you, Mara. Anyway, Margaret sought attention elsewhere. She was not very discreet either.” Deirdre gave her niece a knowing look.

  “You mean that my mother was . . . unfaithful to my father?” Mara found it hard to believe.

  “Unfortunately, yes. With more than one man too. And your father found out about it, of course. He tried to keep her away from one certain fellow, and that’s why he took you both to Galway. Declan was trying to get Margaret to come around, to stop all her foolishness and settle down. But she had told me she was determined to leave him.”

  All this was quite eye-opening information. Everything that Mara had ever known about her parents and their marriage had been wrong.

  Deirdre continued her tale. “And perhaps your father might have been able to persuade her. Who knows? The night of the fire changed everything.”

  “I remember them quarreling that night,” Mara said softly. “Their yelling woke me and I crept down the hallway to her room. I don’t know what they were arguing about, but they were both very angry and I remember not liking that. My mother was crying. Then my father saw me and carried me back to bed. I didn’t stay in my bed though . . .”

  Now it was Deirdre’s turn to remain silent as she listened to Mara tell her version of the events that night.

  “I didn’t like that my mother was crying and I wanted to be with her. And I smelled smoke. By the time I got to her room, the flames were all along the corridor all around her room. I was screaming for her. Mama was screaming too, because she was on fire,” Mara recalled softly. “If it wasn’t for Papa rescuing me, I’d have died that night as well.”

  Deirdre wiped away some tears with her embroidered handkerchief. “That was a terrible thing for a child to witness. It’s no wonder you didn’t speak for a year afterward. Do you remember that?”

  Mara nodded. The sight of her mother burning to death had haunted Mara her whole life. It so traumatized her that she couldn’t find the will to talk for months, and she only felt safe when she was with her father.