The Rebel (10 page)

Clara’s voice broke in. “There is the
village. Small but quite charming, don’t you think, Sir
Nicholas?”

Ahead of them, nestled in a valley and
surrounded by a patchwork of brown, harvested fields and green
pastureland dotted with a few cows and more sheep, lay the cluster
of cottages. Up against an ancient castle at one end of the
village, the squat gray tower of a chapel could be seen.

“The castle was built by the Desmonds
centuries ago,” Clara said, following the direction of Nicholas’s
gaze. “The Purdens live there now, but we don’t associate with
them. And there is also a limestone quarry at that end…”

“I shall be on my way, then.” Jane reined in
her horse and turned it toward a road heading east. “I shall see
you again some time this afternoon.”

Nicholas tried to think of some objection,
some excuse that would keep her with them. “It is too bad we cannot
accompany you on your visit to Buttevant. I should very much like
to see more of this countryside.”

Jane’s look told him there was no chance in
hell that she would be taking him along.

“That is a fine idea, Sir Nicholas. Why
don’t you go with Jane to Buttevant?” Clara’s remark brought the
others’ heads around sharply. “It is fine horse country, you know.
Why, the valleys along the River Awbeg are famous throughout
Ireland. Even the Irish here are riders from childhood. My father
often sings the praises of the fine animals he’s seen and purchased
from the folk who raise them along the river.”

“But I am not visiting any horse traders,
Clara.” Jane’s words were spoken through clenched teeth. Her dark
eyes were flashing.

“I know that, but it would be much safer,”
Clara assured her pleasantly. “And while you are visiting your
friend, I’m certain Sir Nicholas wouldn’t mind waiting in the
village and enjoying the beautiful scenery. There is even a ruined
abbey there, rumored to be as old as any church in Dublin. It’s
quite lovely, really.”

“You don’t say,” Nicholas responded with
interest.

“Excuse us for a moment, will you?” Jane
pushed her horse toward her sister. Her whispered words were
intended only for Clara, but Nicholas could not help overhearing
them.

“
Why
are you doing this?”

“You know why.”

“I give you my word that I’ll be back. I
shall
go alone!”

Clara shook her head, and Nicholas could see
the color rising in the face of the older sister.

“I believe Sir Nicholas is correct about the
possibility of the Shanavests still lingering in the area,” Clara
said out loud, turning to him. “Would you do my sister the honor of
accompanying her to her friend’s place and then back here,
sir?”

He looked from one sister’s happy face to
the other’s tense one. “Are you quite sure Parson Adams would be
agreeable to this change in plans?”

“Absolutely.”

“But what about you? I shouldn’t care to see
you slighted.”

“Not at all, sir.” Clara gave him her
brightest smile ever. “I suggested it, did I not? Actually, I am
looking forward to spending some time in the parson’s company. And
with you keeping Jane safe from roving bandits, sir, I shall have
the peace of mind that both of you will return shortly. I’ll see to
it that Mrs. Brown has tea waiting for you.”

“If that is your wish…?”

“Then it is settled.” Clara smiled and
touched her riding whip to her mare’s flank. “We shall see you
soon.”

“What about
me
?” Jane protested,
watching her sister descend the hill. A small flock of sheep
separated as the younger woman approached them. “No one asked me if
I am willing to take
him
along?”

Nicholas nudged his horse between Jane and
her departing sister. “I’m very sorry, Miss Jane, but it appears
you are stuck with me for the remainder of the morning. Now, will
you try to recall some of your English charm and hospitality and at
least pretend to tolerate me?”

“I think not, sir!” She glanced meaningfully
at his arm. “You couldn’t handle me at your best, yesterday. But if
you are not careful, today may prove infinitely worse for you.”

“Miss Clara, how lovely to have you here.”
Mrs. Brown met the guest by the door of the parsonage. “The parson
was hoping that you wouldn’t mind waiting in the parlor and
entertaining your company until he gets back. He was called away
unexpectedly and he feared he might be a wee bit late in getting
back. But wait, miss, where
is
your company?”

The housekeeper peered out at Clara’s
solitary horse tied by the gate in front of the parsonage.

Sunlight glinted in the puddles still
standing in the rutted road that led through the village. Though
the wispy smoke from a dozen cooking fires colored the breezes over
the thatched roofs, the village was nearly deserted. Only a few
ancient chickens, a goat in a stone enclosure across the way, and a
workman carrying a load of sticks on his back at the far end of the
hamlet hinted of other inhabitants.

“My sister needed to visit a friend in
Buttevant, so I sent our guest, Sir Nicholas, with her. I wanted to
be sure Jane would get back here in time to visit.”

“Good for you,” Mrs. Brown said
encouragingly. She closed the door and led the way down a narrow
passage toward the parlor. “We do not see enough of Miss Jane’s
bright face these days. There’s not a day that goes by that someone
in the village is not inquiring after her health or asking when her
next visit will be. She is greatly missed here, I assure you, and I
know for a certainty the parson has been concerned about her
absence from Ballyclough.”

“Has he?” Clara was surprised by the
sharpness of her own tone.

“Indeed. Thinking on it daily, I should
say.” The housekeeper nodded emphatically and opened the door to
the parlor.

The curtains had already been pulled open,
and the shutters folded back. Sunshine slanted through the open
windows, lighting the spare but comfortable furnishings of the
room. A homey, cozy scent of peat and pipe tobacco hung in the air.
As she breathed in the smells, a feeling of well-being spread
through her, warming her, making her forget the disquiet the
housekeeper’s words had caused. She loved this house.

Mrs. Brown settled herself into her chair by
the small peat fire and rang a small silver bell that she took from
the pocket of her apron. Clara sat down in the settle across from
her.

“I hope you don’t mind my saying so, Miss
Clara, but it would have done your sister a world of good if she’d
gone off to England with the rest of you this past spring.”

A young servant poked her head into the
room, and Mrs. Brown ordered a pot of fresh tea to be brought
in.

“Aye. As I was saying to Parson Adams this
very morning, if Miss Jane were to find an English husband, a good
one as you have found, why, the child might just shake off the
sadness she’s been carrying all these years. Aye, what she needs is
a good one like yours.”

“Really, Mrs. Brown, I haven’t found myself
a husband, English or otherwise. Sir Nicholas is my father’s guest,
and he has yet to ask for my hand in marriage. To be honest, I
don’t care for people going around and presuming things that may
not come to pass.”

“You are quite right, my dear,” she said,
picking up her needlework from a basket beside the chair. “We
shouldn’t be counting our eggs…and all that. But I shouldn’t worry.
You are so lovely.”

“This is the baronet’s first visit to
Ireland. He might not care for what he sees.” Trying to hide her
impatience, Clara stood up and went to the window. In the pretty
garden beside the house, one of the year’s last rosebuds bobbed its
head in the breeze. “If I may ask, Mrs. Brown, has Parson Adams
expressed a position regarding my sister.”

“Indeed he has. The parson told me, in no
uncertain terms, that he does not believe that one English-born
noblemen in a hundred—your gentleman excluded—is good enough for
your sister.”

“Is that so?”

Mrs. Brown continued without looking up. “He
thinks most of them are too shallow. And to give him credit, the
parson was educated among them, so he should know well enough. And
not to bring up a difficult subject, my dear, but he believes once
a would-be suitor learns of Jane’s younger years, the average
Englishman gentleman would cry foul and leave the poor thing
standing at the altar. But I say, find a decent one and tell him
nothing. She’s a fine woman for any man, if you ask me.”

“Well, I believe Jane has no intention of
accepting suitors.” She reached up and pulled off her hat. “My
belief is that she is perfectly happy at Woodfield House and will
remain there for the rest of her life.” She put the hat down on the
wide window sill and rejoined the housekeeper by the fire.

“I’m happy to hear that you feel that way,
child, but the parson doesn’t agree with you. He is a very
observant man, and he has been watching Jane closely for some
time.”

“Really, Mrs. Brown?”

“Aye, and if he says your sister is unhappy
at Woodfield House, I believe him.”

Clara held her tongue as the young servant
entered the room with a tray containing a teapot with cups, and
several small cakes. Mrs. Brown took the tray from her and placed
it on the table beside her. Just as she was preparing to pour the
tea, however, the parson could be heard coming in through the back
of the house.

“Here he is now.” Mrs. Brown finished
pouring the tea and pushed herself immediately to her feet. “I’ll
go and tell him that you are here. Oh my heavens, I also need to
tell the cook to wait luncheon until Miss Jane and your Englishman
get here.”

Clara watched the round figure of the older
woman scurry out of the room. She, too, stood up as a wave of
unhappiness regarding everything she’d just been told gripped her
stomach. She walked to the window, removed her gloves, and placed
them next to the hat. She wished for a mirror, but she knew there
was none. Absently, she reached up and tried to arrange the
curls.

“There is no need for that. Your fiancée is
not here yet, Miss Clara.”

The young woman jumped and turned quickly to
the door. Henry Adams stood on the threshold, filling the doorway.
She saw the gray eyes studying her critically, and she felt the
heat rise into her face.

“Mrs. Brown tells me that you sent your
English baronet off with Jane to Buttevant.” He removed his gloves
as he entered the room. “You know you are risking your sister’s
wrath when you start meddling in her activities.”

Clara moved to the small table. “May I pour
you some tea?”

He nodded. The breeze had ruffled his short
black hair, and his probing gaze only added to her unease. “So how
did you manage it? Or, a better question,
why
send them off
together?”

The cup rattled slightly against the saucer
as Clara extended it toward him. “I was hoping for a few moments
alone with you…so that we could talk.”

“What do we have to talk about?” he said
coolly.

“About us.”

Their fingers brushed as he accepted the cup
from her. “We have nothing more to say to each other—in private,
that is.”

Her heart sank, and she fought down the
tight knot clawing its way up into her throat. “Please give me a
chance to explain.”

“You have explained, Clara—clearly and
utterly. You did so six months ago. I’ve moved on, and there is no
point in revisiting that unpleasantness.”

When she lifted her head, his handsome image
was blurred, and she blinked back her tears. “I never knew you
could be so cruel.”

“I? Cruel? Please!” He placed the teacup on
the shelf above the hearth and frowned at her. “Shortness of memory
has never been one of your failings. But having said that, I must
leave you. I find it totally inappropriate to be dallying here with
a nearly married woman.” He bowed curtly. “I believe I left my
Daily Meditations
in the chapel. You can have Mrs. Brown
send for me when your fiancée and your sister return.”

Clara stared for an instant at his broad
back as he turned away. Panic seized her, and she ran toward the
door, blocking his path. “I beg of you, Henry.”

He halted a step away. “Clara, you are
making a fool of yourself.”

“So what if I am?” She blindly reached for
the door behind her and closed it, leaning her weight against
it.

“You mustn’t jeopardize your reputation this
way.”

“Reputation means nothing to me now.” Fresh
tears rolled down her cheeks. “I cannot let you go. Not until you
hear me.”

“Clara, open the door.” He took a step
closer, and she could see the sparks of temper burning in his gray
eyes.

“I love you, Henry.” The words tumbled out.
“Please, you must forgive me for what is past…for the way I behaved
before. Those were empty words I spoke six months ago. I know I
offended you…hurt you. I was a fool.”

“Clara, it is too late for this. You have a
suitor who has come all the way from England for the sole
purpose.”

“I don’t care.” She threw herself against
him, wrapping her arms around him. He stood rigidly as she held
him, but she couldn’t stop now. She pressed her face against the
coarse cloth of his jacket. “Six months ago you asked me to become
your wife. You told me that you loved me…that you wanted me at your
side forever. Please Henry, ask me again.”

“No.”

“Please just ask me, and I will be
yours.”

“I was not good enough for you then—” His
fingers grasped her shoulders firmly, and he pushed her back until
he was looking into her face. “—and nothing has changed. I could
never measure up to your expectations for a husband. I am still a
second son—a poor clergyman who is happy to labor here, away from
the pleasures of society. Six months ago, I was the fool to think I
could compete with the advantages you were about to receive in
London. Fancy dresses, receptions and balls awaited you. Wealth and
fame awaited you. ‘I must marry someone with a title,’ you
said.”