“Truly, Mara, I wanted to keep you with me. You reminded me so of your mother. And for a while after her death, we all believed your father was the one who set the fire to rid himself of Margaret. I didn’t think he deserved to raise you at that point. But as you know, it turned out not to have been him.” Deirdre continued to dab at her eyes with the handkerchief. “It was just such a shame. All of it. Losing Margaret when she was so young, and then losing you to your new family in England.”
Mara began to cry a little bit herself. Thinking back on that night now, knowing how unhappy her parents were with each other, changed her perspective of things. Yet for all that her aunt told her about her mother, none of it indicated that Margaret Ryan Reeves was mad. Selfish and foolish, yes, but not insane.
“Aunt Deirdre,” Mara began with hesitation. “Was my mother . . . I mean, did my mother ever seem to be . . . unbalanced in any way?”
Deirdre looked surprised. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
“With all her seemingly poor decisions and reckless behavior, did you ever consider her to be . . . well . . . a bit mad?” There. She’d finally said the words out loud. Her mother was mad. Mara held her breath, waiting for her aunt’s response.
Aunt Deirdre chuckled a little and waved her hand airily. “Mad? You mean daft? Or crazy? No. No, Margaret was many things, my dear, and she may have acted a bit outlandish from time to time, but she was completely sane. She always knew exactly what she was doing, whether it was considered proper or not. She knew the difference. She just didn’t care if she flouted the rules that the rest of us followed.”
Stunned by the revelation, Mara didn’t understand. How could she have believed her mother to be suffering some sort of mental deficiency when she was not? “You mean she was not insane?”
“Good heavens, child! Of course she wasn’t insane!” Deirdre looked at her with a mixture of confusion and surprise. “What on earth ever gave you that idea?”
Mara was silent for a moment as she considered that question. Why had she believed her mother was mad? Bits and pieces of adult conversations that she overheard as a child flitted through her memory. References to her mother’s irrational behavior as insane by her father stuck out in particular. Was he simply calling her actions crazy? Perhaps he wasn’t truly referring to Margaret at all? Maybe he was looking upon the entire situation as lunacy and Mara had misunderstood what she’d heard?
No one had ever really sat down and talked to Mara about her mother before. Not when she was a child, nor when she was grown. Mara had been left to surmise what she was like on her own. But it wasn’t just that a child misinterpreted what was going on around her or overheard something she shouldn’t have. It was that, for as long as she could recall, Mara was experiencing those sometimes ominous premonitions, which frightened her and caused her to believe that she was insane, or on her way to becoming so, just like her mother supposedly was.
It was rather easy to believe.
“I’m not entirely sure, Aunt Deirdre, but I think I misunderstood something I’d overheard as a child . . . and then there were other things.”
“What things?” Deirdre looked at her with such caring concern that Mara was disarmed.
“Things about myself.”
“You?” Her aunt scoffed. “There’s nothing the least bit mad about you, Mara. Since you were a child you had the sweetest and calmest disposition. You were an astonishingly well-behaved and obedient little girl. Everyone remarked on it! And look at you now! Rational. Intelligent. Agreeable. You may look just like your mother, but you have your father’s temperament. You are not at all like your mother in that respect. Have you ever caused the slightest commotion or any bit of trouble? Of course not. You’ve never given any indication of being mentally unbalanced, Mara, dear.”
“But I have had . . . indications . . .” she admitted slowly. “I just haven’t ever mentioned them to anyone else for fear of upsetting the family.”
Deirdre was about to dismiss Mara’s claim, but she suddenly paused and stared at her. “Not mentioned what?”
“I see, that is . . . I have . . . premonitions about things.” Again Mara waited for her aunt to react in appalled shock.
Instead, Deirdre reached across the table and took Mara’s hand in hers. “Why, Mara Kathleen, you have the sight!”
She knew! Her aunt knew what Mara was referring to. “You don’t sound surprised in the least, Aunt Deirdre.”
“Because I’m not that surprised, really.” She looked pleased. “The gift of the sight runs in our family.”
Mara’s heart sank. She had been right all along. Her affliction was definitely hereditary! She was right not to want children, for she would surely pass it on to them.
“How long have you had it?” Deirdre asked, curious to know more.
“I’ve been having them for as long as I can remember. I even had a hazy premonition about the night of the fire and of my mother dying. However, I think I was too young to understand what it meant. I wanted to save her, which is why I left my bedroom the second time that night, but I couldn’t save her. It was too late by the time I got to her.” Mara felt a weight lift off her shoulders as she confided in her aunt.
“But why have you never mentioned this to me before?” Deirdre inquired, clearly disappointed that her niece had neglected to inform her of this.
“Because I believed it meant that something was terribly wrong with me,” Mara confessed. She had also been too afraid of her aunt when she was younger and Deirdre would never have been someone whom Mara would have confided in. “I still think there is something wrong with me. I never wanted anyone to know and I didn’t want to worry my father or anyone else in the family.”
“That’s just like you. Thinking about everyone else but yourself. Trying to please everyone and not cause trouble. You are the complete opposite of your mother in every way! But my dear Mara, the sight isn’t an affliction. It’s a wonderful gift.” Deirdre looked at her with wonder.
Mara recalled Uncle Jeffrey saying something similar to her the night she had the premonition in front of him. He seemed to think she had a gift as well. Had she a gift and not a curse, after all? Mara didn’t know what to think anymore.
“My grandmother, who would be your great-grandmother, had the sight,” Deirdre explained with a note of pride in her voice. “And so did one of my aunts. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Isn’t it?” So she wasn’t going mad? After all her anxiety and worry, Mara wasn’t going to lose her mind? She almost couldn’t believe it was true.
“Of course not.” Aunt Deirdre gave her hand a comforting squeeze and then let go of her. “It’s a wonderful thing, it is. My grandmother, Eileen Ffrench, used to tell me all about her premonitions. How she would sometimes know what would happen well before it actually happened. Some people would dismiss that as simply a lucky guess or good intuition. And perhaps at times it is just that. Although I do believe being naturally intuitive is a big part of it. But my grandmother would be able to tell me things with incredible accuracy that would then come to pass. It was quite remarkable. Everything that she ‘foresaw’ came true. It seems you take after her, Mara.”
“I’ve never known anyone else that this happens to.” Learning that her great-grandmother had visions was quite a revelation. Mara didn’t feel as isolated knowing she had a connection to her mother’s family.
“Well, having the ability to see the future is unusual, to be sure. But having the sight is not unheard of either. It’s actually quite common in our family.”
“I never knew that either. I wish I had known. It would have made me feel better about it all,” Mara admitted.
Shaking her head, Deirdre frowned. “It’s my fault. I should have pressed your father to let you visit us more often. I should have shared our family history with you sooner.”
“I should have asked you sooner.”
“In any case, we’re here together now and we both know. Just wait until I
tell your Aunt Ellen! She’ll be terribly sorry to have missed your visit.” Deirdre rose from her seat and indicated for Mara to do the same. “Come with me, dear. I want to show you something.”
Mara followed her aunt from the room and ascended the staircase to the upper floor of the house. Deirdre led Mara to her bedroom, which was quite grand and spacious, and she pointed to an oil portrait of a woman in an ornate gold-edged frame that hung over the mantel.
“That is my grandmother and your great-grandmother, Eileen Ffrench,” Deirdre announced. “She had the sight, just as you do.”
Mara stared at the ancestor who had passed on her gift to her. In spite of the very formal pose, the woman was quite beautiful, with flaxen hair and a serious smile. Her bluish eyes appeared mysterious, almost secretive. Wishing she could talk to her, for she had a thousand questions she wanted answers to, Mara gazed up at her great-grandmother with an awed reverence. It would have been wonderful to be able to speak with her.
“I always wished that I had the sight,” Deirdre confided after a moment.
Mara turned to look at her aunt in surprise. “You did?” It was one thing to accept that she had a strange and unusual gift, it was another to wish for it. Mara certainly never would have wished to have it.
“Of course! I would have loved to know if something important was going to happen. I used to love when Grandmama would tell me about her visions.” She guided Mara to a small divan and they both sat down. “Tell me about your sight, Mara.”
For the first time in her life, Mara did not feel ashamed or embarrassed about her visions. As they sat before the portrait of her great-grandmother, Mara gave examples of the times she had her premonitions and how they had come to pass. Her aunt listened with rapt attention.
“Yes, you definitely have some of Grandmama Eileen in you.” Deirdre smiled, and again Mara was struck by how pretty her aunt looked when she smiled.
“So I’m not going mad then?” Mara couldn’t help but ask.
“No more so than the rest of us, my dear!” Deirdre laughed heartily.
Blessed relief flooded Mara.
She wasn’t cursed. She wasn’t afflicted with lunacy and there was nothing terrible to keep any future children from inheriting. And to think she had been rather afraid of her aunt all these years! If only she had come to see her sooner, she would have been spared so much worry. Deirdre had been nothing but kind, understanding, and supportive of her.
“Thank you so much for talking to me, Auntie. I’m so happy I’ve come here to visit with you today.”
“I’m so glad that you did too, Mara dear. And I hope you will come to see me more often.” Deirdre squeezed her hand once more.
“I promise that I will.” Mara would definitely see to that.
But for now she needed to get back to London just as soon as she could. She had to see Foster Sheridan and tell him that she would marry him after all!
21
Recriminations
Rose Sheridan had made a terrible, terrible mistake. She never should have followed the girl to Ireland.
Now she was stuck there, in that godforsaken country, feeling too ill to travel back home. While she rested at a small hotel near the River Liffey in Dublin, she let Bailey Briggs continue to follow the girl and report back to her.
Rose was simply too tired to do more than sit by the window in her room and watch the river flowing by.
And what was she thinking, coming to Ireland? Ireland, of all places! Rose detested traveling! Hated everything about it. It exhausted her.
Even more so now. The headaches were becoming worse and worse, which frightened her. Although her London doctor had told her to expect that, it still came as a shock. It was inevitable.
With a heavy sigh, she stared at the churning river below, as the rain poured from the heavy gray clouds above.
Just why she decided she had to follow Lady Mara Reeves to Dublin, she was still not quite sure. Seeing her that afternoon in the bookshop had done something to Rose. She’d never been a jealous person before, although Lord knew, she had every reason to be jealous of others, especially of her brother. But still. Something about the girl’s youth and beauty and privilege had shaken Rose to her core.
Mara seemed to have everything Rose had never had, and it still wasn’t enough for her. Now the girl had the effrontery to want Rose’s husband as well.
It simply wasn’t fair. The girl had everything. And if she and Foster just waited, they could eventually marry too. When she was gone.
Rose was dying. Not even thirty years old, and the doctor told her she hadn’t much longer to live. The tumor in her brain was growing and there was no help for her. There was nothing to be done for her now but wait. It could be months, but definitely not more than a year. Time was quickly running out for Rose Sheridan.
Should she have told Foster about it? She’d had two chances to tell him. The first time was the very day she found out about the tumor. She had come to London to see the doctor and surprised Foster by showing up at the townhouse unannounced. She had wanted to tell him then, but he’d been so cold. Colder than usual, anyway. The second chance she had to tell him was when he’d come to Sterling Hall a few weeks later, informing her that he wanted to dissolve their marriage.
Rose could have told him then. She should have told him then.
But she did not want to tell her husband that she was dying.
There was a sense of control in keeping the information to herself, especially in keeping the information from her husband. She wanted him to feel bad when it was over and wonder why he hadn’t known. Knowing Foster, he would blame himself and feel responsible for her death, even though there was absolutely nothing he could have done to save her. But she was his wife and it would pain him to learn that he’d no idea his wife was dying until after she was dead.
Foster would be free of her when she died, but the guilt would haunt him forever.
Rose smiled in satisfaction at the thought.
Especially since he was asking to end the marriage. Let him go to all the trouble of an annulment! It would all be for nothing! She would most likely be dead by the time it was final, and he would wonder why she’d fought it in the first place. He would still wonder why she never told him that all he had to do was wait for her to die and he would be free.
It served him right.
Yes, she was glad she kept the secret to herself. Besides, she didn’t want his pity if he knew. Rose despised being pitied. Her parents had pitied her and it enraged her. She’d be damned if the likes of Foster Sheridan would pity her.
And she’d be damned if she would allow him to marry another woman while she was still alive!
Her entire life had been ruined by this marriage and she wasn’t about to go out of this world as anyone other than the Countess of Sterling. She had earned that title with misery and tears and loneliness, and she wasn’t about to give it up without a fight. She would die as the Countess of Sterling.
After seeing Mara at the bookshop and talking to her that afternoon, Rose had been struck by her sweet nature and ethereal beauty. She was like a creature from another world. She’d been fascinated by her. She even understood why Foster would want to marry such a girl. But she wondered why someone like Mara, who had everything she could possibly want and had not a care in the world, would want to take up with a married man. She wondered if her family knew . . . but Rose doubted it.
Rose delighted in the power that the knowledge of the affair gave her. She could cause a scandal of momentous proportions. The daughter of the Earl of Cashelmore was carrying on an illicit affair with the Earl of Sterling. If Rose let the cat out of the bag, the ensuing scandal would ruin Mara Reeves forever.
Again Rose smiled with great satisfaction.
For the first time in her life, she wielded some power.
She liked how it felt.
She now had power over Foster Sheridan. And she had power over the girl. Just how Rose was going to assert her power
remained to be seen. For now she was waiting and watching and weighing her options.
She didn’t have much time left, so she would have to make up her mind soon.
In the meantime she had Bailey Briggs watching Mara. Rose wondered what made the girl suddenly pack up and leave London and Foster. Had they quarreled? It was all quite intriguing, and being that she didn’t have much left in the world that entertained her, she’d decided on a whim to follow Mara to find out what was going on. To Alice Bellwether’s surprise and utter dismay, they’d traveled with Bailey Briggs to Ireland.
And now she sat in a hotel room in Dublin, too tired to do more than wait there.
Truly, what was Rose going to do? March up to the gates of Cashelmore Manor and demand to see Lady Mara Reeves? No, it was best that she stay put and let a plan come to her.
But nothing had come to her yet and she was growing impatient.
Gazing out the window, Rose watched the rain fall into the swirling torrents of the river as the current flowed toward the Irish Sea. The rain washed away everything, just like the years of her life had been washed away, speeding toward a deep and lonely nothingness.
As tears fell from her eyes, Rose sobbed for everything she had lost and for everything that might have been.
She wondered, not for the first time, what had become of Andrew Cooper. Had he prospered? Had he married and had children? Did he ever think of Rose or miss her? He’d been the only person she ever truly loved and now she wasn’t even positive that he had ever really loved her in return. Had he just been using her? If he’d loved her, he would have come back for her, in spite of her father’s threats. All of it had been such a waste. Such a shame. If only she hadn’t lost her baby. If she hadn’t been so heartbroken at the loss of her son, she might have had the strength to stand up to her father’s demands. She might have run away. If her son had lived, she could not have married Foster Sheridan. Perhaps if the doctor had not ruined her, she would have attempted to have a child with Foster. There was no way of knowing now.
Oh, her sweet baby boy! He would be ten years old now. Rose had marked every single one of his birthdays. She dreamed of him at night. Dreamt of holding him and watching him grow. Dreamt of being loved unconditionally by a sweet golden-haired boy with chubby cheeks and soft skin. At least her death would bring her a reunion with her beloved son.
The Irish Heiress Page 22