A Love by Any Measure (25 page)

As the second part of the service began, and Rev. Rathmore began the sermon, Maeve felt a pang of anxiety weave its way into her soul. Rathmore spoke of the importance of faith in the resurrection, of the ability to rise above one’s sins and lead a proper, moral, and Christian life. The Bible showed all men could ascend above their station or equally fall from it, he preached. And when he quoted Proverbs 6:20, “My son, keep your father’s commands and do not forsake your mother’s teachings,” Maeve was certain that his eyes were fixed steadfastly on August.

August, to his credit, did not flinch.

Shortly before the end of the sermon, Maeve looked and noticed an unfamiliar face in the front pew opposite. About her same age, the lady’s grace was unparalleled. High, crimson-hued cheek bones were framed by delicate blonde curls. The fashion looked Parisian, augmented by a diamond broach on her lapel large enough that Maeve was certain a good Irish Catholic priest would have called it a vanity to wear in the house of the Lord.

“Caroline?” Maeve whispered as the organist began to play. “Who is that woman there?”

Caroline looked over her hymnal. “Duchess Alexandra Hannover.”

“Alexandra?” Maeve repeated. The name wasn’t familiar, despite that she was familiar with the names of most the aristocracy. “Is she new to Norwich?”

“Alex? Just returned, actually. Her husband, the duke, passed a few years ago. Now that she’s mourned properly, she’s come back home to … find his replacement, I suspect.” She paused before adding, “She once fancied August. Everyone fancied August, though.”

As the service dragged into the second hour, Caroline was blessed to have little Charles fall asleep on his father’s shoulder. Augusta, however, was not so easily sidetracked, and fidgeted terribly. Maeve could see August’s conflict; he wished so to reach out and calm her, but as they were mocking innocence, it would be the servant’s job to keep the child quiet. Augusta, however, wasn’t having it, and began to whimper. More than anything, she wanted her father. Cradling the child to her side, Maeve leaned in, feeling each eyeball in the church move with her.

“Lord Grayson?” she asked with a volume slightly higher than necessary. Perhaps some nearby would hear the formality in her voice, she thought. August did not turn, only leaned slightly in. “I think perhaps I should take Miss Grayson out?”

“Yes, quite right,” he answered quickly, waving his hand at her dismissively.

Maeve nodded her head in compliance and rose to leave, Augusta clutched in her arms. The service was nearly over, and it was unlikely there would be need to return, if fortune should favor. But as she stepped cautiously into the aisle, Augusta began to wail woefully.

“Daddy!” she cried, her arms stretching out. “I want Daddy!”

Several sympathetic gazes met Maeve’s. She was surprised. The little ruse must have worked, she hoped.

“Not now, Goosie. He’ll be along soon.”

The child screamed, every bit of air in her wee lungs fully utilized. “No, I wanna stay with Da. Let me go!”

“Please, poppet, he’ll come shortly. Church is almost over.”

The tempest of tantrum would not be quelled, and as every single eye, every ear observed young Miss Grayson, she gave yet another twist and pull. “Let me go, Ma! Let me go to Da!”

Ma. Da.

Not knowing what else to do, Maeve ran down the aisle, passing in her flight under the stained glass window depicting Eve’s banishment from Eden.

“I can’t go back, Caroline,” Maeve told the pleading woman a short time later.

She had fled to possibly the worst place: August’s coach. Not so unlike the day she had told Owen of her intention to leave, Maeve felt like Persephone becoming the consort of Hades.

“Maybe this all happened for the best,” Caroline tried to counsel. “After all, there’s been whisperings of it for years — it’s better to just get it out there. Perhaps now August won’t have any excuses.”

“Excuses?” Maeve pondered. “Excuses for what?”

She could see Caroline cross herself in frustration. “It has been three years since Amelia died. It is proper for a gentleman to wait one year before considering marriage after losing his wife. It is commendable to wait two. I have advised August that, going on three years, it looks simply silly, and is to Goosie’s disadvantage.”

“What do you mean? August means to marry?”

Confused and unsure, Maeve’s mind filled with terror at the notion that her August might even consider it. He hadn’t discussed it with her, but of course, why would he? No doubt he would anticipate Maeve’s taking exception to another Lady Grayson.

Caroline’s nervous smile faltered. “Alas, no. He insists that the idea of marrying only to satisfy some social conditioning is laughable.”

That relieved her somewhat. “Got a lick of sense about him still, then.”

Caroline was dumbfounded. “You don’t seem to understand. I am aggrieved that he’s of this mind-set. It was my hope that he marry you.”

Nervous giggling erupted without delay, but Caroline was sincere. Suddenly, Maeve recalled the remarks at breakfast, of having hoped to have occasion for clothing for use at Meadowlark. It occurred to Maeve now that she was referring to a wedding gown.

For her.

“Well, that’s just silly,” Maeve spluttered dismissively. “August and I can’t … I mean, he’s a lord, and I’m a … It would never be acceptable to–”

No half-uttered excuses dissuaded Caroline. “Honestly, why not?”

“He’s nobility and I’m Irish.” Could she not understand? “There may be a quell amongst the Irish at the moment, but I am still … unacceptable.”

“I married Jefferson,” she countered, as though that very argument should solve the dilemma. “Maeve, August is afraid and conflicted. He knows what you two are doing is abhorrent in certain eyes. As a mistress, however, they expect you to be just a passing fancy. But if he marries you, I suspect he’s afraid you’ll end up hating him for the role you will be expected to play. With your heritage, the hens will never think you worthy and never accept you no matter how you may excel. No doubt that we all have elected to lead our lives the way we think best, but that doesn’t free us from the judgment of others.”

Maeve looked at Caroline sternly, finally understanding.

Caroline continued, more sheepishly, “I think that August doesn’t want to see you crumble as did our mother.”

Maeve’s brow furrowed. “What is it you think?”

“Me?” She grinned defiantly. “I want to see my sister, Maeve Grayson, make the chickens of Norwich choke on their own rotten eggs.”

“Maeve Grayson,” she repeated like an Amen to the longest prayer of her life. It sounded right, proper even.

“He won’t ask you,” Caroline added, stroking the now slumbering Augusta’s hair. “You and I have hardly been traditional in our relationships with the less fair sex. Let’s keep to that, shall we?”

Maeve cocked her head.

“You know Rathmore cannot appear as though he’s condoning adultery of so generous a patron of the church as August. Go now. Ask Rathmore to give his blessing for you to be wed. Once he sees that Rathmore agrees, I don’t think August will be likely to resist.”

It was all happening too fast to comprehend. “You’re suggesting that I go ask August to marry me?”

“Do you think he would deny you?”

The sly smirk on Maeve’s face served as answer.

“Then go. After all, I don’t want my niece to grow up without a mother.”

After kissing Caroline’s cheek, Maeve rushed from the coach. Caroline was right. This was right.

She was going to marry August.

Whispers clocked her in silent accusation as she passed through the thinning congregation. She paid them no mind. Nothing would deter her from her errand. Maeve all but ran through the church. Outside the Reverend’s closed door, she hesitated, steeling herself for one last moment before committing to the task.

She reached for the handle.

Then heard another woman’s voice, and stopped.

“Really, August, it is fortunate that I’ve arrived to Norwich when I did,” it said, following the shuffling feet inside the room. “It is an utter mess you’ve made of yourself. You should be thankful I’m so understanding of your plight as to offer my assistance.”

“Alex, it was always my intention to marry,” Maeve heard August say. The Duchess, she thought as her teeth ached from the pressure. “Of course, you’re right. I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life. The look on Maeve’s face … It was … ”

“Embarrassing, just like you said,” the Duchess concurred, causing Maeve’s stomach to twist.

She had embarrassed August? Didn’t he consider how she felt?

“Well, August, you know what must be done.”

“I have to agree,” Rathmore added. “The Duchess is most correct. And I must say, offering you her hand is a blessing you should not take lightly. Your child needs a proper mother, not a nanny.”

August grumbled. “Yes, of course, you’re both right. Thank you. I’ll announce our engagement tomorrow. But I’m woefully unprepared. I don’t even have a proper ring to offer.”

“We’ll ride into London tonight and select something that will be divine,” the Duchess offered, and Maeve wanted to gouge out her eyes. “I have exquisite taste, August. You needn’t worry.”

“But Maeve—” he protested.

“Don’t worry about Maeve.” She cut him off. “Really, I’m sure she’s expecting it. After the trick you tried to pull today, she’ll know you had to do something to keep Augusta’s good name.”

He sighed deeply. “I hope so. Best to wait to tell her tomorrow.”

Maeve’s hand fell. More precisely, her whole body suddenly felt as though it were stitched together and was threatening to spill out at the seams. Her heart — moments before flying on the tides of ecstasy — broke. She fell back to the street and to the coach, using the last of her strength to put on a brave, disingenuous mask of ease, so that she might escape Caroline’s company.

“You can take comfort, Caroline. Rathmore was able to sway August easily.”

Caroline heard what she wanted to hear. She transferred the sleeping child into Maeve’s arms and blew a kiss before closing the door. Not wanting to give August a chance to join them, and knowing from what she overheard that he would not in any event, she asked the driver to take Augusta and her back to Meadowlark.

August was to be wed, for certain, to someone who could be a “proper mother” and keep Augusta socially acceptable.

Not a poor Irish nanny.

Amelia would have been devastated if she knew. But Maeve would keep her promise. She would not allow him the opportunity. Not to her Augusta.

From the Inside Looking Out

A
ugusta’s voice rang to the rafters, “Ma” echoing in a seemingly endless loop. August turned to Maeve, and was shocked by her crimson flush. They might have stood a chance if only the Irish lass had remained dismissive or, better yet, had chastised her charge for the mistake. Under the pressure of so many watchful eyes, Maeve panicked. With a scurry only achievable by one fearing for her life, she fled.

Every eye of Norwich society turned immediately to August. The time had long since passed since he cared what the ninnies thought of him; Caroline was long since wed and that concern had weakened. What they thought of Maeve, however, concerned him a great deal. If he had carried on an affair with any other “proper” lady of British society, it would have been frowned upon, but dismissed as a gentleman’s dalliance. Even if the matter had just involved Maeve, it likely would have been seen as tawdry but no less abhorrent for a man of his status and particular marital situation. Or rather, lack of marital situation.

But what had just happened was so much worse. His young daughter had just called her “nanny” Ma in front of the whole of slew of them. Their eyes demanded explanation. More so, some had condemned him with the weight of their stares alone.

August turned to Caroline and found a smile both perplexing and oddly comforting; the very warmth of that expression told August things could not be nearly as bad as they seemed. He gave a small dismissive laugh, thinking that a cavalier attitude would serve to confuse, and turned back, seating himself without further deliberation.

The next twenty minutes found August motionless, his eyes transfixed on Reverend Rathmore. When at last the service concluded, he arose. The only errand on his mind was finding Maeve, letting her know it was all right. August was a little surprised, however, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“A word in private, Lord Grayson?”

Rathmore’s face displayed both concern and urgency. August noticed his eyes darting around and followed them, taking in the multiple queues forming flanks down the aisles. It was then that August realized Rathmore’s protective intentions.

He remained calm and coolly turned to his sister. “Caroline, would you mind tracking down Miss O’Connor and letting her know I’ve been detained, but that I will see to her shortly? Please also let her know that I am not upset with her for … Goosie’s outburst.”

Caroline nodded gently, not wishing to wake Charles, who still kept silent in his father’s arms. Jefferson passed without a word, only giving a reassuring smile.

A few minutes later, August found himself seated across from the clergyman in the silence of his chambers. He kept office in a small annex at the side of the church. They had successfully sequestered themselves without having been accosted. Rathmore was quiet, contemplative. Finally, after nearly all August’s patience had left him, he spoke.

“The Bible says, ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,’” he mused. “I’m not about to attempt to call you out. I think you know perfectly well the church’s position on adultery.”

A sharp intake of air prefaced his retort. “I think the church knows perfectly well my family’s generosity,” August boldly declared.

To August’s surprise, Rathmore’s face lit up. “I have offended you. It was not my intention.”

Giving him a less than kind glare, August asked, “What precisely was your intention?”

“Everybody knows,” Rathmore stated succinctly, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Your relationship with Miss O’Connor has been presumed for quite some time. Within Meadowlark, few care how you carry on. However, once you brought that into public at Prideux’s—”

“He was trying to manhandle her!” August broke in. “I was … concerned. She looked so frightened, and I just wanted to assure her that all would be well.”

“Wanted to assure her?” The Reverend leaned forward, one eyebrow cocked. “Lord Grayson … August,” his gaze narrowed suspiciously, “how long have you been in love with Miss O’Connor?”

August could not bring himself to lie to a man of God. Nor did he wish to. He tired of the denial, of Maeve playing a part to keep by his side only for the sake of saving him the scandal.

“Since I first saw her when I was hardly more than a child,” August admitted, and found himself jovial despite the gravity of the moment. “She was meant for me, as though God had crafted us, the one for the other. But we are from two different worlds. She and I could never … ”

“Why ever not, August?”

The familiar voice of his past jolted him. He had not heard the door open, or the lady walk in. Both Rathmore and he turned to see the impressive visage of …

“Duchess Hannover.” Rathmore completed August’s thought. He gave a slight nod of his head in welcome. “I apologize, but we did not hear you come in.”

Alexandra had always been catty, and August still recalled vividly her headstrong fashion and presumption to know best of other’s affairs. It puzzled him that Amelia, so genteel and compassionate in nature, had been such a confidante of hers.

“As I intended it,” she returned, a smug smile gracing her face as she turned and closed the door gently behind her. “Please, gentlemen, don’t let my presence deter you.”

Rathmore shifted uncomfortably. “Duchess, if you seek counsel, might I offer to make an appointment another time? Lord Grayson and I are … ”

Alexandra removed her silken gloves and slapped them in a flustered manner into her left hand. “If women left all concerns to men, there would be a great slighting in the matters of the sexes,” she huffed. “Now, August, you just said that you love this O’Cabbage woman, did you not?”

“O’Connor,” he corrected, though wondering what business it was of the Duchess’ to meddle. “And yes, with all my heart. But I don’t see why you—”

“Amelia was my dearest friend,” she said, cutting him off. “Perhaps the closest I have ever had, though that may not count toward much. She and I continued writing to each other, even after your marriage. Were you aware of that?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Alexandra grinned amusedly. “Yes, well no doubt she recalled your distaste for my company. Mel wrote me about your O’Connor, told me you seemed quite taken with her. Oh, she did not mention her by name, but you look to that Irishwoman the way Mel described, I can only assume it is her. And I can see it. In the very air that sparked between the two of you despite your best efforts, I can see it.”

August stared at Alexandra, unable to believe that Amelia had shared so intimate a confession. Then again, he mused, Amelia must have been very alone during his time in Ireland. Was it not possible she would have reached out to her bosom friend, a woman who, like herself, had agreed to a match benefiting her social role but leaving her heart bereft? And, perhaps, in the echo of bitter choices, a champion for romance?

The Duchess continued. “I miss my friend, and I know you two treasured each other as well, in your way. Mel and I always understood you were not like us. You were not meant to live your life in the service of your title. In memory of my friend, please, do what is right and marry Miss O’Connor.”

He could scarcely believe his ears. The two in conjunction were telling him everything he longed to hear, and nothing to which he could stand to listen.

“I cannot,” he proclaimed, shaking his head in denial. “I would not do that to her. The way it would change her, what would be expected of her ... And I don’t think she’d …. ”

“You actually think she’d deny your proposal?” Alexandra posited, a clear tone of chide and disbelief inking into her words. “Fine, do not ask her. Tell her. Tell her you are marrying her. Of course, I will be willing to lend my hand to the effort, as far as gossip is concerned. If the Duchess of Hannover accepts you, what can the ninnies of Norwich argue in defense? Really, August, it is fortunate that I’ve arrived to Norwich when I did. It is an utter mess you’ve made of yourself. You should be thankful I’m so understanding of your plight as to offer my assistance.”

“Alex, it was always my intention to marry.” And he did hold that as a distant dream to be fulfilled someday — when Augusta was grown and wed, when her place in society could no longer be jeopardized by her father’s questionable relations. But not now.

Still, August grew desperate to free Maeve from the prison in which his decisions and life had trapped her. In that moment, he knew it was useless. He couldn’t cause her the grief any longer. For all the things she had given him, the least he could do was offer her legitimacy.

The wisdom of following the sage, though unsolicited advice of the Reverend and the Duchess was suddenly all too clear.

“Of course, you’re right. I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life. The look on Maeve’s face… It was…”

“Embarrassing, just like you said,” Alexandra concurred, and August felt his stomach twist into a knot.

Oh God, how would Maeve ever forgive him?

“Well, August, you know what must be done.”

“I have to agree,” Rathmore interjected. “The Duchess is most correct. And I must say, offering you her hand is a blessing you should not at all take lightly. Your child needs a proper mother, not a nanny.”

Maeve had never been just a nanny, but how could they understand that? But that had not been what the Reverend intended.

“Yes, of course,” August finally returned. “You’re both right. Thank you. I’ll announce our engagement tomorrow. But I’m woefully unprepared. I don’t even have a proper ring to offer.”

“We’ll ride into London tonight and select something that will be divine,” Alexandra offered. “I have exquisite taste, August. You needn’t worry.”

“But Maeve … ” he protested.

She was a simple woman, and likely anything a duchess selected would be far too excessive for her tastes. It would be likely to overwhelm her, and perhaps she’d realize the mistake in becoming the next Lady Grayson.

“Don’t worry about Maeve,” Alexandra insisted, seemingly reading his thoughts. “Really, August, I’m sure she’s expecting it. After the trick you tried to pull today, she’ll know you had to do something to ensure Augusta’s good name.”

“I hope so.”

He wanted to go to his love. They had been so certain that marriage would be impractical, it had never been brought up as anything more than a passing imagine if ...

But Maeve needed to know that he was sincere, that August wanted this not only to legitimize Augusta’s place in society or shield himself from further gossip. He was doing it because he wanted her.

Yes, she would need a ring. Something simple. Something sincere. Something …

Something completely Maeve.

He sighed, knowing truth for truth and acknowledging its name.

“Best just to wait to tell her tomorrow.”