Courting the Corporal. Heather McCorkle
Deirdre. Perhaps a battalion of Rebel troops.
The pointed chin of her lovely, heart-shaped face lifted and her long lashes swept down over dark blue eyes that looked as black as her hair without the light hitting them. She focused the weight of her gaze upon the brood’s ringleader: a tall woman with a prominent nose. “To speak ill of your founder is to speak ill of the very manner in which you spend your free time.” Deirdre thrust that delicate-looking chin of hers in the direction of the double doors leading from the room. “The wind would most certainly be at your back should you choose to walk out that door.”
All five women in the brood stiffened, eyes filling with disbelief as they widened. The worst of the lot stood her ground, angling her chin up so she could look down that prominent nose at Deirdre. “Our founder merely shocks us all by coming out of mourning so soon. Had any of us landed the catch of the century for a husband, we would have extended our mourning period,” she huffed.
One of Deidre’s hands went to her hip. Catriona couldn’t help but notice it had curled into a fist.
“Would that you had, then it could have been you who felt the snap of ‘the catch of the century’s’ jaws instead of my dear friend.”
Gasps traveled through the brood. Gloved hands flung up to cover gaping mouths.
“What exactly are you implying?” their ringleader demanded.
Deirdre took a step forward. “That Michael O’Brian was a—”
“Enough, Deirdre!” Catriona found her nerve and her voice at last.
As much as she appreciated her friend defending her, the last thing she wanted was for these horrible women to know her darkest secrets. Deirdre’s mouth snapped shut and she spun away from the women on what Catriona knew to be a scandalously high heel—though it was well hidden beneath the hoop of her burgundy gown. Head held high, she pranced like a prized, gaited mare to Catriona’s side, spun back toward the women, and looped an arm through Catriona’s. With her friends to either side of her, they stood as a unified front against the brood. All eyes in the room turned to watch the drama unfold.
Catriona took a deep, steadying breath before speaking. “After today’s testimonies we are all a bit emotional. We need to keep focused on what we are here for, to support one another.” A bit of her old strength and confidence helped her voice carry throughout her five-hundred-square-foot tearoom.
The head hen opened her mouth, but a door banged open, halting her words. Her friends’ arms withdrew from hers, allowing Catriona to turn. Dread made her movements slow. Little on this green Earth could cause her help to throw a door open with such carelessness. The last time it had happened, news of her husband’s death had followed. A young Irishwoman, her pale face flushed red, stood in the doorway, a hand clutched against her heart, her wide eyes seeking out Catriona.
“Mrs. O’Brian, please pardon the intrusion, but your sister-in-law, Mrs. MacBranain, is here,” she gasped.
Stomach churning with a mixture of joy and dread, Catriona dipped her head to the servant girl. “Thank you, Emily. Please make her comfortable in the sitting room. I shall be along shortly.” With that, she swallowed her emotions, ensured her expression was one of regret, and turned to face the waiting group of women.
“Ladies, I fear I must adjourn this meeting of the Widows of the 69th as I have pressing business to attend to. Thank you all for coming. My servants will bring your wraps and cloaks along post-haste,” she announced.
Murmurs spread throughout the women with the speed and relentlessness of the pox. Many, like the hen and her brood, didn’t even try to whisper their comments.
“Isn’t that the former Miss O’Brian, Michael’s sister?” one woman said.
“Yes, it is! I am sure of it. And she was so close to Michael. Whatever will she have to say about Catriona being out of mourning already?”
Grinding her teeth against scathing replies, Catriona ushered the women out of the room and into the hallway where her servants were already bringing their belongings. Warm as it was outside this June afternoon, most of them hadn’t worn cloaks or shawls, but almost all had brought either a bag or a parasol along. Though she was near to exploding with anticipation, she played the good hostess and bid farewell to each woman as she departed, even the horrible brood. When the worst of them shot her a cold look, she had to remind herself that they had all lost husbands and many bad feelings were merely born from that. Still, women like her made Catriona wish she hadn’t opened the organization to all widows of soldiers of the 69th without thinking what that meant.
A very unladylike snort came from Deirdre, who stepped up beside Catriona when the head hen—the last to leave, by no accident for sure—made a snappy remark. Flinging her long, black curls over her shoulder, Deirdre looked down her nose at the woman.
“Hasten your step through the doorway now, Mrs. MacNeil, else your bustle may get closed in it,” Deirdre said in a wickedly sweet tone.
Powdered brows rising into her carefully arranged brown bangs, Mrs. MacNeil gasped almost comically loud and stormed out of the parlor. Sadie giggled behind her gloved hand and Catriona groaned as she covered her face with one hand.
“She’ll be impossible now,” Catriona said.
Another snort sounded from Deirdre. “Because she was completely congenial before.”
Catriona slapped playfully at her friend’s arm. “You know what I mean.”
Looping an arm through hers, Deirdre walked with her and Sadie to the front door. “I do indeed. You take too much from those hens,” Deirdre said.
Unable to argue, Catriona merely hugged her friends in turn as they waited for her servant to bring along Deirdre’s parasol. “I shall escort Deirdre home, stop by the market for ingredients for dinner, and return post-haste, unless you would like us to stay for moral support?” Sadie asked.
Catriona smiled as she grasped her friend’s hand. “Thank you, but no. Ashlinn and I were friends, of a sort. I will be all right.”
With a nod, Sadie stepped out onto the wide porch into the brilliant sunshine and opened her parasol. The clop of many hooves on cobblestones echoed into the house, accompanied by the din of voices that seemed constant in the heart of New York. What Catriona wouldn’t give for the quiet of the country home she had grown up in. Days like these made her long for seclusion, if only she could take her friends with her.
Deirdre joined Sadie on the porch but turned back to give Catriona a stern look. “You send for us as soon as they are gone. I do not want you to be alone after such a visit.”
She gave her a mirthless smile and nodded. “I shall. Now, off with you, so I can get this over with.”
Waving, they descended the wide stairs leading up to Catriona’s grand home and started north down the sidewalk. A deep breath steeled her enough that she was able to turn away from the sight of her retreating friends and nod to her servant girl to close the door. The click of the mechanism securing the door behind her stirred a burning anxiety within her chest. Her hands fumbled with her green skirt. Of all the things she could have worn today, this was perhaps her most cheerful dress. Never had she regretted being out of mourning clothes so much as she did in that moment. Hiding it as best she could, she strode to the parlor doors and pulled them open without hesitation.
Sky-blue dress arranged about her, Ashlinn sat on the edge of a plush couch, looking as though she may burst from anticipation. Blue. She wore blue, not black. Relief rushed through Catriona, passing her lips in a long breath. A man clothed in a fine gray suit stood beside Ashlinn, one hand resting on her shoulder. Short brown hair framed a handsome face with dimples that suggested a grin often graced his face. The smile soothed her fears enough to loosen her tongue.
“So this is the man who won my sister-in-law’s heart,” Catriona said as she stepped into the room.
The smile that spread across Ashlinn’s lovely face as she laid eyes on Catriona eased a bit