“Bellamy’s coming. And I won’t be swayed from meeting with him.”
Alannah pictured the room beyond the window, which the family called the library. She’d been eager to explore it only to be utterly disappointed the first time she’d stepped foot into the corner room. Instead of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering the walls, there was one half bookshelf that held knickknacks of various sorts—a globe, a small crystal clock, and several unique pieces of driftwood. But no books. None.
The desk was equally bare of books, containing an elegant lantern, decorative paperweights, and a pretty set of inkpots. Large framed maps hung on the walls, and the rest of the room was cluttered with odds and ends—a basket of blankets, rolls of large paper, a folded easel, and more.
If she ever had a room labeled the library, she’d fill it with books and nothing else.
At a soft tap on her shoulder, she hopped and would have given her position away if the hand on her shoulder hadn’t steadied her. She glanced up to find Bellamy McKenna standing beside the window, as tall, dark, and handsome as always.
He pressed a finger against his lips, cautioning her to silence,then he nodded curtly toward the summer kitchen, a small building built in the same style as the house and painted a bright white. It was a dozen paces from the main house, not too far so as to be an inconvenience but far enough that the cast-iron stove wouldn’t overheat the already stifling house.
Did Bellamy want to speak with her there alone?
He started across the porch toward the back steps, his tread so light he could have been a wraith. She crawled after him, and when she was well away from the window, she stood and hurried down the steps, her boots tapping even though she tried to imitate Bellamy’s stealth.
A raised bed of herbs grew beside the summer kitchen, and the fragrances of basil, thyme, and sage greeted her as they did every time she passed by. The waft of the cooking chicken from the kitchen hung heavily in the air, too, making her stomach growl with sudden hunger pangs.
At times like this, she was more than a little grateful her stomach would soon be full, that the days of constant gnawing were over along with the worries of when and if she’d eat again. But it was also times like this that she felt the greatest sorrow that Cagney wasn’t alive to experience a full stomach.
Bellamy stopped just inside the kitchen door, and she moved past him into the now familiar room. A worktable took up the center, and an enormous range filled the south wall. An iron sink stood under a window that faced the gardens and the meadows so that when she was washing dishes for endless hours each day, at least she had a beautiful view.
A white wicker basket of strawberries—small but perfectly red and ripe—sat on the worktable, which meant Zaira had recently been here and had been out picking strawberriesagain from among the wild plants that grew in the yonder meadow.
At nineteen, Zaira was the youngest of the Shanahan daughters. Alannah had gotten to know her a wee bit during the last stay at Oakland, and this time Zaira had befriended her again.
The class differences hadn’t seemed to matter to Zaira. With each encounter, the young woman talked to Alannah as though she were a friend or relative who’d come to visit rather than a servant.
Just that morning when Alannah had been carrying a heavy pail of water from the well back to the kitchen, Zaira had been passing by and taken one side of the handle and helped her haul it the rest of the way. All the while, she’d chattered about the beautiful morning and how she adored summer.
In addition to Kiernan and Zaira, two other Shanahan children were living at Oakland—Madigan who was sixteen and Quinlan fourteen. Both boys spent hours outside every day, hunting and fishing and riding and exploring the woodland.
They both reminded her of Cagney. Even though she tried not to compare situations, it was hard not to think about her younger brother’s experiences in the countryside. His had been so different, not carefree in the least as he’d dug in the fallow fields outside of Tralee desperate for something to eat. Even old, withered root vegetables had been better than nothing.
Bellamy glanced out the summer kitchen door before focusing on Alannah. “Torin came to visit me again last night.”
“He visited you and not me?” She couldn’t stifle her irritation,even though she knew her brother was staying away for her own safety.
“He wanted to see me before moving to Cheltenham to Kiernan’s new brickyard.”
“And why was he needing to see you, so?” Alannah plucked a berry from the basket, pried off the green top, then popped the ripe fruit into her mouth.
Bellamy crossed toward the worktable. “Even though I assured him you have a new position, he’s still insisting that I find you a match.”
“I’ll visit with him soon enough and set him straight—that I’ll not be marrying anytime soon.”
Bellamy stopped in front of the basket of strawberries and picked one up. “He’ll not be taking no for an answer, I’m afraid.”
She hadn’t told Torin she wanted to go to Ireland and that she planned to drag him back with her so that he would be far from the gang trouble. But she would eventually inform him. “I said it before, Bellamy. I’m not interested in marriage, and neither of you will be changing my mind.”
“Is that a fact?” Bellamy lifted his gaze, his brown eyes probing hers.
“Aye, ’tis so.” She reached for another strawberry and wedged off the leafy part.
“I told your brother I have someone in mind.”
In the process of lifting the strawberry to her mouth, she halted. “No—”
“I suspect you’ll like my choice.”
