Read The Irish Bride for Free Online Page B

difference.”
    “Does the captain know about the rise?”
    “If he reads the newspapers attentively ...”
    “But he has been at sea. He might have missed the announcement. Why not offer him the same price and then pocket the difference? We can always use a few extra pounds.”
    “Oh, yes,” Blanche said. “I saw a bonnet in Mrs. Merrill’s shop window—black silk with blue satin lining and strings in the new Waterloo shade. It’s only twenty guineas.”
    “You shall have it,” Mr. Ferris said, smirking indulgently. “Got to see my girl looking her best.”
    “I’m sure Sir Nicholas will be flattered if I wear Waterloo ribbons. Even if it should prove he wasn’t in the engagement, he was in the army.”
    “Father,” Rietta said patiently, returning to the subject, “Captain O’Dea is one of the best seamen in Ireland. He is very well respected by the other captains. If you cheat him... if you do not offer him a profit, he may feel cheated.”
    “That’s his affair,” Blanche put in, cutting off her father’s reply. “You are too scrupulous, Rietta. It doesn’t pay.”
    “Or,” Rietta added, “he might sell his cochineal to another buyer and we shall lose even the twenty-five percent gain that I have planned.”
    “Why shouldn’t he take his own dye to market?” Mr. Ferris wondered.
    “His wife is ill and he cannot leave her at present. I know that his agent in London has not been satisfactory and that he has not found another as yet. If Ronald can sell the dye powder for him, we shall earn some money and much goodwill.”
    “Goodwill won’t buy my little girl her bonnet!” Mr. Ferris frowned. He had a hairline that stopped inside his large ears and when he frowned he looked like a fretful baby. “I wish you wouldn’t be so assertive, Rietta. I’m too tired to argue with you at breakfast.”
    “But you will see Captain O’Dea today, Father?”
    “Yes, yes. Just as you wish. Now, what have we for breakfast?” He uttered little glad cries of surprise as he foraged among the dishes on the sideboard, though there was nothing there that hadn’t appeared for breakfast every morning.
    If her father was tired, Rietta was exhausted. She’d been up half the night reconciling the mill’s accounts, making certain that no funds had mysteriously vanished, as had been known to happen in the past. Then there were bills to pay, letters to write for her father’s signature, and orders given for the employee’s half-holiday next week. After she fell into bed, she dreamed she was a navvy, spending all day pushing increasingly heavy crates into ships that shrank from moment to moment.
    The maid, Arabella, entered, carrying a bouquet of white lilies over her arm. Their scent well-nigh overpowered the smell of bacon and kidneys.
    “Ooh!” Blanche squealed, holding out her arms.
    “No, Miss Blanche,” Arabella said. “They’re for Miss Ferris.”
    “You’ve misread the card,” Blanche insisted. “Let me see it.”
    Arabella gave a tiny sniff and handed the white pasteboard to Rietta, who lifted her head to blink dazedly at the small square.
    “For me?” she said stupidly.
    The handwriting was cramped as though hemmed in by the narrow margins: May I call? — N. Kirwan.
    “Who brought them?” Rietta asked.
    “A servant, ma’am. He’s waitin’ for an answer.”
    “Oh, who are they from?” Blanche demanded. “They must be for me. They’re white—Blanche means white.”
    Rietta had nothing but misgivings about allowing Sir Nicholas to become further intrigued with Blanche, and vice versa. After nothing had been heard from him in two days, she’d hoped (hat Blanche had somehow failed to ensnare him, that he was impervious to the arrow of her beauty. Most men wasted not a hour after meeting Blanche to pursue her. Sir Nicholas must have tremendous self-control to hold off for a clear forty-eight hours.
    In truth, Rietta would have denied him for his own sake, if not for Blanche’s, but