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“Not necessarily,” Father Francis reminded her.

  The nun looked up at him.

  “I thought we might send Mariah over to the castle with a few dozen or so of those luscious strawberry tarts she makes. You know the ones I’m so fond of. The ones she bakes when I come to supper …”

  The Reverend Mother was skeptical. “By herself? Suppose he mistakes her for the cook instead of his ward? What then? Do we wait until he’s settled in and the household is running smoothly, then go to Lord Kilgannon and explain that his ward is baking his pastries?”

  “I wasn’t suggesting that she go alone,” Father Francis corrected. “Only that she be there to welcome him when he arrives.”

  She frowned at the priest. “I don’t know much about the nobility, but in my experience, an excess of pride goes part and parcel with inherited titles. I don’t imagine the new earl of Kilgannon would find the prospect of his ward slaving over a hot oven amusing.”

  Father Francis’s eyes twinkled with merriment. “I don’t know about that,” he teased. “I’ve heard it said that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Mariah may not be able to dance or to tell a duke from a baron, but she can cook and that might prove useful.”

  “What gentleman is going to care if she can cook as long as he gains access to her fortune?”

  “You’ve a point there,” Father Francis admitted. “There is a question, not only of what to do with Mariah, but what to do with her fortune.”

  “If she joins the order, her fortune will go to the Holy Church in Rome,” the Mother Superior said. “We take a vow of poverty.”

  The priest shook his head. “Her money is held in trust. She cannot claim it until she’s married, and she cannot marry until she reaches the age of one and twenty. If she marries before the age of one and twenty, the bulk of her fortune reverts to the Crown. She’ll have a small stipend to live on, but …” He shuddered. “Into the queen’s coffers it goes. If she chooses not to marry, her guardian retains control over her fortune until such time as he sees fit to turn it over to her, and if she joins a holy order, similar terms apply. Hers isn’t a great fortune, and Mariah could live modestly on the stipend. Of course, if she marries, her husband will gain control of her money and over her, but that’s better than losing it entirely. That’s why Lady Siobhan insisted her daughter be educated as a lady and to have at least one London season before the age of one and twenty. It was her way of making certain that Mariah would have the opportunity to make an advantageous marriage.” Father Francis paused, then turned to look at the Mother Superior. “Allowing the earl of Kilgannon to assume responsibility for Mariah may be the answer to your prayers. As long as we find someone willing to accompany her to the castle.”

  “You are going to accompany her,” the Reverend Mother said. “I wouldn’t trust anyone else.”

  “That goes without saying, of course,” Father Francis replied. “But I meant someone to accompany her permanently. Someone willing to reside at Telamor Castle with her. I don’t like the idea of sending Mariah into the household of a man of whom we know nothing.” Father Francis stared at the abbess. “Yet you advocate marrying her off to a man of whom we know nothing.”

  “Squire Bellamy has lived here for as long as I’ve been abbess.”

  “And we know almost nothing about him. He professes to be Catholic, yet he attends church rarely and has made no attempt to become a part of Inismorn society.” He paused long enough to give the Reverend Mother time to digest his words. “When it comes down to it, we know a great deal more about the new earl. He is the natural son of the fifteenth marquess of Templeston and the adopted son of the sixteenth marquess. And I’ve heard that the marquess of Templeston is a true gentleman.”

  The Reverend Mother gasped. “The marquess of Templeston is English.”

  “And so is his son,” Father Francis said. “Lord Christopher George Ramsey is the earl of Ramsey and the earl of Kilgannon.”

  The abbess shuddered. While her contact with the outside world was limited to Inismorn and its surroundings, her awareness of the behavior of many of the English lords who invaded the countryside during hunting season was extensive. She was Irish and English lords tended to ride roughshod over everything Irish with little or no regard for the destruction left in their wake. The abbess had seen hunters and hounds ride through potato fields and barnyards, through the village of Inismorn, and onto the post road, forcing farm carts and carriages out of the way as they leaped the stone wall surrounding St. Agnes’s in order to reach the downs behind it—all in pursuit of a fox with no consideration for the welfare of the villagers or the laborers in the fields, or the sisters working within St. Agnes’s walls. They were, after all, only Irish. And papists. Held in contempt by superior English noblemen. “Let’s hope that the old adage ‘Like father, like son’ holds true,” the abbess whispered. “I may have erred in accepting a proposal on Mariah’s behalf, but I did so in the earnest desire to see her safely wed to a gentleman. An Irish gentleman. And I’ve yet to meet an English equivalent. The young earl will have to meet my approval.”

  “Agreed,” the priest answered. “Do you have a suitable chaperone in mind?”

  “Sister Mary Beatrix is quite fond of Mariah, and because she is of an advanced age, I think she would be willing to retire from the hardship of life in the convent into a softer life at Telamor Castle.”

  “And if the old adage ‘Like mother, like daughter’ holds true, the young earl should have no trouble teaching Mariah how to become a lady, for her mother, Lady Siobhan, was every inch a lady.”

  It was the Reverend Mother’s turn to frown. “I just wish the girl wasn’t so tempting.”

  “If the young earl of Kilgannon is a gentleman, he’ll certainly be able to resist temptation.”

  “And if he isn’t?”

  “There will be all the more reason for Mariah to become a lady and for the young earl to stay.”

  “Father Francis!”

  The priest shrugged. “So, we are both guilty of matchmaking on Mariah’s behalf. You for the squire and me for young Kilgannon. But I’m also thinking about the good of my parish. Inismorn is in dire need of a savior. I haven’t seen Squire Bellamy rushing to the rescue, and Inismorn has waited far longer for a noble savior than anyone ever expected. I propose we be as forthcoming about her future as possible and leave the choice up to Mariah.”

  “Do you think a girl as sheltered and as inexperienced as Mariah can know what’s best for her?”

  The priest laughed. “Mariah knows her own heart. She’ll make the right decision.”

  “What if she doesn’t?”

  “Then she will learn from the experience. It is her future. Don’t you think it’s time we allow her to have a say in it?”

  Chapter Four

  I like the dreams of the future better

  than the history of the past.

  —THOMAS JEFFERSON, 1743–1826

  “Mariah?”

  Mariah Shaughnessy dropped the rake she was using to weed the kitchen herb garden. She stretched her back, brushed the dirt from her skirt, and looked up to find Sister Mary Zechariah standing over her.

  “The Reverend Mother wants to see you in her study right away.”

  Mariah picked up her garden rake and placed it in the chore basket beside the metal trowel, then pushed herself to her feet. “She knows?”

  The novitiate nodded. “Everyone knows.” She gave Mariah an encouraging smile. “One of the other sisters saw you climbing back over the north wall before matins. Of course, she felt duty bound to report your absence to the Reverend Mother.”

  That, of course, would be Sister Mary Damascus. Although she relished her role as the convent dragoon, Sister Mary Damascus had been forced to give up her attempts to follow Mariah. Sister Mary Damascus was too stout to climb over St. Agnes’s stone walls or to make the two-mile trek up the hilly path to the ruins of the ancient tower.

  “If the Reverend Mother and the sister were
the only two people who knew about my absence, how did everyone else find out?” Mariah asked.

  “The Reverend Mother was at her morning prayers and could not be disturbed at the time the sister saw you.” Sister Mary Zechariah’s cheeks reddened, and she gave Mariah an embarrassed look. “But she was bursting to tell someone, so she told Sister Mary Stephen who told Sister Mary Lazarus who told—”

  “Everyone else,” Mariah finished for her. Sister Mary Lazarus was an inveterate gossip who couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended upon it.

  Sister Mary Zechariah nodded. “Reverend Mother was the last to know.”

  Mariah grimaced. The Reverend Mother wouldn’t be happy about that. It was one thing for Mariah to sneak out of the convent on a regular basis when she and the Reverend Mother were the only residents of St. Agnes’s who were aware of her evening excursions. It was quite another for everyone in the convent to know.

  “Has she decided on my punishment?”

  “Not yet,” Sister Mary Zechariah answered. “But I wouldn’t fret too much about it if I were you. You’re already assigned to weeding the garden and scrubbing the floors. What more could the Reverend Mother do to punish you?”

  A great deal more, Mariah thought. The Reverend Mother could restrict her to her cell and take away her kitchen privileges. And she would, if Mariah didn’t tell her where she went at night.

  Mariah swiped the perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand, then glanced down at the dusty hem of her skirt. “Should I change my dress?”

  Sister Mary Zechariah nodded. “You should. Your dress is stained and there’s a smear of dirt on your face. But you don’t have time to change. The Reverend Mother said she didn’t want to be kept waiting.”

  Mariah made one last attempt to wipe the dirt from her face and clothes, then followed Sister Mary Zechariah into the convent.

  Mariah was tucking stray wisps of hair that had come loose from the twisted bun at the nape of her neck back into place when Sister Mary Zechariah came to an abrupt halt outside the door to the Reverend Mother’s office.

  “Good luck!” Sister Mary Zechariah whispered, reaching out to give Mariah’s hand a squeeze of encouragement. “I’ll light a candle for you. And pray for leniency.”

  “Thank you.” Mariah closed her eyes and murmured her own prayer for leniency, then lifted her hand and knocked on the door.

  The abbess looked up at the sound of Mariah’s knock. “Enter.”

  “You wanted to see me, Reverend Mother?”

  “Yes, Mariah, I did. We have important matters to discuss. Come in and close the door behind you.”

  Mariah frowned. When the Reverend Mother asked her to close the door behind her, it usually boded ill for the interview. Her reprimand always began with a lashing across both palms with a thick wooden ruler and ended with a list of chores. Her last punishment for sneaking out of the convent had been fifty lashes with the ruler and the chores of scrubbing and polishing the refectory floor and the windows and weeding the kitchen garden for a month in addition to her normal job as St. Agnes’s head baker. Mariah wondered how many more days, weeks, or months and how many additional floors the abbess intended to add to her punishment.

  The Reverend Mother took a deep breath and slowly expelled it. “I understand you left the safety of St. Agnes’s again last night.”

  Mariah bowed her head and lowered her gaze, studying the dusty toes of her boots as she did her best to appear contrite. “Yes, Reverend Mother.”

  “Would you care to explain why?” The question was familiar. It was part of the ritual that took place every time the Reverend Mother summoned her into the office.

  “No, Reverend Mother.”

  “Very well.” The abbess straightened her spine.

  Mariah did the same; preparing herself for the penance she knew would follow. She closed her eyes as the Reverend Mother stood up and came around the desk, then slowly opened them. Taking a deep breath, Mariah held out her hands. She opened her fists and presented her palms, awaiting the sting of the ruler.

  “Not this time,” the Reverend Mother spoke softly. “You’ve become a young woman, Mariah. I won’t be striping your palms any longer.”

  Mariah winced. She had been a young woman last month, and the Reverend Mother had given her fifty smacks across the palms. What had happened between last month and this one to make her change her mind? And what would she do instead? Mariah almost wished for stinging palms.

  “Put your hands down, child.”

  Mariah did as she was told.

  “Such a face you make at the news that I’m not going to cane you,” the abbess said. “I thought you’d be happy to hear that.”

  Mariah met the abbess’s gaze. “I would be happy to hear it, Reverend Mother, if I knew what you intend to do instead.”

  The abbess couldn’t help but smile. One of Mariah’s most endearing qualities had always been her childlike honesty. It was also one of her most frustrating qualities. If she could not tell the truth, she would not say anything at all. And her stubborn insistence on remaining silent is what most often caused her trouble. “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”

  Mariah lowered her gaze once again.

  “Well, perhaps you’re right.” The Reverend Mother appeared to be in a philosophical mood. “I don’t suppose any of us are comfortable with a change in routine or ritual. And these meetings have become a ritual of sorts. But everything changes, Mariah. And so has this. I won’t be punishing you for leaving the convent grounds or for any of your other transgressions because I’m not going to be acting as your guardian any longer.”

  The surprise of that announcement made Mariah look up and take careful note of the Reverend Mother’s expression. Fighting to keep the note of panic out of her voice, Mariah asked, “You’re not leaving St. Agnes’s, are you, Reverend Mother?”

  The look of pity that crossed the abbess’s face told Mariah she hadn’t been as successful as she’d hoped. “No, my child, I’m not leaving St. Agnes’s. You are.”

  “You’re sending me away?”

  “I have no choice but to abide by St. Agnes’s charter,” the abbess told her. “And that charter states that our charges must choose between the cloistered life here at St. Agnes’s and the secular life elsewhere before they reach the advanced age of one and twenty, and in a few short weeks you, will …”

  “Turn one and twenty,” Mariah murmured softly.

  “I’ve asked repeatedly if you want to remain at St. Agnes’s as one of us, the way Sister Mary Benedict, Sister Mary Lazarus, and Sister Mary Zechariah chose to do, but you have said that our life is not of your choosing.” She studied Mariah. “Is there a chance you’ve changed your mind?”

  Mariah shook her head. “No, Reverend Mother.”

  “Very well.” The Mother Superior took a moment to consider Mariah’s answer, then asked the question she had to ask. “I have asked you many times, over the years, where you go when you leave the safety of St. Agnes’s at night, and you have always kept your own counsel and accepted your punishment without complaint. But now I must ask, not where you go, but if you go alone or if you share your evenings with someone—a young man or a lover?”

  Mariah was taken aback. “No, Reverend Mother,” she answered more sharply than she had intended. “I go alone. I go to be alone. I remain alone.”

  The Mother Superior nodded once. “I am relieved to hear it.”

  “I’m sure Father Francis will be relieved to hear it as well,” Mariah retorted.

  The Reverend Mother smiled. “You do Father Francis an injustice, Mariah. He won’t be at all surprised. He had complete faith in you. I was the doubting Thomas.”

  “I am sorry that after knowing me my whole life, you should find my character in doubt.”

  The Reverend Mother’s mouth thinned into a firm, uncompromising line. “Then, perhaps, I should tell you that you’ll be leaving St. Agnes’s very soon.”

  “
How soon?”

  “That depends upon you, Mariah. Upon the choice you make.”

  “I’ve already chosen to leave the place that has been my home for the past sixteen years. What other choices are there, Reverend Mother?” Mariah swallowed the lump in her throat and did her best to ignore the stinging behind her eyelids. The Reverend Mother frowned upon displays of excessive emotion. While none of the orphans who had grown up there doubted that the sisters of St. Agnes’s cared for them, shows of affection were rare. Mariah cherished her memories of her mother’s hugs and kisses. St. Agnes’s was the only home she remembered, but she would rather leave the convent than stay as a nun. She didn’t want to be a nun. She had grown up in a convent. But she felt no religious calling.

  As far as Mariah was concerned, there was only one reason for her to remain at St. Agnes’s, and that reason had nothing to do with becoming a nun.

  He knew she lived here. And as long as she remained at St. Agnes’s, he knew where to find her. It didn’t matter that she had waited fifteen years without a word from him. He had said he would come back and marry her someday. He had kissed her to seal the bargain, and Mariah knew, without a doubt, that he was as good as his word.

  She took a deep breath. She had lost her mother when she was five years of age and her father before that. And she had survived the loss. She knew that she could survive the loss of St. Agnes’s, the Reverend Mother, and the other sisters. If keeping the sisters in her life meant that she must join the order, then Mariah was willing to leave St. Agnes’s behind and venture into the outside world alone. To wait for him.

  “Since you’ve chosen not to join the order, you are to marry.” The sound of the Mother Superior’s voice penetrated Mariah’s thoughts. “If your betrothed meets with your guardian’s approval.”

  “Someone has asked to marry me?” Mariah’s whole body seemed to light up at the thought.

  And her excitement proved contagious. “Yes, indeed,” the Mother Superior acknowledged. “A gentleman.”

  “A young and handsome gentleman?” Mariah asked.