The Rebel Page 19

  “Reading is something I’ve ne’er had time for, miss. But I thought, ‘tis about Miss Jane, so it must be meant for your mother.”

  “I shall take it up to her directly.”

  “Thank ye, miss.”

  “Would you mind waiting a few moments before you return, Roger? My mother might wish to send a message back. Also…I have a letter that I would like you to take to Ballyclough for me.”

  “As ye wish, Miss Clara.” He nodded politely again. “I need to be seeing to the parson’s horse, anyway. The old devil threw a shoe at the bottom of the hill, just now.”

  Clara started up the hill, but instead of thinking about what she was to write, her attention focused on the message in her pocket. Roger had said that the news was about Jane. For too many days now, Jane had been flitting in and out of Woodfield House. For the past two days, Clara had not even thought to worry about her when she hadn’t shown up for meals. She knew, though, that their parents hadn’t bothered to notice any of Jane’s coming and going, either.

  As soon as she left the paddock, she crossed over and took the path through the gardens. When she was safely out of sight, Clara took the envelope out and stared at the Henry’s seal. Lady Purefoy always asked her to read and respond to correspondence anyway. So her curiosity of what was inside—her worry about Jane, Clara corrected herself, pushed her to break the seal.

  Leaning against a tree, the young woman let her gaze wander over Henry’s graceful handwriting before the actual words began to register.

  Jane was in Ballyclough today. Henry was letting Lady Purefoy and Sir Thomas know that their daughter was visiting some of the families in the parish. And since she was also determined to spend some time at the bedside of an ailing child in the village, the parson’s recommendation was for her to stay at the parsonage overnight rather than risk traveling home late at night.

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, though, a jealousy she had never before experienced clawed sharply at Clara’s entrails. Tears hot and sudden stung her eyes.

  Henry no longer cared for her. He was smitten with Jane, and Clara should have known. She crumpled the letter and stuffed it in her pocket before running for the house.

  She should have seen it, she thought bitterly. For all these years, Clara had secretly admired him, watched him, had been in love with him, but his attention had always been on Jane.

  Clara blindly climbed the stairs to her room.

  She had rejected his offer six months ago, not only because of her parents’ plans, but partly because of that continuous measuring with Jane. The day before his proposal, Henry had spent the entire afternoon with Jane. The week before that—and a dozen times since—it had been Jane’s opinion that he’d come seeking at Woodfield House. Time and time again, he would ask after Jane’s health…or her art. Indeed, he was the only one that Jane would invite to her workroom in the attic.

  Clara seethed to think how much time the two of them spent up there together. Alone. Now she knew the real reason Jane had not made any fuss about not going to London.

  She banged open the door to her bedchamber and slammed it shut behind her. The tears had stopped somewhere along the way, and a cold fury had taken their place.

  “How blind!? How blind could I have been?”

  She started pacing the large room. Even Mrs. Brown had hinted at Henry’s concerns and interests last week, but Clara—too blind to recognize the obvious—had thrown herself at him.

  And he’d rejected her. He had rejected her, not because of the reasons he’d listed, but because he wanted her ruined sister.

  Hurt…anger…revenge…emotions so long suppressed churned within her. She felt ready to burst when a persistent knocking finally drew her attention. She stormed to the door and yanked it open.

  The young servant took a step back when she saw the wrath blazing in Clara’s face. “What?”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, miss. Someone saw ye coming up to the house. Yer mother wants to know what the message was from…”

  “Take her this.” Clara tore the crumpled letter from her pocket and threw it at the girl. She was ready to slam the door shut again, when the girl put out a hand plaintively.

  “Pardon, miss. She was asking if ye have something to go to…to Parson Adams, as his man is waiting.”

  “No! Nothing.” Clara’s hand gripped the edge of the door. “But there is something you can do for me.”

  The servant nodded worriedly and waited.

  “Find out if the baronet is back. If he is, then have the cook prepare a picnic basket and ask Paul to get an open carriage ready. He and I are going for a ride.”

  “And if he is not?” she asked nervously.

  “Then come and get me as soon as he is.”

  Clara continued to hold the door even after the serving girl disappeared down the hall. Her parents were right—her mother especially. She was too fine a creature for a place so coarse as Ireland. She was too beautiful and well-bred not to be able to make an advantageous match for herself.

  Nicholas Spencer hadn’t asked for her hand in marriage, that was true. But it was only because, since leaving London, she had worked on hiding her charms, her pleasing attitude, her intelligence and her wit.

  Now that she was resolved that he would do for a husband, the handsome baronet didn’t have a chance. They would be married in a fortnight.

  Her mother was always right, she thought with bitter clarity.

  ***

  Slumber was finally taking the children into her soft golden arms. Daniel’s eyes drifted shut for a long moment, and then immediately opened wide. He clearly didn’t want to miss any of the story. Maire’s two small hands were clutching one of Jane’s, and the young girl’s green eyes became huge when Jane reached a particularly exciting moment in the tale.

  Despite the significance of the news he had to share, Henry Adams couldn’t bring himself to intrude on this serene scene. The two children shared the bed. Jane sat beside them, telling an Irish tale in Gaelic. He watched her reach over and caress the little one’s hair.

  A new awareness washed over Henry, taking him by surprise, as his gaze was drawn to Jane’s face. He didn’t remember ever being so taken by her beauty. She seemed to shine from within. A softness, a maternal side of her that he’d never known, made his heart ache and recall how cruel her own society had been to her.

  This was her right—to be a woman, a mother. She had loved once and had suffered greatly in losing her lover. But people never forgot. They never looked at the person beyond the gossip and scandal.

  She ended the story happily, with peace and harmony prevailing for the good folk who triumphed over evil. Daniel’s eyes were already closed, but Maire’s pale face was smiling. Henry watched Jane lean over the child and brush a kiss over her brow. The young girl’s hands were reluctant, but finally released her hand as Jane stood up.

  Jane blew out the candle on the table near the bed. When she straightened up from the children, she noticed him for the first time. “How long have you been here?”

  She smiled and Henry felt another tug of warmth in his heart. She had been his friend for so long.

  “Long enough to be lulled and even enchanted by the magic of your tongue.”

  “After all these years, I cannot believe you have never learned to speak Gaelic, Henry,” she whispered, giving a final glance over her shoulder before following him out of the room.

  “How do you know I don’t speak it?”

  She gave him a suspicious look. “Because I have never heard you.”

  In the narrow passage, she partially closed the door to the children’s room.

  “You’d be amazed what you might learn about me if you came around more often.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Why is it that you always smell so good?”

  She paused and this time gave him an odd stare. “What are you about tonight, Henry Adams?”

  He laughed and, letting go of her hand, placed an
arm affectionately around her shoulder. Together, they started down the corridor. “You always see through me, do you not, Miss Purefoy?”

  “I should considering all the years I’ve known you.” She stopped at the closed door of Bowie’s room. “How is he?”

  “Still running a fever. But he was awake when I looked in on him.”

  Excited about this change, she had her hand on the door latch when Henry stopped her.

  “Be prepared for a surprise.”

  His expression revealed nothing, but Jane remembered his relaxed attitude standing in the other doorway.

  “This can only be good.” She pushed the door open and immediately gasped with delight. “Rita! You are here!”

  Bowie was awake and was holding his mother’s hand tightly. Still, the young woman came to her feet and smiled tearfully at Jane. “I just arrived…a scant minute or so ago.”

  Jane walked in and hugged her fiercely.

  “Thank you E…Miss Jane,” the young mother whispered and cried quietly. “I knew you’d be coming after them. I knew you would never fail us.”

  Behind them, Mrs. Brown entered the room with a tray carrying a bowl of soup and a loaf of bread. Jane finally let go of the young woman.

  “Maire might be still awake next door, Rita. Daniel is with her.”

  Bowie reached for his mother, and Rita sat down again beside her feverish but happy son.

  “Aye, miss. I’ll go to them in a minute.”

  Too happy for words, Jane turned around and saw Henry leaving the room. She followed and caught up to him at the top of the stairs. When he heard her footsteps and turned around, Jane—overwhelmed by the magnitude of his efforts—threw her arms around him.

  “Thank you, Henry. You are a good man. Thank you for managing this.”

  The arms that had wrapped around her in return, gently caressed her back. “I wish I deserved your sentiments. But ‘twas not I who brought Rita back, but Clara’s fiancée…Sir Nicholas.”

  Jane’s head immediately jerked off his shoulder. Her arms released him, and she looked up to his solemn face. “But I thought…he left…”

  “He left for Buttevant this morning. He told me he intended to find Musgrave. He mentioned something about some donation of coins he’d made with your help to some of the needy families in the area. He told me he was going to ask the magistrate about the reason for Rita’s arrest. If it had anything to do with that money, he was determined to demand her release.”

  “You didn’t tell me any of this!”

  “I didn’t think he had much chance of succeeding.” He turned to descend the stairs.

  She tugged at his sleeve to stop him. “What do you have against him, Henry?”

  “Why ask such a question?” he said evasively, his face devoid of emotion.

  “It is obvious that you two do not like each other. Why is that?”

  “If you insist on knowing, I can name a number of reasons why I find him objectionable for Clara, but you will have to ask him the reason for his surly behavior toward me?”

  Jane blamed herself for Spencer’s attitude. She should not have praised one before the other. She might as well have given a bone to one fighting dog while the other stands watching.

  “Where is he now?”

  “I believe he was returning to Woodfield House.”

  “You didn’t invite him to stay for something to eat? Or asked him if he wished to see me?”

  He shrugged. “No! I thought he would be anxious to return to your sister.”

  “Oh Henry! Sometimes you can be so thickheaded.” She slipped past him on the stairs, and he followed her down. “How long ago did he leave?”

  “I didn’t slam the door in his face, Jane. And he didn’t ask to see you, in any case.”

  Jane gave him a sharp look. “When did he leave?”

  “Not very long ago. But you are not going after him now, are you?”

  “I am going back to Woodfield House.” Jane stated when they reached the front entrance hall. She threw her cloak around her shoulders.

  “How about Rita and her children?”

  “Tell them I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “But I sent a message to your mother, telling her that you would be staying here tonight.”

  “She won’t know the difference.” Jane assured him, giving him a light kiss on the cheek. “Good night, Henry.”

  Lighting a wick from a candle in the front entryway, she walked out toward the stable where her horse had been settled for the night. Working quickly, she saddled Mab, blew out the tiny flame, and led her out.

  Nicholas had done this for her, she thought as she tossed the reins up over the horse’s head. He had gone back to the barracks at Buttevant…and most likely saved the young mother’s life in doing so. She couldn’t wait to find him and thank him.

  Jane was about to mount up when she saw Henry’s long frame leaning against a tree next to the parsonage, watching her silently. And this was another man that had to hear her appreciation. With a guilty smile, she walked back toward him.

  “I am sorry…I had no right to be so critical.”

  “You are forgiven.” He spoke solemnly, but she detected the trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  “And I never thanked you for what you are doing for Rita and her children. I take so much for granted in you, Henry, and…”

  “Just go, Jane,” he said with a knowing nod. “Go and catch up to him.”

  CHAPTER 18

  “Perhaps we should get Sir Thomas to send out a search party for him? Your son has been gone all day!”

  Alexandra patted Lady Purefoy’s arm. “I am quite certain that is completely unnecessary. Knowing my son, he is probably developing a fond friendship at this very moment with a number of your neighbors at some village inn. As we speak, they are probably drinking and rolling up their sleeves and trying to outdo the next with war stories. And in a few hours, they will be wagering on a brawl taking place outside…that is, if Nicholas is not one of the combatants.”

  The horrified expression on their hostess’s face was precious, but soon the woman let out an uneasy laugh.

  “I am not always prepared for your quick wit, Lady Spencer. So many times I just cannot separate truth from jest.”

  Alexandra arched a questioning eyebrow. “Do you think I was speaking in jest?”

  She was pleased to see the cloud of confusion settle heavily on the other woman’s face. Casually, but before she was asked again about Nicholas’s whereabouts, Alexandra walked to where Fanny and Lady Purefoy’s daughter were engaged in a card game of some kind. Clara’s stylish and revealing dress tonight was far different from anything she’d worn before. But there was something else different about the young woman tonight. Alexandra used her artist’s eye to try to discover what it might be.

  Clara certainly appeared as quiet as ever. But the air of dreaminess that had pervaded her manner seemed to have evaporated. She appeared alert—even intelligent.

  Alexandra sat in a chair near them. “So what do you think of a well-born Englishman who becomes deathly bored with spending too much time with the people of his own rank.”

  “I find him charming. Where could I meet such a man?”

  “Frances!” Alexandra scolded lightly. “I was speaking to Clara.”

  “But Mother, you need to be clearer in your description. I, for one, would be curious to know if this noble gentleman happens to be young and incredibly handsome and desperately in search of the love of his life.” Frances’s blue eyes danced with mischief when they met her mother’s. “After all, I am not too young. Sixteen is the perfect age to start the search for…”

  “This discussion doesn’t concern you, young woman.” Alexandra spoke the words quietly and sweetly, but she made sure there were daggers laced in her tone.

  “Oh! Now I understand. You were referring to Nicholas.”

  Lady Spencer glared at her daughter as the young woman hid a smile. Knowing any fur
ther reproach would be completely useless with the little troublemaker, she turned toward Clara.

  “And what is your opinion…”

  She was greatly surprised to see this young woman was trying to stifle a smile, as well, hiding her face behind the cards.

  “Well, Miss Clara, this is a side to you we haven’t seen.”

  Clara lowered her cards and looked Alexandra in the eye.

  “My apologies, Lady Spencer. But I find your daughter’s gift of honesty and candor delightful.”

  “What a curious way to describe a curse.”

  As the two of them giggled like two conspirators who had just snitched the church wine, Alexandra considered with some amazement the transformation that had taken place in the relationship between the two of them, as well.

  “The incorrigible and the corrupted,” she said breezily, walking away with an arch smile.

  In her heart, though, a heavy weight was settling. It was difficult to admit, but she had been much happier not liking Clara. Whom this young woman was trying to imitate, or had suddenly become again, was a woman who had a much greater chance of success. She was no doubt once again the woman Nicholas had, at some point, considered marrying.

  Walking to the window, Alexandra stared out into the darkness and thought of Jane. She had made a decision not to interfere. She’d thought it would be best to allow Fortune’s wheel to turn as it will. But now, she wasn’t sure if that was such a good idea. With Clara obviously setting her mind to compete for Nicholas’s attention, the older sister didn’t have a chance to succeed. And though Jane had not shown any hint of even being interested at Nicholas, Alexandra had been watching her own son. He was wrestling with feelings that were leaving him unsettled. For every meal the older Purefoy sister had been absent, Nicholas’s attitude had worsened tenfold. He was not one to allow himself to become so affected by a woman—unless there was something more between them than anybody knew.

  Sir Thomas’s brooding figure appeared in the doorway, and he cast a look around the parlor before settling a frowning glance on his wife. “Sir Nicholas is not back yet, I take it.”