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banister, they watched as Charles Rycroft strode into the small foyer.
    As Maeve watched her dour husband address the Deakinses’ housekeeper, she wished she could shrink to leprechaun size and disappear into the Land of the Ever-Young, the home of Irish fairies.
    She wished to be anywhere but here.
    “I wish a moment with Mrs. Deakins,” Charles informed the butler. “Tell her Charles Rycroft has come with a message.”
    “One moment, sir.”
    Pansy grinned, apparently enjoying the little drama immensely.
    Maeve held her breath. Before she could gather her wits and flee the landing, Harriet Deakins emerged from the parlor. The large-bosomed matron glided toward Charles like a schooner at full sail.
    “My dear Charles, to what do we owe this great honor?”
    “Harriet, how good to see you.” He tipped his head and gave her a polite smile. “Regrettably, I cannot stay. I’ve merely come with a message.”
    “Oh?”
    “Miss O’Malley will not be able to serve you this week.”
    Harriet Deakins did her best to disguise her displeasure but her tight-lipped smile held little warmth. “Really? How do you know this? You are not in the habit of stealing servants, are you?”
    If possible, Charles’s already rigid figure appeared to stiffen several degrees. “No, not at all. If you will—”
    Pansy sneezed.
    Maeve sucked in what she thought might be her last breath.
    Charles’s head jerked up. His steely gaze took in Pansy crouched by the rail with Maeve just behind her.
    “Maeve?”
    She moved her hand in greeting, a hapless little flick of her wrist.
    Harriet Deakins glared up at her daughter and maid. “What is the meaning of this?”
    “It’s all right, Mama.” Pansy took Maeve’s hand and led her down the stairs. “Maeve and I are friends, Charles.”
    Feeling dreadfully faint, Maeve forced a weak smile.
    “Friends?” Harriet Deakins echoed in unconcealed horror.
    Charles glared at Maeve. “My carriage is waiting. You will return to Rycroft House with me immediately.”
    Weak-kneed, Maeve turned to Pansy for support. The improper Miss Deakins fairly beamed with pleasure. But of course, what did Pansy have to fear?
     

 Chapter Three
     
    “No one disobeys me!” Furious, Charles ground the words through his teeth.
    Once inside the confines of the luxurious Rycroft town coach, he felt free at last to release his anger. From the time he had awakened this morning to find himself wed to the petite, dark-haired creature beside him, nothing, absolutely nothing, had gone his way. His world had been turned upside down.
    Instead of searching for his missing sketch as he meant to be doing, Charles was forced to deal with a headstrong bride who paid no heed to him.
    Dear God. How could someone so small cause so much trouble?
    Maeve’s chin tilted defiantly. “I could not have Pansy and Mrs. Deakins thinkin’ I’d just disappeared into thin air like one of the wee fairy folk, could I now? I am a responsible woman.”
    A responsible woman who assumed the impervious attitude of England’s Queen Victoria and believed in fairies. Right. Pausing to summon patience from his now considerably shallow well, Charles regarded Maeve from the corner of his eye. Her lips were deep ruby red, the seductive shade of the juiciest apple on the tree. He wondered how it had felt to kiss those full, currently petulant, lips. For a moment he longed to remember the taste of her.
    Damn. Once again he’d allowed Maeve to become a distraction.
    But Charles refused to be deterred from his message. The stubborn little creature must realize her duty to obey him. In his circle of civilized society, wives unquestionably obeyed their husbands’ bidding. And, for the moment, she was his wife.
    “Maeve, I told you I would deliver the message to the Deakinses and I distinctly asked you to stay in your rooms. Did I not make myself clear?”
    “Aye, ye did indeed. You’re not talkin’ to an Irish feather-brain, ye know.”
    “I did not