The Irish Bride (31 page)

“Haven’t I answered? How remiss of me. I can only plead the press of my own affairs.”

“That’s right. I haven’t expressed my pleasure at hearing of your wedding. I always knew you’d do well for yourself—so bright and pretty as you are.”

Rietta wondered if Mrs. Vernon had known of Mr. Ferris’s treachery in advance. She could hardly believe it, even of her, that one woman could concede to a plan to deprive another woman of her liberty.

Mrs. Vernon dropped her voice to a whisper. “You really have much to thank your father for.”

“You knew what he planned for me?” Rietta took a few steps farther from the Kirwans and gave the impression of being vastly interested in a paste-diamond corsage that lay on a counter.

“Naturally he discussed it with me first,” Mrs. Vernon whispered. “After all, it’s my ... our future as well as yours. You’re a dear, good creature, Rietta, but there’s not the slightest chance I’d live with you. I’m much too managing to ever drive tandem.”

Aloud, she said, “Isn’t that a pretty thing?”

“Yes, very pretty,” Rietta agreed. Dropping her voice, she added, “Does my father know you mean to drive him?”

“If he doesn’t, he’ll soon learn different. I’ll manage him so beautifully he won’t even know it’s being done.”

“As beautifully as you’ve managed your finances? That should be something worth seeing.” Having the satisfaction of at last seeing Mrs. Vernon left speechless, Rietta sat down with her family and, calling Blanche to her side, asked her advice about Amelia’s wedding dress.

This woke Blanche’s interest and she bubbled with what were some very interesting notions. She called on Mademoiselle to bring her sketchbook and together they created a dream of a gown that combined the dewy freshness of a bride with the charm of an evening party. Amelia was in raptures and even Emma took part, suggesting a modification to the sleeves that won Blanche’s mild and Mademoiselle’s enthusiastic praise.

Under cover of the ensuing discussion, Blanche leaned closer to Rietta. “I must speak to you. Everything’s so horrid at home—Papa listens to nobody but
her.”
A world of venom was encapsulated in that little word.

Rietta nodded. “Can you escape to Morton’s?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, then. Half an hour after we leave here.”

Mrs. Vernon had been left to the ministrations of Mademoiselle’s snuffling assistant while the proprietress attended to her titled customer. After a very short time, she seemed drawn to the round table in the center of the room.

“ ‘Tis charming,” she said, peering over their heads at the sketches of sleeves, bodices, and skirts. “My own gown is to be of ivory corded silk with a deep V neck and flounces around the hem. Bring it out, Mademoiselle.”

“It is not yet finished.”

“Bring it out. I want them to see it.”

“I’m afraid we must be going,” Lady Kirwan said, rising. “This will do very nicely. Mademoiselle Brun. Here is a note of my daughters’ measurements. Kindly make up the blue evening dress for Emma.”

“But, Mamma ... ,” Emma protested, thinking, no doubt, of the family coffers.

“It’s all right, my dear. You must have a new gown for your sister’s wedding day.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Mademoiselle said with a curtsey.

Lady Kirwan took Blanche’s hand. “Won’t you come with us to tea at Ranford’s Hotel?”

Blanche agreed after a taunting glance at Mrs. Vernon. She went out with the two younger girls.

“A pleasure to have met you, Mrs. Vernon,” Lady Kirwan said from the doorway. “Will you be coming with us, Rietta?”

“In a moment, Mother. Thank you.”

Rietta turned to face her enemy. She noticed that Mademoiselle Brun and her assistant had vanished into the rear of the shop, but she had no doubt they were listening, agog, and that they’d not delay in spreading the story of this encounter. It behooved her to be careful.

“Very high and mighty, aren’t you?” Mrs. Vernon said, twisting her lip into a sneer. “Yes, Mamma,” she mimicked. “You’d not be calling her that if it weren’t for me.”

“You are responsible?”

“If I hadn’t prodded your father into it, you’d still be living at home, bored to death. Instead, you’ve a handsome husband, a title, and everything pleasant about you.”

“Then I must find a way to express my gratitude. What would be suitable?”

Mrs. Vernon snorted. “I’ll bet you’re grateful. So grateful you’d cut my throat, given half a chance.”

“I’m not generally thought to be violent.”

“No,” Mrs. Vernon said, still sneering. “You haven’t enough blood in you for murder. Murder takes passion. I think I feel sorrier for your husband than for you. And you needn’t say you feel sorry for your father, either. I’ll take better care of him than you have done.”

“Judging by the life expectancies of your other husbands,” Rietta said, and paused delicately, prepared to enjoy Mrs. Vernon’s anger.

Then, suddenly, she realized how wrong she was to bait Mrs. Vernon in this fashion. Like it or not, her father had decided to marry this woman. Though she was estranged from him, she could foresee the day when she would want him in her life once more. She could not, in good conscience, deny him the chance to be with his grandchildren, should there ever be any.

With that thought, she knew that she had committed to her unusual marriage. There would be children, she decided, and this woman would be their nominal grandmother.

She put out her hand and placed it over Mrs. Vernon’s gloved one. “Let’s not quarrel. I’m certain you will take excellent care of my father.”

“I will at that,” Mrs. Vernon said, looking down at their hands. Then she smiled at Rietta and Rietta saw her charm for the first time. “To tell the truth, it’s not so easy to find a third husband. A woman starts to lose her bloom after the second one. I’ll do my best by Augustus. Yes, and by that spoiled sister of yours, though the sooner she takes herself a husband the happier I shall be.”

“I’m sure you’d be very good for Blanche but if it will please you, I shall invite her to stay with us for a time. No woman should have to take her husband’s daughter on their wedding journey.”

“We’re not going any further than Tralee, but I confess I’d feel better about it if I knew she wasn’t home alone. The girl’s got no more discretion than a cat.”

“I know it.”

“Will your mother-in-law agree?”

“I think she will, if Blanche behaves herself.”

“Very well, then. I’ll tell Augustus.”

Rietta turned to go. Mrs. Vernon stopped her with a hand on her arm. “One thing more—I don’t know why you’ve changed your mind about me—maybe you haven’t. Maybe you’re just more of a lady than I am. Either way, dare I ask you one favor?”

“What is it?”

“Whether it’s your concern to please me or not, I want you to think of Augustus and come to our wedding. He hasn’t said a word to me, but I think it frets him that you’ve not answered our invitation.”

“That was wrong of me and not very ladylike at all.”

Rietta acknowledged the justice of one thing Mrs. Vernon had said. If it had not been for her father’s interference, she still would have been at home, deluding herself that her family respected and needed her. Now, as she said, she had everything pleasant about her. True, there were still unanswered questions between herself and Nick, yet she had no doubt that her new sisters and mother did value her. Regardless of how hurt she’d been, of how betrayed she had felt, Augustus Ferris remained her father. She had to forgive him for her own sake, even more so than for his.

“Tell him that Nick and I shall be there.”

* * * *

If the marriage service of Mr. Ferris and Mrs. Vernon was sparsely attended, the marriage of Mr. Daltrey and Amelia Kirwan more than made up for it. Everyone, from farmers with mud still clinging to their soles to the Earl and Countess of Bellamy, hoping to make up for their departed, un-lamented son’s treatment of Emma.

The bridegroom was pale, with shaking hands that almost dropped the ring when the bride’s brother, the best man, handed it to him. The bride, however, was serene and confident. After they kissed, something of her feelings must have passed to him, because Arthur smiled for the first time that day.

“Well, that’s done,” Nick said, coming up behind Rietta as she watched the newlyweds dancing.

“Yes. I never thought we’d make it this far,” she said. “Amelia had an attack of wedding panic half an hour before she needed to be dressed.”

“Did she, now?”

“Hmmm. She wouldn’t listen to anyone—just went on and on about what a mistake she was making.”

“Who convinced her otherwise? You?”

“Me? I was too busy writing out a speech for you to deliver to our guests explaining the cancellation. No, it was Emma. She marched up to Amelia, gave her a good shake and told her that if she threw away a man like Arthur Daltrey out of pride or fear of what people would say, then she’d marry him herself. That seemed to snap Amelia out of her funk quickly enough.”

“Good old Emma. You know, Arthur was absolutely petrified. I had to send Everest to tie his cravat and make sure his boots were polished. If it had been left to Arthur, he’d have married in his smock and clogs. Of course, Everest made it perfectly clear that he was only lending a hand as a personal favor to me.”

“I do like your valet, Nick.”

“You were right; I needed someone to look after me.”

For a moment, she gave him the opportunity to look right down into her beautiful eyes. “Not anymore.”

He put out his hand impulsively. “Rietta...”

“I need more time, Nick.”

“How much more? It’s been almost a month....”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know.”

He caressed her cheek. “Don’t be sorry. I won’t ask again. When you’re ready, you’ll find a way to let me know. Shall we dance?”

The cool of the late September evening made a shawl necessary, but it didn’t stop young people from going outside when needing an escape from the warmth of the ballroom or from censorious chaperones. Rietta was afraid she fell into that category, for when she noticed Blanche was gone, she went at once to Nick.

“Who was she dancing with?”

“I haven’t the faintest notion. You know Blanche— every man here put his name on her card.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure she’s just gone out to flirt in the garden.”

“That’s what worries me. She’s been so quiet since she came to stay with us. That’s not like her. I’m afraid she’ll be even more foolish when she does return to normal.”

“The way gunpowder explodes more forcefully if you tamp it clown? All right; I’ll go to the left, you circle to the right.”

“What it is to have the military mind! Thank you, Nick.”

As Nick walked quickly through the ballroom, he noticed that two men at least were missing. As both of them had a long connection with Blanche, he felt sure at least one was with her. She was not anywhere to be found in the house, however.

Circling around the square house, he realized that there wasn’t a great deal of cover for a courting couple. The night of the party had been carefully chosen to coincide with the full moon. It shone softly but clearly down on the heads of the guests. Most of those who’d slipped out for ‘breath’ walked arm in arm or stood in charming attitudes, deep in a pleasant exchange of compliments. The coppice of trees alone stood dark and deep, offering refuge to less cautious persons. No one was less cautious than Blanche Ferris.

The filtered moonlight made the shadows all but impenetrable. Nick knew every stick by heart and didn’t trip over the roots. There was a path to the heart of the trees. There, in the center, was a small clearing. Before Nick reached it, he knew this was where he’d find both Blanche and the two missing men. He knew it, because he could hear them. The sounds of a fight travel far.

Blanche stood by, her back against a tree, her knuckles pressed hard against her lips. A bandbox rested against her skirt. Even by moonlight, Nick could see her eyes flick frantically from one to the other of the combatants. They were still at the grappling stage, but even as Nick appeared in the clearing, one punched the other in the stomach, driving him back.

David Mochrie straightened up, his teeth glinting white. Then he launched himself into attack, but Niall Joyce had taken his instant to prepare. With a force that made even Nick wince, he threw an uppercut to Mochrie’s jaw, unleashing a left fist more like a hammer than a human hand, and David Mochrie floated as gently as a fallen leaf to earth, landing with a thud that knocked him breathless.

Niall Joyce stood over him, both fists ready, panting hard. “Say it again.”

Blanche came running over, her frail dancing slippers making no sound. “Oh, Mr. Joyce, you were wonderful!”

He paid no attention to her. “Get up and say it again, and I’ll put you to sleep for a week!”

Mochrie sat up, a hand to his jaw. “It’s true,” he said thickly. “You can knock me down a hundred times and it won’t change the truth.”

“You’re a liar.”

Nick wondered if he had any business intruding on what was obviously a private quarrel when Mochrie said something that made it his affair. “I was there—I signed the book as a witness. Rietta’s marriage is a sham. She was forced into it by her father.”

Blanche was crying. “He said—he said if I went away with him, he wouldn’t tell.”

“Get up,” Niall snarled.

“Wait a moment,” Nick said. All three started in surprise as though a tree had just spoken to them. “I think it’s my turn to knock him down.”

* * * *

Rietta had returned to the ballroom to see if she’d missed either Blanche or Nick while searching. It had been at least fifteen minutes since she’d notified Nick that Blanche was missing. Surely he could have found her by now.

Bevans found her standing by the fireplace, having been drawn into conversation with the countess and the elder Mrs. Daltrey. She excused herself, feeling considerable anxiety. She would have had an easier time reading the countenance of the Sphinx.

“I beg your pardon, m’lady. Miss Ferris would like you to come to her, if you please.”

“Where is she?”

“Her room, my lady.”

She had checked the rose-papered bedroom not ten minutes before. Now she found Blanche lying facedown across her bed, her pretty dress hidden under a cloak hemmed with leaf mold, her silver slippers stained with mud. The house echoed to the sound of the orchestra below, but here it was as quiet as muffled laughter.