The Irish Duchess (32 page)

If that poor woman could manage seven pregnancies without a husband in sight, then surely a duchess could manage while surrounded with wealth and comfort. Cursing herself for her weakness, Fiona sought refuge in the study with the estate books. If she couldn’t thatch roofs, what could she do to occupy the empty hours?

She stared at pounds and shilling columns and doodled on a scrap of paper, but she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind drifted to Neville’s look of joy when he’d declared her pregnant.
He’d
announced it, the arrogant monster, but she couldn’t resent it for a minute. She’d never seen him so happy. It kind of ached inside her knowing she could produce that response. Usually, she provoked the opposite of happiness. She’d certainly been shouted at and cursed enough to know people’s opinions of her.

But Neville hadn’t yelled—once he recovered from the scare of seeing her on the roof. He’d not even complained of the changes she’d made. In fact, once he’d come down off his high horse, he had actually approved the improvements.

Fiona smiled at the memory of Neville’s terror when he’d seen her on the roof. Maybe he did care for her, just a little. He hadn’t known of the baby then. It was
her
well being that had concerned him. Or maybe he’d thought it beneath his dignity to lose a wife to roof thatching.

Grimacing, Fiona chewed her quill and contemplated her neat rows of numbers again. She hadn’t had enough time to make a difference. Surely she could find more ways to check the extravagance of...

A knock at the door distracted her. Heaven only knew, she was ready for any distraction. Calling, “Come in,” she crumpled her scrap of paper and looked up expectantly.

Both the Widow Blackthorn and Colin stood in the doorway. The widow had made a surprisingly good ladies’ maid these last weeks. Fiona had come to rely on her good sense and Irish brogue to ease her homesickness. She had seen little enough of Colin, but he’d mentioned bringing his wife and new babe to stay now that he had a house. She’d thought maybe he’d matured somewhat these last months. Michael was a good judge of character.

Their worried expressions roiled her stomach. The babe had never caused a minute’s unease, so she couldn’t blame her sudden nausea on anything but fear.

“What is it?” she demanded. When they did not enter, Fiona scowled. “Come in. Close the door. Sit. Must I order everyone these days?”

“You’ve done a fine enough job of that all these years,” Colin remarked with a hint of sarcasm as he partially obeyed her commands. He didn’t sit but closed the door as they entered. “Why stop now?”

“Cut the blarney, Colin. The two of you haven’t come here together to announce you’re running away to the Americas and getting out of my hair. So what is it?”

The widow squeezed Colin’s arm to restrain him. “She’s upset because the duke’s gone and left her behind again. Mind your manners. We’ve more important things to do than quarrel.”

Colin rubbed his handsome head of curls and visibly struggled with his temper. “Your pardon, Your Grace,” he responded bitterly. “It’s a little difficult seeing the babe you grew up with wielding her wealth and power like a princess, but it’s what Fiona has always done, I suppose, just with less of the ready.”

Fiona grimaced. “Go away with ye and your flattery, Colin.” Pointedly, she turned her attention to Mrs. Blackthorn. “What is it, Mrs. B.? Is there some news I should hear?” She couldn’t adopt the arrogance of calling her maid by her given name as a duchess would. The widow deserved the same respect she’d received before Fiona had come into her title.

“There is, child,” the widow replied sadly, “though we’re neither of us sure it’s our place to tell ye. But the news came after His Grace had left, and we thought someone needed to hear it. I don’t know that there’s aught to be done now, though.”

Fiona pressed her fingernails into her palms and tried to restrain her impatience. “What news? Spit it out quickly.”

“McGonigle sent one of his men,” Colin interrupted. “He says he’s not to blame, it’s some other faction. They’ve destroyed the looms, lass. Not only that, the army came in and arrested everyone in sight. They took the boy, Fiona. They’ve locked him away in Dublin gaol, accused of theft. McGonigle swears Sean didn’t do it, but it’s his word against an officer in the damned army. He’ll hang, Fiona. That’s what the damned redcoats do to thieves, regardless of age.”

Fiona blanched. Not Sean. Aileen’s orphan was as honest and hard-working as any man she knew. And with McGonigle to provide, he’d no need of stealing. And the looms! They’d cost a bloody fortune. Neville had used her dowry and bought the best he could afford. There hadn’t been time to earn even the smallest profit to replace them. Who would do such a thing?

She was on her feet and aiming for the door before she gave it any thought. “Have the carriage readied. Send a rider ahead to prepare the yacht. Pack us some warm clothes, Mrs. B. You’d best go with me. Colin, will you ride with the driver?”

“What about the duke, Fiona? Should you not notify him first?” Colin asked anxiously, following in her wake.

She hesitated, considering the idea. “He needs to know where I’m going, but he’s terribly busy. Let’s not drag him away unless we cannot do this ourselves.”

“You
cannot
do this yourself!” Colin argued. “We need your husband and the earl!”

“A body would think you’re with the Tories who want the duke drawn from the crime bill.” She cut off his argument with disdain. “Should I think this all a sham to draw the duke away from London—again—when he’s most needed? I can handle it.” Arrogantly, she swept up the stairs, head high, though her heart pounded with terror. Neville would kill her for this, of a certainty. Yet he should have known what kind of woman he married. Parliament was his burden to bear. The tenants were hers.

It was far more important that Neville pass the bill that would save boys like Sean from being hung than to argue with a band of drunken louts. She’d send him a note so he knew she had not run away. Once she assessed the situation, she could let him know if they needed to bribe some official to free Sean.

There was naught either of them could do about the looms.

Her growing sense of unease did not fade as the carriage rolled down the drive with the Widow Blackthorn and Colin as her servants.

***

The Prime Minister pushed back the winged chair in front of Neville’s desk and scrubbed his hand over the gray pallor of his face. “I don’t like it, Neville. You know demmed well I don’t. But if this is what the country wants, I’ll have to accept it. I’ll admit, transporting the beggars has a certain appeal, but how long can we afford that?”

“The times are changing, sir,” Neville said, tapping his finger on the documents he’d presented. “Someone must face the facts, and you’re the man to do it. I don’t know how you’ll convince His Majesty. He’s as set in his ways as his father ever was. But we’re not a nation of rural villages anymore. We must look to the future.”

The PM glared at him. “It’s not done yet, you young pup. I can’t believe you and your radical friends can sway all those old squires to anything. I’m just saying,
if
you do, I’ll consider your case.” His expression grew thoughtful. “We need strong leaders, Your Grace. Much as I hate admitting it, we’ve buried our heads too long, pretending nothing will change. But you have to win first, my boy. Otherwise, I’ll never have the support to give you the position.”

As Liverpool departed, Neville consulted his pocket watch and breathed a sigh of relief. He had a few minutes before the session began. Fiona had never sent him a letter before, and he’d saved the note until he’d had time to savor it. He wondered if it would contain flames and vitriol.

It amazed him that he could actually look forward to opening a letter full of Fiona’s angry diatribes. That blow to his head had definitely addled his brains. But Fiona’s temper usually dissipated as quickly as it appeared, leaving ephemerally lovely joy in its wake. He couldn’t describe the feeling any better than that. He just knew he felt it when he woke in the morning to find her tousled curls on his shoulder, her sleeping features peaceful as a child’s. Or when she came into his arms all hot kisses and explosive passion.

Neville pried off the wax and unfolded the note. He’d seen Fiona’s heavy, slanting scrawls in the estate books and recognized it now. Her penmanship reflected her personality: strong, blunt, and slightly quirky. He grinned at the thought. He stopped grinning as he read her words.

Ireland!

He slammed his fist against the desk, flung the paper down, and stalked to the filthy window of his office.
Ireland
. She’d said nothing of being homesick when he’d left. She’d talked only of the improvements she’d wished to make at Anglesey. He’d thought she’d safely transferred her loyalty from Michael’s estate to his, as a loyal wife should do.

She could have come to London if she was lonely. He would welcome the distraction of her presence right now. The pressure of passing this bill and what it would mean should he succeed weighed heavy on his shoulders. He needed her sensible outlook.

He didn’t need to know she was taking a reckless journey to Ireland in uncertain winter weather. Anything could happen. Who had she taken with her? Anyone?

He grabbed up the letter again and re-read it. She didn’t say, damn her.

“My cousin, the grasshopper, has struck again, has she?” a voice asked lazily from the doorway.

Neville glared at the intruder. “Does she never stay in one place?”

Aberdare strolled in rolling several wooden balls between his fingers. “Not within my memory. She didn’t happen to say she was returning to Ireland, did she?”

The earl tossed the balls between his hands as if he hadn’t a care in the world, but Neville knew him better. Fear shivered down his spine as he laid the letter down and examined his friend’s bland expression. “What is happening at Aberdare?”

For a moment, Neville thought the earl wouldn’t tell him. He contemplated various tortures designed to drag the truth from him before Michael reluctantly responded.

“Eamon reports someone has destroyed the looms. The army came in without invitation and left the usual destruction in its wake.” He hesitated a moment longer. “And they arrested the boy, Fiona’s protégé, the one McGonigle adopted.”

“Sean.” Neville sank to his seat in disbelief. “They had no right arresting that boy. He wouldn’t harm a fly. We’ll have to look into the matter.” As the knowledge seeped in, he shook his head. “Fiona will have all their heads. She’ll go after them with swords and set the whole countryside on fire. We need to go after her.”

Michael dropped the balls into the capacious pocket of his outmoded coat and leaned over the desk. “Which is why she didn’t tell us. She knows we can’t leave now. We have to pass the reform bill. Your position in the cabinet is riding on it. If we lose, Townsend will have that position. Fiona is accustomed to taking on problems without help.”

Neville clenched and unclenched his fists. “I know. But I can’t let Fiona go out there alone. I can’t.” He tightened his jaw and glared at his cousin-in-law. “She’s carrying my child.”

With a nod of approval, Michael stepped back. “I’d hoped you were man enough to say that. I’ll find Gavin. We’ll monitor our resources and see what’s to be done.”

Neville watched Michael walk away. He had a sinking feeling that he was becoming as arbitrary and whimsical as the notorious earl. And he didn’t care.

For the first time in his life, he had someone to worry about besides the invisible masses who had held his attention all these long, lonely years. What he intended to do was not morally correct. The country was more important than one impetuous female. But he couldn’t help himself.

Even though—or perhaps because—one small unpredictable female thought to save him this moral dilemma, she had become more important to him than all his high-minded ideals.

Thirty-one

She had gone off half-cocked again.

As the Anglesey carriage raced through mud puddles, splashing its shiny paint so badly the crest couldn’t be seen, Fiona stared miserably out the splattered windows and wished she hadn’t been quite so impetuous.

She desperately needed Neville’s confidence right now, if only his approval of what she was doing.

That’s what bothered her most. She should have told him everything, and together, they should have decided on a course of action. She’d been acting as her former self and not the wife with responsibilities that she was now. There was time to fix that.

As the carriage pulled into an inn yard for fresh horses, she comforted herself with knowing that after she explained everything, Neville would admit that she could do this one small thing without his aid. Perhaps she needn’t travel at all. She simply needed his advice on what a duchess could do.

No one opened the carriage door after it stopped, but Colin wasn’t a trained footman and he’d substituted McGonigle’s messenger for the regular driver. She’d lay wager the substitute knew nothing of the niceties either. Fiona gazed down at the ocean of mud in dismay. Ugh.

She glanced around for help. Colin and the driver conversed with the stable groom as they unharnessed the horses. She could yell like a fishwife or wade through the muck. If she’d been wearing her rags, she’d have simply waded. But now she was a duchess wearing skirts and petticoats. So as a duchess, she could damned well do whatever she wanted. She yelled.

Colin’s head jerked up, and she could see his frown through the sleeting rain. He shook his head and returned to what he was doing.

From behind her, Mrs. Blackthorn shifted nervously in the seat. “What is it, Your Grace? Is there trouble?”

Fiona flopped back on the seat and glared at the rain. “I need to send Neville another note and wait for his reply.”

“If you let him know that you’re in good hands and he’s not to trouble himself, isn’t that enough?”

That sounded eminently sensible on the face of it—had Neville been the stolid, care-for nothing type who would nod and yawn and go back to his port. Fiona had tried to paint him into that corner once, but she knew better now.