The Irish Bride (28 page)

“Stay out of this, Rietta.”

“Why should I? She’s my sister, too. The only valid reason for marriage is true love—on both sides. It may only be the foundation; one still must build well. But without that foundation, no marriage has a hope in Hades of surviving the inevitable hardships and misunderstandings.”

“Well put, m’lady,” Mrs. Daltrey said. “Now, who wants tea?”

The two men—one classically handsome yet wearing a smock with the sleeves rolled up to disclose powerful, sunburnt forearms; the other, his face too controlled to be idolized, faultlessly attired in a dark-green riding coat with moderately large buttons—faced each other. They ignored the advice and commentary of the women in what Rietta thought was a display of perfectly maddening masculine superiority.

“You see my difficulty,” Nick said.

“I do, indeed. I’m what they call worthy,” Arthur replied bitterly. “Worthy enough so long as I keep to my place and don’t dare raise my eyes to the daughters of my betters.”

He looked at Amelia. Even though Rietta caught only a glimpse of his expression, she knew she wanted someone to gaze at her with just that glow in his eyes. Then she corrected herself. “Not
someone”
she said softly. “Nick.”

Arthur went on. “I’m as good a man as any in the country, but because my father was your tenant, I mustn’t look at the loveliest, darlingest creature under heaven. I mustn’t want her or need her, though I do.”

Amelia held out her hands to him. “As I do, Arthur.”

Holding her hand, he glared at Nick. “So you’ll give her to some rich bastard who doesn’t care tuppence for her. And all because there’s good Irish soil under my fingernails. All because I wasn’t laid in a grand cradle when I was born. Sir Nicholas, you must see how wrong and unfair that is.”

“Well, damn it, man, I just fought a bloody war to keep the evils of republicanism out of this country.”

“No, sir. You fought Napoleon to keep his breed o’ tyranny out of this country and I don’t blame you a particle for doin’ it, no matter what the lads may say. But if Waterloo happened just to keep me from marrying your sister, then t’hell with it.”

Rietta saw Nick’s fists clench and the effort of will it took for him to force his hands back to his sides. “Don’t say that, even in jest, Daltrey. I was there, you see.”

The handsome fanner ducked his head, his fair cheeks reddening. “I see, Sir Nicholas.”

“Very well.”

Rietta let out the breath she’d been holding and Nick flashed a glance in her direction. “Speak up, my ... friend,” he said. “I’m sure you have the wisdom to pull us out of this morass.”

Under this challenge, Rietta considered before she spoke. “You don’t object to Mr. Daltrey in any personal way, do you? There’s no family quarrel or anything personally amiss between you? No woman, horse, or hound that wandered from one hand to the other?”

Both men glanced at each other and said, almost in unison, “No.”

“I see.” She smiled reassuringly into Amelia’s frightened eyes. “Since you object only to Mr. Daltrey’s position, perhaps you can alter it.”

“Alter it? How can I? I’m not that influential.”

“Ask yourself what position he can fill that would be acceptable to you.”

“Bearing in mind,” Daltrey said, raising Amelia up to put his arm about her shoulders, “that while I minded my schooling, I’m not likely to make much of a success as a lawyer or a man of the cloth.”

Nick took a turn up and down the room while every other person in it stared at him anxiously. Rietta alone waited for him to do the thing she had faith he would do— the right thing.

“Your brother lives out in Gortmore, so your granny tells me.”

“That’s right.”

“Would he come back here to live?”

‘That he would,” Mrs. Daltrey said. “Nothing would please that wife of his more than t’be away from her mother, the ol’ beldame.”

Nick considered some more, rubbing his knuckles over his cheeks in thought as another man might pull his beard. “I’m not suggesting this is the only solution. What if Amelia were to go away for a few months, enjoy a season in town, meet more eligible men. Then, if her mind was still made up ...”

Their protests drowned the rest of his suggestion. He held up his hands for silence. “Very well. Nothing will do but that you be married. Think hard, Amelia. You cannot change your mind once the deed is done.”

Rietta knew that warning was meant for her.

“Nothing means anything to me if Arthur isn’t my husband,” Amelia said, standing proudly.

“As you wish.” He came up close to the couple. “Mr. Daltrey, I have at present no agent. For all I know, my tenants are robbing me blind. I need someone to tend to their needs as well as collect what I’m owed. Someone to enforce the law when necessary and bend it when wise and the wit to know the difference. It’s a difficult position and not one I’d offer to any man without a great deal of thought.”

“Oh, Nick!” Amelia said, bobbing up and down in excitement. “The gatehouse?”

“You’ve always liked it.”

“I don’t understand,” Arthur said. “Are you offering me... ?”

“At any rate, my last agent, Mr. Cane, died suddenly some few months ago and I’ve not found anyone to take his place. Though having my agent as a brother-in-law may be slightly unorthodox, I’d rather have you handling my affairs than many another fellow. You’re honest, you know the land and the tenants, and your affection for my sister means that I will never have to acquire another agent. I leave that task to my son, if any.” He glanced again at Rietta and she crossed her arms under her bosom. What if she were already carrying Nick’s child?

“There. I’ve stated my case, Arthur. What say you? Will you accept the position?” He looked around at the flabbergasted faces and Rietta wondered whether he’d staged the whole scene. He was capable of it.

Arthur tore his gaze away from Amelia. “Do you believe I can do the task you offer, and do it well? I’ll not take charity of any man, not even a brother.”

“I truly believe you will make an excellent agent.”

“Then I’ll take the position, the house, and the lady.”

Rietta thought the least Arthur Daltrey could have done was shake Nick’s hand, instead of instantly turning to Amelia and kissing the rest of the sense out of the poor girl. Poor Mrs. Daltrey staggered to a chair and sat down. “Windam’s comin’ home?” she asked dazedly.

“When did you think of this?” Rietta asked Nick, her eyes narrowed, while he stood back and surveyed the results of his triumph.

“Last night. I did have a little time to think at one point.” His voice fell away to nothing but she was sure he’d added, “Right before you woke up.”

“I’ll shake your hand, so help me,” Rietta vowed. “I will. That was a good piece of work.”

Nick held her hand too long. Every nerve began to recall the ramblings of his surprisingly talented mouth. This time, knowing how easily such a touch could lead to something far sweeter and more dangerous, Rietta pulled free and crossed the room to congratulate the others.

He stopped her with one hand on her shoulder, just long enough to whisper, “Wait till tonight.”

She looked him full in the eyes. “Nothing will happen tonight, nor any other night. The door between us is locked and it will stay locked.”

Chapter Eighteen

Over the next few weeks, Nick learned, to his frustration, that not only was the door between their chambers locked, but Rietta had taken to locking her mind as well.

In the daytime, she fulfilled his every dream of a dutiful, charming wife. She smiled at him across the breakfast table, at luncheon, at dinner, the candlelight warming the firm cleavage revealed by her dinner gowns. When, beguiled by her smiles, he’d begun to talk to her, she’d listened attentively to all his plans for the future. Sometimes she’d even add a word or two, making him see things he’d not thought of for himself.

She proved a delightfully gracious hostess to all those who came to see his bride, whether titled neighbors or the grubby children of his most shiftless tenants. Judging by the comments he heard, he’d chosen a pearl among women, an ideal wife.

His mother and sisters, their heads full of plans for Amelia’s wedding, came to rely on Rietta absolutely. If he heard them say, “Ask Rietta; she’ll know” once, he’d heard it a thousand times. The hell of it was—she
did
know. She could answer any question, from which dressmaker should be entrusted with the length of satin for Amelia’s gown to which wine should be served at the wedding breakfast to what he did with the book he was reading. Yet even as his respect and admiration grew, so did his frustration.

The only absolutely satisfying thing to come from his marriage thus far was that, since their wedding night, he’d not had a single nightmare.

After all, he rarely had nightmares while lying wide awake. Every night he retired, moderately sleepy. Yet within five: minutes of lying down, when he should have been drifting away on an ocean of sleep, he would find himself lying broad awake, staring at the ceiling. The bed and the ceiling were the only things in the room that did not have some intimate acquaintance with Rietta.

The floor, of course, was where they’d made love. He’d thrown her petticoat over the back of the chair, later found a stocking draped behind a picture frame, and the windows had allowed in the light that had let him see all of her. Even the dressing table mirror had reflected her beauty when they’d stood before it, finding it a sturdy support for the two of them. He couldn’t stand to look at any of it.

So he would lie there, hour after hour, trying to think of other things and returning helplessly to his wedding night. The knowledge that Rietta slept on the other side of the wall was like a flask of water just beyond the reach of a man dying of thirst. She was all he could think about. He fantasized about holding her, kissing her, and keeping her close to his heart throughout the night.

During the day, he managed to project an air of civility. He was as polite and charming as she herself. He could conceal all his yearnings, driving them inward to devour what they would.

One night three weeks after the visit to Badhaven, his mother paused on the way out of the dining room. She laid her fan against his sleeve with a playful tap. “You should strive to let Rietta get a little sleep at night, my son.”

He had been staring after Rietta as she left the room with his sisters. The white gown she wore had silver flowers interwoven in the fabric so that she glittered like an unattainable prize as she walked away. Would she ever walk back?

“I beg your pardon, Mother?”

“Rietta doesn’t look rested,” Lady Kirwan said, her knowing smile a trifle forced. “I know you are a bridegroom, but she needs her rest.”

Nick transferred his stare to her. How could his own mother be so blind? Rietta carried herself through the day with perfect posture, her face so smooth it might as well be a mask, while he staggered around, hollows burned beneath his eyes, from a lack of sleep and an excess of desire.

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mother.”

“Good. She’s a dear child. I’m so glad you brought her into our lives, even if the arrangement was somewhat irregular. I’ve told my friends that you had an understanding with dear Rietta before you went away, but refrained from marriage because you did not wish to leave a young widow.”

“That was noble of me, wasn’t it?”

“They all know how noble and romantic you can be; I’ve told them often enough how proud I am of you. You’ve never done an ungenerous thing in your life, have you?”

“Not quite never.”

Lady Kirwan patted his arm. “You can make it up to her. It will take a long time ... but she’ll forgive you.”

“Mother, what do you know?”

“Everything. I know why you married Rietta.”

“Do you?”

“I—er—overheard Mr. Ferris discussing the matter with you. Has he paid all the money into your account?”

Nick nodded. “Mother, it isn’t the way it looks. Yes, Mr. Ferris offered me quite a sum of money to marry Rietta, but that isn’t why I did it! I can’t be bought like a hundredweight of potatoes in the common marketplace. Mr. Ferris threatened her—his own daughter—with a dreadful fate. What could I do but marry her?”

“And since you married her, you might as well accept his so-called reward?”

“We needed it; why not? Could I ask her to live in poverty because of my stupid pride? I’d give it back if I still had it all, but we’ve used rather a large chunk of it already.”

“So what will you do? You can’t go on making love to her and never discussing the matter.” Lady Kirwan arranged tie cobweb of her shawl over her elbows and missed the expression of blank amazement her son wore.

“I only wish making love was all I could do,” he said, with heartfelt longing.

“Take my advice,” she said. “If you don’t mean it, don’t do it. She’s not likely to be fooled by any insincere protestations, no matter how much she’d like to hear them. She’s not a fool, Nick.”

“I know it. She’s probably the cleverest woman I’ve ever met—present company excepted.”

“No one ever thought me clever. I was lucky to have been beautiful.” Something of that former beauty was in her eyes as. she appraised him sympathetically. “Are you in love with her?”

He shook his head before he thought. She sighed and left him after changing the subject to the upcoming wedding. He was to be sure to have plenty of beer on hand for the tenants. Nick told her he’d discuss it with Rietta.

Nick sat alone in the dining salon, a diamond-bright decanter in front of him. He turned it meditatively, studying the play of light off its many facets. Like everything else, lately, it reminded him of Rietta. He’d tried several other methods of putting himself to sleep—maybe it was time to try intoxication.

An hour or so later, Bevans, the new butler, interrupted the ladies at the whist table set up in the drawing room. He’d only come to this decision after consulting the new valet, Everest.

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” Bevans said in a low tone over Rietta’s shoulder. “Would you be so good as to join me in the dining salon?”

“Is something amiss, Bevans?”