The Mother Superior wrinkled her brow. “Not young, I’m afraid. But a fine-looking man of middle years.”
“Are you certain that a young, handsome man hasn’t asked for me?”
“I’m quite certain,” the Reverend Mother said. “Why? Do you know such a gentleman?”
“No, Reverend Mother. I just hoped …”
The look in the Mother Superior’s eyes softened. “Every young girl hopes for a suitor that is young and handsome, my child. But I’m afraid that life doesn’t always work out that way. The gentleman who asked for your hand in marriage is a local squire. Squire Bellamy.” She looked at Mariah kindly. “He’s a very respectable man and quite well-to-do. Perhaps you have heard of him?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, it may be that that is just as well. Squire Bellamy is a most satisfactory suitor. He has passed the first glow of youth, but he is not so advanced in age that he’s seeking a nursemaid. Although I’m told there are advantages to both. A young man is more apt to sow wild oats and to break your heart, while an older gentleman knows what he wants. He is settled and content and once you produce an heir, an older husband is not as apt to bother you overmuch with the more carnal aspects of the marriage bed. You could do much worse than Squire Bellamy. He may not possess a title, but he is a gentleman enamored of you.”
“How could he be?” Mariah asked. “He has never met me. Nor I him.”
“He must have seen you. He knew you by name. I thought that …” She let her words trail off.
“Thought what?” Mariah asked.
“I thought that perhaps he was the reason you sneaked out of the convent several times a month.”
Mariah bit her bottom lip. The reason she sneaked out of the convent several times a month was to look at the stars from her secret vantage point in the ruins of the tower. If she also hoped that her betrothed would find her there, that was her secret. She had never breathed a word of her betrothal to anyone. “I have no interest in meeting Squire Bellamy at night or at any other time of day.”
“I wouldn’t be so quick to refuse his offer if I were you,” the Reverend Mother said. “He appears to be genuinely interested in you.”
Mariah sniffed. “In me or in my fortune?”
“In you. The squire showed no interest at all in your fortune, and I made certain he was aware of the rather unusual terms of your trust. He seemed perfectly willing to marry you right away. There would be no reason to wait until your birthday.”
“What are the rather unusual terms, Reverend Mother?” Mariah asked. “No one has ever explained them to me or what my day of birth has to do with them?”
The Mother Superior was taken aback for a moment. “I don’t suppose anyone has ever explained the terms of your parents’ will or your mother’s last request. You were so young when she died and such a brokenhearted little thing, crying for her mama. I don’t suppose you remember much about her.”
Mariah bristled at that suggestion. “I have no memory of our life in London when my da was alive. But I remember coming to Ireland with my mother. I remember living in a big house, and I remember the way my mama looked and smelled and the sound of her voice when she told me stories as we walked along the shore and when she tucked me into bed at night.” Mariah paused. She hadn’t thought about it in years, but suddenly she remembered the warm, comforting smell of her mother’s favorite fragrance surrounding her as her mother tucked the bed linens around her before she went to sleep each night—it was one of the things Mariah missed most. No one tucked you into bed at the convent. “I’ve tried to remember everything she told me. But she didn’t talk about our fortune—except to say that even though my da had died unexpectedly, he had left us well provided and that if anything happened to her, Father Francis would see that I was well taken care of.” Mariah looked at the Mother Superior. “I don’t know how my mother died or the terms of my trust.”
“Your mother died from injuries she suffered in a fall. She was found on the rocks below the ruins of the old tower at Telamor Castle. We brought her to the convent in order to make her as comfortable as possible until …” The Reverend Mother struggled to find the right words. “You were five and already attending day classes here at St. Agnes’s. Your mother asked that you be permitted to stay. When she died, we granted that request. You remained with us. According to the terms of your trust, and your mother’s last wishes, if you marry before you reach the age of one and twenty, you shall forfeit all but a very modest stipend of your inheritance.”
“Why would the squire be willing to forfeit my fortune?”
“It’s only money. That’s what the squire said to me when I explained that St. Agnes’s charter would not permit young women to remain past the age of one and twenty unless they agreed to join the order. Squire Bellamy assured me that he would be honored to make you his wife and to provide a good home for you—with or without your fortune.” She reached out and placed her palm on Mariah’s cheek. “That is what convinced me that he would make you a good husband. You and I have had our differences over the years. But, believe it or not, Mariah, I do want what is best for you, and I am not convinced that going to live with a guardian of whom we know nothing is best for you—even if Father Francis assures me that he will make certain that your guardian understands that part of his duty is to prepare you for a London season and to find a suitable sponsor for you.”
Mariah frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither did I until I spoke with Father Francis about you this morning. I knew that you had a trust and that your expenses were paid from that trust, but I assumed you were a ward of the church, like our other orphans, and that Father Francis was your guardian. But it turns out that, in the case of their deaths, your parents gave you into the care of the earl of Kilgannon.”
“Why?”
“He was your mother’s guardian when she became an orphan. But the old earl died before your mother’s unfortunate accident. Father Francis acted as your guardian until the new earl of Kilgannon assumed responsibility for Telamor Castle and for you.”
“My mother lived at Telamor Castle?” Mariah asked, amazed.
The Mother Superior nodded. “So did you until your mother’s accident.”
Mariah was stunned. Why hadn’t she known about her mother’s manner of death before now? Why hadn’t she remembered living at Telamor Castle or heard about her guardian before now?
The Reverend Mother must have read the questions on her face because she answered them before Mariah could form the words. “Lord Kilgannon has only recently come into his inheritance, and the reason you have never heard of him is because I only learned of him when I spoke to Father Francis about you this morning.”
“Oh.”
“Father Francis will take you to meet Lord Kilgannon and if he meets our approval, you will leave St. Agnes’s and become your guardian’s responsibility.”
“And if Lord Kilgannon doesn’t meet with your approval?” Mariah asked.
“You will still be his ward, of course, but Father Francis and I will see that you remain here until you come of age. If your betrothal to Squire Bellamy meets with your guardian’s approval, you will marry him. If your guardian disapproves of Squire Bellamy, then he will see that you go to London for the season.”
“I don’t want to marry Squire Bellamy or have a season in London.”
“Your mother wanted it for you,” the Reverend Mother said. “She made Father Francis and me promise to provide you with that opportunity. It was her dying wish, and we cannot refuse it.”
“She wanted me to marry Squire Bellamy sight unseen?” Was she being too hasty? Was it possible that her mother had betrothed her to the squire before Mariah had accepted Kit’s proposal? Would the first proposal nullify the second?
The Reverend Mother shook her head. “No, she wanted you to have a London season.”
“Then how did I come to be betrothed to Squire Bellamy?”
“That, I’m afraid, was my doing. You
see, I accepted Squire Bellamy’s proposal on your behalf before I knew you had another legal guardian.”
“Can’t you unaccept it?” Mariah asked.
“It isn’t that simple. Other people are involved now—Father Francis, the Church, Lord Kilgannon, even Lord Kilgannon’s solicitor. I can inform the squire that I accepted his proposal in error, that I did not know you had another guardian, but that doesn’t change the fact that he made an offer of good faith for you or that I accepted his troth.”
“Then I suppose you’ll have to marry him.” Mariah meant it as a joke, but the Mother Superior didn’t find any humor in the flippant remark.
“Mariah!” The Reverend Mother was truly shocked by the girl’s irreverent insolence. “I couldn’t marry the squire even if I desired it. I’m married to the church.”
“And did you accept the church’s proposal, Reverend Mother, or did someone else accept it on your behalf?”
“You made your point, Mariah. There’s no need for further blasphemy. I suggest you pack your things and say your good-byes. I never expected you to be so ungrateful. From this moment on, you are Lord Kilgannon’s problem. I wash my hands of you. Be ready to leave for Telamor right after matins.”
Mariah swallowed the lump in her throat. “Why don’t I leave right after vespers? I was going there later tonight anyway.”
Chapter Five
Every departure has an arrival.
—TURKISH PROVERB
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been eight hours since my last confession.”
Father Francis recognized the voice on the opposite side of the partition and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from chuckling. “What terrible sin have you committed in the eight hours since your last confession, my child?”
“I forgot to keep the fourth commandment, Father.”
“Tell me what you have done, my child?”
“I was insolent to the Reverend Mother,” she answered. “I didn’t mean to make her angry, Father, or to seem ungrateful.”
“The Reverend Mother suggested that you were ungrateful?”
“Yes, Father.” Mariah nodded her head even though she knew he wouldn’t see it through the partition. “I know I shouldn’t have said it, but I truly never meant to blaspheme.”
“The Reverend Mother believes you blasphemed?” Father Francis sucked in a breath. Blasphemy was a serious offense and he knew the Mother Superior would never level such an accusation without extreme provocation. “What did you say to the Mother Superior that offended her so?”
“I suggested that since Reverend Mother had accepted Squire Bellamy’s proposal without my knowledge, she should be the one to marry him.”
“That would do it.” Father Francis was seized by a paroxysm of coughing.
“Are you all right, Father?” Mariah pressed her nose against the partition separating the compartments of the confessional. “Should I fetch you a pint of stout? A cup of tea? A glass of water? Or call Mrs. Flynn?”
Struggling to regain control, Father Francis finally managed to breathe without coughing. “There’s no need to alarm Mrs. Flynn. She has enough to do as housekeeper here without worrying about me. Besides, I’m quite recovered.”
“Thank goodness.” Mariah whispered a prayer of thanks. “Forgive me for rushing you, Father, so soon after your fit of coughing, but if you don’t mind, I’d like my penance now. I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“What’s the rush?”
“I have a journey to make tonight, and I’d like to get started before dark.” She gently nudged the little brass lantern sitting on the floor beside her valise with the toe of her black boot. She had never been afraid of traveling in the dark and even less so since he had given her his lantern. Next to her mother’s jewelry, which had been kept in the safe in the Mother Superior’s office in the convent until the Reverend Mother had released it and sent Sister Mary Beatrix to present it to her this afternoon, and a small white linen handkerchief monogrammed with the letter K, the little brass lantern was Mariah’s most precious possession.
Father Francis leaned close to the partition and whispered. “You aren’t planning to sneak away from St. Agnes’s again tonight, are you, my dear?”
Although the partition between the compartments in the confessional was meant to protect the privacy of the penitent, Father Francis served as confessor to nearly everyone in Inismorn and knew his parishioners by the sound of their voices. Although he would die before he would ever reveal her secrets, he decided it was time to let Mariah know he recognized her voice.
“No, Father. Not tonight. Or ever again,” Mariah confessed. “It won’t be necessary any longer. I’m going to live with my guardian.”
“Tonight?” The priest’s voice rose in alarm.
“Reverend Mother ordered me to be ready to leave after matins tomorrow, but I told her that since I was no longer a ward of the church, there was no need for me to delay my departure from church property. I decided to leave after vespers. Unfortunately, Sister Mary Beatrix wasn’t ready. She refused to leave St. Agnes’s until tomorrow morning.”
“Your guardian isn’t in residence yet, and at any rate, you cannot go to Telamor Castle by yourself.”
“Why not?”
“You’re a young woman. You cannot live in an unmarried gentleman’s house without a chaperone. You must wait for Sister Mary Beatrix.”
“Oh.” Her voice quivered. “I can’t go back to the convent, Father. Reverend Mother is very angry with me. She washed her hands of me because I don’t want to accept the squire’s offer of marriage.”
“What do you want?” Father Francis heard the note of panic in her voice and asked the question no one else had bothered to ask.
“I want what my mother wanted for me.”
“Your mother wanted you to have a season in London, and I promised her that I would see that it was arranged,” Father Francis told her.
“Can it be arranged? Will my guardian agree to it?” she asked.
“Yes,” Father Francis promised. “I’ll make certain of it.”
Mariah took a shaky breath. “Then I suppose I’ll go to Telamor first thing in the morning.” It wouldn’t be the first time she’d spend the night waiting in the ruined tower.
Father Francis nodded. “You shall spend tonight as our guest at the rectory. Come with me. We’ll go find Mrs. Flynn. You can help her prepare the guest room and perhaps lend a hand in the kitchen.”
“I could bake some of those strawberry pastries you like,” Mariah said. “If Mrs. Flynn doesn’t mind.”
Father Francis chuckled. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He stood up and opened the door to the confessional. “Come, my child, let’s get you settled in tonight, and I’ll go to St. Agnes’s and collect Sister Mary Beatrix first thing in the morning, then take you both to the castle.”
She remained seated. “Father?”
He paused. “Yes, my child?”
“You forgot my penance.”
The priest smiled. “My dear, you confessed your sin and expressed true remorse. That’s penance enough for me. Go in God and sin no more.”
* * *
“Didn’t I tell you it was beautiful?” Kit shouted to Dalton and Ash as they topped the rise in the road that led to the tiny village of Inismorn and gazed out over the land surrounding it.
“There’s no doubt about that,” Dalton agreed. “I think it’s as pretty as anything I’ve ever seen.”
“Prettier than Swanslea Park?” Kit teased his friend, knowing that Dalton thought Swanslea Park was the loveliest spot in all of England.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Dalton retorted. “But I will say it’s the prettiest Irish estate I’ve ever seen.”
“Based on your vast experience …” Ash interjected.
“It may not be vast,” Dalton admitted, “but I have been to Ireland before, and I have been a guest at other Irish country estates.”
“So have I.” Kit stood in the ir
ons and surveyed his inheritance. “But this one is the one I remember most. And I had no idea that it was mine.”
Everything, except the village and the convent, belonged to him. All of the land as far as the eye could see—twenty-six thousand acres of it—including the castle rising above the mist in the distance, was his. His land. His castle. His place. And by Jove, but it was beautiful!
Kit grinned. He owned a castle. Two castles. And he was eager to inspect his Irish castle and set up housekeeping on the property. To the right of the new castle stood the crumbling ruin of the tower of the original Telamor Castle. The tower, perched on the cliffs, was all that remained of an ancient Norman fortress built to defend the shoreline from marauding Vikings. The “new” castle, built during the reign of Henry VIII, had been constructed farther inland, but the tower remained to mark the spot of the original castle.
Kit had fallen in love with Telamor the summer his parents brought him here. He had been eight at the time and enthralled with the stories of chivalry and the Knights of the Round Table. He had been drawn to the ruins of the original tower the way a honeybee was drawn to blossoms. At the time neither they nor he had known it belonged to him. His mother had been working on her massive volumes of Flora and Fauna Native to Britain and was sketching the wildlife of Ireland. Their family solicitor had suggested Telamor Castle as a base from which to work.
It had been the most memorable summer of Kit’s life.
Even now, staring out over the landscape, Kit found it hard to believe that he owned it. But their family solicitor had known. Martin had been the one to deliver the letters—one from the priest of the late earl of Kilgannon telling of the earl’s death and enclosing the deeds to the estate and the earl’s will. The other letter was from George Ramsey, the fifteenth marquess of Templeston, and although Kit carried it with him, he had never opened and read it. He wasn’t stupid. Kit knew the rumors and he had grown up in the house with his mother and Drew. He knew Drew wasn’t his real father, but he liked to pretend that he was. Kit didn’t remember George Ramsey, and he wasn’t yet ready to read words that would bring the truth home. He wasn’t a coward; he simply preferred to keep the status quo.