Ireland Rose Read online



  Published by Patricia Strefling

  Copyright® 2011, 2012, 2013, 2015 to Patricia Strefling

  www.facebook.com/patricia.strefling.author

  Other Books by Patricia Strefling

  Edwina

  Cecelia

  Beyond Forgiveness

  Cadence

  Stowaway Heart

  Sequel – Rose’s Legacy

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  Charleston – April 1884

  Ireland Rose Lovell stirred in her bed. Noises from belowstairs. What could be the matter?

  Sitting up quickly, her heart beat faster. She heard the familiar creak as her door opened and Portia appeared out of the blackness at her bedside. The candle swayed near her face and Rose nearly laughed out loud at her housekeeper’s comical expression.

  “Lord a’mercy, Miz Rose, it’s Captain Wyatt, yo husband’s man, come callin’ at dis hour!”

  “You don’t think anything’s wrong with Captain Lovell?” Rose threw back the counterpane, thoughts of laughter swept away.

  “Now don’t you go an worry none. Ain’t nothin’ to do but go down and see Cap’n Wyatt.” Portia declared. “Up with ya now. Ain’t no time to dawdle. I’ll get yo hair up and you put on this nice housecoat over your nightclothes.”

  Rose did as she was told, hands shaking, then sat at the vanity table and awaited her maid’s ministrations. Portia wound her curly red-blond hair up and secured it enough to be presentable.

  Captain Wyatt was her husband’s trusted shipman. He looked after Captain Lovell’s interests in London. She had never been formally introduced to him.

  Why was he in Charleston? Rose tried not to worry. “Why hasn’t Captain Lovell come himself?” Rose whispered aloud. “He is late…” she remembered his last letter, stating that he would be arriving in the spring. Perhaps he was here even now and had sent word for her to prepare.

  Portia’s words interrupted her thoughts.

  “Now, my Emmanuel is down der. Jus’ you mind that you don’t let nothin’ bother you t’all. If’n there’s word ‘bout the Captain…”

  “Don’t. Don’t say anything more, Portia.” Rose intertwined her fingers tightly and lay them in her lap, pulled in a deep breath willing her heart to slow it’s pounding.

  “All right then. You just ‘member God knows all things, chile. Don’t you borrow trouble. If’n it’s coming it’ll come all by itself.”

  Portia approved her appearance with a nod and handed her a clean handkerchief.

  “What’s this for?” Rose’s fear deepened.

  “Nothin’ chile. Just so’s you got something to hold onto. No more no less. Cain’t go down there empty-handed.”

  Rose, glad for something to cling to, wadded the cloth up in her fist, and squared her shoulders. She may be a young wife, but she must do her duty to her husband.

  “That’s right. Stand up now.” Portia smiled. “You’s just walk in dat drawin’ room and hear what the man haf to say.”

  Rose descended the stairs, her maid two steps behind. She hesitated as her hand let go of the newel post.

  “Go on now. Me’n Emmanuel will be waitin’ for ya in the back.” Portia whispered and passed her the candle.

  “Am I decent?” Rose worried.

  “You decent.” Portia wagged her finger. “Nuff that he came knockin’ at ‘da door at dis hour!”

  Portia slid her a sideways glance and Rose saw fear in those huge brown eyes. She watched as Portia walked into the darkness.

  One last look in the mirror hanging above the side table in the marble floored foyer, the candle bouncing in eerie reflection, Rose pulled in a ragged breath and walked slowly to the drawing room. She entered the doorway, but the man’s back was to her. He had not heard her arrive. The light from the single candle on the fireplace danced eerily on the walls.

  Captain Wyatt gazed upward at the oil painting of her likeness, his hands behind his back, so like her husband’s stance when he was aboard ship. One black booted foot rested on the cinderblock hearth. Black hair hung several inches over his dark shipman’s coat, a leather band holding it together.

  She cleared her throat and he turned. Dark, sad eyes gazed back at her. His long stare sent quivers down her back. When he spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin. His deep voice reverberated in the darkened room—accustomed to shouting orders at his crew, no doubt.

  “Mrs. Lovell?” He bowed slightly. “Captain Wyatt here.”

  “Captain Wyatt.” She said softly.

  The man seemed to move in slow motion as he strode toward her, looking at her then looking away, and back again. He pulled papers from his coat pocket. She steeled her heart. Was she then to be a widow at twenty?

  “Where is my husband?” Her voice faltered but she lifted her chin slightly.

  “Your husband is ill, Mrs. Lovell, and was not able to make the trip over. I am here in his stead, as you can see.”

  Rose twisted the lace handkerchief in her hands, gazing over his shoulder at the black windows, the gaslights from the streets offering any comfort that might be had at this hour.

  “I am here with a message from your husband. Please excuse my appearance and the late hour.”

  Rose waited, knowing fear showed in her eyes.

/>   “Captain Lovell has sent me to inform you he will not be able to return until September. I myself have just brought the Emerald Star back to Charleston. I would not have called on you at this hour, but as it is, I am in of need your signature before we can unload the ship.”

  “How ill is my husband?” She stepped forward, hands twisting in front of her waist.

  “He has caught Yellow Fever from the street vagabonds of London.” He snapped.

  “Will he recover, then?” Her voice sounded like a child’s.

  “Aye, he should.”

  “Aye.” She answered quietly, her Irish heritage forthcoming in her distress. “He was no doubt caring for the poor?”

  “Almost to his demise.” Captain Wyatt grumped. “But if he stays abed, he should recover well enough to make the trip in September if weather permits.”

  Rose’s hand covered her heart, glad for the news. She was alone in the world. If it had not been for Captain Lovell . . . she gazed at the fire.

  “Mrs. Lovell, as I said, I am here for signatures.”

  Rose looked up. He seemed hurried and a bit cross.

  “Of course.”

  Captain Wyatt moved quickly to a side table, and Rose followed a few paces behind. He spread the papers with work-worn hands, across the dark walnut surface, and stepped back.

  Rose walked slowly to the table, then remembered her father’s words of caution. “Sir, what am I signing?”

  “You madam, are signing papers that give you full charge of your husband’s assets, should there be an…an unfortunate event, such as his death.”

  “Such things are not done, Captain Wyatt.” She turned to face him. “Females are unable to own assets as you well know.”

  “Aye. They are not, but it is your husband’s wish and I will see to it.”

  Rose turned away from the weathered face. The man’s black eyes seemed to read her very thoughts. A shiver passed through her body.

  “But the law…”

  “Aye. The Law.” He spit out. “Your husband has bypassed the law and placed your name on the business he has acquired, and you are his heir. His solicitor has drawn up the papers.”

  “But…I…as you see…I’m only…”

  “You are a child. But Captain Lovell is my employer and I will see to his duties, while he is ill.” He repeated.

  For a moment Rose’s thoughts flew like bees buzzing around in a glass jar. What if Captain Wyatt is not telling the truth? He has a sinister look about him. Could Captain Lovell possibly be dead already, and his man is here to steal her inheritance? But hadn’t he just said she was to be the heir?

  “Mrs. Lovell.”

  Rose looked up from her seated position. When had she sat down?

  “I assure you, I am not here to attain anything that is not my own. Fact is, your husband left me the Emerald Star. He has left you the Ireland Rose. What your husband has done is more than any man is required. He has left everything but the Emerald Star to you.”

  Rose heard the gentleness in his voice. She looked up to read his eyes. The sincerity there quieted her nerves.

  “What am I to do with his shipping business, if . . .?”

  “That is not for you to think about, ma’am. I will assist you should you find yourself in need. I give you my word. My men are tired from the long voyage and are now awaiting my return so they can unload the ship and go home to their families.”

  Rose’s woman heart heard his plea. “Of course.” She took a pen from the stand and dipped it into the well, her hand trembling.

  “My husband trusts you. I shall do the same.” She said, suddenly in charge of her emotions. “Where shall I sign?”

  Captain Wyatt took two steps forward, but did not come too near. He pointed to the line and said, “Each page, if you please. I will inform you later of the details.”

  “As you wish.” She signed at each place, put the pen in its stand and took a breath.

  “Thank you Mrs. Lovell.”

  Before she could speak another word, Captain Wyatt, picked up the papers, folded them and put them in his coat pocket, bowed to her and was gone into the night.

  Rose heard the heavy door close.

  Her knees nearly failed her when she tried to stand. She had signed papers without her husband’s instruction. Lord, please forgive my lack of faith…but somewhere in my heart I felt persuaded. I pray Providence’s blessing.

  “Child, is Capn’ Wyatt gone then?” Portia flew to her.

  “He is.” Rose said quietly. “I would be in my bed, now Portia.”

  Portia’s eyes sought hers.

  “Captain Lovell is ill, but should recover and return as soon as he is well. Please forgive me, Portia…I am not myself this eve.”

  “Has dat man said somethin’ evil to ya, child?” Portia’s hands rested on her ample hips.

  “Oh no. He asked me to sign papers.”

  Portia seemed relieved. “And the Cap’n’s gonna be back den?”

  “With God’s help.” Rose said quietly.

  “Then it be up to your bed. Sees, I tole you, all’s well. Cap’n Lovell would not ‘low anything to happen to ya, child.”

  Rose smiled as they walked up together and she went back to her bed, but not to sleep. Her husband would not return for nearly four months. By the time he arrived it would be an entire year since he’d been home.

  Disappointed, for he brought gifts and news from London; the summer would not be the same without him. Then thoughts began to trouble her mind about the papers she had just put her name to.

  * * *

  William “Ashton” Wyatt stepped off the wide entryway and without a look behind, stalked away. He had promised himself never to enter that house again. The blue eyes and red-blond hair…her tiny frame. It was too much. It was a drink he needed. Ashton Wyatt stepped up his pace.

  Chapter 2

  The servants were about their spring cleaning duties this rainy morn. Rose wandered through the house and then up to the fourth floor. The attic stairs seemed to call her upward. She needed a diversion from last evening’s news.

  She’d chosen a simple day dress without hoops so she could maneuver the servant’s narrow stairs. There were no calling cards in the tray on the table. The ladies would not dare ruin their newest fashion with raindrops. Besides Rose admitted she wasn’t really up to the silly society chatter today.

  “Ireland Rose get hold of yourself.” The whispered words came from her throat, but they were her mother’s voice. Snatching the handkerchief from her wristband, she wiped at her cheeks. “Such nonsense.” Rose gathered her skirts and hiked up to the attic.

  “Ireland Rose, is dat you up ‘der?” Came Portia’s call from below sometime later.

  “Aye, it is.”

  “The Irish lass up those stairs, and her lady o’ the house.” Portia pulled half her round body through the hole in the floor. “And here I is, all outta breath and you way up here.” She fanned her face with a hankie.

  Rose couldn’t help but smile. “I need to keep my mind busy. You know I love old things.” She murmured, kneeling and gently fishing through the contents of an old trunk.

  Portia huffed and puffed her way through the square hole in the floor and joined her. “Oh, now lookee at ya, yo clothes all dusty.”

  Oh Portia, look, an old wedding dress.” Rose lifted a sheaf of paper wrapping and sighed. “It’s beautiful. I wonder who wore it?” Her heart quickened. “Help me lay it out…please.”

  “Like I ain’t got nuthin’ to do but dat.” Portia chuckled and hurried over, her eyes big. “Shore ‘nuff it is a mighty pretty one at that.”

  “It’s magnificent. Look at the satin, the pearls, the lace sleeves.”

  “And heavy.” Portia added as she rubbed her chubby hand over the thick material.

  “Whose was it? Do you know?” Rose’s eyes were questioning.

  “Come to think on it…it may be the first Mrs. Lovell’s.” Portia looked away in thought. “Th
ey’s a picture somewhere’s about the house with her in it, I do believe.”

  “Oh, do you think we can find it? If we can just see the portrait, we’ll know if it was hers.”

  “Chile why you wanna see the Cap’n’s other wife on der weddin’ day?” Portia puffed out. “Just don’t seem right somehow…”

  “Because it was the Captain’s wife. And he loved her. I understand enough to know that he misses her.”

  “How you know dat?” Portia’s eyes bore into hers.

  “I see it in his eyes sometimes. When he comes in to speak with me. He starts to say something and then remembers I’m not her.”

  “You don’t know sich a thing. You young, but you still be a woman.”

  Rose shrugged. “I may be small in stature and size, but I have eyes, Portia.”

  “Dat you do. Dat you do.”

  “Would you mind helping me find the portrait?”

  “If you’s tell me to, what else can a servant say?” She laughed, her low voice resonating through the rafters.

  “Please Portia. I know you have your duties, but we are friends. Right?”

  “O’course. You treat me right fine, Miz Lovell, better’n most. Let me think – seems to me it might be right up here in dis attic. Or at the Captain’s other house.”

  “My husband has another house?”

  Portia looked terrified. “Maybe I done spoke out when I wasn’t s’posed to.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t ask any questions.”

  Seeing Portia’s relief, Rose suggested they look around. “Step carefully, these floorboards are really old.”

  “Ain’t no older than I is.” She laughed and moved away, watching her every step.

  Several minutes passed and each delved into boxes, checked underneath mattresses and in dark corners. Rose kept getting waylaid at the least concern and found herself sitting on a crate with a book in her hand, when she heard, “Come see.”

  “Have you found it?” Rose stepped over the pile of books she’d discovered.

  Portia stood next to the gothic arched window at the tiptop point of the house and pulled an old blanket off of a huge canvas. “There she is, big as you please.” Portia whispered.

  Rose caught her breath. The woman was beautiful. Handsome dark eyes gazed at her. Black hair shone in the cascading light coming through the window, the painting exquisitely done. Small hands lay across the woman’s lap. And the dress. It was red-orange with gold trim and black pearl buttons, from the looks of it. Slender fine-boned shoulders were encased in a black lace, heavily fringed shawl. A tiny silver headpiece was barely visible in her hair.

  “Was she someone famous?” Rose’s whispered words barely found a voice.