A Love by Any Measure, page 25
“I don’t know if I can … This is all … How can we possibly … ”
With his finger pressed to her lips, August quelled her rambling. “It is what it is. The only decision you need to make is, are you willing to let it become what it may?”
Her lips pulled into an uncertain smile as his hand dropped away. She came into his arms like a benediction, a cleansing of his soul. She did not kiss him, and yet August felt himself burn in her proximity. Her scent filled his lungs in fullness as she settled her head against his shoulder. A tremble registered against him, and with silent heaves, August realized she was weeping.
“There, now,” August cooed, stroking her hair. “You’ll make me much aggrieved if you should forgive me.”
She gave a small chuckle without pulling herself away. “Don’t you want my forgiveness?”
His fingers pulled under her chin, drawing her eyes up to meet his. “I said I would wait until the day after forever for you. Take me into your heart, and does that mean forever has come to pass? It simply will not do, as I intend to spend forever with you.”
Her lips, wet with tears and red from excitement, quivered.
“Then I shall never forgive you.”
“Bloody Hell, August, kiss the girl already!”
Amelia’s voice rang from the bottom of the stairs where she and Caroline stood expectantly.
The lovers grinned.
Their kiss, their promise, and love renewed. August was hers, and she was his, and so it would be until the fates turned them to soil.
Reverence
Morning light cascaded over Maeve’s form, enhancing her graceful figure, naked and soft. August pulled himself to her side and threw his arm around her. Not waking, she stretched nonetheless and shifted closer. Silently, August prayed that his father somehow knew from beyond death’s gates that he had not won. He had Maeve, and had still followed through with the cursed requirements of Emmanuel’s last wishes.
Both their heads perked up when the first tick echoed through the room. It was an impossible thing; the clock had not worked since before Eliza had died. It sounded again, then again, and August heard Maeve give a low chuckle. She rolled over, circling her arms around his neck.
“I don’t recall exactly where we left off, Lord Grayson. Was it eleven minutes I owed you next?”
The steady cadence of the clock’s rebirth marched in time with his heart. August lowered his mouth to hers.
“For a start,” he teased, as he sought her kiss, moving his lips against hers in a build of mounting need and desire. “We can do so much in eleven minutes, but if we’re lucky, we’ll lose track of the time, and do far more still.”
“One can hope,” she purred as he moved his mouth to her neck. “August?”
“Hmm.”
“Why did you … ” She gasped as he lowered his mouth over her collarbone, then lower. “Ungh, I missed that a bit.”
August smiled, but didn’t let her see, moving his lips instead to the other side to pay equal homage.
“August, stop a moment, I want to ask you something sincerely.”
In frustration, he bit his bottom lip as he pulled back. She smiled and placed her hand over his cheek in comfort. August’s eyebrows arched in reflection of the curiosity now welling within.
“Why did you go through the ruse? If you wanted to open the mine on the land under our cottage, why didn’t you just compensate us and move us out? Or even just kick us out? It was your right.”
This was the question he had been dreading many a long night. He only wondered now if she would believe him. With a sigh, he began.
“Growing up, my father had been so crass, and when my mother died, he seemed to somehow blame it on the fact that she was Irish. He treated you horridly that day when you brought me back home, and I was an even larger ass for acting the same way, feeling for a moment that my father’s approval was more desirable than your friendship. The moment haunted me for years. I don’t know … I remembered seeing the few above-ground spikes in the hills near your house, and I knew the land was rich with copper. But I also knew how much your cottage meant to you and you’d hate me when I took it from you, no matter what compensation I gave you. And when you found me in the stable that day, my mind twisted.”
August paused and looked up at her. Maeve’s gaze seemed to say she trusted his veracity, but still hadn’t decided if the intent was credible.
He continued. “I still wanted you so badly. But I knew it was too late; I was married, and later I found you were engaged. I never thought you’d accept the arrangement, much less carry on with it. When I kissed you that first day—”
“Five seconds,” she interrupted.
August smiled. “Yes, five of the most glorious seconds of my life. But even then, I was certain you wouldn’t come back. But you did. And did again. Our lines started getting blurred. I knew I couldn’t give you what you deserved, and sometimes I didn’t care. I’d try to keep our roles firm, but every movement you made and every word you’d say would soften me. Even as the time increased, I rationalized I’d be doing right by you in the end. Opening the mine meant helping Killarney, and helping Killarney was helping you. But then I got to thinking: from my perspective, the agreement you made with me wasn’t so different from the agreement you made with Owen. You didn’t really have a choice on either count. I wanted you to, Maeve. I wanted you to have freedom to choose, and I prayed you would choose to be with me … for the right reasons.”
“So you gave me the bakery,” she concluded, a dawn of understanding coming over her. “You really didn’t mean to make me look a kept woman, did you?”
“Not in the least. I thought, since Rory would be living with you too, how could anyone say I was keeping you there just to have access? And if that rumor spread, who could argue you were more accessible to me while stationed at the bakery than you had been way out at Middle Lake? Besides, no one would associate Rory with such a heinous arrangement, given his reputation.”
“His reputation as an occasional drunk?” Maeve joked.
But August was sincere in his response. “No, his reputation as a Fenian.”
She crooked his head at him. “You mean my father is part of the Brotherhood?”
“Part of it? He’s one of the principles. And how could such a Fenian allow his only daughter to be sneaking about with an Englishman for something as petty as money?”
Maeve’s tears came suddenly. “He must hate me now, I know it. I’m as good as dead to him.”
Immediately, August wrapped her in his embrace. “Shhh, there now,” he cooed, smoothing down her hair. “He’ll forgive you. A father’s heart never can sever from his daughter. It is only the son whom he holds in contempt for daring to be the man he once dreamed of being.”
She looked at him, perplexed.
“Trust me, on this I speak with authority.”
“But your father created this whole situation. And Caroline—”
“My father,” August interrupted, cutting her off, “did what he thought best for Caroline. I think Amelia is wrong on that matter. You see, in our society, Caroline would never have been able to find what my father considered a suitable match if her rebellious older brother had gone out and wed a peasant. The fact that Caroline is marrying a commoner — and a Yank, nonetheless — is just one final comeuppance for his misguided efforts. But if Caroline had wanted to marry someone of nobility, I would have wanted that for her. My father’s intents, though ill-construed, were driven by love.”
“And if you have a daughter?” Maeve wondered.
August could see where that conversation would take them, and refused to be mired down again in malady so soon after reclaiming Maeve’s heart.
“We shall deal with everything as it arises.”
The knock on the door drew both of their attentions. As the staff was likely aware August was in Maeve’s room, he wasn’t surprised.
“Yes, what is it?” he called out.
A very elderly gentlemen’s voice, which August recognized as that of one of the staff, returned answer. “Apologies, sir, but you have a very insistent caller. He claims he’s on errand from Ireland.” Maeve and August’s eyes went wide. “A Mr. Woodrow.”
Ease overcame August. “It’s only my barrister from Killarney.” He rolled over and kissed her before rising from the bed. “Still, I wonder what the devil he’s doing here. Get dressed, darling. I want to take you out today, show you the town.”
“Out?” She seemed sincerely confused. “However will we … ”
He winked at her as he went to her closet and pulled out a uniform he had had the servants prepare and place there just the day before. “Congratulations on your employment, Miss O’Connor. After an exhausting search,” he tossed the black taffeta over her naked body, “we have selected you to be head nanny. Unless you’d prefer being a chamber maid.”
Maeve sat up and held the dreaded, unflattering garb against her frame. “I suppose it’s better than being sent to the kitchen to bake the bread.”
Downstairs, a dressed and hastily tidied August found an agitated and disheveled Woodrow in the foyer. “I’d offer you breakfast, but you look like you’ve already been fairly scrambled.”
Woodrow gave a little yelp at the sudden appearance of his employer, as though he feared to be in his presence. August could see the nature of this visit was far from social. The man was a white as a winter morn, and frozen nearly as solid.
“Goodness, Woodrow, what has happened? Here, sit down.”
He motioned to the nearby sofa as August took seat on the chaise and waited.
“M … m … m … Morning, sir. I c … c … come with ter … t … t … terrible news.”
Suddenly concerned, August leaned in, his voice rising. “Terrible news? What is it, the mine? Is there a set back?”
“Please, I will t … t … tell you in full. But, please, don’t interrupt.” Woodrow closed his eyes, forcing his breath to slow and his voice to steady. “Several days ago, I received a visit from Mr. O’Keefe, who resigned his position as middle man.”
“Did he say why?”
“Yes, sir, and that is part of this whole mess,” Woodrow continued. “He was leaving with his family for the Americas, and as he left my office, he advised me to leave Killarney as well. I didn’t think much of it — people in departure from any one place often ease themselves of the experience by casting the place in dark colors. Makes the place they’re off to seem brighter, more hopeful. But there was such immediacy to his words, as though he was telling me not to leave any time, but right then, that very hour. Still, I went on with the day, and it wasn’t but the very next day that the shots rang out.”
August knew too well, though he had hoped Rory’s efforts to keep violence from bubbling over would have worked.. “The rebels.”
“Yes, that so-called Brotherhood of theirs. Well, the rebellion was quickly squashed. The police seemed to have been tipped off before of their intentions and were ready and waiting for the Irishmen to make themselves known.”
Rory did go through with turning on his own, August confirmed inwardly.
Woodrow continued. “But I regret the whole affair did result in some damage … and some casualties.”
A shaky hand extended across the distance, offering August an envelope. August took it quickly and pulled out the contents, a clipping from the previous day’s Killarney broadsheets.
With the rendering of this item, Woodrow’s tension began to ebb. “I hope you don’t begrudge me for coming unannounced, Lord Grayson, but I thought it proper to deliver the information in person. She should know.”
Stunned and shaken, August blinked rapidly, hoping the words on the paper would rearrange themselves into something less horrid. “No, it was very good of you to make the effort. Please, if you’ll excuse me.”
In later years, August would try to recall walking up the stairs that day, the clipping in his hand weighing two tons. He would try to remember the agony of arriving at Maeve’s door, only to open it to find his Irish lover examining herself in her mirror, taking in her appearance as she donned the nanny frock. He would try to summon the taste of ironic bitterness on his tongue as he brought this woman whom he adored and had promised to protect, the dark wave of despair that was typed into a passing sentence on the page Woodrow had delivered.
He would never remember this. Years later, the only moment of that day that remained in his memories was Maeve’s face, stricken white before she fainted, having learned that, as the paper reported, “The first of the rebels to fall in the square upon charging the English Guard was a former groundskeeper from Middle Lake, Rory O’Connor.”
Augusta
Maeve and August jolted as Caroline burst into their room without warning, greatly distressed. August noticed the look of utter terror on his sister’s face, and knew at once some calamity was afoot.
The excitement was the first flutter of activity in quite some time. For nearly a week, Maeve had barely spoken or eaten. She sat in her room, never emerging but for the most necessary of tasks. August stayed often with her, leaving only when necessary to see to business or household duties. He knew she needed time, needed comfort, and that was what he was there for.
“Caroline, what is it?”
“Amelia,” she gasped back. “The baby! It’s time!”
Not a moment later, a horrid, piercing scream echoed through the house. Caroline turned without pause and ran back from the room, saying, “August, get the doctor. Jefferson is readying your horse even now.”
August leapt from bed. “I shall. Stay with Maeve while I … ”
But Maeve was already on her feet and dressing as August wrapped a throw about his shoulders.
“Maeve.” August tried to hold her back, but she continued unfettered. “Darling, it’s all right. You don’t have to—”
“What about the midwife?” Maeve interrupted, focusing on Caroline and ignoring August’s coddling.
“She wasn’t expecting Amelia to break for another few weeks. She’s away.”
Of all the cursed luck.
Maeve had dressed in blinding speed and rushed past August in a blur. Caroline followed and August ran to the stables a few minutes later, his pulse racing for speed with his feet. Jefferson was already mounted and waiting.
“I never let a man go alone into battle,” he declared.
When they arrived back to Meadowlark not an hour later, Jefferson and August shepherded Dr. Stone into the house without delay. Amelia’s screams had grown more intense, the depth of her pain clearly evident in the shrillness of her woe. Jefferson and August kept constant vigil near the door, but neither was permitted entry. August could hear the murmur of Caroline or Maeve passing along reassuring words. Amelia pleaded, pleaded with God and the Heavenly host, pleaded with anyone who might offer an end to her agony.
With every cry, August cursed his father all the more and spat upon his memory. It was his doing that had the poor creature begging for the graces of the merciful creator as she struggled and strived to bring forth the contractual child demanded.
As afternoon passed away, her pleas became mottled and soft. Amelia wept silently, though if it was because the pain was less or that her voice had simply left her from the strain, August knew not.
Finally, after a day of endless agony, a silence descended upon the house. The slightest of rustles came from inside the room. August put his ear to the door and heard only a soft uttering. He couldn’t even distinguish which of the three women he loved — each in her own way — was speaking.
Frustrated, he gnashed his teeth and decided he’d had enough of keeping a gentleman’s proper place. He needed to be inside, and had nearly reached the doorknob when, unexpectedly, it turned and the door opened.
Out stepped Stone, his face flushed and his clothes covered in a mess of fluid August didn’t want to know the more of.
“The child is born,” he said. “A girl, Lord Grayson, and very healthy.”
His heart leapt despite itself and more than that, August’s whole body smiled in a wave of unparalleled euphoria.
“I am … a father.”
As though it had not been real until that moment, he grinned. He had a daughter. His daughter lay inside, just beyond the doors, just out of view. He made again for the room, but as he did, Stone held out an arm to stop him.
“However … ”
“Yes, Amelia – how is she?”
The doctor’s eyes dropped to the floor. He spoke with such caution that August felt his stomach turn.
“She went peacefully, in the end.”
“Peacefully?”
What? What did he mean, she went peacefully? “Oh, no.”
Caroline’s bloodshot eyes met August’s panicked expression as he burst through the door and found the heart-wrenching scene: There, lying in a bed of what had been pure white sheets, in a wholesome dressing gown now stained with blood, was Amelia, eyes closed, skin ghostly. A covering had been placed over her, but August could see the smattering of red specks seeping through. The blood was as fresh as her death.
To the right, Caroline prostrated herself, her arms still outstretched, holding Amelia’s hand. August watched in anguish as he saw the tears stream down his sister’s angelic face and the words “I’m so sorry” mouthed without sound despite the rapture of her body’s quaking.
To Amelia’s left, Maeve held a similar repose, though her eyes were dry. It was not from lack of sorrow; August knew her better than that. Rather, he deemed it to be shock, disbelief. She clutched tightly in front of her a blanket with one hand, her other arm beneath it for warmth, he assumed. The knuckles of her exposed hands were nearly white from wringing.
Jefferson was at August’s side in a moment. When he saw Caroline’s crumpled form, however, he dove to her, taking her in his arms as he tried to offer comfort. August slowly paced alongside Maeve before falling to his knees and reaching out to stroke Amelia’s cheek, the skin already pale, her warmth fading.
Maeve’s voice was that of a stranger’s when she spoke, rough and broken and stained by despair. “So much death, August.”
