Twenty-six

Evan had awoken with a painful head and vague memories of telling Kate something about Mary, Mary. When he learned that Lady Whelan had ridden out that morning, he knew exactly where she must have gone. “I have to find them. I have to…” What he’d do, he didn’t know. Had Kate been devastated to hear of Con’s bastard child? Or had she already known?

Was she angry? What was she going to do?

Over the protests of the housekeeper whose turn it was to tend him, he jammed on his boots, caught up his coat, and bolted from the sickroom. Ignoring his aching head as best he could, he ran for the stables. There the chestnut gelding—returned safely after their outing to the castle, thank God—was just being saddled for a groom to take him out for exercise.

And behind him, a stable hand was returning Lady Alix.

“I’ll take her,” Evan said, and swung up onto the familiar back. A sentimental choice, maybe, to ride her rather than a fresh horse, but he knew this lady would run her heart out. He urged the mare into a gallop, setting his teeth against the jolt of each stride. Wind tickled his collarbone, his chest, and he realized he’d ridden out with the same old shirt, collarless and without cravat.

“What a sight I’ll make, old girl,” he muttered. “Maybe distract the ladies enough to keep them from killing each other.”

But the tableau he came upon when he rounded the turn to Mary’s cottage was the last thing he would have expected. There was a constable on horseback ahead, and the great bulk of Finnian Driscoll lying on the ground, and—and there was Kate, reins in hand, dropping a curtsy to her late husband’s mistress and bastard child.

He reined in the chestnut, head thumping with agony, and slid from Lady Alix’s back. “Did I miss all of the excitement, or is there more to come?”

“Evan.” Kate looked at him with some surprise. “You ought not be out of bed!”

“I couldn’t stay away.” He tried for a sweeping bow, but it made his head pound more.

“How did you know we’d be here?”

“Where else would you be?”

“I’m here by chance.” She looked at her horse, which Evan recognized as the mare Lucy, and then at the groaning figure of the magistrate. “I was trying to speak with Driscoll, and he fled. He led us here.”

“Likely wanted to hide behind the cottage, by the river,” suggested Mary.

Evan accepted this. “I assume there was a horse that dumped him off? Or is he a deceptively quick runner?”

“She shot me!” Driscoll moaned.

“Stop saying that,” Kate replied. “I only shot your hat. Yes, Evan. There was a white horse. I regret that he was frightened. I do not regret that he discarded his rider. Mr. Driscoll, you seemed eager not to encounter this constable. And why could that be?”

The man moaned and turned onto his side.

“Hullo, what’s this?” Evan handed the reins of the chestnut to the bemused Kate, then crouched beside Driscoll. “A pistol fell out of his pocket.”

“Is it loaded?”

“It is not loaded. It is also not his.” Evan took it in his hand, slapping it against his palm. Lady Alix nosed him, bumping the pistol. “No, girl. We can’t play the dropping-things game right now.” He squinted at the small gun. “This is my pistol, which was taken from my coat while I was unconscious. Here, my initials are engraved on the stock.”

“Very fancy,” noted the constable.

“Thank you,” said Evan. “Mr. Driscoll, would you still like to say that I was set upon by footpads, now that you’ve been found carrying my pistol?”

“Theft, Mr. Driscoll?” The constable whistled. “That’s mighty bad.”

“It’s certain you will lose your post,” Kate said. “The question only remains, which crimes would you like your replacement to hear at the assizes?”

Driscoll paled. “Help me up.” Still at his side, Evan hoisted the large man to a seated position. The effort left both of them perspiring. “No, there were no footpads. No attack either. You were found at Loughmoe Castle, grazed by a falling stone. It was an accident!”

“And who found me?”

“I don’t know exactly who.” The magistrate’s eyes—Evan could not stop thinking of them as reproachful hound eyes—shifted away. “It could have been anyone.”

“Maybe we didn’t miss all the excitement after all,” Evan said.

From the edge of her garden, Mary spoke. “I’ll be taking my boy inside now. If you need me for questioning…”

“That’s fine, Miss O’Dowd,” said the constable. “Our business is with Mr. Driscoll. Now, then, who was there at the castle ruin? Sir?” He swallowed. A young man, this confrontation with a venerable magistrate was obviously coming difficult for him.

The magistrate sighed. “There are ten families, maybe twelve, who work the stone in their spare moments. They’re the families hardest hit by the famine two years ago. I truly don’t know who found Evan. There were a half dozen, Lady Whelan, as you saw, who brought him to your house. They were all of a panic, afraid they’d be blamed, so I said I’d cover for them.”

“I merely want to be clear about this,” Kate said. “You said you would cover for smugglers. Who brought you a man almost dead of a head wound?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Evan said. “I got out of the way of the stone.”

“It was that bad. You didn’t see yourself.” Her mouth scrunched into an odd shape. “You don’t see yourself now, either.”

Evan cursed, then picked up the hat on the ground beside Driscoll. He stuffed it onto his head. “Ignore the bullet hole in the hat and the bandage on my head. Driscoll, I’m just borrowing this. You’re to have it back as soon as the constable is ready to take you away.”

Driscoll had gone a most unpleasant color.

“If you need to be sick, there’s a suitable bush right over there.” Kate pointed.

“It was Miss Ahearn’s idea.” Driscoll moistened his lips. “See, to the Catholics who stayed after the Jacobite movement failed, there’s nothing worse than the wild geese.”

“Wild geese?” Kate asked.

“Rich Catholics who fled Ireland,” Evan explained. “I learned that…what day is this?”

“Thursday.”

“Then I learned it two days ago.”

“Right, that is,” Driscoll said. “They abandoned the cause, they took their money, and they left their tenants behind. Their castle became a shell. So Miss Ahearn, when she came to Thurles, had the idea of turning the wild geese to advantage. They could give us a living now, when a century ago they failed to.”

“In what way?” asked the constable.

“Copying the statues and things the nobs in England like. Carve old bits of stone into new, and leave a space to hide things inside.”

“Such as?” Kate asked.

“Whatever someone will pay us to hide. A note between lovers. A stolen necklace.” Driscoll shrugged. “It was just a bit of money at first, but enough to see me made resident magistrate once Dublin Castle set up a post.”

“Miss Ahearn must be a dedicated Irish patriot,” Kate said drily.

Something sparked in Evan’s battered memory. “She’s not Irish at all. She’s Welsh. Mary said so. Said she’d recognized the accent as being like mine.”

“But her family is in Dublin,” Driscoll said. “She said she wanted to help them.”

“You are ready to blame Miss Ahearn,” Kate said. “How sad for you that she’s left Thurles and cannot corroborate your story.”

“Left Thurles?” The magistrate was now the color of a lovely split pea soup. “When?”

“This morning. Surely you could hear her landlady screeching, even from your seat in the Prancing Pony?”

Driscoll shook his head. Setting a broad hand against a tree, he hefted himself to his feet. “I didn’t know. She must have taken fright after you were hurt, Mr. Rhys.”

“But she didn’t hurt him?”

“No! No one was supposed to get hurt.” The magistrate-for-now heaved a great sigh then looked at Kate with kicked-dog eyes. “Not the earl either. It was a warning. He was to fall and to know he fell because someone had tampered with his tack. He was to take it as a threat and stop interfering. Stop trying to take a greater cut.”

“A greater cut,” Kate murmured. She made some movement that set the two horses whose leads she held to shifting and stamping. “He was taking money.”

“Had to get the earl to look the other way.” Driscoll sounded apologetic. “And if no one was getting hurt, what did it matter? We’re not Jacobites ourselves. All we want is full pockets and a safe life.”

Full pockets and a safe life. Ha. “You’ve created nothing of the sort,” Evan pointed out.

For emphasis, Lady Alix nipped the hat from his head and let it fall to the ground.

“Full pockets,” said Kate. “You still want them. You pulled the earl into a crime, and you bought up his debts. How dare you.” Her light eyes were practically shooting sparks. “How. Dare. You.”

“That was Miss Ahearn’s idea. I swear I wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t died. I thought the operation would have to stop when he died.”

“Yet it did not. And you did not.”

Evan swooped up the man’s hat from the ground, handed it to him, then took a step back. “You asked what it mattered? It mattered because it was wrong. And how can you say if no one was getting hurt and talk about a safe life when a man died?”

“An accident!” Driscoll waved his hands. “Accident, accident. Jones was devastated.”

“I am so sorry that the groom was distressed by my husband’s accidental death.” The scorn in Kate’s voice was thick enough to bury them all. “You must permit me to send my condolences. To where did he flee in his devastation?”

Driscoll, the fool, answered her. “Miss Ahearn found him a place in Wales, I think, somewhere nice and far away. He was Welsh himself, so he liked that.”

“You can’t keep the Welsh out of Wales,” said Evan. “Do tell me. Was Ahearn her real name?” The blow to his head seemed to have jarred loose a memory. Sir William’s voice, asking for an Anne Jones. Forty or forty-five years old. Very pretty. A criminal genius.

Janet Ahearn—the same initials, flipped—was the right age. Pretty? She tried hard not to look so. A criminal genius? That, he didn’t know.

“Ahearn was what she always wanted us to call her.” Driscoll looked hopeful. A decrepit old dog being offered a bone. “Her real name, I think, was Jones.”

“Well, shit,” said Evan. Everyone gaped at him, and he muttered an apology.

Shit, though. He’d found Sir William’s Tranc, only to see her slip off again.

“Was she related to the groom?” the constable asked.

“I don’t think so,” said Driscoll. “They were both Welsh. There are a lot of Joneses in Wales.”

“A realization that never ceases to amuse,” Evan said.

“If you two are ready,” the constable said, “I’ll be taking this man off now.”

Driscoll blanched. He really was turning ever so many food colors. “Don’t let him take me! Mr. Rhys—Lady Whelan—what did I do that was so wrong?”

Evan looked at Kate. “How would you like to answer the man? What do you want to do? You’re a countess, and you’re guardian to an earl. You’ve the sway here, my lady.”

For a long moment, Kate used her free hand to pet the necks of the horses she held. “We’ve no real proof of anything,” she said at last. “The only crime we can prove is that he stole your pistol. Since it’s worth more than ten shillings, he could be kept till the assizes for that, tried, and transported.”

“I didn’t steal it,” Driscoll said. “I…found it.”

“It doesn’t matter. Evan, I fault Driscoll for taking your possessions, and for not telling the truth about where you were found. I fault Adam Jones for cutting a strap that indirectly took a man’s life. I fault Janet Ahearn, or Jones, or whatever her name is, for developing a cockeyed plan that made a dozen families party to smuggling. If Driscoll is gone, and if it stops, I will be satisfied.”

The pounding in his head quieted, soothed by her calm words. And yet… “Why, Kate? It was wrong.”

She traced the line of Lucy’s mane, setting the mare to blinking her contentment. “Because there are many ways to be wrong. One way was to tuck up within Whelan House like a snail, trying to hold the world together by clutching pieces tightly. And another was Con’s, to befriend those who relied on him without ensuring their livelihood.”

“You cannot think this was all your fault and Con’s.”

“No, people made their own choices. But is the world the worse for a few stones being removed from Loughmoe Castle?”

“I don’t know. Yes.”

Kate’s smile was gentle. Sad. “The quality of mercy, Evan.”

“How can you feel mercy when you lost a husband?”

“I wouldn’t have at first. But time passed, you know. It’s a delightful beast. It took my loss, and it brought me you instead.”

The constable shifted awkwardly. Evan laughed.

“And,” Kate added, “anyone who can carve a likeness of the prime minister so finely, or who can join two pieces of stone with barely a visible seam, has talents that can be turned to use. Legal use.”

It could end now—sort of. She was offering them the chance to begin anew, to unravel the scheme and weave their lives into a new pattern.

“Mr. Driscoll,” said Evan. “I am prepared not to prosecute you if you resign your post as magistrate. And if you leave Thurles for…where should he go, countess?”

“Ardent House in Wales is remarkably nice,” Kate suggested.

“True. And the company regards itself as the best sort. But I’d settle for your departure to another part of Ireland. Somewhere you have to start fresh.” Was that relief in the sagging features? Evan hoped it was. “Somewhere you can start fresh,” he added.

“I’ll do it,” said Driscoll.

“Should I let him go?” The constable looked from Driscoll to Evan to Kate, then back.

“Stay with him until he sends his letter of resignation to Dublin Castle,” said Kate. “Then he can go.”

“I’m in debt to you, Lady Whelan,” said Driscoll.

“I thought it was the reverse,” she said crisply. “Or are you offering to relinquish your claim upon my land?”

“Yes.” His unhealthy color was subsiding now. “Yes, all of it.”

She shook her head. “I’m not asking you to deny yourself the money you’re owed, only not to take my son’s birthright. Keep me informed of your address, and I shall send payments on a regular schedule until my late husband’s debt has been discharged.”

Evan stroked his chin. “You know, Countess, you could claim the excise reward for finding the smugglers.”

Driscoll blanched again. Interestingly, the constable did too. Those keeping watch at Bridge Castle must have had more than one source of employment.

“What smugglers?” Kate asked. “If there were any smugglers, they needed a way to survive when Con wasted their rents and didn’t watch over them. Now, I will. And I’ll make sure we return to financial health together.

“I don’t see any smugglers now. But if they turn up in the future, I will see them then. And if Whelan tenants need help, they may see their countess at any time.”

“You’re a marvel,” Evan said. “If her ladyship’s statement is acceptable to everyone—Constable, are you ready?”

Driscoll’s horse had not returned, so the constable allowed the older man to mount his horse.

“Did you take the cinch from my coat too?” Evan asked.

Hesitantly, the magistrate drew forth the leather strap from his own pocket.

“Bind his wrists with it,” Kate said. “I can think of no better binding.”

As if in atonement for all he had taken from her, the soon-to-be former magistrate bowed his head and held forth his wrists.

In the still edge of the forest, Evan and Kate waited until the constable had led Driscoll out of earshot, out of sight.

“And now what, my lady?” Evan asked.

“And now you should be thrown back into the sickroom,” she said.

“No throwing, please. My poor head cannot stand it. I don’t even want to ride again.”

“Then we’ll walk,” she said. “Unless you’d rather run?”

They walked, each leading a horse. Lady Alix and Lucy put their heads together, like two old friends enjoying a good gossip, and strode through crunching leaves with the energy of much younger horses.

“Did you come to Mary’s cottage to rescue me?” Kate asked after a few minutes.

“I wondered if you’d twit me about that. As a matter of fact, I did, and I haven’t heard a word of thanks.”

She rose to her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, then continued walking with Lucy. “I did tell you I love you.”

He stopped walking, stunned all over again. Lady Alix nosed him in the small of his back.

He ignored the horse’s prompting, as tentative joy began to spark within his chest. “Did you? I was knocked on the head. Couldn’t hear a word of it.”

“Are you certain? You revived with great swiftness after I dashed you with water.”

“Let’s dash you in the face with water and see what that does for you.” He reached for her, and she backed away, squealing. “Kate, I didn’t hear it. I can guess, but I don’t know. I’m already guessing and not knowing about so many things. Won’t you tell me what you said?”

“I said…well, not in so many words…or actually in more words, because I was sorting it out—that I am yours—whole. Just as I am wholly a mother, wholly a countess—oh, but when I wed you, I won’t be a countess anymore, will I?”

He shook his head. “It’ll take me a while to sort through all that, poor injured fellow that I am. But I think I missed a proposal.”

“I am paving the way for your question. Now you know the answer.”

The spark of joy became a flame. “It’s all the answer I’ve ever wanted.”

“Or maybe I should ask you, after all. You said I ought to court you.”

“Skipping straight to the proposal? How forward of you.”

“I’ve already debauched you. Your reputation lies in my hands.”

There followed a delightful demonstration of what hands could do when reputation was not a concern. “Behave yourself,” Kate hissed, even as she took advantage of his open-collared shirt. “The dower house is within sight, and Good Old Gwyn might be looking out the window. By the way, if you doubted my love for you, the fact that I am groping you while you stink of old beef broth ought to banish such a doubt.”

“The fact that you cared enough to slop me with beef broth and water is evidence enough, my love.” Chastely, he laced his fingers in hers, and they continued to walk their horses in the direction of the stables.

“Good Old Gwyn, what was she watching for?” Kate wondered.

“Maybe for Driscoll. Maybe they were lovers, and she’d follow him from Thurles.”

“You’re joking.”

“I am, though they wouldn’t make a bad pair. His solicitude, her delight in being…”

“Solicited?”

“That cannot be the right word,” he said. “Maybe she was watching for someone who would bring her Con’s share of the money? If he knew about the statues made for smuggling, surely she did too.”

“I don’t know about that. One of the countesses—specifically, me—was remarkably thick about the whole matter. And you credit the light criminal element for surprising morality.”

“Well, that’s my guess. And by the way, if we’re to be wed—”

“If. Are you being coy with me?”

“I don’t wish to take anything for granted.”

She caught his free hand. “Evan, don’t go to Greece. Please don’t go to Greece. I couldn’t go with you while Declan is young, and I don’t want you to go anywhere I couldn’t go.”

He could not remember a speech he had ever delighted in more. “Then I’m yours. The Ambassador to the Ottoman Empire will likely cry into his pillow for months on end, but I am yours.”

“And I’m yours,” she said.

Finally. At last.

Evan kissed her—quickly, for the horses were impatient and the walk was long. “So. When we are wed, how would you like our relationship with Good Old Gwyn to go on?”

“I don’t suppose she really could go to Wales.” Kate sighed. “What a pity. Your parents seem the sort to enjoy a good game of who’s-the-saddest.”

“Doubtless they would, but I couldn’t do that to Elena. She has enough to be going on with, living with my parents and my brother.”

“True, and she taught me the agreement game. I must send her a lovely gift of thanks.”

“Don’t let it be flint. I know how you are about giving people flint.”

“I won’t send flint. Honestly.” Kate kicked a few fallen leaves at him. “No, I think what we’ll do with Good Old Gwyn is hire her a companion. Someone paid to listen and agree—won’t that keep her happy?”

“Happy in her unhappiness,” mused Evan. “Maybe. It’d have to be a very well-paid companion.”

“I wonder if Mary O’Dowd would want the job. Or is that too cruel?”

“It might be,” Evan said. “To Mary.”

“Yes, that’s what I was thinking too. But we ought to offer, at least, for she won’t have a steady stream of shillings to rely on anymore. And I think—I’ll have regular at-home hours, twice a week, to anyone who wants to call. Good Old Gwyn will be welcome during those times.”

“And not during others?”

“Of course, she would be welcome. But if she wants to visit a newlywed couple unawares, she’d best be prepared to see some vigorous…ah, sport.”

“Ah, the agreement game. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it being played so pleasurably.”

“Just wait until you actually get to play it.”

There followed another improper interlude, stopped only when Lucy shoved her head between them and whickered.

“I know, I know. Almost within sight of the stables,” Evan said.

One last question came to mind, for the seeming answer had surprised him so much. “Kate. Did you not mind speaking with Mary O’Dowd? Seeing her with her child?”

“I think not.” She flicked a hand. “A countess needs an earl, a wife needs a husband, a child needs a father. A mistress needs nothing but a man. Con fell away from me, and in time, he might have fallen away from her too.”

“Do you think so?”

She walked on, one silent step and then another. “No. I don’t think he would have. He wasn’t without honor, our Con. He wasn’t without a heart. I think he was always hers.”

“I won’t fall away from you,” Evan said. Six words, standing in for all the words in his heart. He had always been hers.

“I know you won’t. And I won’t either.”

They had reached the stables now, where grooms waited to take the horses. After handing off the two animals—who seemed to be rolling their eyes at the ridiculous humans as they walked away—Evan took Kate’s hand again, and they turned toward Whelan House.

“I think,” Kate said, “I will call upon Mary.”

“Again, you surprise me. To befriend her?”

“I cannot know that. It depends on so many things, not the least of which is time. But I imagine we would have a lot to talk about, don’t you? And I won’t be sick in her bushes.”

“Oh, I don’t know that you need to go that far. It was the start of a fine tradition.”

“I think it is the start of more than that.”

His head whipped toward her. Eyes downcast, cheeks flushed, she was smiling.

Had he thought the joy within him a spark, a low flame? It was a bonfire, turning the world from gray to gold. “Do you think so?”

“I…more than think.” Her hand cradled her belly.

With a whoop, he swept her into his arms.