Read Online Comfort and Joy by Sandra Madden - Free Book Online

appropriate swallow of his wine.
    The truth was, his wife Maeve was far more comely than Stella.
    “Stella is just coming out of mourning, you know. She’s a widow.”
    The pale woman by his side gave him a doleful smile.
    “My condolences.”
    “Thank you.” Stella inclined her head. Her brown eyes regarded him with a melting sweetness. “I hope my visit won’t interfere with any plans you’ve already made. I should dislike being a bother.”
    “Tish!” Beatrice rocked back. “You could not be a bother if you tried. Could she, Charles?”
    “No, Mother. No bother.” Charles felt like a man caught in a vise which was about to squeeze the very life from him. “Ah, how long do you plan to stay in Boston, Stella?”
    She smiled, of course. “I’ve not restricted myself with a return date.”
    He forced a smile. “How wise of you.”
    “On the other hand, I promise not to wear out my welcome.”
    The dog opened one eye and, growling softly, leveled a hostile gaze at Charles.
    Beatrice took up the dinner conversation, going on about the excellent meal the cook had prepared while Charles wondered if Maeve, alone in her rooms, was enjoying the roast and Yorkshire pudding as well. Had she been served wine? Did she enjoy French burgundy? Were the apple dumplings to her liking?
    He decided to find out for himself. Nearing the end of the meal, he dabbed at his mouth with the linen napkin and prepared to make his getaway. “I beg your forgiveness, but I don’t seem to be feeling well at all tonight. Will you excuse me?”
    Stella’s mouth turned down. Her dog looked up.
    A suspicious light sparked in Beatrice’s eyes. “Whatever is ailing you, dear?”
    “A fierce headache, Mother. I’m certain it will pass by morning.”
    “I will look in on you later.” His mother’s tone left him unsure whether it was a promise or a threat. She could not be pleased with him. Plainly, Beatrice had expected him to spend a pleasant, fireside evening with Stella and her.
    Charles almost made good on his getaway. He’d reached the stairs when there came a loud knocking at the door. Not expecting a visitor and fearing yet another disaster, he waited in the foyer while Stuart the butler opened the door.
    Two men, one big and the other small, stood on the small stoop. A surge of excitement shot through Charles’s veins. These might be the thieves who stole his sketch of St. Nick come to demand a ransom. Charles stepped closer but stopped when he recognized the voice.
    “Me name is O’Malley and this here is me boy, Shea. I’m wantin’ to see me Maeve.”
    “Da!”
    Charles turned from the male O’Malleys to Maeve, who stood midway on the staircase behind him. His anger at her for once again disobeying his orders dissolved in a heartbeat.
    She was stunning.
    A striking vision in blue silk, Charles regarded Maeve as if he were seeing her for the first time. The pleated ruching about the gown’s low neck could not hide an abundant and delicious display of creamy cleavage. A natural deep blush colored Maeve’s cheeks and her midnight mane cascaded in an enchanting tumble of curls. Her large jewel eyes sparkled in the gaslight.
    Time and place ceased to exist. For the first time in his life Charles was mesmerized.
    “Da, what are ye doin’ here?”
    Before Mick could answer, Charles heard a rustle of skirts and looked to see Beatrice scurry to his side.
    “Do we have visitors?” His mother looked from the men on the doorstep to Maeve still poised on the stairs. She zeroed in on Maeve. “May I ask who are you, young lady?”
    Maeve lifted her chin. “I am Mrs. Charles Ashton Rycroft.”
    Beatrice’s gasp was quite audible.
     

Chapter Four
     
    “Smelling salts! I need my smelling salts!” Beatrice cried, sinking against her son.
    “We brought ye yer things, me cailin,” Mick barked using the Gaelic for girl, a word he used as an endearment of sorts. With eyes only for Maeve, he ignored Beatrice Rycroft’s distress.