Always a Lady Page 12

  “No one at St. Agnes’s misses seven o’clock mass,” she said. “Unless one is ill. And even then, Reverend Mother always insists that it is best to get up and move about because the Lord frowns upon the lazy.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, miss,” Mrs. Kearney said. “I don’t doubt that the Reverend Mother believes what she says, but it does seem strange to me that the poor and those of us in service and in trade get up early and work hard, while the wealthy lie abed. If the Lord is frowning upon them, I wish that he would frown upon me.”

  Mariah laughed. “It does seem to be quite turned around, doesn’t it? But I don’t mind as long as it gives me more time to attend to my charity work.” She turned to the butler. “And if it is just the same to you, Ford, I see no reason why His Lordship has to know anything about this—unless he asks directly.”

  “Quite so, miss.” With that, Ford bowed slightly and left the kitchen in order to procure the food hampers.

  “Thank you for helping out, miss,” the housekeeper said when Ford left the room.

  “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Kearney,” Mariah replied. “In truth, I dread giving it up.” She looked at the housekeeper. “For I truly enjoy baking.”

  “It’s a good thing, too,” Mrs. Kearney said. “For you’ll be doing plenty of it today.”

  “Please stop me in time to meet Lord Kilgannon for mass.”

  “Not to worry, miss, we’ll have you out of here in plenty of time.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nothing is good or bad but by Comparison.

  —THOMAS FULLER, 1654–1734

  Mrs. Kearney was as good as her word.

  Mariah was dressed in her best black dress and seated at the breakfast room table sipping a cup of tea when Kit came downstairs at a quarter past eight for breakfast.

  “You’re prompt,” Kit said. “I appreciate that quality in a lady.”

  “I have many qualities for you to appreciate, Lord Kilgannon.” The look and the smile she gave him was every bit as mysterious as the one on da Vinci’s Mona Lisa.

  Kit was a bit taken aback. “I trust you’ve recovered from your bout of nerves.”

  “Quite recovered. Thank you.”

  She spoke the truth. He studied her closely looking for the telltale traces of a night spent crying, but other than a slight redness around the rim of her eyes, there was no sign of any tears. He tried again. “And I trust you slept well.”

  “The clear of conscience always sleep well,” she answered. “And you?”

  Kit frowned. She had an edge to her this morning that he wasn’t certain he deserved after the way he had tried to comfort her last night. But Kit had a mother and two sisters, and he recognized the fact that, despite her protest to the contrary, she was not over her bout of nerves at all. “Quite well. Thank you for asking.”

  Mariah took a sip of tea and watched as he poured himself a cup from the urn on the sideboard, then sat down at the table. Ford appeared at his elbow almost instantly, and Mariah found herself awed by the fact that the butler could move so quickly and so quietly.

  “Breakfast, sir?”

  Kit shook his head. “It’s too early for me. Toast and tea will do.”

  “As you wish, my lord.” Ford walked to the sideboard and returned with a rack of freshly toasted bread and a condiment tray containing a selection of preserves, jams, and marmalades.

  “Will your friends be joining you this morning, sir?” he asked.

  “No.” Kit lifted his cup of tea and drank from it. “Lord Everleigh and Mr. Mirrant have elected to remain in bed this morning. I’ll join them for a full breakfast after church.”

  Mariah studied him covertly, noting the red streaks in his eyes, the shadows beneath his eyes, the tiny cut on his chin, and the raw scrape along his jaw. “Late night?” she asked sweetly. Too sweetly.

  Refusing to be baited, Kit looked over at her and answered, “Very late.” He unfolded the freshly ironed Dubliner Ford handed him, then remembered his manners and glanced at Mariah. “I generally read the newspaper at breakfast. Have you any objection?”

  “I am your ward, Your Lordship, not your wife. It is not my place to object to any of your habits.”

  Kit looked over the top of the newspaper at her. “Or to comment on them, I hope.”

  Mariah bit her cheek to keep from smiling at his wit. Reaching for the small pot of tea sitting on the table, she lifted it from the warmer and refilled her cup. “More tea?”

  He extended a delicate Wedgwood cup and saucer.

  Mariah poured tea into the cup.

  Kit sniffed at it. “What kind of tea is this?”

  “Herb,” she answered.

  “You drink first,” he ordered. “I want to make certain it isn’t hemlock.”

  Mariah sipped her tea. “You think I would poison you, my lord?”

  “Maybe.” Kit gave the liquid in his cup another suspicious sniff. “Otherwise, why drink this stuff when there’s good tea in the house?”

  “Because this one soothes away the headache. Regular tea does not.”

  He drank the herb tea, shuddering at the taste, before offering his cup to her to refill. “In that case, I need a gallon of the stuff before we go to church.”

  “Don’t you like church?” she asked.

  “Certainly,” he answered. “I have no quibbles with church. It’s the sermons I find so tiresome.” He laid the newspaper aside and gave her his complete attention. “And I would think that after growing up in a convent, you would find them even more so.”

  “I enjoy the pageantry of mass,” she answered honestly. “The words and language, the incense, and the music. I even enjoy Father Francis’s sermons.”

  “You must be joking.”

  She shook her head. “It’s the Reverend Mother’s sermons that I find tiresome. There isn’t a single one I haven’t heard at least twice. It seemed that I was always in trouble.”

  “That sharp tongue of yours, no doubt.”

  “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But mostly I was punished for having a strong will. You can’t imagine how many rosaries I’ve prayed over the years or how many floors I’ve scrubbed and windows I’ve washed or how many masses I had to attend in order to atone for my transgressions.”

  Kit leaned toward her. “You don’t have to worry about that any longer. No one is going to force you to attend church if you don’t want to go.”

  “I’ve gone to church all my life,” she said. “I don’t think I would feel right about not going. I admit there are times when I’d like to be lazy and lie abed in the mornings, but the teachings and habits of a lifetime aren’t as easy to forget as one might expect.”

  Kit thought about the night before. He’d forgotten a lifetime of gentlemanly behavior in a matter of seconds. He’d willingly discarded his ethics for the opportunity to kiss his ward. And, despite his promise to the contrary, he knew that if he didn’t keep a safe distance, it would happen again. Thousands of battles of good against evil were fought each day in men’s consciences. And he shuddered to think how many surrendered as easily as he had. “It’s not as difficult as you think,” he told her. “People give in to temptation every day. Take your baking …”

  Mariah steeled herself for what was to come.

  “Many people find the sweets you bake a temptation too great to resist. But I’m not one of them. I am more tempted by—” He had almost admitted that he was more tempted by the baker than the baked goods, but he caught himself in time. “Other things.”

  “What things?” Mariah whispered.

  Kit stared at her mouth. Her lips were a rosy color, soft and as sweet as … “Cherries.”

  “Cherries, my lord?”

  “Cherries, pears, apples, oranges. Fruit,” he answered, feeling very foolish for allowing his thoughts to escape his lips. “I find fruit infinitely more tempting than pastries.”

  “Adam was tempted by fruit,” Mariah reminded him.

  Kit inhaled. “And he paid d
early for it.”

  “Then I suppose the question is not whether a man is tempted,” Mariah said. “But whether or not he is willing to pay the price for surrendering to that temptation.”

  “It depends upon the temptation.” He couldn’t stop staring at her. “And the man.”

  “A man may choose to resist the temptation of pastries because he’s not willing to pay the price of a double chin.” Mariah fixed her gaze on Kit’s strong chin and firm jaw. “But he may willingly succumb to the temptation of drink and the aching head that follows it.”

  “If his weakness for strong drink exceeds his weakness for strawberry tarts,” Kit finished the thought. “But either weakness will tell on him in the end. And every man is tempted by something. The only way to keep from succumbing to temptation is to avoid it.”

  “Are you good at it?”

  Kit blinked.

  “Are you good at avoiding temptation, Lord Kilgannon?”

  “Not as good as I would like to be.”

  Mariah gave him a knowing smile. “Neither am I.”

  “Then we mustn’t be late for church.” Kit picked up the silver bell on the table and rang for Ford. “Have the carriage sent around straightaway.”

  “Very good, sir.” Ford bowed. “It will be waiting at the front door as soon as we finish loading the hampers.”

  “What hampers?” Kit asked.

  “Food hampers for the poor,” Ford elaborated. “It’s tradition for the new master of Telamor Castle to present his annual tithe and food hampers for the poor on his first day at church.”

  “I thought that was Easter,” Kit said.

  “I believe you’re correct, sir,” Ford agreed. “In England. Here at Telamor, we observe the tradition at Easter and Saint Elizabeth’s Day.”

  “I’m to pay annual tithes twice?”

  “You do hold two titles, sir,” Ford took a deep breath. “But it is perfectly acceptable for you to make one offering and pay half at Easter and half on Saint Elizabeth’s Day.”

  “Since I wasn’t in residence at Easter, I’ll pay them today.” He stood up. “Thank you, Ford, for reminding me of my duty and for preparing the food hampers.”

  “You are quite welcome, sir, but I cannot take credit for the reminder or the food hampers. It has been so long since we had a master in residence that I had forgotten all about the Saint Elizabeth’s Day observance until I heard Miss Mariah remark upon the date.”

  Kit turned to Mariah. “How did you know of the tradition at Telamor?”

  Mariah started to form a reply when Ford leaped to her rescue. “Most likely from her mother. You see, sir, Miss Shaughnessy’s mother grew up here.”

  “In Inismorn?” Kit asked.

  “At Telamor, my lord.”

  Kit gripped the back of his chair for support. “I was under the impression that my relative, the late earl, lived here with his only child.”

  “Oh, no, sir,” Ford answered. “There were two.”

  “Two?” Kit repeated.

  “Two young ladies, sir. Lady Siobhan grew up with your mother. They were inseparable.”

  The hair at the back of Kit’s neck stood on end. He had never heard his mother mention Lady Siobhan. Never recalled hearing her name spoken, but his mother didn’t talk much about her past. Kit knew that she had been married before she met his father and that both her father and first husband had been renowned naturalists. But her father had died while Kit was an infant, and she had never made mention of the fact that her father held an Irish title—that he had been the earl of Kilgannon. And neither did she say that Telamor Castle had been her childhood home, even when he learned he had inherited it. As far as Kit knew, the trip to Telamor eight years prior had been his mother’s first and only visit—and it had only come at Martin Bell’s suggestion.

  He also knew about the rumors. Ugly rumors, and Kit had heard them all. His parents had tried to protect him, but there was no way they could keep him from hearing what was said about them or the speculation surrounding his birth. He had heard that he had been fathered by the fifteenth marquess, and then there were the rumors that his mother wasn’t really his mother and that he hadn’t been born a Ramsey at all. Kit knew that his father had been the fifteenth marquess, but he didn’t care which marquess had fathered him, because Drew Ramsey, the sixteenth marquess of Templeston, was the only father he remembered.

  But the other rumor was a different matter. The other rumor was unthinkable. To suggest that neither of his parents were really his parents meant that his whole life had been a lie …

  Kit refused to believe it. His mother had simply never mentioned her close friend. But then, he had never heard his mother mention friends or relatives in Ireland, and except for a few weeks the summer of his eighth year, they had never visited Telamor Castle again.

  Kit looked from the butler to Mariah. “My mother doesn’t speak of her past very often, so I was unaware of her close relationship to your mother or the traditional observance of Saint Elizabeth’s Day. Thank you for remembering and seeing that the food hampers were prepared.”

  “I was happy to attend to it, sir.” Mariah gave him a breathtaking smile. “I have yet to gain the necessary training to become a lady, but I am familiar with some of their responsibilities, and I believe charity work is one of them.”

  He released his grip on the chair. “I’ll need to get some money from the safe before we leave.” He started toward the door. “And since I assume your chaperone is breaking her fast in her bedchamber, you’ll need to collect her for church.”

  “Sister Mary Beatrix has already been to church.”

  Kit frowned. “When?”

  “At seven this morning,” Mariah answered, “with the rest of the residents of St. Agnes’s.”

  “But she will be driving into the village with us.” He had meant it as a statement, but Mariah shook her head.

  “What the devil is the use of having a chaperone if she never attends to her duty?” Kit demanded.

  Ford cleared his throat. “Strictly speaking, sir, it wouldn’t be proper for Miss Mariah to ride in a carriage with a man, but as you are going to church and since you are her legal guardian, it is permissible.”

  “Are you in mourning for someone, Miss Shaughnessy?” Kit asked.

  “No, sir. Why do you ask?”

  “You’re wearing black again this morning. I thought, perhaps, you were in mourning. You told me when I asked last evening that you owned two other dresses. I expected something other than black for church.”

  She glanced down at her skirts. “All the girls at St. Agnes’s wear black.”

  “You’re not at St. Agnes’s any longer,” Kit stated.

  “Nor am I able to fashion a new dress overnight,” was Mariah’s waspish response. “Black or any other color.”

  “Then the seamstress will be the first order of business.”

  Ford cleared his throat again. “May I say, sir, that I’ve already taken the liberty of sending for the seamstress? She will be here when you and Miss Mariah return from services.”

  “My prayers have been answered already.” Kit breathed a sigh of thanks.

  “I’ve also taken the liberty of posting discreet notices for a music teacher and a dance master so that Miss Mariah’s lessons might begin tomorrow as scheduled.”

  “Thank you,” Kit reached for his teacup and grimaced as he took a swallow. He glanced at Mariah and saw that she was frowning. “What’s the matter?”

  Mariah sighed. “I was looking forward to a trip to the dressmaker’s shop.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, well, you’ve probably been to one before.” She paused momentarily. “With your mistress.”

  Kit would have had to be a fool or a slow-witted dunce to miss such an obvious ploy. “I don’t have a mistress—at the moment. And if I did, it would be most ungentlemanly of me to discuss her with you over breakfast.” He would also have to be a fool or a slow-witted dunce to miss Mariah’s si
gh of relief. He was neither. “But it has been my excruciating duty to escort my mother and my sisters to their dressmaker’s on occasion where I was required to sit for long periods of time sipping tea and offering opinions and advice on colors and styles while assistants paraded bolt after bolt of cloth and trim and trinkets.”

  “It sounds wonderful!”

  “Believe me,” Kit said dryly, “it isn’t.”

  “That’s your opinion,” Mariah retorted. “And you’re a man. I’d like to see it all for myself, and now I won’t get to.”

  “Don’t be disappointed, miss. I’ll see that Madame Thierry brings her assistants and everything she needs to the castle.” He turned to Kit. “If there’s no objection, she can set up shop here at the castle until Miss Mariah completes her wardrobe selections. It will be much more comfortable for the master to view the proceedings at home rather than in the close confines of a shop filled with feminine frills. And,” Ford added, “it’s much more impressive to send for the woman rather than have to wait for service.”

  Kit nodded his consent. “Very good, Ford. Make the arrangements and have the carriage waiting at the front door when I return. And have someone saddle my mount and tie him to the back of the vehicle. I may be delayed in town, but there’s no reason for Miss Shaughnessy to miss her appointment with the seamstress. I won’t be a minute,” Kit promised as he left the room on his way to his study.

  “Good,” Mariah announced, almost bouncing up and down on her chair with excitement, willing to take her penance with a smile. For the seamstress would come afterward. “Because I don’t want to wait a minute longer.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  ’Tis a sad but true fact of life that oftentimes the most

  stirring of sermons pales in comparison to the excitement

  brought about by the purchase of a new frock.

  —FATHER FRANCIS O’MEARA, 1778–1861

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  “Again?” The question was out before Father Francis could stop it.