Chapter Twenty-Two

 

Dublin

 

Dunleavy House was a slice of heaven. Gina strolled along a path where birds of infinite variety sang from the trees. Sweet-scented wisteria ranged over a fence with blossoms like pendulous bunches of purple grapes. The soporific hum of bees reached her from the flower garden. She picked up her skirts and crossed the lawns to where Blair sat, his head turned toward the sun kissed blue waters of Lough Leane.

“Where’ve you been since lunch?” He turned and reached out to her, smiling lazily.

The look in his sleepy, blue eyes made her want to touch him, if just to stroke his hair. They had not yet made love, and she yearned for it. “I went for a walk. We’ve been here for days and I haven’t seen the gardens.”

She bent down and kissed him. “I think of nothing but you.” He stroked her hair. “And making love to you.”

Gina laughed, as a delightful shiver of anticipation passed through her. “I’ve been thinking of your mother, coming today to look me over,” she said. “She may well accuse me of getting you shot.”

“Rubbish, my love.” He pulled her down on the bench beside him. His good arm around her he drew her close and kissed her again. Laughing, she struggled out of his hold. “You must be getting better.”

Just being near him filled her with yearning, she wanted him so. But if the servants told his mother, it would make for a very bad beginning.

Gina had nightmares about Blair’s mother. A baron’s daughter. Well, she was a baron’s daughter too, if from the wrong side of the blanket. She made Blair promise never to tell his mother the truth of her parentage. She was to be Milo’s legitimate daughter for all intents and purposes. She owed more to Milo than she ever did her father. After all, he’d done nothing to ensure her and her mother’s future before he died.

Gina swallowed nervously when later in the day, a carriage stopped in front of the house. Blair winked at her, took her hand, and squeezed it. “My mother is quick tempered, but always fair.”

“She may not like me.”

“How could she not?” he said and walked outside to greet his mother.

Gina waited in the hall. She’d paid careful attention to her appearance, choosing her most sober outfit. She fiddled with the collar of her high-necked, hazelnut crepe dress. Her clothes were a little loose. She’d lost weight worrying about Blair during those last difficult weeks. After Garrick helped them reach London, they’d stayed a month in Blair’s townhouse while he slowly recovered. She was glad her new clothes had been returned to her, for it gave her confidence as his fiancée when his friends and acquaintances called to see how he fared. His injury had even been mentioned in Parliament, and in the press. Speculation about the true story was rife, but she and Blair were determined it would never be made known. Gina had begged Blair to protect Jarred.

Gina had visited Fredrik Leighton and sat for him one last time. The Pear’s poster she had done appeared on walls and in the underground. The company expressed a wish for her to do more in the future, but it wasn’t the right time. Blair was agreeable, but now people stared at her wherever she went. She would prefer to stir their interest for a better cause than to sell soap. Blair ignored the gossip, but she hated to think she caused scandalous talk, for his sake. He cleverly swayed the journalist’s opinion, convincing them she was a heroine who saved his life when he was attacked by a robber. Even so, she was relieved when his health improved, and they could undertake the journey to Ireland.

A frail, middle-aged woman entered on her son’s arm, her gown exquisitely embroidered at the cuffs and hem, a fringed shawl decorated with peonies on her shoulders. She had been a beauty, with a fine-boned face, but ill health ravished her fair skin, and dark shadows lay beneath her brown eyes. Gina saw no sign of fragility in those eyes, however, as she met her challenging gaze.

Gina lifted her chin. She planned to be the best wife in the world to Blair. She would fight for the chance if she had to.

Blair ushered his mother toward Gina. “Mother, this is Gina,” he said simply.

“How do you do.”

“It is good to meet you at last,” Gina said. “Blair has told me a lot about you.”

With a curt nod, Maeve turned back to Blair. “Are you better today?” She patted his cheek as they walked into the parlor.

“I’m getting stronger every day.” Blair propped his walking stick against the sofa and sank down.

Gina placed a pillow behind his head. She turned to his mother. “You’ve had a long journey. Would you care for tea?” She’d discovered the Irish were just as keen on their tea as the English.

“I’m sure Sarah has already seen to it.” Maeve sat beside Blair studying him with a worried frown.

Aware that this was Maeve’s home too, Gina said. “I’ll go and see.”

“No need for that, surely,” Maeve said. “Just ring the bell.”

“You don’t know Gina, Mother,” Blair grinned. “She has spent many hours in the kitchen since we came here. She’s taken cook in hand and the meals are superb.” He patted his flat stomach. “If I don’t get out of this chair soon, I’ll be as fat as farmer O’Leary’s prize sow.”

Maeve’s delicate brows rose as she turned to look at Gina. “You cook?”

“I enjoy it.” Gina met her gaze unflinchingly.

“She can ride like the devil and drive the trap,” Blair said. “Took a meal out to John Talbert, this morning. He’s been poorly.”

“On her own?”

“Couldn’t talk her out of it,” Blair said despairingly.

“You are finding your way around then, Gina,” Maeve said, her tone softening.

“I enjoy it. Ireland is so beautiful.”

Blair told his mother how Gina had persuaded Jarred to take him to a doctor. And how, after he’d recovered sufficiently, she’d tended to him on their journey home. “Saved my life. No question,” he said with a warm smile at Gina.

The critical expression faded from Maeve’s eyes. “I plan to stay until the wedding,” she said. “Now that Blair is recovering; you shall need a chaperone. After your wedding, I intend to make my permanent home in Dublin. Young people need time to be alone. Do you know,” she said, studying Gina’s figure, “Your figure isn’t unlike mine when I was young. You might be able to wear my wedding gown with little alteration. If you cared to, of course. I kept it for the daughter I never had. It’s made of fine Venetian lace.”

“How lovely! I would be honored. Thank you.” Gina, never able to hide her feelings for long, rushed to hug her.

The woman’s slim body felt fragile in Gina’s arms. But she relaxed, and her eyes grew misty. “Call me Mamma, I don’t hold with modern ideas.”

* * *

 

The wedding was to be held in the small stone village church, attended by a few close friends and relatives, and some parishioners and tenant farmers. Blair had not wished Gina to be intimidated by a society wedding held in Dublin, he shared her desire for a small country wedding and surprisingly his mother agreed.

He was inordinately pleased when she expressed a fondness for Gina. “You have chosen well,” she said when they were alone. “Gina will make you a good wife.”

“I had a good model.”

“Surprisingly, she is a little like me when a young woman. She has spirit.”

Fully restored to health, Blair discarded his cane. He and Gina enjoyed their first ride together. He proudly showed her about his estate.

They reined in beside the lough and dismounted, and he held his bride-to-be in his arms. “I want you so much, Gina,” he said into her hair. It was torture seeing her every day and not being able to make love to her. He wanted her with every fiber of his being.

“I want you too, Blair, but...” Gina hesitated. “I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

He drew back in amazement. “Why would you think such a thing?”

“The only knowledge I have of making love is the advice my friend, Mabel gave me. And I’ve forgotten most of it.”

He gave a peel of laughter. “Thank God you have forgotten it.” He kissed her so soundly until they drew away breathless. “I shall delight in teaching you, my love, but I feel you have much to teach me.”

The day of the wedding dawned sunny and warm. Blair was overwhelmed with emotion as he watched Gina walk down the aisle. She was stunning. His mother’s lace wedding gown floated around her, and white flowers decorated her hair. She had not demurred when Maeve took over the arrangements with her usual efficiency. “She will enjoy being busy,” Gina had said with her usual wisdom. “Mamma has so little to do these days.” 

As he’d expected, Maeve had excelled in the task. Her enormous urns arrived from Dublin and were filled with fragrant flowers. The only thing Gina had fought Maeve on was her bouquet. She insisted on yellow roses. Blair had learned the significance of the roses from Gina’s childhood. How right she’d been, they were perfect.

The wedding breakfast was held in the Dunleavy House ballroom. Old Ben Quayle, a local farmer, drank too much whiskey and began to sing. He was forgiven, however, for he had a fine voice. The Irish love to sing, he’d told Gina. “So do the Italians,” she’d answered smiling at him. The fiddlers struck up, and Blair led his beautiful bride in the bridal waltz.

True to her word, after the last guests left, Maeve had her trunk taken out to the carriage. She took Gina’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks. “You’ll do, daughter,” she said softly.

She departed for Dunleavy Court, leaving the lovers alone.