excited, my pretty? In just a short time, a few days at the most, ye'll meet the young man who will probably become yer husband.'
'We will see,' Fortune said quietly.
James Leslie drew a slow, deep breath. What was it about his stepdaughters? He had raised them since they were little girls, and they had, for the most part, been amenable lasses until it came to the matter of marriage. Still, he remembered his breach with the eldest, India, only just healed. He had promised India that he would not doubt any of his children ever again. It was a promise he meant to keep. 'Aye, yer right, lass. Yer right. We will see. Why the young fellow could turn out to be a terrible dunce, and I'll nae hae my lass wed wi a fool, or a villain,' the duke said.
Jasmine Leslie smiled. She had seen the look in her husband's eye, and knew his patience was being tried. He had done the right thing, however. Perhaps it was possible to teach an old dog new tricks.
'We had best go to our cabin, poppet,' the duchess said, 'and see if all is in readiness for the remainder of our trip.'
'Let me stay, Mama, and continue to view the land,' Fortune pleaded prettily.
'Very well,' Jasmine said, and taking her husband's hand drew him to her side. 'She wants to be alone, Jemmie.'
He nodded, and together they left the main deck of the vessel.
Fortune continued to lean against the ship's railing lost in thought. This was the land of her birth, yet she had been but a few months old when she had left it. Ireland meant naught to her at all. It was the name of a place. Nothing more. What was it really like? And what was Maguire's Ford like? The castle that was to be hers was not large, her mother had said. It was called Erne Rock, and was set on the lough. Mama said it was a sweet place; that she and Rowan Lindley had been happy there. Fortune's brow furrowed. Could she really be happy in the place where her father had been so brutally murdered? The father she had never known because he had died shortly after she had been conceived.
She had felt his absence her entire life. How often when she stayed at her elder brother Henry's seat at Cadby had she sought out the portrait of Rowan Lindley that hung in the gallery of the house? Tall and big-boned, Rowan Lindley had a square jaw with a deep cleft in its center with a dimple. His hair was tawny and his eyes were golden in color. He carried himself with a faint arrogance, natural to a man whose family had held the same lands since before the time of the Norman conquest. Henry Lindley resembled his father in features, but India, a mix of both her parents, had his famous eyes. Fortune loved the portrait of Rowan Lindley. She drank it in each time she saw it as if she might gain something of her father.
She didn't look like him at all, or her mother either. There was nothing in her that she might say was him. She had her great-grandmother de Marisco's blue-green eyes, and her great- great-grandmother O'Malley's flaming red hair, they told her. Her grandmother Gordon always noted that Fortune was the duck in the swan's nest with her pale skin and wild pate. Fortune smiled to herself. She wondered what William Devers looked like, and if she wed him what their children would look like.
A light rain began to fall, and Fortune drew her cloak more tightly about her. She had heard it said that it rained easily in Ireland, yet the sun would be out the next minute. Looking up she saw the clouds scudding across the sky, yet here and there there were patches of blue. She laughed, deciding that she liked it. Then the sun burst forth, turning the morning bright and faintly warm. The ship moved more slowly now, its sails being trimmed as it glided toward its dockage. Usually ships anchored in the bay, but they would dock today because of the unusual amount of luggage belonging to Lady Fortune Lindley.
As the vessel skid into its berth, and the sailors leapt forth onto the dock to make the ship fast, Fortune saw a tall gentleman standing and watching. She wondered who he was. He was dressed very simply in dark breeches, a doeskin sleeveless doublet with staghorn buttons, a white linen shirt, and fine leather boots. His head was bare, and she noted his hair was almost as bright as her own. Well, Fortune thought, at least I won't stand out so much any longer if this fellow is about. The gentleman stood next to a large traveling coach to which were attached six fine chestnut horses. Fortune noted with pleasure that the coach horses were matched. Since the ship they had traveled upon belonged to her family, and the dock was privately held by them, she knew the coach belonged to them too.
'Why it's Rory Maguire! He has come to meet us. How absolutely wonderful!' Jasmine was by her daughter's side again. She waved quite enthusiastically. 'Rory! Rory Maguire!'
He had seen her come to the rail to stand next to the young girl. She was older, yes, but still, he thought, the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered. He waved back at her.
The ship was finally made fast to the dock, and the gangway lowered. Jasmine hurried off the vessel, trailed by her family and servants. She held out her hands in a gesture of greeting to her estate manager. 'Rory Maguire! How good of you to come and meet us! How it takes me back. Far too many years than I care to remember,' she finished with a smile.
He took the elegantly gloved hands in his and kissed them both.
'This is my husband, James Leslie, the duke of Glenkirk, Rory,' Jasmine said, drawing Jemmie forward.
The two men shook hands, each carefully sizing the other up as they did so. Apparently satisfied, they smiled, speaking a greeting.
'My wife has naught but good to say about ye, Maguire,' the duke said. 'I look forward to seeing the estate.'
'Thank you, my lord,' came the reply. 'I think you'll be pleased. 'Tis a fair land, Maguire's Ford.' Rory turned back to Jasmine. 'I've brought the coach, of course, my lady, and there's horses to ride if you prefer. You'll be remembering Fergus Duffy, I'm certain. He's come along to drive the coach for us. As I recall yer servants prefer it to the back of a beast.'
'Fergus Duffy, and how is your good wife, Bride?' Jasmine called up to the coachman with a smile. 'My daughter is looking forward to meeting her godmother.' The duchess drew her child forward. 'This is Fortune, Rory. Fergus, this is the lady Fortune.'
The coachman tipped his head in greeting.
Rory Maguire took Fortune's slender gloved hand and, raising it to his lips, kissed it. 'I welcome you, my lady, and hope Maguire's Ford will please you so that you will want to remain.'
Fortune looked directly into the blue eyes assessing her. She felt a sudden and odd sense of recognition, yet she had been but an infant when this man had seen her last. 'I thank you, sir,' she replied, puzzled as to the strange feelings she was now experiencing.
'I've a lovely little black mare with me you might enjoy,' Rory said to Fortune, releasing her hand.
'I'd prefer that fine dappled gray gelding,' Fortune said pointing, and quickly recovering from her earlier sensitivities.
'He's a wee bit unpredictable,' the estate manager cautioned.
'So am I,' Fortune-replied with a mischievous grin.
Rory Maguire laughed heartily. 'Do you think you can handle him, my lady? I'll not have you being tossed about. 'Twould be a poor welcome home, I'm thinking.'
'There's not a horse alive I can't handle,' Fortune boasted.
Maguire looked to the duke and duchess, and when James Leslie nodded his approval, the Irishman said, 'His name is Thunder, my lady. Come, and I'll give you a hand up.'
'My baggage?' Fortune queried.
'We'll need several carts,' Jasmine said. 'Fortune brought all her possessions as she hopes to remain here in Ireland.'
