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M ary Kate’s lips trembled as she bravely told Calliope of the last hour she’d spent tending to Flaherty. “I never prayed so hard in my life. My arms were tired, my head ached, but I was afraid to leave his side for fear that he would never open his beautiful blue eyes again.”

The memory of that last glimpse into his eyes had fear grabbing her by the throat all over again. The hand that gripped hers brought her back to the present. Calliope’s face was shrouded in concern. “What happened?”

Mary Kate cleared her throat. “Sweat began to pour off him, and I was so relieved that his fever seemed to be breaking that I turned from him. I dipped the linen cloth in the cool water and wrung it out, but when I leaned over him to bathe his face, he grabbed my wrist and glared at me.”

“That does not sound like Flaherty at all,” Lady Calliope remarked.

Mary Kate agreed. “He is normally even-tempered, though I have overheard the men talking about him using the force of his strength and conviction protecting the duke and his family to subdue those who would defame, attack, or destroy them.”

“What did you do?”

Mary Kate licked her lips to moisten them. “I was about to ask him what was wrong. He told me…” Her heart ached at recalling his words. But she pushed through the hurt to confide in her mistress, “He bellowed that he did not need a faithless woman like me in his life. Then he told me to get out.”

Another large handkerchief was thrust into Mary Kate’s hand. Grateful, she mopped her tears and dried her eyes. Hiccupping, she finally looked up and noticed the stone-faced man who had handed her the handkerchief. The viscount!

She shot to her feet. “Forgive me, your lordship. I thought Lady Calliope and I were alone.”

“I am going to take care of the problem.” He spun on his heel, but stopped with his hand on the doorknob when Calliope called out, “After you rein in your anger, William, you’ll realize that anything you say at this point would only add more fuel to the fire if you confront Flaherty when your temper is up. ”

“From the moment the duke assigned Mary Kate as your lady’s maid, she has been nothing but kind and generous. She is under my protection as well, and I will not let anyone treat her this way.”

When Calliope walked toward her husband with their son, little William reached for his father, who pulled the little boy into his arms. Their son put his hands on either side of the viscount’s face. “No.”

“No what, William?”

Their son turned and pointed at Mary Kate. “Kate’s crying.”

It was clear Mary Kate’s tears upset their son, and the viscount was clearly loath to have their little one on the verge of tears himself. His loud sigh had Calliope leaning against her husband.

Mary Kate’s eyes welled with tears again at the tender sight of the family she loved as if it were her own. She wiped her eyes and dug deep to find her smile. “I’m not crying anymore, William. See?”

The little one rested his head on his father’s shoulder on one side, while Calliope rested her head on the other. Her belly clenched, and her chest felt tight.

“If you’ll excuse me…” She couldn’t say anything else without weeping, and she didn’t want to do that after their sweet son had asked her not to.

She escaped before she embarrassed herself further.

Servants were not supposed to show emotion at all, let alone break down into a puddle of tears, or shirk their duties.

Would they ask her to leave? Would she need to find a position elsewhere?

Dear Lord, would the viscount refuse to give her a reference?

Her head began to pound as her worries escalated to the breaking point.

She’d been holding back her tears for three long weeks, not wanting to give Flaherty the satisfaction of hearing from either one of the duke’s men at Chattsworth Manor that she’d been reduced to tears by the man who had been courting her, then rejected her.

She dashed down the hallway to the door to the servants’ staircase and stumbled her way up.

By the time she reached her room, she collapsed on her bed, her heart in shreds.

Holding the pillow over her aching stomach, she finally let herself grieve for what was never meant to be.

It was past time to accept what she hadn’t wanted to believe: she didn’t deserve Seamus Flaherty’s love.

*

“I’ll beat him bloody,” Garahan promised.

“Though I think he’d be deserving of it,” Michael O’Malley said, “’tisn’t right to beat on our hardheaded cousin just because he’s got bollocks for brains. Especially since it’s only been a few weeks since he’s been shot.”

Garahan grunted. “Mary Kate deserves far better than Flaherty.”

“Aye,” O’Malley agreed. “Who did ye have in mind?”

“Monroe.”

“The farrier? Are ye daft?” O’Malley shook his head. “Ye’d only be asking for trouble. What do we know about the man, other than he treats the horses well?”

Garahan shrugged. “Isn’t that reason enough to encourage the man?

He has an even temperament and a way with fractious fillies and stubborn geldings.

Even though he knows she’s being courted by Flaherty, Monroe asks after Mary Kate every time he comes to tend to the horses. ’Tis clear he’s besotted with her.”

“True enough,” O’Malley agreed. “But the lass loves our bollocks -for-brains cousin.”

“MacReady overheard Lady Calliope and his lordship when he was in the hallway outside of the nursery just now,” Garahan confided. “Flaherty already cast her aside. He doesn’t deserve her.”

O’Malley waited a beat, then said, “’Tisn’t uncommon for someone suffering the delirium of a high fever to say things they otherwise wouldn’t.”

“Mayhap ’tis how he really feels. Besides, Flaherty has always had a jealous bone. Remember the time he was half in love with Fitzroy’s daughter?”

O’Malley sighed. “Aye, and he’d heard someone say she’d been out walking with Declan McClaren.”

“Flaherty knocked the man on his arse the next time he saw him. Much to McClaren’s surprise.”

“And Fitzroy’s daughter,” O’Malley added. “She ended up helping McClaren to his feet and taking him home to her ma for tea.”

The men were silent for a moment before Garahan asked, “Are ye meaning to interfere, Michael?”

“Aye, but I’m thinking—” The sound of hoofbeats in the distance had the two men turning to investigate. Garahan slowly smiled. “Well, well… Speak of the devil.”

Flaherty dismounted and nodded to them. “Is Mary Kate in the kitchen?”

O’Malley and Garahan shared a look before O’Malley answered, “She’s not feeling well.”

“What’s wrong? She is never ill. Has the physician been sent for?”

“’Tisn’t a concern of yers,” Garahan replied.

Flaherty marched over to him and grabbed him by his lapels. “Anything that has to do with the lass is me concern.”

“That’s not what we’ve heard,” O’Malley said. “Let go of him.”

Flaherty gave his cousin a hard shake before setting him free. He turned his back on Garahan, which was his first mistake. Not having his guard up was his second. Garahan’s right cross leveled Flaherty.

O’Malley walked over and shoved Garahan aside. “Enough! Ye got her punch in. I’ll not let yer temper cause friction within our ranks. We’re blood, Garahan!”

O’Malley waited a beat before saying, “Best grab the bucket by the horse trough.”

Garahan’s eyes gleamed. “A grand suggestion, Michael.” He scooped up water and tossed it on his cousin, who came to sputtering before lurching to his feet.

“What in the bloody hell did ye do that for?”

“The punch was for making the lass weep. The water was O’Malley’s suggestion.”

“Flaherty!”

The deep voice coming from behind the three men had them standing at attention.

Flaherty immediately answered, “Aye, yer lordship?”

Viscount Chattsworth’s face was devoid of expression. “A word.” He spared his men a glance, then said, “Have you been relieved of duty?”

“Just changing shifts, yer lordship,” Garahan replied.

The viscount frowned at his men, but accepted the response and turned to Flaherty. “Follow me.”