Page 5 of A Wager with the Matchmaker (A Shanahan Match #3)
5
Alannah turned the page of her book as quietly as she could, hoping no one would notice her in a shadowed corner of the back veranda behind one of the tall potted plants.
After the past four days of working from well before dawn until well after dark, she’d stopped feeling guilty for stealing a few spare moments to read during the daylight hours.
She’d finished soaking the chamber pots with vinegar because Mrs. Shanahan had complained that they smelled. Now, with Cook taking a nap, Alannah wouldn’t be needed back in the kitchen to help with the evening meal preparations for a wee bit longer.
The humidity hung heavily in the air, and the temperature had soared with every passing hour so now it was unbearable to do anything but sit in the shade. How could anyone enjoy living in such a climate?
Ever since she’d arrived in St. Louis, she’d decided she didn’t want to stay in America forever, that when life returned to normal in Tralee, she’d sail home. That was all the more reason to avoid the matchmaker since there was no sense in getting attached to someone only to turn around and leave him behind.
“I wish you’d wait for your father,” came Mrs. Shanahan’s voice from the nearby open window of the library. “He’ll be wanting to have some say in the matter, to be sure.”
Alannah shoved her book into her pocket, then started to creep out of her spot. Even though she had every right to be taking a break, she couldn’t risk Mrs. Shanahan glancing out the window and spotting her sitting idly. Although the matron hadn’t spoken much to Alannah since that first day she’d arrived at Oakland, she had felt the woman’s sharp gaze upon her from time to time.
Mrs. Shanahan needn’t have worried about anything developing with Kiernan. He was gone all day, leaving at dawn and not returning until close to sunset. By that time, Alannah was elbow deep in water in the kitchen, scrubbing dishes from the evening meal. Then after tidying the kitchen and polishing silverware and crystal, darkness had fallen and most of the household had retired for the night.
Although Alannah was exhausted after her long days, she always made time for reading every night. With the heat of the dormer room unbearable even with the small window open, she crept outside with a blanket and lantern to the field behind the summer kitchen where she could read and pretend she was back home in Ireland.
“I can take care of things, Mam,” came a second voice from inside the library.
Kiernan.
Alannah halted. What was he doing home before the supper hour?
“I’ll not be signing any official papers,” he said, his voice placating.
“Even so, your da will not be happy you’re meeting with the matchmaker without him.”
Kiernan was meeting with the matchmaker?
The very idea struck Alannah squarely in the chest with an odd pang. She wasn’t necessarily surprised. But she was taken aback, although she didn’t know why, since Kiernan was of an age to get married.
“Bellamy’s coming. And I won’t be swayed from meeting with him.”
Alannah pictured the room beyond the window, which the family called the library. She’d been eager to explore it only to be utterly disappointed the first time she’d stepped foot into the corner room. Instead of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering the walls, there was one half bookshelf that held knickknacks of various sorts—a globe, a small crystal clock, and several unique pieces of driftwood. But no books. None.
The desk was equally bare of books, containing an elegant lantern, decorative paperweights, and a pretty set of inkpots. Large framed maps hung on the walls, and the rest of the room was cluttered with odds and ends—a basket of blankets, rolls of large paper, a folded easel, and more.
If she ever had a room labeled the library, she’d fill it with books and nothing else.
At a soft tap on her shoulder, she hopped and would have given her position away if the hand on her shoulder hadn’t steadied her. She glanced up to find Bellamy McKenna standing beside the window, as tall, dark, and handsome as always.
He pressed a finger against his lips, cautioning her to si lence, then he nodded curtly toward the summer kitchen, a small building built in the same style as the house and painted a bright white. It was a dozen paces from the main house, not too far so as to be an inconvenience but far enough that the cast-iron stove wouldn’t overheat the already stifling house.
Did Bellamy want to speak with her there alone?
He started across the porch toward the back steps, his tread so light he could have been a wraith. She crawled after him, and when she was well away from the window, she stood and hurried down the steps, her boots tapping even though she tried to imitate Bellamy’s stealth.
A raised bed of herbs grew beside the summer kitchen, and the fragrances of basil, thyme, and sage greeted her as they did every time she passed by. The waft of the cooking chicken from the kitchen hung heavily in the air, too, making her stomach growl with sudden hunger pangs.
At times like this, she was more than a little grateful her stomach would soon be full, that the days of constant gnawing were over along with the worries of when and if she’d eat again. But it was also times like this that she felt the greatest sorrow that Cagney wasn’t alive to experience a full stomach.
Bellamy stopped just inside the kitchen door, and she moved past him into the now familiar room. A worktable took up the center, and an enormous range filled the south wall. An iron sink stood under a window that faced the gardens and the meadows so that when she was washing dishes for endless hours each day, at least she had a beautiful view.
A white wicker basket of strawberries—small but perfectly red and ripe—sat on the worktable, which meant Zaira had recently been here and had been out picking strawberries again from among the wild plants that grew in the yonder meadow.
At nineteen, Zaira was the youngest of the Shanahan daughters. Alannah had gotten to know her a wee bit during the last stay at Oakland, and this time Zaira had befriended her again.
The class differences hadn’t seemed to matter to Zaira. With each encounter, the young woman talked to Alannah as though she were a friend or relative who’d come to visit rather than a servant.
Just that morning when Alannah had been carrying a heavy pail of water from the well back to the kitchen, Zaira had been passing by and taken one side of the handle and helped her haul it the rest of the way. All the while, she’d chattered about the beautiful morning and how she adored summer.
In addition to Kiernan and Zaira, two other Shanahan children were living at Oakland—Madigan who was sixteen and Quinlan fourteen. Both boys spent hours outside every day, hunting and fishing and riding and exploring the woodland.
They both reminded her of Cagney. Even though she tried not to compare situations, it was hard not to think about her younger brother’s experiences in the countryside. His had been so different, not carefree in the least as he’d dug in the fallow fields outside of Tralee desperate for something to eat. Even old, withered root vegetables had been better than nothing.
Bellamy glanced out the summer kitchen door before focusing on Alannah. “Torin came to visit me again last night.”
“He visited you and not me?” She couldn’t stifle her ir ritation, even though she knew her brother was staying away for her own safety.
“He wanted to see me before moving to Cheltenham to Kiernan’s new brickyard.”
“And why was he needing to see you, so?” Alannah plucked a berry from the basket, pried off the green top, then popped the ripe fruit into her mouth.
Bellamy crossed toward the worktable. “Even though I assured him you have a new position, he’s still insisting that I find you a match.”
“I’ll visit with him soon enough and set him straight—that I’ll not be marrying anytime soon.”
Bellamy stopped in front of the basket of strawberries and picked one up. “He’ll not be taking no for an answer, I’m afraid.”
She hadn’t told Torin she wanted to go to Ireland and that she planned to drag him back with her so that he would be far from the gang trouble. But she would eventually inform him. “I said it before, Bellamy. I’m not interested in marriage, and neither of you will be changing my mind.”
“Is that a fact?” Bellamy lifted his gaze, his brown eyes probing hers.
“Aye, ’tis so.” She reached for another strawberry and wedged off the leafy part.
“I told your brother I have someone in mind.”
In the process of lifting the strawberry to her mouth, she halted. “No—”
“I suspect you’ll like my choice.”
She shook her head. “I suspect I won’t be liking anyone.”
Bellamy returned the strawberry he was holding to the basket. “Let’s have a wager.”
A wager? As in a bet?
His expression was serious, but something lit his eyes, as if he was enjoying their conversation more than he was letting on. “I’ll bet that you fall in love with my choice by summer’s end. If I win, you agree to marry him.”
“And if you lose?”
“I’ll convince Torin you’re not ready.”
She wouldn’t fall in love with Bellamy’s choice, not in just a few months. Especially because she wouldn’t have time to court anyone, except for perhaps on Sunday afternoons when she wasn’t required to work.
“Agreed?” He shifted the basket of strawberries, took a step back, then cocked his head as he studied the scene like he was considering the aesthetics of the whole kitchen.
The white basket of berries did make a pretty picture on the light oak tabletop with the window and flower-filled meadow in the background.
Could she agree to Bellamy’s terms? If Bellamy had someone in mind, couldn’t she at least spend a little time with the fellow?
Besides, Torin was stubborn and probably wouldn’t let the matter go until she proved to him that she didn’t need a matchmaker, that when she was ready to get married, she’d find her own man.
“Alright, Bellamy. I’ll agree to your wager, so I will. But I’ll give you two months, just until the beginning of August. I won’t be needing more time than that.”
“True enough.” A smile spread across Bellamy’s face, one that seemed to say he’d already won.
“Don’t be getting your hopes too high.”
“All I ask is that you give the fellow a fair chance. Can you do that?”
Could she? Aye, she wouldn’t make a wager with Bellamy and not follow through on her half. “I’ll do my best, Bellamy. You have my word.”
“Good.”
“Will you be telling me who the fellow is, or am I to be surprised when he comes courting on Sunday?”
“He won’t be coming to court you.”
“No?” That was strange but perfectly fine with her.
“No.” Bellamy started to cross to the door. “He won’t need to come because he already lives here.”
Her mind raced with the possibilities among the staff. The positions of cook, housekeeper, housemaid, and now her position as scullery maid all belonged to women. There were only two men—the coachman who was middle-aged and a gardener who was grandfatherly. Surely Bellamy could find someone younger than either of those men.
Bellamy halted near the door, his expressive eyes still alight. “Figure it out yet?”
“Go on with you now. Just spit it out.”
“’Tis easy enough.” Bellamy paused. “Kiernan Shanahan—”
“What about Kiernan?” A young woman spoke from behind Bellamy.
His eyes widened with surprise—and something else Alannah couldn’t name.
Zaira sidled past Bellamy and into the kitchen. The young woman reminded Alannah of Mrs. O’Brien—Enya. Both had vibrant red hair and lovely green eyes. Both also had stunning features that put them in a class of beauty all their own.
While Enya had a polished style with elegant gowns and coifed hair, Zaira was less formal, less concerned with her appearance, less put together. She often wore her hair free of a chignon, tied back with a simple ribbon, like at the moment, so the long waves dangled down her back with loose strands floating about her face. Although Zaira donned the fine gowns expected of someone in her position, Alannah had heard the housemaid and cook gossiping about how Zaira refused to wear a corset and crinoline.
Regardless, she was like a beautiful bird flitting about, full of energy and life. Now as she crossed into the kitchen, she smiled warmly at Alannah before she spun around and faced Bellamy.
“Bellamy McKenna, so nice to see you again.” The young woman’s smile curled up a little higher.
Bellamy didn’t respond, not even with a smile. Instead, he backed up a step into the doorway as though in a hurry to be on his way.
If Zaira noticed, she didn’t let on. “And how is the gentleman you’ve been helping?” She paused, tapped her lip as if in thought, then nodded. “Oh aye, W. B. Moore. How is he getting on these days?”
Bellamy narrowed his dark eyes on Zaira. “He’s doing just fine.”
“That’s fabulous. Just fabulous.”
Alannah could hardly focus on the awkward exchange since her mind was still reeling with Bellamy’s declaration from a moment ago that Kiernan was the man he’d chosen for her.
Kiernan Shanahan.
Was Bellamy daft? She wanted to ask him what he was thinking by trying to match her with Kiernan. But with Zaira in the kitchen, she’d never be able to bring it up. She couldn’t chance Zaira finding out about Bellamy’s suggestion and telling her mother. If just one peep reached the matron, she’d boot Alannah out of the house and slam the door behind her.
“I best be nipping along.” Bellamy turned to go.
Zaira took a quick step after him, then stopped, her cheeks suddenly flushed. “Is Mr. Moore still managing to paint?”
Bellamy’s back faced them, and he stiffened. Usually, Bellamy was so calm and casual, never letting anything or anyone perturb him. But for some reason, Zaira seemed to be aggravating him.
He glanced at the young woman over his shoulder, his eyes filled with warning. “Mr. Moore’s business is private.” Then without another word, he exited the kitchen and stalked toward the house.
Zaira retreated to the doorway and didn’t bother to hide the fact that she was watching Bellamy. After a moment—likely after Bellamy disappeared into the house—she released a sigh. “That man.” She gave a small laugh and fanned her face. “He’s simply divine, isn’t he?”
Divine? Alannah wouldn’t exactly describe Bellamy that way. To be sure, he was fine looking. But she wasn’t attracted to him.
Unlike Kiernan, who she was very attracted to but shouldn’t be.
Without waiting for an answer, Zaira motioned at the basket of strawberries and beamed. “Aren’t the strawberries delicious?”
Alannah could only nod, still too stunned by her interaction with Bellamy to know what to say or do. She’d made a wager with the matchmaker. She’d given him her word that she would consider his match for her.
But she absolutely couldn’t consider Kiernan. That was asking too much.