Dark Hero; A Gothic Romance (Reluctant Heroes) (55 page)

Kieran was silent. He kept staring at the ground, his face
set. His lips formed a thin line. He removed his hand from hers, and cupped the
elbow of his arm jutting out of the sling.

“Sheila wasn’t an O’Flaherty by birth.” Elizabeth went on.
“She married the Clan Chieftain in 1740. She was an O’Malley, a descendant of
the pirate queen, Grace O’Malley.” Elizabeth paused, smiling at the idea of a
woman pirate besting the English Queen centuries ago. “Yet, Sheila became the
seer because she was married to the Chieftain. And, for the last eighteen years,
she wasn’t really the seer at all. Sheila was our nanny, in England, so the
clan has been without a seer for a long time. So you see, the gift may be
hereditary, and it may flow through the blood of us and our descendants, but it
is still outmoded, a relic of another time.”

Elizabeth paused. She didn’t know how Kieran was reacting to
her words. She waited.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever go back to Ireland.” He said
after several moments. “As the heir, I have a great deal of responsibility that
will keep me in England.”

“You’ll go.” She assured him. “You’ll go to Ireland, and
you’ll reclaim your birthright. And when you do, you’ll find an Irish lass to
share your life with. She’ll be the next seer . . . or perhaps it will be your
daughter who takes my place.”

Kieran shook his head, dismissing her words. “I’ll take the
book, if you want. But I’m not moving to Ireland. I’ll be taking grandfather’s
seat in the house of lords after he passes, and managing his estate at
Greystowe Hall.”

Elizabeth smiled. He would go to Ireland. She’d seen it, as
if it had already come to pass. Perhaps he wouldn’t go fulfill his destiny as a
great Irish leader right away, but one day, Kieran O’Flaherty would return to
reclaim his heritage and the lands stolen from their family.

Epilogue

One week after Captain Fletcher’s violent intrusion upon the
residents of Ravencrest Plantation, Christmas Day of 1798 was upon them.

It was the first time in fifty years that the old plantation
house experienced a true Christmas. The new mistress had made certain bright
greenery was festooned upon every horizontal surface of the first floor and that
sweetmeats adorned every side table in the salon.

Elizabeth reveled in her new role as Countess Rochembeau.
Although her title was of French origin, she was determined to celebrate
Christmas in the English tradition, sans snow. She assembled the family and the
servants together in the salon. A large table held a veritable feast Old Fritz
had worked diligently on for days before. Elizabeth presented each staff member
with a small gift for helping her bring the old manor house back to life.

Traditional wassail punch was served to the staff by the
male members of the family and their guests, namely by Donovan, Gareth, Kieran,
Mr. Marceau and Mr. Barnaby. Kieran stood at the table and used his one good arm
to ladle the punch while the other men held the cups for him and served the
gathering of servants for the promised toast. Michael was forced to sit on his
cushion and watch the proceedings. Grandfather sat beside him on the sofa. The
old earl watched the mingling of staff and servants with quiet disapproval.

After Elizabeth thanked the servants for their loyalty,
toasts were made for the coming year. With Giles help, she had hired a small
company of players from Basseterre to provide music so they could dance and
make merry at a true Christmas party. The furniture had been moved to the edges
of the salon to make room for dancing.

Captain Jack Rawlings and his nephew, Peter had been invited
to the party. Peter had made quick friends with Gavin and Danny, the stable
lads. The trio hovered over the food table, sneaking sweetmeats and petit
fours, but in truth, no one was paying them any mind as they stuffed their
faces and watched the adults cavort about the parlor in pursuit of their own
sweets.

Chloe’s kissing ball, made mostly of berries, had become a
sensation. Captain Rawlings stole more than one kiss from her. She didn’t seem
to mind his persistence, much to Uncle Gareth’s chagrin. Mr. Duchamp and Mr.
O’Leary gave the captain stiff competition as both men had dusted off their
somber exteriors to don an unexpected charm as they lined up to dance with the
beautiful Miss Ramirez and whirl her under the implied mistletoe.

Donovan even danced once with the dark beauty, as a matter
of honor, since he was her employer, but both he and Chloe stoically avoided
the mistletoe. Aside from Uncle Gareth, Captain Rawlings was the only man brave
enough to ask Elizabeth for a dance, as he was Donovan’s long time friend.

Donovan took Elizabeth by surprise as he smiled throughout
the evening and dragged her out to the dance floor enthusiastically several
times to partner him in the simple country dances. Elizabeth had no idea the
man liked to dance. She expected just the opposite, as he hated being around
people so and shunned social gatherings.

*******

Donovan was happy to encourage his bride’s generosity. The
new staff had helped Elizabeth make the empty old plantation house into a true
home. More than that, many had befriended her when she was lonely.

He whirled Elizabeth about the brightly lit salon as the
musicians played another English country dance. When planning the party,
Elizabeth had wisely decided on keeping the music unpretentious so the servants
would not feel out of place. She was giving the party for them, to thank them
in the tradition of the old days when the master and mistress of the household
would put on a feast in honor of the servants one day out of the year.

 Elizabeth was brilliant in the candlelight. She was wearing
a green silk gown that complimented her unusual coloring. Her face was flushed,
her red hair glimmering, and her sweet lips were plump and ripe, just ready to
be kissed. Donovan guided her toward the conspicuous red ball hanging in the
doorway, intent upon plucking yet another of the berries from the sphere to add
to his pocketful. Miss Ramirez shouldn’t expect to have all the kisses this
night. The maids, he noticed, even brazen Sally, were being rather priggish
about the kissing ball. When strategically placed beneath it, they all turned
their heads, offering their partners a cheek to peck. Perhaps they were
concerned about their reputations, as they were in the company of the family
they served. He imagined that if the same women were at a party in the village,
they’d be much more robust in their responses to the men seeking their
affections.

Donovan had much to celebrate this day. His home had become
more than a cold, shadowy refuge from the outside world. It had become a warm,
sunny, welcoming place, thanks to the woman in his arms.

And as for his many guests, Donovan had faith that in the
coming months the numbers would shrink considerably. Michael would stay on with
them for a time, as Lord Greystowe had made Donovan Michael’s guardian. As
would Mr. Marceau, the lad’s tutor. But, Donovan expected Michael would go to
school abroad within the year.

Lord Greystowe seemed to be rallying his strength due to Mr.
Barnaby’s special heart tonic. His color returned and he seemed less tired. It
was a bit too early to determine if it would be a steady improvement. Yet, the
old earl was considering sailing to England when the cane harvest was over, and
The Pegasus would make its annual journey to England with sugar cones in its
hold. Donovan had been tactfully promoting the idea by promising the earl
luxury accommodations on his Galleon should he wish to go through with his
plans.

Yes, soon he would be alone with his darling bride, he
mused, as he maneuvered Elizabeth under the hanging berry sphere.

“So, my lord.” She teased, giving him a dimpled smile. “How
many berries are in your pocket? I’ve lost count.”

“Six.” Donovan grinned back. He leaned in to capture her
lips in a sensual kiss. He intended to add many more. He wanted a memento of
this Christmas, their first as man and wife.

Lizzie seemed to have lost her earlier reluctance about
kissing him in public. Her kisses this evening progressed in passion each time
he whirled her to the enchanted spot that had become the most popular area of
the room for the dancing couples. Alas, she’d had several glasses of wine and
the wassail punch--not that he was counting, mind you.

With a little persuasion, he could spirit her away for a
secret tryst in the garden.

First, he had to give her the gift he’d smuggled into the
house earlier in the week.

“Let’s go to the library. It’s quiet in there, and you can
rest for a few moments.”

Elizabeth gave him an exasperated sigh. “My lord. We
discussed this, remember? We cannot keep sneaking off to empty rooms and . . .”
She paused, blushing profusely.

Yes, she discussed his propensity to sweep her away and have
his way with her at odd times, quite often, as he recalled. Donovan ignored her
lectures, as any red blooded man worth his salt would do, and just kept kissing
her until she succumbed to the rising desire. And they hadn’t been discovered
in an embarrassing pose, not once.

“But I have a surprise to give you, my dear.” He countered,
grinning down at her.

She scoffed with mock annoyance. “Truly, sir? I’d hardly
call your intentions a surprise any longer.”

He shook his head in denial of her implication, amazed at
the path her mind moved so easily down. “I’m not teasing, love. There was a
package delivered the other day, from England. It took four men and a boy to
move it.”

That captured her attention. The wide look of pleasure and
outright surprise on her sweet face was worth several fortunes. Donovan’s
pleasure had a bitter tang as he recalled her recent poverty while living in
exile with Fletcher. The thought came that this lovely young woman hadn’t been
given presents by anyone, not for a very long time.

“Well, let’s have a look, shall we?” He took her by the arm,
urging her to accompany him to the solitude of the library so he could present
her with the gift he knew she would adore.

*******

Elizabeth closed her eyes as he instructed. She couldn’t
imagine what would be so large that four men would need to carry it here.
Surely not more books! Perhaps a piece of furniture?

“Are you ready?” Donovan asked, guiding her slowly across
the carpeted library to the corner, near the window. “I ordered it when we were
still in England. There, open your eyes.”

She did so, slowly, and her eyes had to adjust to the low
candlelight. There was one candelabra lit in the room, holding five candles,
and it was perched on a gleaming mahogany top of a Broadwood Grand Piano.
“Oh--Donovan--you shouldn’t have!”

“You are displeased?” He teased, as the high pitch in her
voice told him the opposite.

“It’s beautiful.” She turned to him with tears. “Mama had a
Broadwood Grand at our home in Mayfair. Fletcher sold it to cover his debts.
You have no idea what this means to me.”

“Perhaps you could show me.” Donovan moved to the door to
secure the lock.

*******

In the salon, the guests were deep in their revelry when a
diminutive blonde woman dressed in rich traveling clothes entered the room. She
watched for several moments, growing perplexed and frightened by the activities
going on about her.

As the gathering continued drinking, feasting, dancing and
making merry, the woman began to shriek. “Oh, Lord! He’s done it, Rose. He’s
truly gone through with it!” She turned to her female escort, while the black
man at the door struggled with her many trunks. “He’s died by his own hand and
no one bothered to send word to me.” Her companion hugged her and tried to
comfort her as she took to weeping. “They’ve sold the place. Oh, Rose, where is
my son?”

“Madame?” Giles came to his senses. He put down his near
empty glass of brandy he’d been savoring as it had been offered from the
master’s hand moments before the count had taken his bride down the hall to
present her with her new piano. “Who is your son? Don’t weep, dear lady, we’ll
find him. I’ll find him.” Giles put in boldly, casting an appreciative eye at
the regal beauty with sapphire blue eyes. She couldn’t be a day older than
forty, in his estimation.

“Who are you?” Her eyes narrowed as she examined him from
her companion’s arms.

“I’m the butler. Lady Elizabeth had me promoted, you see.”
Giles explained.

“Lady Elizabeth!” The blond woman returned with venom. “Just
who the devil is she? And who are these people cluttering up my mother’s salon?
I demand to speak to the woman. I demand to know what you’ve done with my son’s
body. Where is he buried?”

“Alicia!” Gareth had just returned to the salon. “My dear
sister, calm yourself.” He hugged the dainty woman. “Your son is not dead. Au
Contraire--Donovan has come back from the dead. Lady Elizabeth pulled him back
from the edge of the grave.”

The End

About the Author

Lily Silver lives in the Northwoods of Wisconsin, on the
shores of Green Bay. She resides in a lovely old Victorian house with her
husband, their German Shepherd and three charming cats, one who is actually
named after ‘Puck’, from A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Lily loves studying history,
and has two bachelor degrees in that discipline.

She enjoys creating stories about people who must overcome severe
internal obstacles in the quest to find true love. Sometimes the obstacles can
be psychological, as with Donovan Beaumont in Dark Hero, who is clearly
suffering PTSD. Sometimes the obstacle can be emotional, as is the case with
Elizabeth O’Flaherty, a survivor of childhood abuse and sexual abuse as an
adolescent girl of eighteen. Lily firmly believes in the healing power of true
love, and uses that theme in many of her romances.