Kathleen wished to pull her hand free and go to the girl, but she managed a wobbly smile in return, hoping that it conveyed to Erma some measure of warmth and assurance, and then the carriage door was closed and Erma was gone.
Kathleen felt so weary she could scarcely keep herself alert to enjoy the tasty meal that was set before them. Donnigan kept talking and she hoped that she was giving sensible responses.
She was still angry and concerned about the hotel arrangements. She wasn’t quite sure how she would handle it when the time came, but she had no intention whatever of sharing a room with a man who wasn’t her wedded spouse.
I could sleep right here on this chair, she assured herself, feeling tired enough to do just that. Or I could curl up on one of those settees in the lobby.
But Donnigan was speaking again. “I know you are very tired,” he was saying, “so rather than talk wedding plans tonight, we’ll wait until morning.”
Kathleen cast him a distant glance.
“I don’t have special clothes,” Kathleen admitted, her eyes held to her plate.
Donnigan shifted uneasily.
“Nor do I,” he admitted. “Only Lucas would think of all those things.”
“Do you mind?” asked Kathleen simply.
“No.” His answer was curt. Almost sharp. Then his voice softened. “Do you?”
Kathleen shrugged her slim shoulders. Erma had looked awfully nice. But when it came to the truth, she had never even considered a wedding gown. “No,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.
“What you are wearing now looks real nice,” Donnigan went on. It was the closest any man had ever come to complimenting her. Kathleen felt her cheeks warm.
The meal ended in silence. When they were finished, Donnigan rose to his feet and offered his arm to Kathleen.
“We’d better go up before you fall asleep at the table,” he teased gently.
Kathleen longed for the soft bed in the room upstairs. Yet near panic gripped her. Now she would need to stand her ground. Now she—but how—and what would she say?
Donnigan led her up the steps and down the hall and again opened the door with the key. He held it for her to enter, but Kathleen stood rooted to the spot.
“This arrangement isn’t much to my liking, sir,” she said, her head lifting and her chin thrusting forward.
Donnigan looked puzzled. “Is something wrong with the room?” he asked innocently.
Kathleen’s brogue was thick as she tipped her head and answered, “Sure, and the room is fine. It’s the company that concerns me.”
“The company?” It was clear that Donnigan was confused.
“On this journey I’ve shared a tiny closet-sized room with more women than I could count,” went on Kathleen, “an’ it didn’t cause me one troubled moment—but sharing so large a room—with a man—now that I’ve no mind to do.”
“A man?” Donnigan found himself peering around the door and into the room. His face still registered puzzlement.
“If you count yourself a man, sir,” said Kathleen, her voice edged with anger.
“Me?” he asked incredulously.
Then Donnigan began to chuckle softly. “You thought—I mean, you thought that—that … ?” He couldn’t finish the question.
“We won’t be married until tomorrow,” he reminded her.
Kathleen just stood and stared, her anger turning to confusion.
“My room is down the hall,” explained Donnigan quickly, pointing his long arm with outstretched finger.
With the words he reached out and pressed the room key into Kathleen’s hand. “Your key,” he said and pulled another key from his pocket. Then he reached up and ran a hand through his blond hair. Kathleen could see the red gradually stain his tanned cheeks. Only the white scar stayed untouched. He licked his lips nervously and fingered the hat in his hand.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to cause you concern. I—I guess I didn’t explain. I just didn’t think. I’m—I’m sorry.”
Kathleen felt the air leave her lungs—the anger leave her eyes. She stood for one brief moment trying to get back her control, and then a slow smile began to lighten her face.
“Sure now—and I did make a bit of a scene, didn’t I?” she admitted.
He looked steadily into the dark eyes. Unexpectedly his hand lifted to touch the slim shoulder. “I—I’m glad,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’re that kind of girl.”
Kathleen felt a stirring to her very soul. She swallowed hard, managed a nod, and moved into the room.
“I’ll knock on your door in the morning,” he called softly after her, and Kathleen heard her door close firmly.
Chapter Eleven
A Start
Kathleen had been fearful that once she fell asleep, she would not wake up until the afternoon of the next day. She was so weary from all the travel—all the emotional turmoil—but to her surprise she had a restless night.
First she had a difficult time getting to sleep. She thought of Erma and Risa and wondered how they would adjust to being wives of men they hardly new. She thought of Donnigan, her own man she did not know, and wondered if there were any secrets he was hiding. Indeed, she even wondered if his claiming another room was just a ruse so he might sneak off in the night, leaving her stranded and without means in this western town.
From there her thoughts turned to home. They quickly skipped over her stepmother and her plans for the marriage that would by now have taken place. She didn’t even stop to wonder if the woman had found the happiness she had sought. Instead, Kathleen passed on to Bridget, and emptiness seemed to press in upon her. She missed Bridget. It was true that the girl was rather spoiled and undisciplined, but they held a fondness for each other.
Would Bridget be off to school? Yes. They were already into the fall of the year. The young girl would be in boarding school by now. Kathleen wondered how she was doing. Was the bit that Kathleen had been able to teach her standing her in good stead?
Kathleen even thought of Charles and young Edmund. Did they like the countryside? Had they been favored with ponies of their own?
Strangely enough, Kathleen even thought of the cranky old baker. Had he passed on her hawker’s basket to another poor girl? Kathleen didn’t even want to picture the girl in her mind. The back streets of London were really not a place for a young girl to be.
And over and over, Kathleen’s mind went to Donnigan. Once again she said to herself, the disappointment still intense within her, “Sure—he’s no Irishman, and that’s the truth of it.”
But what was he? And who was he? He was fine enough to look at—though his size disquieted her. He said he had a farm. Kathleen felt pleased about that. A farm would be a nice change from cluttered, dirty streets and dark, tall buildings.
He seemed a gentleman—though certainly not as polished and sure of himself as Erma’s Lucas. But even as Kathleen had the thought, she stirred uneasily. She wasn’t quite sure if she would have been pleased with a man like Lucas. He seemed so intense—so in control—so totally mechanical. Again Kathleen wondered if Erma would be happy.
“I must stop this,” Kathleen scolded herself once again. “I will be a rag in the morning and not fit for a wedding and that’s the truth of it.” But even as she thought the words, Kathleen wondered again if there really would be a wedding.
Donnigan retired earlier than he should have. He just didn’t know what else to do with his long evening. But he may as well have stayed up and paced the streets. He tossed and turned and thumped his pillow, then wadded it beneath his head and tossed again.