Page 9 of A Wager with the Matchmaker (A Shanahan Match #3)

9

She wasn’t watching for Kiernan’s return. She really wasn’t.

Even so, at the thudding of a horse’s hooves on the lane in front of the house, Alannah halted in the backyard and set down the bucket of water she’d been hefting from the well to the kitchen.

She wiped a sleeve across her forehead, the early evening still warm. Then she tucked several loose strands of hair into her braid before brushing at the stains upon her apron and straightening it as best she could.

After Kiernan’s visit with her in the kitchen that morning, she hadn’t been able to put him out of her mind. She’d been a wee bit giddy that he’d sought her out, had talked to her, and had even seemed interested in her—if his lingering behind her while straightening the bottles was any indication. He’d even asked her to call him by his given name. He wouldn’t have done so if he saw her only as a hired worker.

The more she was around Kiernan Shanahan, the more she wanted to get to know him better. She still wasn’t sure she had any right to speak with him, spend time with him, or even think about him. But her wager with Bellamy kept forcing its way into her head.

As the clopping drew nearer, Alannah shielded her eyes against the sun’s rays in the west, her stomach fluttering at the prospect of seeing Kiernan again.

When the rider came into view, Alannah expelled a breath of disappointment. Zaira. The young woman had left earlier in the afternoon for a ride through the countryside—at least that’s what Alannah had overheard her tell Mrs. Shanahan. But Alannah suspected that the ride had been to someplace specific for something important, especially because the young woman had carried a leather satchel strapped diagonally across her shoulder and body.

Normally, Zaira was full of energy and a zest for life that spilled over onto everyone around her. But now with her shoulders slumped and the tears streaking her face, ’twas easy to see the woman’s ride hadn’t been a happy one.

As Zaira crossed toward the barn, she caught sight of Alannah and veered in her direction, whisking the moisture from her cheeks.

Alannah wanted to say something to acknowledge Zaira’s despondency. On the other hand, she didn’t want to inquire into personal matters and overstep boundaries.

“How was your day?” Zaira asked with a forced smile.

“I helped Cook make jam with the strawberries you picked.”

“That sounds much more delightful than my afternoon.”

The young woman clearly had no idea how hot and sticky jam-making was. In fact, Zaira probably had no idea how hot and tiring most of the kitchen work was. But Alannah couldn’t complain. She had employment, even if it was a far cry from working in the newspaper office as an editor as she’d hoped to do.

Zaira reined in beside Alannah, the leather satchel still in place.

Alannah rubbed a hand over the horse’s flank. “I can take your horse to the barn, if you’d like.”

With a heavy sigh, Zaira dismounted. As she steadied herself, she stared off into the distance. “I thought my skills were better than they are. And today I learned I still have much to learn.”

What skills was Zaira referring to? As open and kind as the young woman was, Alannah held the question back. She couldn’t push past the roles of servant and mistress quite as easily as Zaira could. Instead, she tried for encouragement. “We all have much to learn, so we can’t be too hard on ourselves.”

“But at this rate, I’ll never accomplish anything.”

“You know what they say: However long the day, evening will come.”

Zaira patted the leather satchel. “It looks like the day is going to be an exceptionally long one for me.”

Alannah waited, unsure if she ought to say more or hold her tongue.

Zaira glanced around. The backyard was deserted except for a few chickens scratching about in the dust and a calico barn cat perched on the garden fence post, giving itself a bath.

“I don’t share my aspirations with many people—only my sisters know. And I’ve told Madigan. But now that I’ve failed, I guess it doesn’t matter who knows since my career is over before it even began.”

“Career?”

Zaira lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone. “I’ve been writing stories.”

With as creative and vibrant as Zaira was, the news didn’t surprise Alannah. “I’m sure you’re very talented.”

“That’s just it.” Zaira flipped open the latch on the satchel. “I gave the manuscript to McDonald and Sons publisher. When I retrieved it today, they’d only read five pages and left a note on the first page that says, ‘Needs more work.’”

As much as Alannah loved to read, she’d never aspired to be a writer, unlike her cousin Hugh who’d dreamed of becoming a journalist since he was old enough to read and write.

“I could do a little editing if you’ve a mind to let me. I’ve been told I have sharp eye for catching mistakes.” The words slipped out before she could stop them, probably because she’d just been pining for an editing job moments ago.

She cringed, waiting for Zaira to scoff at her or at the very least to look at her as though she were a deranged lunatic for making such an audacious suggestion.

But Zaira cocked her head, studying Alannah as though she was seriously contemplating the offer.

“My cousin is a journalist. I always read his articles and offered feedback.” Hugh had even encouraged the newspaper owner to hire her as an editor.

Of course, Mr. Graves had been older and set in his ways, of a mind that young women ought to marry and not be bothered with anything besides being a good mother and wife. Hugh had assured her that he would get Mr. Graves to change his mind eventually. She was hoping he still would.

In the meantime, she could help Zaira.

Zaira opened her satchel and pulled out a bundle of papers tied with twine. She ran a hand over the front page reverently, as though the book were an infant who needed reassurance. “I’ve never let anyone read any of my writing before.”

“’Tis your eventual goal, is it not?”

Zaira nodded, the sunlight glinting off her hair and turning it a brilliant red.

“Then start with me.”

“Really?”

“Oh aye. I promise to offer honest feedback, even if I can’t promise publication.”

She stared at her manuscript, gripping it hard. “Do you have the time?”

“I’ll find it.”

Zaira hesitated a moment longer, then thrust the bound papers at Alannah. “Thank you for being so kind and helpful.”

Alannah took hold of the manuscript with care, suddenly feeling the weight of what she’d agreed to. “I’m sure you’re aware that even with all the editing in the world, your manuscript might still face rejection.”

“Perhaps.”

“Especially as a woman.”

“The publishing industry is starting to make room for female authors.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Zaira glanced around hesitantly. “You must keep it a secret. No one can know about it for now.”

“I’ll be careful, so I will.” Alannah hugged the stack of paper to her chest. “You could take a pen name. A man’s name.” She hated to suggest it, but if it helped Zaira to break into the men’s world, she could eventually reveal herself after she was well-liked and respected.

“I’m already writing with a man’s name. And I’m still not lucky.”

“You’ll get there. Besides, you know what they say about luck: The only sure thing about luck is that it will change.”

A pretty smile finally curved up Zaira’s lips. “I like you, Alannah. I think we’re going to be grand friends.”

Alannah raced up the narrow servants’ stairway at the back of the house, a fresh energy coursing through her. She wasn’t sure if Zaira’s declaration about friendship would really come true. But after the past months of missing Hugh, she felt a surge of hope that perhaps she could find new friends.

As she reached the dormer level, she hurried down the windowless hallway until she reached the door to her room. Even though dusk was falling, she had several more hours of work before Cook would release her from the kitchen for the night. The editing would have to wait until then.

In the meantime, she had to stow Zaira’s manuscript in a safe place where no one would find it. The servants’ quarters were deserted during the busy hour of the evening, but she didn’t want to chance anyone seeing her with the bundle.

She slipped into her room, ducking under the slanted ceiling. A chest of drawers, bedside table, and bed took up the majority of space, leaving a narrow pathway between the furniture.

A circular window above the bed afforded some natural light, revealing her nightgown and coat on the pegs on the back of the door, a lantern on the bedside table, a basin, pitcher, and towel on the dresser, and her books stacked neatly beside them.

She started toward the dresser. The empty bottom drawer would probably be the best spot to keep the manuscript.

As she reached for the knob, she stopped short at the sight of a book on her pillow. How had it gotten there? Had someone come into her room and sorted through her belongings, leaving it out?

Her chest drummed with unease.

She finished stowing Zaira’s story in the bottom drawer, then straightened and read the title of the book on her pillow. Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen.

She drew in a breath. “Kiernan.” Her gaze swept over the room as if he would magically appear from a corner. She had no doubt he was the one who’d left it for her. But how? When?

A smile tugged at her lips, and pleasure sifted through her. Kiernan had remembered their conversation of the previous night and brought her a book. No one had ever done anything so kind for her before.

She picked up the book reverently. Where had he found it? She didn’t remember seeing the book anywhere around the house since there were very few books, mostly those Zaira kept in her room.

Carefully Alannah opened the cover and flipped through the pages until she reached the first chapter. The words beckoned to her. But she closed the book and fingered the spine, relishing the hard length. She smoothed her hands over the front and back, then forced herself to put the book back on her pillow in the exact spot she’d found it.

As she exited the room, she prayed she wasn’t dreaming and that she would find the book there later when she returned.

She’d never met a man like Kiernan. He was imposing, intense, sometimes even short-tempered. But underneath all of that, he was genuinely caring and considerate. And sweet. There was no other way to describe what he’d done.

Unable to wipe the smile from her face, she made her way down the servants’ stairway. Rather than taking the long way out of the servants’ side exit, she slipped into the hallway that led to the back door.

As she stepped up to the door, it swung open.

Kiernan stalked over the threshold, nearly barreling her over but stopping just in time. He pulled himself back. “Blast, I’m sorry.”

She found herself almost hungrily taking him in from his bare head and unruly waves of auburn hair to his jaw shadowed by a layer of scruff. He was usually clean shaven, so the day’s worth of stubble made her fingers twitch with the urge to scrape her fingers over it. And that dimple in his chin, she would linger there, to be sure.

“Mr. Shanahan,” she started, but then stopped at the quick frown that wrinkled his forehead. Was he serious about her calling him Kiernan?

As if hearing her silent question, he crossed his arms and cocked his head in an almost arrogant manner. If he hadn’t been her employer, she might have crossed her arms back in a battle of wills. But she couldn’t make her muscles work to do anything but stand and stare at him.

“Alannah.” The tenor of his voice sent a tingle up each bone of her spine. “Say it.”

“Say what?” She was embarrassed at how breathless she sounded.

“My name.”

“I did.”

He narrowed his eyes, hiding the darkening blue. Something even in that narrowed gaze pinned her in place and commanded her heart to beat harder for him.

At the closing of a door from a room at the front of the house, he flicked his gaze beyond her. As if assuring himself that they were still alone, he took a step toward her so he was less than a foot away, close enough that she could almost feel the heat of his body.

She couldn’t say his name and risk anyone hearing her being so casual. But before she scurried away, she had to bring up the book. Especially because there was no telling when she’d see him again. “I thank you for the book.”

“Of course.”

“I was surprised to find it in my room just now.”

“I had one of the lads at the mine ride into town for it, then bring it here.”

He’d had someone do that specifically for her? “I don’t know how I can thank you.”

“I do.”

Mercy. This man was too much.

“Say my name, Al-an-nah.” He dragged out her name, and with each syllable, she felt it to her core.

She pursed her lips together to keep from doing as he asked.

A grin tilted up one side of his mouth, sending her off-balance like someone who’d been dared to walk atop a narrow stone wall. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep her footing without falling for him. Maybe it was already too late for that.

“Fine. Kiernan.”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“’Twas fearsome hard, so don’t be asking me to do it again now.”

At the clatter of footsteps coming from the opposite end of the hallway—the sharp ones that belonged to Mrs. Shanahan—Alannah froze.

“Alannah?” the woman called. “Could you please come here?”

Alannah turned to find the matron standing just outside the parlor. She was attired in a fashionable evening gown and her hair neatly arranged into a chignon. She appeared as lovely as always, and her voice was pleasant enough, but it contained a hint of a warning.

Had the matron overheard the conversation with Kiernan? Had she heard the informality between them? What if she’d heard about the gift of the book?

Alannah’s stomach dropped with a sickening thud. This was exactly the kind of interaction with Kiernan Mrs. Sha nahan had warned against. Now the woman would follow through on the threat to send her away without a penny.

Alannah pressed a hand to her middle.

Kiernan’s grin faded, and he leveled a stern look at his mam. “What business do you have with Alannah? You’re not intending to punish her for talking with me, are you?”

Alannah liked how direct Kiernan was. It was a refreshing change from the games most people played. Even so, she didn’t dare glance down the hallway again at Mrs. Shanahan. No doubt Kiernan’s question would only stir up more trouble.

“Kiernan Shanahan.” Her tone was like that of a mother scolding a five-year-old boy. “’Tis not your concern what I am doing or not doing with the hired help, so it isn’t. See to your own matters, and let me take care of mine.”

“You’ll leave her be. She’s innocent.”

Alannah kept her attention on the floor. Even so, the matron could likely see everything inside her—everything she was feeling toward Kiernan and how much she was thinking about him.

“If you’re upset about the interaction,” Kiernan continued, “speak with me instead.”

“Very well.” Mrs. Shanahan’s voice took on a haughty note. “Then, Alannah, be on your way to do your evening duties. And, Kiernan, let’s go sit on the front veranda, and we’ll speak there.”

Alannah didn’t have to be told twice to leave. She sidled past Kiernan and exited, letting the door slap closed behind her.

All the while, mortification burned her cheeks. What would Kiernan tell his mam? That Bellamy was setting up a match between them? Or maybe Mrs. Shanahan already knew.

Either way, Mrs. Shanahan disapproved of her and was making that clear.

Alannah honestly couldn’t blame the woman. Who would want a penniless immigrant maid for a man of Kiernan’s potential?

Wager or not, the next time she saw Bellamy, she’d tell him she’d given his idea great consideration, but that there were more chances of leprechauns flying than of having a match with Kiernan.