The Widow and the Rogue Read online

  “Yes, I have heard of her,” she said. “She is considered to be a veritable paragon of respectability.”

  She did not add that rumors had been told aplenty concerning the small Irish lady. The widow was known to have taken over the delicate match between her wealthy niece, the Spinster of Brightwood and the eligible bachelor, the Earl of Drennan, with the determination of a dragon protecting its treasure.

  “She is the aunt of Lady O’Brien, the lady you and I helped rescue. She is also the widow of Captain Fitzpatrick whose ship and crew mysteriously disappeared somewhere in the darkest part of the uncharted world.”

  “What do you think of her as a possible companion for yourself? Shall I ask her to accompany us to Dublin and attend upon you?” he asked.

  She gave it some thought. Such a formidable lady would help keep her virtue safe, even with a handsome bachelor in residence. And therefore the proprieties would be correctly observed. The intimidating lady would make certain neither he, nor any other gentleman she met, could force his will upon her.

  She conjured up in her mind the tiny Irish woman from memory. Lady Fitzpatrick was small in stature, she recalled, but imposing in spirit. The lady was a formidable force to be reckoned with, a veritable whirlwind of determination.

  Aye, she decided, the stern sea captain’s widow was the perfect solution. She would protect her against any unscrupulous gentleman. Including, she cast a doubtful glance at her guardian, this one.

  “Yes, I do believe Lady Fitzpatrick will suit,” she said, quickly coming to a decision. “You may send for her straight away.” And so it was that the formidable Irish lady was hired as her companion.

  Chapter 4

  They rode through Dublin’s main thoroughfare, Sackville Street, as they headed towards Beau’s townhouse. Kathleen looked out of the carriage window at the street before her, admiring the classic whitewashed brick buildings with their wide portico terraces and tall Romanesque facades. The city had a classically elegant air about it. She found the busy town to be quite pleasing.

  The abolition of the Irish Parliament due to the 1801 Act of Union with England had prevented some of the older buildings from being demolished. The town was a bit tarnished and outdated. However, it was abuzz with noisy liveliness as they drove through the wide main street.

  Men in fox-red British uniforms rode by their carriage on cavalry horses. She noticed poor beggars in rags hold out their hands at passing dandies. Elegant ladies wearing feathered turbans walked in front of trailing maids carrying large packages and wicker baskets on the walkways.

  The local Dublin Gazette proudly announced that the town was currently the second largest in the United Kingdom in terms of population and wealth, having over 178,000 souls in its vicinity. It was known as Baile Atha Cliath in Gaelic, the town of the hurdle ford. And its fortified seaport had garnered a noteworthy reputation in trade.

  From her seat she cast a furtive glance at her new companion. The lady seated across from her was not a normal-sized person. Indeed, Lady Agnes Fitzpatrick was frequently mistaken to be one of the wee people by the more superstitious, but her tiny frame exuded a strong will that was most intimidating. It was a fact that caused the elderly Irish lady to give a derisive laugh, when she dared to remark upon it. “Aye, look at Boney, that French dictator. He’s short of stature and yet managed t’ crown himself emperor of most of the civilized world. Indeed, ’tis said the smaller the person, the more powerful in character they become. For sure now, my dear Captain used to tell me I was the most interesting lady of his acquaintance. He never wished to see me metamorphosed into a giantess with long limbs and dove like airs. Nay, he liked me just as I am, a tiny lioness.”

  Lady Fitzpatrick had quickly agreed to accompany her to Dublin for the fortnight. It would provide an excellent opportunity to help her niece, Lady Beatrice, shop for a trousseau as her nuptials to the earl were soon to be held at Drennan Castle.

  “And, as ye helped free my Bea’ from that despicable villain, I feel it my bound Christian duty to keep your ladyship safely out of temptation’s way,” the tiny lady said, casting a meaningful look at the guinea-haired Adonis towering over her.

  “Aye, even if the devilishly handsome temptation has the inordinate good taste to recommend me to you as your companion.”

  The tiny woman raised her parasol threateningly. She was a diminutive David ready to fight off a towering Goliath all in the name of moral propriety.

  “I shall protect you, Lady Langtry, from wicked men. Indeed, with such a charming face as yours, I shall need to pray to the good Lord above for extra help and guidance. Aye, maybe Saint Laurence will aid my endeavor in chaperoning you, as well,” she said, referring to the patron saint who’d once been an archbishop in Dublin. “Or perhaps do me one better.”

  “In what way do you mean, Lady Fitzpatrick?”

  “Why you may be recently widowed and grieving, but surely you know better than t’ want to remain in this singular state. It may do very well for someone like me who is old and already lived a full life. But for someone like yourself . . . well, ’tis not suitable. Aye, it would be an aberration against God’s divine will for you to live the rest of your life alone. Nay, you shall remarry, my dear,” she said with an air of complete certainty. “You may not believe it, but one day you shall.”

  Kathleen drew back away from her. The idea of marriage was daunting. She had had enough of being controlled. It would take her some time before she could again trust a man.

  Noticing her abashed look of horror, the older lady patted her hand.

  She said in a comforting manner, “Aye, you are too recently widowed to want to retie the knot . . . one can see that. But given time the idea may hold some appeal. I have traveled from port to port all across this earth looking for news of my missing husband. I am glad to report there are many good gentlemen who travel this planet with us.”

  Lady Fitzpatrick tilted her head meaningfully towards the window. On the other side, Beau rode with the outriders. He looked quite dashing seated astride a beautiful brown gelding. He rode his mount with ease, a man born to the saddle.

  Kathleen had to concede that her guardian was proving himself to be unerringly a gentleman of his word. A fact she had thought would never occur. He didn’t disturb her privacy, nor did he try to control or censor her actions. She’d been experiencing unmonitored freedom.

  But then she barely knew him. He may in a few weeks’ time prove to be full of cunning guile and take advantage of his position as her guardian. He might marry her off like her uncle had and take control of Dovehill Hall.

  This dark thought caused her alarm. Secretly, she wanted him to prove he was an exceptional gentleman. She desired to have one by her side. It would be good to have someone she could depend upon and trust.

  Aye, it was lovely having Lady Fitzpatrick as her companion. The older woman was proving herself to be a good friend. But there were lonely moments when she yearned for something more than companionship.

  She had witnessed as a child a special loving bond between her parents. And that memory was deeply embedded in her thoughts. She yearned for such caring intimacy. And she knew that only a devoted couple could share that kind of closeness.

  * * *

  The townhouse was a pleasant surprise. It was situated next to St. Stephen’s Green, a place that had once been a medieval enclosure and named after the holy saint who had been stoned to death for preaching Christianity.

  The more than twenty acres of trees, lake, and expanses of green lawn within the busy perimeters of Dublin was a welcome respite from busy town life. Around the picturesque green, townhouses and impressive Georgian brick mansions had been built.

  A classical Palladian façade with two white columns greeted Kathleen at the front door. The decorative glass over it was shaped in a fanned peacock design. It was a feature unique to Irish townhouses.

  Beau opened the door. “Bienvenue . . . my younger sister, Laeticia, would normally be here to
greet you. But she is at present in London being entertained by friends,” he said as they entered the foyer.

  At the mention of the young woman, Lady Fitzpatrick gave a sniff of disapproval. She had met the sister. She had not been impressed.

  Beau’s sister, Laeticia, was a high-stepper with unbecoming forward manners. The older widow confided to Kathleen later, “That one thinks so highly of herself that if you were to introduce her to the Pope, she’d think he should be kissing her hand! Not the other way around.”

  “Your sister, she does not act as hostess here?” Lady Fitzpatrick asked Beau in a judgmental tone, running a finger over a sideboard table.

  She inspected it for dust. There was none.

  “Knowing you may have important business clients to call upon you today, including Lady Langtry, your sister stays away, leaving the head of your table empty?”

  “I fear my sister is a headstrong woman, Lady Fitzpatrick. I may ask her to do one thing, and she will go and do quite another. To be truthful, I can barely keep her in hand. She always manages to get her way.”

  “Humph,” murmured Lady Agnes with disdain. “Not very sisterly in loyal devotion then is she? ’Tis no wonder that she is not yet married. No gentleman worth his salt would want to be always reining her in.”

  She directed her comments in an appraising manner. “Although you are a fine gentleman, Master Powers, one can see that you have a kind heart. Aye, I suppose a weakness such as yours cannot be helped. Orphaned, are the two of ye? No older living relations to help and guide you? No surviving aunt or uncle?”

  “No, ma’am. My parents passed away from cholera when I was a student studying at Trinity College. I have no other relative. My sister is my entire family.”

  “And so you have the sole care and guardianship of her?”

  He nodded in affirmation and gave Kathleen a wink. The solicitor reacted to the interrogation in a sporting manner. He appeared to be highly amused by the tiny Irish woman.

  Kathleen in turn could not suppress a smile. Lady Agnes was being rude.

  And she’d felt a pang of empathy for him when he announced both his parents had died. Like her, Beau and his sister had been orphaned at a tender age. But despite that painful tragedy, he had managed to overcome the loss and gone on to become a successful solicitor. It was an admirable achievement.

  She could not help but wonder what her life would have been like if she had had someone like him to watch over her, instead of being bartered away by her greedy uncle into an unwanted marriage with an aged lord.

  Would she have led a carefree life full of parties and friends like Laeticia? No. She somehow knew instinctively that she would not have been as extreme as Laeticia was. Even so, it was difficult not to feel a sharp pang of envy at the thought.

  “A grand shame . . . you’ve indulged your sister’s whims too much. She is quite spoiled, and at twenty-one dangerously nearing spinsterhood,” said the old widow decisively.

  Kathleen blanched a little at the older woman’s blunt manner. She was not holding back her opinions. And being as she was Irish, Lady Agnes had a sharp tongue and was using it like a double-edged sword.

  To a stranger her ladyship’s forthrightness was a bit unsettling. But her friends knew her loyalty was fixed. It never changed, meriting an equal devotion from those upon whom she bestowed it. She was feisty, it was true, but it was not difficult to like the tiny spitfire.

  “Faith, it is no wonder then that your sister makes like a vagabond and does what she wishes, and goes wherever she chooses. Ah, well . . . I suppose I ought to be grateful for that. She’ll not be underfoot while we’re here. Indeed I shall enjoy watching over this gentle lady. Aye, and if you’re wondering if ye had asked me to chaperone that willful sister of yours, I tell you plain, sir, I’d have bluntly refused.”

  Kathleen turned to Beau expecting a sharp reaction, but he sallied back at the petite virago before him, maintaining his usual calm with a touch of wry humor.

  “Oh, uh—quite,” said Beau, but then a glimmer of dry amusement entered his voice. “For I suppose if she were here, Laeticia might accidentally step on some respectable toes, and we mustn’t have that, must we? After all, a young lady should only desire to please her elders and not herself when looking for a spouse, and any thoughts of her attending balls and meeting eligible young gentlemen who might want to marry her . . . well, that would be quite unpardonable.”

  “Enough,” muttered the tiny Irish woman, interrupting him with a pounding of the tip of her parasol against the marble floor. “I see what you’re getting at, young man. You think that high-stepping sister of yours can manage well enough on her own, without any guidance from someone more experienced, such as myself.“

  “Indeed.”

  “Humph,” answered the tiny lady, conceding the point. “I suppose she’ll make do, as I recall that chit did have a few winsome ways about her, which some gentlemen might find to be appealing. Aye, and as I have enough to occupy myself with this gentle lady here . . .”

  She gave a pointed glance at Kathleen who was observing the conversation with wide-eyed wonder. She had never seen two people speak to each other with such vigor and yet maintain their good humor. It was quite a wonder.

  “I’ll therefore not take any further offense at her rude absence,” concluded the spirited companion.

  “That is most magnanimous of your ladyship to do so,” Beau agreed. Smiling, he gave a small bow of acknowledgment of the truce between them.

  The whole exchange made Kathleen a bit wistful. It was refreshing to see Lady Fitzpatrick and Master Powers banter in this way, sallying words back and forth, without any fear of negative repercussions.

  She’d remembered her parents had talked in this lively manner when they were alive. Their conversations at times had been quite witty. But at the same time respectful, not dismissive. Unlike the conversations she’d had with her late husband, who always made her feel foolish and naive.

  She suddenly wished she could make Beau smile and laugh at something she said . . . She caught herself in mid-thought, but then maybe he was only trying to win Lady Agnes over in order to maintain her goodwill?

  She frowned. She looked over the handsome solicitor and reminded herself to keep her guard up. Perhaps his sunny disposition would change?

  Her uncle had been kind to her in the beginning, as well, but in due time he had become cold-hearted and self-centered. Eventually, he’d ceased to take care of her altogether . . . and she continued to worry that her new guardian might do the same.

  Hiding a grin, Beau turned, and spied a gentleman he himself depended upon—his valet. The servant approached them and bowed to the ladies as way of greeting. The slightly pepper-haired gentleman with the build of a pugilist, whispered discreetly into his master’s ear.

  Beau murmured, “I see . . . Ladies, may I present to you, Humphrey Whitfield, my man. He will show you to your rooms. My housekeeper, Mrs. Robinson, has stepped out to attend to some shopping. Apparently, she only received word this morning of our impending arrival. Laeticia had apparently forgotten to inform her.” He stopped what he was about to say next. He frowned and glanced at the tiny Irish widow.

  Lady Fitzpatrick raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

  He did not need to continue. What he had to say only proved what the chaperone had already said to be true. His sister was thoughtless, as well as spoiled.

  A proper hostess would have planned ahead, and she would have informed the servants of their coming. Then, upon their arrival, she would have been there to politely greet them at the door and invite them into the drawing-room. They would have been served a welcoming dish of hot tea and scones. But none of that expected hospitality had come to pass.

  Beau’s sister, too preoccupied with her own plans, had not troubled herself with anyone else’s. She had not bothered to inform the servants of their impending arrival, placing those in service in an uncomfortable position. They were not ready for their master and his
guests’ arrival. Her behavior was most inconsiderate and self-centered. Two character faults that now could not be overlooked with good humor and a quip.

  Humphrey helped the outriders carry their trunks up to the bedchambers. He returned and guided them around the house. Their chamber windows faced Saint Stephen’s Green. And as she looked out, Kathleen enjoyed the sight of the lush trees and strolling pedestrians.

  “At least the housekeeper knows her business,” commented Lady Fitzpatrick, sticking her head into the room. “The curtains are well shaken and I’ve noticed the chambermaid has swept what ash there was out of the fire grates. There is even fresh paper and pens on the writing desks. It would appear the young mistress of the house may be lacking in preparedness, but not the servants. Aye, those serving here appear to be well devoted to their duties. He is a fortunate man to have such good service.”

  Kathleen nodded in agreement, looking at the well-kept room.

  The large four-poster bed was not as grand as the one she had at Dovehill Hall. The poles were shorter and less heavy in stature. But they suited the room’s size. The bed linens were made up of white cotton damask with a colorful pattern of leaves and flowers loomed on Jacquard machinery. The manufactured fabric had recently come into popularity, being vastly cheaper than those loomed by hand.

  The window and bed draperies were made of cherry-red merino fabric. The material was a mixture of thin woolen-twilled cloth combined with spun silk. It was very fashionably cut and looped on the Grecian-styled window rods.

  “One cannot fault Master Powers’s taste,” she said, touching the curtains’ long fringes. The house reflected the gentleman’s style. It was elegant and tasteful. Displaying none of the ornate, over-the-top decorating her late husband had spent Midas amounts of time and money upon.

  “Indeed,” her companion agreed, looking at the young widow thoughtfully, “he does . . . Come, my dear, I believe a cup of tea is what is called for now. The dust from our journey still lies thickly in the back of my throat, and I want to see if the food served is equally as pleasing as the decor.”