A Love by Any Measure, page 16
“I don’t need money. What will rent taken of one little cottage do?” His voice broke, shameful it its tone. “I need the land.”
Of course, she thought. The tiny sum she could offer would pale in comparison to the profit of a copper mine.
“But I wish … ” Again, he spoke in a tone that betrayed his self-seeking motivation. “I wish you would continue. Perhaps I cannot give you all, Maeve, but I can give you some. We don’t even need to keep time, and you could see me only when you desired. Please, Maeve, please. Just … ”
“You wanted to give me my freedom,” she interrupted, her expression taut. “It is a wonderful gift, and I thank you sincerely for it. But if I keep to our arrangement, even with modified terms, then you’ve taken it back in the same breath. Keep me to the contract, and you will have made me your whore.”
He began to slowly, then more quickly, then frantically shake his head in denial. “Please, Maeve,” he begged, taking her hands into his, falling to his knees. A shudder wracked him as he pressed her knuckles to his forehead. “Please, don’t.”
“August, we must.” Maeve tried to keep stern, but felt on the edge of tears. She pulled her hands back from his and took on as stoic a demeanor as she could muster. “Lord Grayson, I dissolve our contract. If you have nothing further about the bakery to discuss, then please leave. I have work to do.”
A specter of a man who had kissed her just minutes before reemerged onto the Killarney street. As she followed him, Maeve saw the hungry eyes of the workers peering through the glass, waiting for some fodder for gossip to add to their suspicions. Several jabbed each other’s ribs, pointing at August suggestively. In a moment, Maeve knew the scene was playing to her advantage. They no longer assumed that she was his mistress, but rather saw him as a man who had attempted an unsuccessful conquest. He was leaving dejected, and she was emerging purified.
“Lord Grayson,” Maeve called over her shoulder as August began to walk towards his waiting coach. He spun around with a cloak of hope falling over him. “I trust I can count on you to keep my father as your guest until I’m able to collect him?”
Again, he became crestfallen, the whole of his features clouding over. “Of course, Miss O’Connor. You … He is always welcomed to Shepherd’s Bluff.”
She bowed her head in thanks as she turned to re-enter the shop. After a few formal orders to the workers to shore up her place as their superior — whether deserved or not — Maeve stole away to the small, dark storage room at the back of the shop.
At which point she could hold back no more. Closing the door behind her, she fell back against the wall, sliding down into a heap of tears and disheartened gasps, ruining her new dress.
“I can’t give it to you … ”
“No, August,” Maeve spoke into the darkness. “You could. You just wouldn’t.”
Betrothed
Even the cold, crisp air couldn’t dampen Owen’s spirits. The wait was over. Today, he would make Maeve his.
As he reached into his jacket pocket, the chilled metal of the ring met his finger. He slipped it carefully over his pinkie and hoped that the remaining blocks until Greenlawns Court would prove enough time to heat the band of gold. Likewise he hoped that this would recall Maeve from the grasp of despair into which she had mysteriously fallen.
Two months ago, she’d given Owen quite a surprise. He had found her flustered and trying to hide her tears. When pressed to explain, she informed him that Grayson had given her management and quarter at the bakery in exchange for the cottage. The tears, she said, were bittersweet. Owen had held her close and tried to comfort her, feeling the same combination of grief and relief as she.
Later, Owen came back to the bakery to check on her and found her in the flat, sitting in the dark, calm and serene. And very, very drunk.
A quick peck on the cheek – all he usually allowed himself, as was proper – had quickly escalated under her persuasion as Maeve pushed him down and kissed him into dizziness. His hands overrode his head for a good part of ten minutes, even at one point succeeding in undoing the buttons of her shirt and the lacing of her corset.
But when he saw his flower bare-chested, Owen had sobered. Maeve apologized the next day, realizing her wrong. They had agreed that, for the sake of both their good names, they must not be alone again until their wedding night. Their determination was aided by Rory’s arrival from Shepherd’s Bluff a few days later, brought by Jared Boyle. With the flat no longer a den of temptation away from peering eyes, Maeve and Owen had succeeded in keeping chaste.
There was little Owen knew about Grayson outside of gossip, which claimed he was the second coming of his father. He had made a quick play in early autumn, buying up an impressive number of businesses in town. Yet he did not take any actions to exploit the muscle of his estate. Rather, Grayson acted contrastively to the manner of his station, seeking to restore and improve. Grayson had given Maeve free reign over the bakery, only writing to learn of its status through post, never inspecting in person, though he made regular Saturday rounds to his other holdings and potential investments. He’d even bought interest in the smithy shop where Owen apprenticed. His not-too-small first orders had finally given Owen the last funds needed to wed his beloved Maeve. Grayson seemed, to Owen’s observations, a good man.
Which made Owen feel a shameful schemer, knowing what loomed on the horizon.
The O’Connor cottage had been brought down in the night, and it was reported that Grayson was busily developing his mineral rights where once it stood. Maeve nearly doubled over at the news, as though she had lost a member of her family. For two days, she neither ate nor slept.
Afterward, she was left changed, though not in a way that others noticed. But Owen knew her well enough. She gave an outward representation of contentment, always with a smile and pleasant in demeanor. Yet she was never really happy — she simply went through the deceptive motions.
As Owen turned into the renamed Killarney Bread & Baked Goods, it was Clara Grady who greeted him at the counter. Her placid smile and chipper spirit always made one grin. Today was no different, and combined with the anticipation born by the ring in his pocket, Owen grinned like a child skipping church.
“Mr. Murphy,” she greeted with a slight bow of her head and twinkle of her eye. “Good afternoon. How are you today?”
“Right fine, Miss Grady. Where’s Maeve?”
Her smile straightened to a perfect grimace. “Mass, sir.”
“Again?”
She attended nearly every day of the week now. To pray for their future, she claimed.
“I heard the bells a few minutes ago, and her father went with her this time,” Clara continued. “They should be back soon. A good thing, too, as we just got a curious order I know she’ll be interested to hear.”
The excitement brimming in Clara’s eyes became palatable, forcing Owen finally to ask.
“Five cakes for the engagement party of Miss Caroline Grayson and Captain Jefferson Schand!”
The news hit him like a bullet at close range. Jefferson was engaged to a Grayson? He knew he had been courting her, but thought it a calculated move, not so unlike Rory O’Connor’s. Or was the Yank still playing the game?
The door of the bakery opened behind and the voice of his angel filled the room as she walked in off the street. Owen spun around to meet her curious eyes, seeing him in her shop on a late Thursday afternoon.
“I wasn’t expecting you until Saturday,” she stated as she laid her bag behind the counter. “Is something wrong?”
His smile stretched from Cork to Dublin, and immediately she became suspicious. Owen saw a half grin tick up on her face.
“What are you up to, Owen Murphy?”
He pulled her by the hand and off to the side where they wouldn’t be in direct earshot. So close to closing time, there was only one customer in the bakery. The sun was getting low in the sky, and Clara was folding up her apron to store in the back room.
“Maeve, we’re ready,” he said simply as he took her hands and kissed her knuckles.
She looked at him with a smile, but clearly didn’t understand to what he was referring. Pulling his hand back, Owen fumbled through his pocket and pulled out the golden band. He held it up in front of him as realization overtook her.
Clara squealed, and Rory gave a hearty laugh.
“Well, do it proper, boy-o,” Rory chuckled, giving Owen a rough push on the shoulder, forcing him to the floor.
Owen took a deep breath to calm his jumping nerves, and took Maeve’s hand in his own as he slipped the band over her slender finger.
“Miss O’Connor, I made a vow before God and man that I intended to take you as my wife. With this ring, I pledge to take you as my bride, if you’ll have me.”
It seemed a silly formality; they had been engaged for months. Yet Owen was soon glad of the coaxing Rory had given as he saw Maeve break into tears, her free hand flying over her mouth.
Owen let out a manly sigh. “This is usually the part where the girl says yes and lets the poor man kiss her.”
With a giggle, her head began to nod vigorously. “Of course, Owen. Yes, of course.”
She was in his arms and on his lips without another moment’s hesitation. Both Clara and Rory rushed forward to congratulate them, and even the round, little woman loading the last loaves of the day into her sack beamed.
“A blessing to you both,” she offered as she took her leave.
Owen nodded before pulling Maeve closer and kissing her full on the mouth. This wasn’t the first time he had made the attempt to partake of her lips, but it was perhaps — with exception of her first night away from her cottage — the most receptive she had been. She met the kiss fully, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling herself up the difference of their heights. Heaven help him, but Owen couldn’t deny himself a moment’s pause when he felt the heat of her feminine frame push into him. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her tighter still. For a moment she froze, and then her tongue very quickly and delicately made contact with his. Rory’s booming voice from behind halted his temptation from carrying any further.
“Blessed be, you two, show a little respect to your old man standing here,” his hearty baritone declared. He put an arm around them both as Maeve was kissed roughly on the cheek and Owen was shaken vigorously. “Now, when will it be? The sooner the two of you are wed, the quicker I can be expecting wee Owens and Maeves.”
“Da, you’re going to trample that cart with your poor horse!” Maeve laughed.
“Well, why wait? All matters with the church have been cleared.”
Rory’s enthusiasm rivaled Owen’s in intensity. He looked to Maeve, and saw a sudden strike of hurt flash through her eyes, but disappear quickly when Rory’s eyes caught hers.
She sighed. “Well, I suppose there’s no reason to wait.”
Rory and Clara pulled off to the side in the talk of what needed to be done, Clara mentioning that a simple dress would suffice for the church.
Owen laid his head to rest on Maeve’s shoulder. She returned the warmth and put her arms around his waist. Then, he felt her go stiff in his arms and heard a small gasp escape her mouth as the door to the bakery opened.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to interrupt.”
The English lilt was unmistakable. The man whom Owen had seen at a distance around town and once or twice speaking with the master smithy stood with his hat in hand and a question on his lips. Owen glanced to Maeve, who seemed petrified, her eyes locked into Grayson’s with a certain sense of desperation and fear.
Grasping her hand, Owen hoped to give her strength in the presence of the man who had ordered her homestead destroyed and who now held the lease over her livelihood. Of course, she was a little taken aback. After a moment, however, she eased in her stance a precious little and uttered a response.
“Of course you’re not, Lord Grayson.” Her voice was shaky, and her smile a thin attempt to gloss over the anger she was certain to be feeling. “In fact, your timing is perfect. Won’t you please come in?”
Grayson entered fully, his eyes darting from face to face in an attempt to read the mood of the now silent room. Owen prayed that Grayson might judge the steadfast hold on Maeve as his effort to keep distance between them. All Killarney had been privy to the rumors that had flown about town two months before, but Maeve had assured Owen that Grayson had made no attempt against her. And in retrospect, he had helped the O’Connors, and by extension, Owen, quite a deal.
No matter the Brotherhood’s long term goal, he could not see the harm in telling Grayson their news.
“If you would offer congratulations to my blushing bride,” Owen said with a smile.
Grayson’s eyes fixed on Maeve, who indeed blushed.
“You are wed?” he asked hesitantly.
“Not yet. Soon.”
“Well, then ... ” he stumbled. Finally, he took up Owen’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Congratulations to you both. Many blessings. Clearly this is not the time for business, I see. I’ll come back tomorrow.”
Owen felt bad. Even English as he was, as lord he could have easily exploited any number of devices to push the O’Connors from their cottage. He had given her the bakery, however, and thereby a livelihood. As Grayson turned to leave, Owen called him back.
“Lord Grayson, perhaps you’ll join us at the pub … to celebrate?”
He looked to Maeve. She nodded her consent.
“I suppose I could join you for a pint,” he answered uncertainly, looking to the floor at no spot in particular. “As an engagement present, however, would you allow me the tab?”
“Aye, well, if the English won’t give us back our land, perhaps we’ll settle tonight for their hospitality at the pub. Booze makes brothers like no mothers ever do.”
Clara told the others to go along, that she would finish up the shop for the day and close down. A few minutes later, they emerged from Greenlawns Court en route to the Jolly Root Pub. Rory and Grayson made small talk behind Maeve and Owen as they strode arm in arm. Owen looked to his soon-to-be bride all flushed in the cool winter air and lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing the chilled skin with warm lips.
“I love you, Maeve.”
Though he hoped she would say the same in return, he took comfort in the fullness of her smiling grin, and the twinkle of her deep brown eyes.
Time Catches Up
Maeve bounced down the street, leading August to wonder if his memories had been glossed over by an unrequited heart. Perhaps she did care for this blacksmith after all. If Murphy made her happy, then so be it; August would yield. It had been foolish to suppose anything would or could come about between them.
Maeve let out a long sigh as they turned up a street filling with evening strollers. What did she think of his joining them? Judging by the way Maeve’s eyes had bulged from her head, she was the most startled by the invite. Since leaving the bakery, however, she had put on a very impressive show of indifference. He couldn’t help but notice, somewhat arrogantly, how many times she glanced back over her shoulder to catch him in the corner of her eye.
“Lord Grayson,” Maeve finally said, falling behind to take up step next to him. “You’ll forgive my rudeness. I’m certain you didn’t come to the bakery in an attempt to get invited to the pub. Was there something you needed?”
You.
“Yes, actually. Caroline asked me to ensure that you were personally invited to the engagement party.”
“Wedding?”
The news seemed to take her off guard, and he realized that having the order for Caroline’s cake sent to the bakery hadn’t gotten to her yet.
“Last evening, with my blessing, Captain Schand proposed and Caroline joyfully accepted.”
He tried to gauge her reaction, but saw only confusion in her expression. “They haven’t known each other long. Whatever will be said in England of such whirlwind courtship?”
“What can I say? Perhaps when they realized how much they meant to each other, propriety didn’t matter anymore.” Oh, how the flush that filled her face brought back memories, but a public street with Maeve’s fiancé nearby was hardly the place to make a scene, so August adopted a more formal tone and continued. “She wanted me to inquire if you could come to tea tomorrow. We miss you at Shepherd’s Bluff, Miss O’Connor.”
At the pub doors, Maeve motioned for Owen and Rory to continue inside, which they did without delay. The wind gave a sudden push of bitter chill.
“Yes, I miss it as well,” she said nonchalantly.
“Do you? Do you miss anything else?”
Silence said as much as any words may have conveyed.
“Inviting you to the wedding is not the only reason I came, though a convenient excuse.”
“Oh?”
August took advantage of their momentary isolation to pull Maeve aside from the light cast off by the flickering lamp and into the shadows. His words were sincere, but somehow distant. “I wanted to make sure you’re well. I’ve been thinking of you and ... ”
His words tapered off as a couple strolled by too closely.
“And … ?”
For the briefest of moments, August’s face screwed in conflict. He hardly knew himself, it seemed, what he wanted, or if he really wanted anything. Finally, he began to stutter quietly, his eyes focusing on a shilling he rubbed between two fingers and the black leather of his riding gloves. “The shop, to see if the facilities are being kept in wise order.”
A momentary sense of crestfallen haze overcame her. “Of course. Later. I think we should join the others, don’t you?”
Pulling back the handle and opening the door, Maeve rushed for the shelter and warmth of the pub. August was not accustomed to a wholesome lady deigning to be seen in such an establishment. Certainly, those of English society would be quite shocked. He reminded himself yet again, however, that Maeve was no lady. Not in the noble sense of the word, that was. Yet her determination and perseverance proved her possessing of a nobility no other he had met could ever equal. She was walking into a marriage of convenience with her head held high and her shoulders squared. She had given the blacksmith her word, intending fully to make good on it no matter the taxation to her own dreams and soul. She was, in many aspects, the ideal woman bound by an honor and duty that Emmanuel had always ventured to seek for August.
