Page 2

Chapter 2

Rory stood in a corner of Emily’s bedchamber, fumbling as he buttoned up his waistcoat. The garment was finer than anything he had ever owned, tailored to fit his tall frame perfectly. He reached for the cravat draped over the back of a chair, the linen sliding between his calloused fingers. As the son-in-law of the landlord of Bewley Hall, he was entitled to employ the services of a valet, but he had declined the offer almost before the words had left Mr McGovern’s mouth. The very idea of having a personal servant to assist him in the basic act of clothing himself was horrifying to him.

As he attempted to knot the cravat around his neck, he couldn’t help feeling as out of place as a fish flailing about on dry land. Conversely, Emily, who sat across the room at her dressing table while her lady’s maid arranged her hair, acted with the grace of one who had been born into this life.

Which, of course, she had.

She wore a contented smile as she retrieved an ivory hairpin from the small pile resting on the dressing table and held it up for her maid to take.

‘It’s a marvellous morning, isn’t it, Jennie?’ she said merrily.

Jennie cast a dubious glance out at the somewhat blustery autumn weather beyond the window. ‘As you say, ma’am,’ she said, accepting the proffered pin.

She was very new to her role, having been just recently elevated from her previous position as housemaid. There had been only one lady’s maid at Bewley Hall when Lord and Lady Bewley lived there, but now there were two ladies in residence; Polly Hawkins had been assigned to serve Emily’s mother, leaving Emily to seek her own lady’s maid. Rory had half hoped she might do without one altogether, which could have allowed them to maintain some sort of distance from the formal lifestyle they now led. However, after they married, she said she recognised the wisdom in having a measure of assistance in that regard. Rather than hiring from outside the household, she had chosen to promote Jennie, confiding in Rory that she had made this choice on account of Jennie’s kindness to Gus and the part she had played in helping him to solve the mystery relating to Lady Dorothea’s restless ghost. Emily’s hope was that this sense of familiarity would promote a more relaxed environment for all concerned. Rory knew she had really meant for him though.

Jennie, for her part, seemed anything but relaxed as she twisted and pinned Emily’s golden locks into an elegant style. She kept throwing disapproving looks in Rory’s direction, her lips pressed into a thin line. He felt like an intruder, encroaching upon the space allotted for private female activities. But where else was he supposed to go?

Not for the first time, he brooded over their current living arrangements. Now that he and Emily were wed, would they continue to reside in her parents’ home indefinitely? The thought of living under the constant scrutiny of his in-laws made his stomach a little queasy. He had the most immense respect for them but he longed for a space that he and Emily could call their own, where they could build a life together without the weight of her family’s expectations, and those of wider society, bearing down upon them. This house was too grand for him – he was only a carpenter, the son of a deckhand, an Irish lad who had grown up sharing one bedroom with his entire family.

Still, he had married Emily – a choice he would make again without a second thought – and with that had come a commitment to a life he didn’t really belong to but that he must somehow find a way to make peace with. Even as he acknowledged that, he was unable to stop himself from contemplating alternatives – could there be any chance of establishing a compromise of sorts?

As he shrugged into his coat, Jennie stepped back from Emily and critically eyed her handiwork. She shook her head.

‘It could be better, but I’m still learning,’ she said with a regretful sigh.

‘It looks splendid,’ Emily assured her. ‘And remember, we are learning together.’

Jennie gave her a grateful curtsey. ‘Thank you, Mrs Carey. I’ll leave you to break your fast.’

She departed from the bedchamber, her expression guarded as she sidestepped Rory on her way out. Her air of vague discomfort compounded his own qualms about his and Emily’s present circumstances and he resolved to raise the issue at once with his wife.

However, before he could utter a word, Emily sprang up from her seat, her eyes sparkling.

‘Oh, I could hardly hold my tongue while Jennie was here,’ she exclaimed. She came towards Rory, her hands clasped together – the walnut ring he had given her on their wedding day peeked out between her fingers. ‘Do you think our efforts last night might have been successful? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we conceived a child from such ecstasy?’

She radiated pure joy as she beamed at him and he vividly recalled the passion they had shared the previous night. How the first time had been swift and urgent up against the wall of the bedchamber, spurred on by giddiness from the wine they had drunk at dinner. How the second time had been slow and languorous, tangled up in the sheets of the bed and each other’s legs. How the third time had been later just before the dawn, when they were only half-awake and he had murmured ‘I love you’ into her hair over and over as he worshipped her body with his own. If a baby was to be the result of these fervent expressions of their love for one another, it would indeed be a wonderful thing.

All of his other concerns evaporated. He had no intention of dampening her enthusiasm this morning with misgivings of any kind. He wrapped his hands around hers.

‘Please God,’ he said softly and kissed her.

She kissed him back and then gaily led him towards the door. Resigned, he followed.

When they entered the breakfast room, Emily’s parents and two younger brothers were already seated at the table, their plates full. Gus’s was the fullest, piled high with fluffy scrambled eggs, although it looked like he had tried to conceal his generous portion by laying a slice of toast across the top.

Rory’s gaze travelled over the silver cutlery, the lavish array of dishes on the sideboard, and the footman, David, standing attentively nearby, ready to assist. Reminding himself that this was all now part of his daily life, he joined Emily at the sideboard, filling a plate with scrambled eggs almost as liberally as Gus had. He might be uncomfortable at the idea of a servant being present to wait upon him, but his belly certainly had no objections to his rise in station.

As he and Emily took their seats beside each other, he became aware that the conversation at the table was centred upon the matter of Jack and Gus’s education.

‘It’s September,’ Emily’s mother was saying. ‘If we were still living in Boston, you would both be resuming your classes at Hawes School.’

‘Is there a school in the village here?’ Gus asked, scooping eggs into his mouth. The persistent wheeze at the edge of his voice was a constant reminder of the trauma he and Jack had endured when they had been forced by the Kelly Greens gang to climb sooty chimneys in New York.

She winced and her teeth nipped the tip of her tongue – Rory had noticed that she often did this in moments of speculation or anxiety.

‘There is a small school in Gildham,’ she said slowly, ‘but it might not be appropriate for you. You see, your tuition will have to be a little different, now that you’re living in this big house.’

‘Why?’ Speaking before he had swallowed, Gus sprayed bits of egg across the tablecloth. His eyes widened and he hastily used his napkin to clean up the mess.

Emily’s father cleared his throat. ‘You are expected to be taught certain things when you live at this level in society, things that the local boys and girls aren’t required to learn. Classical languages, for example, and advanced mathematics. Etiquette as well.’

‘What’s etiquette?’ Jack asked. He had stopped eating his breakfast entirely in order to pay close attention to what his parents were saying.

‘Proper behaviour,’ Mr McGovern replied. ‘It covers quite a lot. How to make polite introductions. How to dress appropriately for a variety of occasions.’

‘How to dance with young ladies,’ Emily’s mother chimed in.

Jack gaped, horror-struck, although Gus appeared intrigued by the notion, propping his elbows on the table with interest.

‘And how to employ civilised table manners, of course,’ Mr McGovern added, raising a pointed eyebrow at Gus.

Gus dropped his arms beneath the table and lowered his gaze to his egg-soiled napkin, chagrined.

Rory felt as dismayed as Gus looked. He was just as ignorant as the two boys in most of these areas. Emily seemed not to notice his discomposure as she thanked David for pouring her a cup of steaming coffee. Rory reached for the copper pot himself before David could pour a cup for him too.

‘How do we learn the right way to do all these things?’ Gus asked the table in a small voice.

Mr McGovern gave his younger son an affectionate grin even though he couldn’t see it. ‘There are two options before your mother and me. We could send you away to public school where you would study with other boys of your own age. Or we could hire a private tutor to instruct you at home.’

Jack waited solemnly, while Gus peeked up with some trepidation.

‘We’ve debated the merits of both,’ said their mother, ‘and, given your limited exposure to the upper-class world thus far, we’ve concluded that a tutor would be the best option for now. This will allow you to remain in familiar surroundings while you receive a comprehensive education about that world before you have need to enter it.’

Both boys looked immensely relieved and resumed eating with gusto.

‘When do we start?’ Gus asked, his hand hovering near his mouth, ready to shield the table if necessary.

‘We’ve already sent out enquiries,’ said Mr McGovern. ‘But you probably have at least another week or two of freedom.’

Jack and Gus shared a pleased look.

‘That means we’ll still be able to help Mr Comerford and Rory collect this quarter’s rent from the tenants,’ said Jack.

The land agent, Mr Comerford, had begun training Rory in earnest to become his deputy, which so far had entailed Rory shadowing him as he conducted estate business. Mr Comerford was a gruff man and took the work seriously, but he had a soft spot for the two younger boys and would not deny them the opportunity to ‘help’ however they could. So, until the new tutor arrived, he would continue to have three shadows.

‘Speaking of Mr Comerford,’ said Emily’s mother, ‘his sister is coming to the house this afternoon to officially begin her duties. Emily, would you care to join me in helping her to settle in?’

‘I’d be delighted, Mama,’ Emily said.

Mr Comerford’s sister was Mrs Hawkins, Polly’s widowed mother, and she had been hired as the new housekeeper to replace the despicable Mrs Sandler. Judging by her mother’s suggestion, it seemed that Emily, too, would be doing her own share of shadowing.

Jack and Gus finished their breakfasts in a hurry and excused themselves from the table on the pretence of heading early to the stables to be fully prepared for their horse-riding lesson later that morning with their father. Thanks to an ill-judged comment on Gus’s part at dinner the previous evening, Rory, along with every other person present, knew that the boys were in fact planning a staged fight with the younger stable hands in the hay barn. Still, no one seemed inclined to thwart their fun as they raced from the room.

After they were gone, Emily said to her parents, ‘You’re satisfied with your decision to engage a tutor for them?’

Her mother nodded. ‘They’re not ready to be thrust into that world yet. We’re much happier to keep them within our protection for as long as possible.’

‘We certainly are,’ Mr McGovern said. He swivelled his attention towards Rory. ‘I don’t wish to cause any offence by saying this, Rory, but we were thinking that you might benefit from some instruction from the tutor as well.’

Rory stiffened. Emily gave him a quick sideways glance; she appeared not to have expected this either.

‘Please do not view this as an insult in any way,’ her mother said hastily. ‘You’ve already demonstrated a remarkable capability to adapt to your new situation, and we truly believe you have great potential. But perhaps there are some gaps in your experience which could be remedied with the appropriate tutoring. You could go far with the right education.’

Though she delivered this in the kindest way possible, his pride was still stung. At twenty-two years old, was he to be sent to the schoolroom with the children? He knew he wasn’t educated, that he didn’t understand advanced mathematics or how to make polite introductions, and he comprehended that this was a tremendous opportunity to better himself, to gain the knowledge and skills that would help him navigate his new life. Emily’s parents only meant well. And yet, their generous proposal made him feel about two inches tall.

He took a gulp of coffee to delay his response. Accepting the tutor’s instruction would be an admission that he wasn’t good enough for Emily. He had known this fact all along, but to have it confirmed in such a way left a bitter taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the coffee. Bloody hell, this was mortifying. He threw a fleeting, embarrassed look at David, but the footman’s expression was carefully blank, his gaze trained upon the wall opposite him.

Rory longed to say no. His father-in-law was already employing him as a deputy land agent; allowing him to fund his education would mean relying even further on his assistance. Rory wasn’t a McGovern – he was a Carey, and now so was Emily. He wanted to be the man of his family, to be able to provide for himself and his wife as much as he could on his own terms. But he didn’t have the means to accomplish that without help. And he would be a fool to turn this opportunity down.

So all he could do was swallow the coffee and, along with it, his pride.

He set down his cup. ‘I appreciate the offer,’ he said. ‘And I accept. I’ll do the very best I can to meet your expectations.’

Emily leaned in to link her arm through his. ‘There are no expectations,’ she said, and the sincerity in her voice made him feel a little better.

Mr McGovern gave a firm nod which seemed to indicate both agreement and approval. ‘We’ll make the necessary arrangements with the tutor then.’

‘Thank you, Mr McGovern,’ Rory said. ‘And thank you as well, Mrs McGovern.’ He stuttered. ‘Oh, Christ, sorry. I mean, ah, Lady Courcey.’

She let out a peal of mirth. ‘Heavens above, Rory, I’m your mother-in-law. Call me Bridget.’

He honestly didn’t think he could. The respect he felt for her went too deep for such informality – even after everything she had been through, even with the exposed scar on her cheek that spoke of horror and pain and humiliation, she carried herself with a dignity that deserved the utmost admiration.

But he didn’t want to outright refuse her wish either. Therefore, on this day of concessions, he said, ‘Yes, Lady Bridget.’

She accepted his compromise with a soft chuckle.

He thought he would have more time to reflect on what had turned out to be quite a disconcerting breakfast. However, shortly before dinner that evening, David came to him with a message to call to Mr McGovern’s bedchamber before the family gathered to dine.

‘Did he say what for?’ Rory asked, perplexed. Why his bedchamber, and not his study?

The footman gave an apologetic shrug. ‘He passed on no other details.’

Following in David’s wake, Rory left the east wing, which accommodated the bedchambers of Emily and her brothers, and proceeded to the west wing, where the master apartment was located. David directed him to a closed door and then departed down the corridor. Rory took a breath and rapped his knuckles on the door. At the muffled summons from within, he opened it and stepped inside.

Mr McGovern stood in the centre of the room, his arms outstretched as his valet, Mr Varley, helped him into his tailcoat for dinner. This was another part of the aristocratic lifestyle that baffled Rory, the rigid requirement to change clothing multiple times a day. Having said that, he did have to acknowledge that occasionally it was necessary as he glanced to the side and saw a discarded set of clothes on the floor covered in muck and hay. It appeared that Mr McGovern had also partaken in the boys’ barn fight, and with great vigour.

‘Thanks for coming, Rory,’ he said now as Mr Varley smoothed down his coat at the shoulders. Though the valet was an older man, his wrinkled hands still moved with practised precision, if a little slowly. Once he was satisfied with the coat’s fit, he shuffled over to a nearby table and retrieved a brightly polished pocket watch. Emily had told Rory the significance of the watch, that it had once belonged to her grandfather, Lord Courcey. Mr Varley handled it with care, draping the gold chain across Mr McGovern’s waistcoat, the barest tremor visible in his aging fingers.

‘Thank you, Varley,’ Mr McGovern said. ‘That will be all for now.’

The valet bowed and turned to pick up the discarded pile of clothing, his spine creaking as he did so. Then he slipped out of the room, the door clicking quietly shut behind him.

Mr McGovern regarded Rory with a wry look. ‘I completely understand why you refused the services of a valet. I’m still not accustomed to it myself, but I retained Varley for his own sake. The fellow would have found it hard to acquire another position this late in his life.’

Rory nodded, waiting uneasily to hear why he had been summoned.

Mr McGovern fingered his watch chain meditatively. ‘It’s just one more surreal aspect of this whole surreal existence. Sometimes it feels as though I was plucked from my old life and dropped into this one like a marionette on strings. I keep expecting the puppeteer to emerge from his hiding place to snigger and declare that it was all a joke.’ He raised his eyebrows at Rory. ‘I imagine it’s not too dissimilar to how you feel at times, is it?’

Rory hesitated. ‘’Tis a good way to describe it, sir,’ he said eventually.

‘And what about our conversation this morning? How did that make you feel?’

Rory gulped, unable to find the words to reply. How much of his inner turmoil had he inadvertently revealed at the breakfast table?

Mr McGovern crossed the room to the corner where a cane stood propped against the wall. It had a T-shaped handle made of brass and a beechwood shaft, and he picked it up with an air of reverence.

‘Allow me to hazard a guess,’ he said, turning back to Rory. ‘I expect it brought you a measure of discomfort, or perhaps even shame?’

Rory felt blood rush to his face.

‘Let me say first of all that it was absolutely not my intention, nor Bridget’s, to stir up any such reaction. We raised the matter purely from a desire to offer you the best prospects going forward. But I think it was a struggle for you to accept. Am I right?’

Rory wished he already had a few lessons with the tutor under his belt so that he might have some hope of finding the right words for this painful discussion. ‘It meant admitting I need help,’ he muttered. ‘So, for sure, it was hard to accept.’

A shadow of regret came into Mr McGovern’s blue eyes. ‘I’m truly sorry we inflicted that upon you. We ought to have found a better way of broaching the subject. But now that it’s done, can I make one thing abundantly clear? There is no shame whatsoever in accepting help from those who are willing and able to give it, especially when it places us in a better position to support our loved ones. In fact, it’s a sign of strength.’

Rory wanted so badly to believe it, but doubts crowded his mind. ‘Seems like a sign of weakness to me,’ he mumbled.

‘Strength is not always about power. It also has roots in humility.’ Mr McGovern held up the cane. ‘Do you see this? It belonged to Lord Bewley. That gentleman helped me in more ways than I can count. His extraordinary bequest upon his death left me in control of an earl’s estate, giving me the means to amply support my family at a level I could never have attained as a stable hand, nor even as a carpenter. But long before that, here under this very roof when I was your exact age, he gave me the education I’m offering you. I didn’t fully comprehend then what a gift it was. It was only after the passage of many years that I recognised just how much it shaped me into the man I became, into the man I needed to be for Bridget, for Emily, for my two boys. Was it weak of me to accept Lord Bewley’s help?’

Rory blinked, and it felt like he was blinking away a veil from his eyes. ‘No, sir,’ he said thickly, and then added more clearly, ‘No, it wasn’t.’

‘Is it weak of you to accept my help?’

Rory felt a weight lifting from his shoulders. ‘No, sir, it isn’t.’

‘I’m glad you can see it that way now,’ Mr McGovern said with a sympathetic smile. ‘Bettering yourself through education does not diminish your worth as a man or a husband. Rather than some kind of demeaning act of charity, look upon the tutor’s instruction as an investment in your future and a path to achieving your goals.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Rory said, his back straightening. ‘I will.’

Mr McGovern paused. ‘At the risk of overburdening you with help, I do want to raise one further proposal for consideration.’

‘What is it?’ Rory asked, instantly cautious again.

‘Your current accommodation.’ Mr McGovern set the tip of the cane on the floor and leaned on it as he continued, ‘You and Emily are a married couple now and I imagine this makes you crave some greater independence. You doubtless do not wish to have your living situation confined to one bedchamber, even if it is a room of generous proportions.’

It was downright eerie just how perceptive this man was about Rory’s innermost thoughts.

‘I’d like to put forward two recommendations, which I expect you to discuss with Emily before making a decision. Her preferences must be taken into account in this.’

Rory nodded firmly in agreement.

‘Firstly,’ Mr McGovern said, ‘if you and Emily wish to find your own place to live, I am more than happy to assist you in accomplishing that. I could help you locate a suitable property in an area of your own choosing—you would not be beholden to remain within range of Bewley Hall, of course. The scale of the house and its level of luxury would be entirely up to you both. If you have a preference for something more modest, you might even like to furnish it with your own hands. I remember when I built the furniture for Acorn House in Boston. It was a labour of love, creating a home for my family.’

A vision entered Rory’s mind of a cosy cottage filled with furniture crafted by himself, the air redolent with the scents of freshly sawn wood and beeswax polish. He imagined running his palm over the grain of a sturdy kitchen table, and he pictured Emily happily rocking their baby in a charming cradle. The idea of creating a haven for his wife and their future children, piece by piece, was very tempting.

Mr McGovern went on, ‘Alternatively, if you decide you would prefer to stay here at Bewley Hall, we could arrange for a section of the house to be converted into a private suite for you and Emily. I’d suggest the upper floor of the east wing as it is rarely used. It would give you a sense of seclusion and independence while still being part of the household. A home within a home of sorts.’

The vision in Rory’s mind blurred momentarily. When it reformed, several details had changed – the setting was far more opulent with big windows, plush drapes and elegant furniture too grand to be handmade…although perhaps the cradle might still be a possibility. Could this arrangement truly satisfy his need for autonomy? Putting that question temporarily aside, the important thing was that Emily looked just as happy as she opened a door and ushered in her parents, who beamed as they doted on their small grandchild.

Realising that Mr McGovern had presented him with two favourable futures, equally feasible and full of potential, Rory felt a lump come to his throat.

‘This is all…’tis incredibly kind of you, sir,’ he managed to say haltingly. ‘I don’t deserve—’

Mr McGovern came towards him, the cane tapping on the floor. He put his free hand on Rory’s shoulder.

‘You do,’ he said. ‘And I want to give it to you, without any loss of face or recompense on your part. Please be assured of this: I consider myself to have a daughter and three sons now.’