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  He looked deeply into her eyes. “I have been involved with enough women to know that Clara’s apparent interest this morning was all a show. There is no substance in this sudden attraction to me.”

  As Jane shook her head and turned her face away, he again captured her chin and forced her to look up at him. “Can you not see she was acting for the benefit of your parents? She is trying to be a good daughter and show them…especially your father, I think…that she is doing her part to win me over. I know what the purpose of this ball is this Friday night. I not blind to the expense and trouble they are going through. And it is all for the sole purpose of getting my head spinning enough to change my mind and ask for Clara’s hand in marriage.”

  “She seems to want it now, too.”

  “She does not,” he corrected harshly. “If no one else were about this morning, she would never have even stayed behind to keep my company. In so many words, she has already told me that I am too old for her. She appears intimidated by me. Frightened even, at times. What kind of marriage would this be?”

  “A genteel English marriage?”

  Angry, he pushed himself away from her. “I am not willing to waste my life with the likes of Clara. I know of dozens upon dozens like her in England. Why should I have her when I have already met someone else who suits me so much better? Someone who has a heart and a soul that I already hold dear.” He took a few steps away, but then whirled around. “True, a few months ago I stood in the snow in London and thought that almost anyone with a pleasing look and reasonable fortune would do…but no longer do I think in so limited a way. No, Jane. I will not accept just anyone…and I refuse to be manipulated by your parents.”

  Nicholas stormed toward the door of the carriage house. By ’sblood, he loved the damn woman! But admitting it…but saying those words to her…would accomplish nothing until she could shed her blinders and begin to see him.

  “I would…” The brush of her fingers against his brought him to an abrupt halt by the doorway. Her voice was soft and tentative. “I very much like you…to come with me this morning.”

  “Do we ride separately or together?”

  He saw the struggle play out on her face as she looked out the door. When her gaze came back to his face, her eyes were decided.

  “Together.”

  ***

  It was mid-morning before Alexandra caught Fey alone and lacking the troop of servants who were always swarming around her. The visitor immediately seized the opportunity and walked into the Blue Parlor, closing the door partially behind her. The housekeeper glanced up from her inspection of the fireplace.

  “Lady Spencer, may I help ye with anything?”

  “Yes, you may.” Alexandra smiled encouragingly and moved closer to the redheaded woman so their voices would not be inadvertently overheard by someone passing in the hallway. “Was it my imagination, Fey, or has Lady Purefoy arranged for a dressmaker to be staying at Woodfield House this week?”

  “Indeed she has, m’lady. The woman has been brought in from Cork City. She is a very capable seamstress, too, I must say.”

  Alexandra moved closer. “How attentive of Lady Purefoy always to be thinking of her daughters. I assume she is here to make ball dresses for Clara and Jane?”

  “Only Miss Clara,” Fey put in shortly, turning to brush an invisible speck of dust from a clock on the mantle.

  “But why not Jane, as well? I can see that she favors the color black, but surely for something as grand as what is planned, Lady Purefoy would want her elder daughter to be dressed in the height of fashion.”

  “I do not believe Miss Jane has a place in the mistress’s plans for the evening.”

  “Her plans or her hopes?”

  Alexandra’s whispered question drew the housekeeper’s intelligent gaze. A moment of silence preceded the woman’s answer. “’Tis not my place to suppose I could know the mistress’s thinking. ‘Tis not my job to meddle, either, m’lady. However, if there is something I can do for ye…?”

  Lady Spencer idly picked up a book lying on a table by Clara’s customary seat. Sternwood’s Sermons. Dreadful, she thought, laying it back down. She could understand Fey’s answer perfectly. She could also sense the frustration just beneath the surface of her words. She looked up to see Fey was waiting with an expression of subdued hope on her face.

  “Indeed there is, Fey. You must have a good idea of how much work Lady Purefoy has given this woman—this dressmaker—for this week. Now do you think if I wished to have something made…say, a dress…could the woman manage it?”

  “Would this be for…someone we both know, m’lady?”

  “It would, indeed.”

  “I should have to ask her, m’lady,” Fey replied excitedly. “But I think she could do it. But there is a matter of fabric and accessories that would need to be attended to…”

  “I believe my daughter Frances and I will be making a quick trip to Cork City this afternoon to shop for exactly those same things.” Alexandra moved closer to the housekeeper again and lowered her voice. “Now, do you think this dressmaker might be clever enough if I were to work with her…and tell her exactly what it is that I am looking for?”

  “Aye, ma’am. I think she might.”

  “Of course, this dress I have in mind would not be able to tried on for size until it is done.

  “I’ve a lass working in the kitchens who might suit ye for size, m’lady.

  “Excellent. And of course, I’ll make it worthwhile for the dressmaker…beyond whatever Lady Purefoy is paying her.”

  “She is a working woman. I believe she will do as ye tell her.”

  “Very well.” Alexandra beamed, turning to go. “You have a talk with her, and I shall return this evening with all she shall need.”

  “Is there something, m’lady…?” Fey’s question stopped her. “Is there anything more you might be needing from me?”

  “In fact, there is.” She gauged the woman’s expression for a long moment. “I was hoping you would keep this little discussion just between us.”

  Fey nodded, the trace of a smile on the housekeeper’s lips. “If you insist, m’lady.”

  “Perfect.” Lady Spencer smiled broadly and started for the door. There was nothing like a little surprise to brighten up a grand ball, and she was determined to make this surprise—and this ball—the brightest and the grandest these people had ever seen.

  ***

  Rita waited until Mrs. Brown, following a serving girl carrying an empty tray, had left the room before she clasped one of Jane’s hands to her lips.

  “God bless ye, miss,” she whispered, sinking to her knees. “Lord knows, I cannot think of any words good enough to use in thanking ye.”

  Jane pulled the young woman to her feet. She led her to the two chairs by the window and sat her beside her. “You deserve far more, Rita, after the hardship you have all been through.” She glanced at Bowie, pale and weak. There was reason enough to be happy. His fever had broken, and he now looked down at his siblings playing on the floor beside the bed. “And I am hoping things will improve a little from here on. Parson Adams told me this morning that he has offered you a cottage that is vacant in the village here.”

  “Aye, that he has.” Fresh tears rolled down the mother’s cheeks. “’Twill be a blessing to have a roof over our head again. And with everything ye brought us this morning, we’ll be living grander than when my Seamus was with us.”

  “I am sorry, Rita. I know nothing will replace him. But the way you all had to run from your own place, I thought you might be needing these things.”

  The young woman nodded and wiped at her tears. “Ye have a generous heart, Egan.” Her voice was hushed. “And a brave one.”

  Jane held on to Rita’s fingers.

  “Ye know, long before I met ye, I would hear these wild tales of Egan. The little fire, the elders called ye.” She gave her a teary smile. “Egan could fly over the mountains, they’d say. Egan could walk through fire…ye cou
ld vanish in the bright of noonday. But Egan always arrives in time, when a mother cried out in the dead of night.” She blushed slightly. “To be truthful, I never paid much heed to what was being said, for I know the way of us Irish. We need wondrous tales to help us get through the suffering of our daily lives.”

  “But those were tales. You were right not to believe them.” Jane patted the woman’s hands gently and looked at them. The palms were hard and calloused, with dirt so deeply engrained in them that St. Peter would surely know her for a worker when she arrived at heaven’s gates. “Rita, the folk around here have always made much more of me than I deserve. I am just a woman…like you.”

  Rita shook her head. “But that’s it, don’t you know? Ye’re not like the rest of us. And knowing now who ye really be…knowing the sacrifice ye’ve made…the love you carry here,” she touched her heart, “for poor folk like us…makes me believe in ye more than all the legends and stories of angels and saints. Ye be our joy, Egan. Our own angel sent by the Lord himself to watch over us.”

  Jane fought back the tears burning her eyes. “I…I am not worthy…of all that you say, Rita. I was not chosen…or sent…by the Lord…I am just a simple woman. That’s all.”

  The young mother again cupped Jane’s hand in her own. “This is a land of believers, Egan. And no matter how unworthy ye might think ye be, I believe in ye. We believe in ye.”

  Jane wished she had the strength to argue with her. She wished she had the courage to be everything that these people wanted her to be.

  “But ‘tis not what ye do for us in the future that matters so much, as what ye’ve done already.” Rita started again. “Ye’ve given us courage…a hero to call our own. And we must protect ye, as well. And this is the reason I’m telling all this now…” She lowered her voice. “They are after ye, Egan. The magistrate and his dragoons are becoming more brutal in questioning everyone about you. But we cannot let them discover ye.”

  “They shan’t discover me.” Even to her own ears, her tone lacked conviction. She needed time to think—to refocus on her purpose.

  “Do not put yerself at risk, miss. If they take ye, we’ll all feel the lash here, inside,” she said softly, pressing Jane’s hand to her heart.

  “I will not let them take me.”

  “I’m glad of it, miss. For mark me, ’twould be better for Egan to disappear unbeaten than to see her hanging from the gibbet in Cork City.” Rita’s eyes shone with her belief. “Our memories keep us strong, but to lose her to these brutes would surely break our backs.”

  ***

  Though Nicholas walked the width and length of the village of Ballyclough, he saw nothing of what he passed. Finding himself sitting on a low stone wall encircling a graveyard situated on a hill overlooking the village, he shook off his haze and looked at the small, crumbling castle and the chapel near it. Following the brook with his eyes, he considered the humble cottages at the lower end. Abandoned wooden vats and stretching racks in various conditions of disrepair indicated that the village had obviously thrived at one time on the tanning industry. But no longer.

  Things change, he thought.

  He frowned fiercely and pulled up a tuft of green from his feet. Green three-leafed plants that looked much like tiny clovers were interwoven with the grass. Looking at the roots, he wondered if one could separate the two plants, once joined like this, and have them both survive. He was beginning to have his doubts.

  The attraction between Jane and him was undeniable. Nicholas had already admitted to himself that he was in love with her. Once the awareness had set in, the admission was not difficult.

  But so many complications lay in their path.

  She was an active member of this Whiteboys movement. By the devil, she was one of their leaders.

  Nicholas didn’t give a damn about the reputation she’d destroyed years ago, but it obviously made a difference to her, and so would affect any future decision she made about the two of them.

  Plus, she was worried about Clara’s future.

  And as much as she tried to put on an air of indifference, Jane was deeply hurt by her parent’s rejection of her.

  There might have been even more issues that he could think of if he set his mind to it. Jane’s earlier rejection of him and the silence that had settled between them en route here this morning had indicated her own difficulties. But Nicholas was not one to be so easily deterred. He loved her, and he was determined resolve every problem.

  But he needed her help.

  Pressing the tuft of green back into the earth, he stood and followed the path back toward the village and the parsonage.

  A young servant led Nicholas to the parsonage’s parlor. As he removed his hat and gloves, Henry Adams appeared in the doorway.

  Ah, yes! And then there was the matter of the good parson.

  “Did you have a pleasant walk, Sir Nicholas?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “I am afraid Miss Jane has not concluded her visit this morning,” the parson announced, remaining in the doorway. “I realize you shared a carriage coming down. If you wish to get back to Woodfield House, I can arrange for one of my grooms to ready a horse for you.”

  Nicholas bristled. “I am in no hurry to get back, Parson, but I thank you for your concern.”

  “But I was under the impression that you are spending the afternoon with Miss Clara.”

  “Were you?” Nicholas moved to the center of the room. “Do you know something, Reverend Adams, that I do not?”

  “Perhaps I do.” With his hands clasped behind him, Henry entered the parlor, a disapproving glare painted clearly on his features as he studied Nicholas. Adams was easily as tall and broad as the baronet, and the room suddenly became much smaller. “Perhaps I find your behavior…odd. Spending the mornings in the company of one sister and the afternoons in the company of the other. I find it improper, sir, to see you charming these two young women at the same time. I wonder if you are considering the implications…and the possible consequences for one of them?”

  “You are treading a dangerous path, sir,” Nicholas growled.

  “Am I?” The minister took another step toward him.

  Regardless of the man’s profession, Nicholas realized he was about to call the man out. He didn’t like his insinuations. He didn’t like his tone. And frankly, he was beginning to dislike the man’s looks.

  But for Jane’s sake, he reined in his temper for the moment. “And I wonder if you are asking these questions in your capacity of these young women’s spiritual advisor.”

  “Now it is you who is treading dangerously.”

  “Am I?” Nicholas crossed his arms and turned only slightly, measuring the man. “I don’t know if it is any of your business, but I spoke with Sir Thomas the day after my arrival to correct any confusion regarding my supposed interest in Miss Clara. There is not going to be a proposal. There have never been any marriage plans, and I have no wish to marry the younger daughter. And, having clarified that point with the parents, I do not spend any time in her company.”

  “And how does Clara feel about that? About being led on, I mean?”

  The man’s accusing question pricked the visitor’s restraint. His glare menacing, Nicholas took a step toward the parson. “Miss Clara was never led on by me, and I am warning you now that I am finding your insinuations an intolerable affront to my honor.”

  “If your intentions have been as honorable as you claim, sir, then there is nothing to be offended by. Which, in turn, brings me to your intentions regarding Jane.” They stood an arm’s length apart, Adam’s fierce glare matching Nicholas’s. “I have known and valued her for too many years to allow a stranger to walk in today and leave tomorrow, and cause her pain. I refuse to allow…”

  “What is between Jane and me is none of your concern, and I…”

  “I am making it my concern…”

  “Am I interrupting something?”

  Jane’s softly spoken question from the doorway sto
pped the two men. But like two bulls ready for combat, neither moved nor averted his killing stare until she repeated her question.

  Henry Adams was the first one to turn and face her. A look of tenderness that passed between the two, and something in Nicholas’s belly curdled when the parson took her hand and raised it to his lips.

  “And here is Jane. Interrupting? Nay, I was practicing my hospitality.”

  Her brilliant smile as she brushed a kiss against his cheek was another blow to Nicholas’s midriff. He was roughly five seconds away from breaking the good parson’s jaw, and he found himself taking a step toward the two.

  “Are you ready, Sir Nicholas?” She turned her magical gaze on him, and he felt the room warm around him. “To avoid giving our host any temptation to poison you…with his hospitality…I am refusing Parson Adams’s insistence on us staying to dine with him.”

  Adams hadn’t asked them to stay, and Nicholas wished he could smile at her attempt to lighten the tension between the two men. But his jaws were clamped too tightly shut to move.

  “Indeed, I think we will be leaving immediately,” she said, blessing Adams with another smile as she looped her arm through Nicholas’s. “I’m quite sure this house can handle only so many guests at one time.”

  CHAPTER 21

  For the hundredth time, Jane glanced over at Nicholas’s brooding face and contemplated her best approach. The man clearly needed to bleed off some of his anger. What she’d seen in the parlor of the parsonage had been no illusion. Whether they would have resorted to fists or swords or pistols, Nicholas and Henry had clearly been ready to do battle. And considering her involvement and friendship with each of these two men, Jane was deeply disturbed to think she might have been the reason for their obvious hostility.

  “Are you trying to give me a taste of my own medicine?”