O'er The River Liffey (Power of the Matchmaker) Page 16

  “Why, Lord Bissell, it appears that you are going out,” she observed in some surprise.

  Though Lady Anne did not seem the least concerned about being overheard, Niall thought it best if the lads did not take in the exchange. Quickly, he took each by the shoulder and steered them away from what should doubtless prove to be a private conversation.

  “Indeed,” the baron replied to Lady Anne in more subdued tones. “Miss Fulton and Miss O’Sullivan were wishful of going on a shopping expedition to the village.”

  “Surely you meant to invite me along, as well,” she asked, affronted.

  “I had not thought you comfortable in the presence of two such Irish ladies, as you have mentioned on more than one occasion.”

  “Not I!” Lady Anne replied, eyes wide with astonishment. “Perhaps you are confusing the comments of Lady Kent, or perhaps Mrs. Knight, with mine.”

  “Very well, if you should like to join us, there is room in the carriage.”

  “That should indeed suit me. I shall first require my hat and gloves,” she said, turning to the stairs.

  Once she had reached the landing, Niall felt it safe to allow the lads to approach their brother. He released their squirming bodies from his grasp, and they ran to their brother’s side.

  “Arthur!” Master Christopher cried. “Might I go to the village as well? I have not been in ever so long!”

  “Nor I,” Charles asserted.

  “Lads, it is time for our walk,” Niall interceded. “Perhaps, if the baron does not mind, you might go out and have a look at the horses whilst he waits for the ladies.”

  This proved too much of a lure for Charles. “Are the ladies to go, as well?” he asked. “Is Miss Caro one of the ladies? Is Miss Fiona? I should very much like to ride in the carriage with them.”

  Lord Bissell said nothing that should prove to disappoint his young brothers. Rather, he shook their hands, tousled their hair, and appealed mutely to Niall over their heads.

  Niall was only too happy to oblige. “Come along, lads, and let us see the horses. Then we shall go on our walk,” he insisted as he herded them past the baron and out of the door. Once they were on the drive, the horse-mad lads lost no time in amusing themselves in patting the horses and chatting with the coachman who sat up on the box.

  “McCauley, you have heard the rumors of the highwaymen, have you not?” Niall asked the driver.

  “I t’ought it just talk,” McCauley said with a shrug.

  “Perhaps it is,” Niall mused. “The young masters wish to join the outing, and I fear for their safety in the case the rumors are true. Is a gun kept in the carriage for just such circumstances?”

  “I’ve not seen one,” McCauley replied.

  Niall considered his feelings. Ordinarily he would concede the safety of the lads to their brother, highwaymen or no. It was purely his concern for Miss Fulton that inflated his apprehension. And yet, he could not quiet his misgivings. He felt that he must find a way to ensure that she was safe. For that, he would need time and access.

  “How do you like the horses?” Niall asked the lads.

  Charles shrugged. “They are very much the same as yesterday.”

  “I suppose they are not such a treat after all,” Niall said leadingly.

  “No, that is why I should like to go into the village with my brother,” Charles replied.

  “Perhaps,” Niall suggested in tones designed to entice, “if you are very well-behaved and request it of the baron with your best manners, he shall allow you to go. Naturally, I ought to go along with you, as well. I have a particular need to restore my supply of candy.”

  “I want candy!” Christopher interpolated.

  “I shall not go without you,” Charles soothed his brother. “But the carriage only allows for six and that other lady wishes to go along, so that makes one too many. Perhaps Mr. Doherty needs must stay behind.”

  “But he is to buy the candy!”

  “Do not fret, Master Christopher,” Niall said, dropping into a squat to speak in the boy’s ear. “I do not believe your brother wishes to take Lady Anne to the village. In fact, I think he shall be more willing to take you along for that very reason. He can offer to take Lady Anne another day since there shall not be room for her.”

  “We shall see,” Christopher said, doubtfully.

  “Indeed, we shall,” Niall said under his breath. To his delight, matters unfolded precisely as he predicted. Furious at her rejection, Lady Anne flounced into the house. The baron wasted no time mourning her absence, and happily assisted Miss Fulton and Miss O’Sullivan into the carriage. They sat across from one another, followed by Lord Bissell, who took up his seat to the far side of Miss Fulton. This required him to step over the feet and skirts of the ladies, something Niall thought uncouth, though he dared not say as much. The seating arrangement did, however, prevent him from knocking his knees against the baron’s during the journey, a circumstance for which to be grateful.

  He settled in with one lad to his left and one directly across from him, but as his seat afforded him an unobstructed view of Miss Fulton, he had little of which to complain. As he gazed, he could not help but notice that she had added a charming blue spencer to her ensemble, one that matched her sash, as well as blue kid gloves and half boots. Her hat was a delightful confection consisting of a soft brim and poke that framed her face without obscuring it. It was blue, as well, and deepened the hue of her eyes.

  She turned to catch him staring at her. Smiling, she very gently nudged his foot with the toe of her boot.

  Hastily, he dropped his gaze and found contentment in the sweep of her gown from knee to ankle.

  As the carriage swung into motion, so did Miss Fulton. “Lord Bissell,” she said far more gaily than Niall thought wise. “Have you heard the gossip as to the highway robbery?”

  “One should not attend to tittle-tattle, Miss Fulton,” the baron objected. “It does not become a lady.”

  Niall burned to correct the baron, but was powerless to speak until invited.

  “Oh, ’twas not one of your guests who told me of it,” Miss Fulton said so sweetly that the baron seemed to miss the implied barb. “It was Mr. Doherty. He had it of the physician whom he drove into the village to fetch for Mr. Wilkinson.”

  “Is this true, Doherty?” the baron demanded.

  “Of course, it is. Why should Miss Fulton wish to deceive you?” It was a timid reply compared to the scathing retort that first leapt to his tongue.

  “Miss Fulton is none of your affair,” the baron said tersely. “However, should the need arise, there is a pistol between the squabs and the side panel next to the door. Do you know how to use it?”

  “Yes, of course,” Niall replied.

  The baron’s eyes narrowed at what he doubtless deemed a presumptuous response.

  “I fear for the lads so near to the gun,” Miss O’Sullivan said, drawing the baron’s attention from Niall. “Perhaps it would be better if they each sat as far from the coach door as possible.”

  Niall did not wait for the baron’s approval. “That is a sensible suggestion. Lads, quickly, do as she said.”

  They were small enough that there was not too much pitching back and forth of the carriage as they made their ways to the far seats. As it brought Miss Fulton directly across from Niall, he could only be glad of the new arrangement.

  “I am grateful to know we shall be safe with you guarding the door, Mr. Doherty,” Miss Fulton said in tones meant to distract attention from the true reason for her delight. “And your tender concern for your charges does you credit, sir. What a splendid father you shall make one day.”

  Niall, who nearly came undone at her audacity, pressed a finger against his lips to forestall the threat of outright laughter. He nodded in what he hoped was an appropriate response to such a remark. Certainly, there was no written guide that revealed the correct reaction to such a remark.

  “Mr. Doherty, sir,” Christopher asked, “might we purchase
a toy pistol in the village?”

  “I want one too, Mr. Doherty, but one of my own,” Charles whined. “I don’t wish to share with my little brother.”

  Niall opened his mouth to serve Charles a gentle reprimand, but was interrupted by the baron.

  “Indeed, you may both have your own toy,” he said loftily.

  Niall quelled his indignation; if the baron wished to spoil his brothers, it was his affair. He felt mollified, however, when he noted the glance of consternation exchanged between the ladies.

  The remainder of the journey was strained. The lads, encouraged by their brother’s attentions, became increasingly cross and demanding, the baron increasingly frustrated, and the ladies increasingly dismayed. At one point Miss Fulton, biting back a smile of amusement, looked to Niall for rescue. He very slightly shook his head to indicate his powerless state.

  All were delighted to emerge from the carriage once they had safely arrived at their destination. As Niall was closest to the door, he had the privilege of offering his hand to the ladies. It suited him very well to walk off with them, one on each arm, whilst the baron lifted his brothers to the ground. It was a pleasant reminder of a not so pleasant fact: gone were the days when Niall would order out the family coach or tool his Phaeton, the spokes of its wheels picked out in yellow.

  He missed his horse, as well, and their frequent gallops along the surf along the Dublin seashore. His melancholy would do him no good, however, and he thrust the thoughts aside. When the baron claimed the ladies, Niall fell back a few paces as befitting his lowly status. He watched dolefully as the lads cavorted about; he knew the baron would only upbraid Niall if he were to properly take the lads in hand. To his chagrin, it was he who would be required to cope with the lads’ imperious behavior once they were returned from the village.

  He trailed along behind his betters for a tedious three quarters of an hour as they pointlessly deferred to one another. He nearly cheered aloud when the decision was finally taken to enter the premises of the circulating library. The moment Miss O’Sullivan emerged with her books wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string, the wishes of the boys could no longer be delayed.

  “Please, Arthur!” Christopher implored his brother. “We want our guns!” This cry was followed by a slightly more sedate request from Charles.

  “Very well, you rascals!” the baron said with a self-conscious grimace for the ladies. “They are good lads,” he said in hearty tones for all to hear, “but their tutor does not seem to know how to take them in hand.”

  “They are indeed sweet lads,” Miss Fulton said loudly enough for Niall to discern from his place in the rear. “I have never known them to be sweeter, however, than when Mr. Doherty is sole overseer of their conduct. And they are so swift to learn under his tutelage! I believe they are well onto French.”

  Lord Bissell grunted. “Be that as it may, they have not learned how to conduct themselves when in the company of others.” The baron turned to look at Niall over his shoulder, his brow raised in disdain.

  Indignant, Niall stopped and looked back the way they had come. Realizing that they had passed the only shop in the village to offer toys for sale, he returned the way they had come. He cherished hopes that the time spent waiting in front of the shop would be sufficient to cool his anger. Miss Fulton, however, seemed alive to his every movement and insisted that the baron turn around to enter the shop.

  “Here it is!” Charles eagerly said as he bounded to his tutor’s side. “Mr. Doherty, have you found the toy pistols already?”

  “No, Master Charles, I have not yet been inside.”

  The baron scowled and elbowed his way past both to enter the shop. The rest of the group followed, with Niall in the rear. Upon entering, he blinked in the dim light to find the baron inspecting a table full of items for children. “Where have the guns gone?” he asked, turning this way and that in search of assistance.

  Christopher ran to his side. “There are no guns!” he wailed.

  “It seems we have chosen the wrong day to favor this establishment with our presence!” the baron announced whilst the shop girl wilted under his scorching eye. “Why have you no guns?” he demanded.

  The girl immediately disappeared through the doorway to the back room, and a gentleman, ostensibly the proprietor, greeted them.

  “My lord, how good of you to honor us with your presence,” the man said with an effulgent bow.

  “Do you have toy pistols for the lads here?” the baron asked genially enough.

  “No, my lord, we do not. They have all been bought up, though I am expecting more within the month.”

  “That long?” the baron cried, eyeing the crestfallen faces of his brothers. “That will not do at all. These lads are after a pistol today!” He looked about again, as if expecting wooden guns to magically appear in each location upon which his gaze fell. “Well then,” he capitulated, “what other play things do you have for young lads?”

  The proprietor scurried to the table to suggest one toy after another: a carved rocking horse, illustrated books, a set of Spillikins, but Christopher only wept and shook his head. During the fracas, his brother crossed to the other side of the room and closely inspected an item he held in both hands.

  Niall caught Miss Fulton’s eye, and the two of them approached Charles to learn what he had discovered. It appeared to be a miniature hammer, the handle carved and expertly planed just as a full-sized one would be.

  “Look, Mr. Doherty, look Miss Caro! Miss Fiona!” the lad exclaimed. “It’s small so that it is easy to use.”

  “Yes, I see that,” Niall said as he placed himself between the lad’s line of vision and a small hatchet lying on a nearby shelf, it’s blade as sharp as a full-sized one might be. He again caught Miss Fulton’s eye and drew her gaze to the wicked little instrument.

  Her eyes grew wide when she spotted it, and the two of them exchanged another glance over the lad’s head. “Master Charles,” she began, “it appears as if the candy jars have been recently restocked. Let us go and see what might be new,” she suggested.

  “I shall, just as soon as Mr. Doherty stands aside and hands over that hatchet,” Charles replied.

  The baron turned to observe Niall, who steadfastly refused to move. “Do as the lad says!” Lord Bissell bellowed.

  Niall, suppressing a sigh, very reticently did as he was told.

  “There ’tis!” Charles cried. “I knew I had seen it! May I have it, Arthur?”

  “Oh, but it looks so dangerous,” Miss Fulton interjected as Charles held the sharp blade up to his eyes for inspection.

  “Is it truly meant for a child?” Miss O’Sullivan asked in strident tones.

  “Let us have it,” the baron commanded with a crook of his finger. Charles handed the hatchet to Arthur, who turned the cunning object around and around in his hands. “Dangerous it might be, now that the tutor has failed to keep him from the thing, I suppose there is nothing for it but to let the child have it.”

  Miss Fulton’s gasp was only outdone by Miss O’Sullivan’s.

  “Lord Bissell,” Niall said, unable to withstand the urgency he felt, “I do not believe it is an appropriate toy for Master Charles.”

  The baron gave Niall a look of extreme displeasure, but he retained some control of his voice. “I do not agree. The child shall have it and his brother, this very solid hammer,” he insisted as he picked up both of the miniature tools and handed them to the lads.

  “Thank you, Arthur!” they cried in unison.

  “It does not take much to encourage young boys to behave themselves, now, does it?” the baron asked in congratulatory tones, his face beaming. “They shall be as good as gold now, see if they won’t.”

  Niall knew not where to look or what to say. He suspected that the ladies felt much the same.

  “I want candy!” Christopher called out as the hammer slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor.

  The baron’s jaw dropped in so comical a fash
ion that it was with great difficulty that Niall restrained a bark of laughter. He looked to Miss Fulton, who covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes dancing with levity.

  “Shall I wrap these for you?” the proprietor asked as he scurried to retrieve the abandoned toy.

  “But of course!” Lord Bissell turned to Charles, who studied his hatchet with great interest. “Do hand that over to the gentleman.”

  Niall forced away a fit of pique. He was a gentleman by birth, whose father could have once upon a time bought out the entire shop. And yet, the proprietor was given more respect than Lord Bissell had ever afforded Niall. He retired to the corner of the shop nearest the door and watched as the lads selected their candies.

  By the time the proprietor had poured the candy into twists of paper, Niall had gained control of his anger. He stood aside and held open the door as the baron swept by on his way out, followed by his brothers and the ladies, Miss Fulton last of all.

  She looked up at Niall as she passed, her eyes filled with compassion. She doubtless dared not say what she thought any more than he. Indeed, the journey home was silent save the sighs of longing from the lads. They eyed the parcel containing their purchases with devotion and seemed to know that one wrong word might result in its disappearance.

  When Oak View hove into sight, the atmosphere became less oppressed, and the ladies began to speak of trifles amongst themselves. Niall was content to listen; the rise and fall of Miss Fulton’s voice was as lyrical as any melody. Once the carriage had come to a halt at the top of the drive, the tension had nearly dissolved. Niall exited and offered his hand to the ladies. He even dared to give Miss Fulton’s fingers a squeeze. In return, she clung to his longer than she ought. His heart soaring, he deemed the outing time well spent.

  The baron, however, radiated discontent. “Miss Fulton, Miss O’Sullivan,” he instructed. “I would be obliged if you were to take the lads into the house and wait with them in the ante chamber until Mr. Doherty comes to claim them.”