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  Lucien stopped chewing for a moment, and then grumbled, "Well, you needn’t make me feel as though I'm overeating. Whatever I don’t eat the servants get."

  "Or it just gets thrown to the dogs, as it did in Mr. Woodham’s house. His servants lived on bread and butter and porridge most of the time, or potatoes of course. Sometimes they would taste meat, but not very often."

  "Surely you have pigs, cattle?" Lucien said between mouthfuls, raising his eyebrows inquiringly.

  "The family pig is usually raised to pay the rent. The poor never get to eat it. When the Famine came, some of them did kill their pigs, but then they were evicted for being in arrears with their rent, and ended up homeless. They were forced to wander the roads because the landlords said they didn’t want to hear their excuses, and that they a were all lazy and feckless," Riona said quietly. "As for the cows, they gave milk for butter, cheese, and of course milk for the children. But eventually they ran dry, so they were either eaten or sold."

  Lucien listened to her tale with interest, before pointing out, "But the papers would have you believe that it's the poor Irish person’s own faults that they live in such poverty. That the ordinary Irish person is lazy and indigent, and that that is what makes them poor. Everyone says that they should never have resorted to simply one crop, the potato."

  Riona had heard the argument a hundred times before, and tamped down her anger at the criticism. If only the people in England and Dublin knew how much the Irish poor had suffered...

  She put down her fork and explained patiently, "But if you have little good quality land, what else are you meant to raise? Wheat doesn’t grow where I come from. You’re lucky to get oats, and our harvest season is later because we're so far north. The potato stays in the ground, and you can tend it and still do other things, like fish, or teach, or make clothes and furniture. My family and I labored every day in the vegetable patches. My brothers worked every day of their lives. What have they got to show for it?"

  "Oh God, Riona, I'm sorry--"

  She pressed on, her anger bursting forth at last. "My family worked all our lives for Mr. Woodham until he decided to sell his estate because he said he was too poor to keep it on. Too poor? He just sold up everything and moved to his English estate and left us to suffer. We worked from the time we were old enough to walk, and were reduced to living in a fisherman’s hut half the size of this room."

  "You're right, it doesn't seem fair."

  "I'll admit there are good and bad people the world over, hardworking people, and lazy ones, honest ones and lying and cheating ones. But even if they are lazy, do they deserve to be allowed to starve? We weren’t lazy, and we were left to starve. The blight ruined every potato, in every field, regardless of who owned it, the feckless or the diligent!"

  Lucien stared at Riona as she made her impassioned speech.

  Thinking he disbelieved her, she pressed on. "Mr. Woodham talked about being too poor to keep the estate. When a rich man goes bankrupt, he pays off his debts, yet still gets to keep his personal possessions, doesn’t he? He isn’t stripped of everything he has! It would be too embarrassing for the rest of the people in your class.

  "But when a person like me goes bankrupt, we end up homeless, stripped of our possessions, which we have to sell off one by one, and we starve, plain and simple. And if starvation doesn’t get us, disease will. So don’t you dare say the Irish are lazy people, or that they deserve this fate!"

  "Now Riona, I never said--"

  "I’ve seen people eating grass to stay alive," she revealed bitterly. "In a land with so much prosperity, it should never be allowed to happen. The money the food on your plate costs would feed my family for a month. A poor diet, admittedly, but it would at least be something. Those lovely clothes you bought me would feed them for years! The waistcoat you're wearing now would feed my entire town for a year!"

  As Lucien shifted in his seat and looked uncomfortable, Riona sat back with a sigh, and began to apologize. "I’m not saying I’m not thankful for all you help. I'm more grateful than I can say, and I shan’t even begin to try to thank you for all you’ve done for me since we met only a few short hours ago.

  "But surely you must see, that I'm one of the lucky ones, a poor waif you found struggling in the pouring rain on the roadside. But what about all the thousands of other poor people that you don’t see? The rich have duties as well as privileges which come with their position, which they should fulfil. You can’t improve a person, make them see the value of hard work, and thrift and good husbandry, if you've allowed him to starve to death through callousness, so called economic policy, or simple ignorance of the facts and the current crisis this country is facing."

  By this time Lucien’s appetite had vanished completely, and he mopped his mouth with his napkin and stood up.

  "Thank you for the lecture, my dear," he drawled. "If you have finished berating me for my shortcomings, I shall say good night."

  As he headed for the door, Riona leapt up and ran after him. "I'm sorry. Please don't be angry with me. But someone needs to tell the truth about what's happening here before it's too late."

  Unthinkingly she took his hand, and held it firmly in her own. The warmth flowed through both of them.

  After staring at her lovely face for a moment, Lucien shook his head. He enfolded her tiny hand in both his own, and said softly, "No, I’m not angry with you. How could I be, when all you’ve done is tell me some unpalatable facts? I’ve been puffed up with pride over this new clinic of mine, and think that because I'm a doctor, I'm helping the poor and needy.

  "But the truth of it is, the people I see are in many cases too far gone for me to be able to do anything to help them. You're absolutely right, Riona. I should prevent diseases before they even start, by making sure there's food, warmth and shelter for those who need it. But where can I start?"

  She considered the question for several seconds. "Perhaps begin by looking at your own household and clinic first. Then talk to some of the charity committees to see where there is most need."

  Lucien continued to hold her hand for a moment longer, until he suddenly stroked the silken sleeve of the gown. "I’m glad you like the things."

  "I do, really, but it was far too generous of you."

  "Nonsense, it's the least I can do."

  The material rode up her arm, and suddenly he caressed the delicate inner skin of Riona’s wrist.

  A tremor ran through both of them.

  Lucien dragged his eyes away from the luminous bare skin and murmured, "Well, you must be very tired, Miss Connolly. I’ll bid you good night. I have some business at the bank in the morning, so I’ll order your breakfast for ten, and we’ll get underway at eleven. I’ll call for you here."

  "That would be fine," Riona said, trying to resist the temptation to tug her hand away nervously. It was only when Lucien released her and closed the door behind him that at last she felt she could breathe again.

  What an unusual man, so changeable, so earnest, so unpredictable, Riona reflected as she sat down in the chair by the fire to finish drying her hair.

  "What a strange unpredictable woman," Lucien muttered as he sat down by his own fireside to loosen his stock and unbutton his waistcoat. "So lovely, yet so passionate, clear-thinking. She must have an extraordinary family."

  At this thought Lucien recalled his promise to send money to her family, and resolved to send one hundred pounds with a note that they should buy what food they could and distribute it to the poor in their area, and that he would send more money later.

  It never occurred to him that there might not be very much food to buy, or that a lack of food might be the least of the problems facing the poor in Dunfanaghy. There was no work, no housing now that many of the cottages had been tumbled down, and no hope. Certainly there were no potatoes, and no seed potatoes to try to plant for the coming year.

  But Lucien wasn’t aware of the root causes of the endemic poverty in Ireland. He only wished to do what he sa
w was best all around. He would tell his brother Quentin to put the family's Donegal property on the market, and as he made his way down to Dublin, he decided that he would visit the various workhouses and make some donations as well.

  Lucien made a list of the errands he had to run in the morning in his small pocketbook, and then undressed and blew out his lamp. But though he closed his eyes and tried to count sheep, he couldn’t obliterate Riona’s lovely face from his mind’s eye, and sleep was a long time in coming.

  Chapter Four

  Riona poked her head out of the covers sleepily the next morning as the rapping on the door grew more and more urgent.

  For a brief moment she had no idea where she was.

  Then it dawned on her. She was in an inn in Strabane, on her way to Dublin, and she was meant to be ready to meet Dr. Woulfe by eleven.

  "Riona, it’s Lucien. Are you all right?" he asked worriedly though the portal.

  "Fine, fine, I just overslept, that’s all," she called from the bed apologetically.

  "Come along, sleepyhead." Lucien smiled as he walked in with a servant pushing a trolley. "I told you, breakfast at ten, then we leave at eleven."

  Suddenly Lucien noticed Riona’s bare shoulders, and the fact that she was cowering under the sheet with her hair tumbled in every direction.

  "Oh, I'm s-s-sorry, f-f-forgive me for intruding," Lucien stammered as he began to back out of the room.

  "No, no, if you'll just wait outside in the hall for a moment, I'll put on my robe again and join you," Riona said, seeing that the manservant had brought enough breakfast for two on the trolley.

  As soon as the door had closed, she grabbed the gown at the foot of the bed and shrugged into it. She fastened the frogs rapidly with nimble fingers, and then grasped her hairbrush and gave her auburn tresses a few quick strokes. Then she trotted to the door and swung it open, and led Lucien inside by the arm.

  "Please, sit," she invited, and hastily poured a steaming hot cup of coffee for him. "How do you take it?"

  "Black, two sugars, please."

  Then Riona laid out bacon, eggs, sausage, black pudding, and a small beefsteak for Lucien, before helping herself to some scrambled eggs and a piece of bread.

  "I can’t afford to overdo things just yet," she said as she observed him looking at her plate.

  Lucien nodded his assent, and then uncovered a big bowl of porridge made with milk. "But here, have this first," he suggested, placing the silver cover over her eggs, and placing the bowl of hot cereal in front of her.

  "Thank you for being so thoughtful." Riona smiled across at him, and then tried to think of some neutral topic of conversation to avoid spoiling his appetite as she undoubtedly had the night before.

  "The weather seems fair this morning," she commented, noting the sunshine streaming in on her from the large bay window.

  "Very fair indeed," Lucien couldn’t help but remark, as the sun lit her with a golden glow, showing off her tousled auburn hair and flawless skin to perfection.

  Lucien had heard a common joke around the men’s club he frequented, 'I’ve never gone to bed with an ugly woman, but I’ve woken up with plenty of them,' but in truth he had never seen anything as lovely as Riona. With her eyes moist and shining, and her creamy skin, especially those shoulders, and the tantalising peep of bosom he had seen when the sheet had dipped lower when he had walked into the room unannounced, she was truly a vision.

  Riona saw him staring, and hoped that he wasn’t still angry with her over the previous evening’s conversation. She asked about their route for the day in a casual tone, and he informed her that they would travel to Omagh and stop for the night, then head on to Monaghan, Ardee, and finally Dublin.

  "Oh my, all these places I’ve always heard of but never seen. What an adventure."

  Riona brushed her hair out of her face as she bent to eat her porridge, and managed a few spoonfuls of the rich creamy mixture.

  Lucien, noticing one stray curl falling into her eye, reached out unthinkingly, and brushed it back, fingering its silky softness lingeringly.

  She thanked him shyly, and then began to chatter on about what she had seen ever since she had begun her journey south, anxious to entertain him since he seemed so quiet.

  Lucien ate better that morning that he had the night before, lingering over his breakfast for the first time in years, but he said little himself.

  Normally he would have read the morning papers for a few minutes as he wolfed down a boiled egg and one slice of toast. This morning he was content to listen to Riona’s musical voice give utterance whenever a thought would come into her head. She seemed so spontaneous, so uncalculating.

  But perhaps this was a sign of a calculating mind? Lucien wondered, recalling how badly deceived he had been in Antoinette so many years before.

  But Lucien berated himself for the unfair comparison when Riona began to enquire curiously about the kinds of herbs that she might be able to find in Dublin, so much further south than her own home.

  "My mother had a very large book, you see, but many of the things in it don’t grow up in Donegal. I imagine the soil must be richer down south. I might be able to find all sorts of fascinating herbs. Flowers too. Mr. Woodham’s wife always wanted to grow prize-winning roses, but it never seemed to work. They tried to keep bees as well, but without flowers..."

  Riona chatted on quietly, and Lucien listened to her every word. At one point she scolded him gently, "You’re not eating very much, Dr. Woulfe. You’ll be sorry later. Surely it's to your liking? It all seems excellent to me," she said, pouring him more hot coffee, and even having half a cup herself.

  As Lucien continued to watch her, Riona looked down doubtfully at her cup. "I can remember having coffee a few times at the Woodhams. You don’t mind, do you?"

  "Mind? Of course not," Lucien said with a frown.

  "Thank you," she replied shyly.

  "My dear girl, when you're fit and well again, I hope you'll be sure to have exactly what I have to eat and drink."

  She worried her full ruby lower lip between even white teeth. "It wouldn’t be proper. Not if I'm to be a servant. In any case, it's not what I'm used to."

  Lucien scowled. "You won't be a servant. An employee, yes, a servant no. I don’t expect you to wait on me hand and foot."

  To prove his words, Lucien took the coffee pot away from her and poured his own.

  Riona withdrew into herself then, and said nothing.

  "What is it? What have I said?" Lucien demanded a few moments later when he noted her sudden silence and saw her altered mood.

  "I was pouring your coffee because it's the usual role of a woman at the table if there are no servants present, not because I thought I was a servant. It was common courtesy. But I don’t mind being a servant. A governess is a servant, after all. I don’t think it's anything to be ashamed of," Riona said with a proud lift of her chin.

  Lucien's golden gaze hardened slightly. "Miss Connolly, you're an educated woman, even if you are poor. I will not have you acting like an underling in my house. You shall be a guest, in one of my guest rooms, and you can be a secretary or a helper of some sort. You will dine with me, and accompany me to the clinic, where we shall no doubt find something which will suit your talents. But you are not a domestic servant, is that clear?"

  Riona nodded, but said nothing.

  Damn it, but why did the girl have to be so prickly at times? Lucien wondered in exasperation. Or was it just that for some reason he felt on edge when he was around her? Yet they had been getting along so well just few minutes before.

  He put his cup down on the tray and looked directly at her. "Miss Connolly. Riona. I, well, I’m sorry if I spoke to you harshly a moment ago. Somehow you always seem to make me feel ashamed of myself, as if I'm some crass blundering fool," Lucien confessed.

  "I don’t mean to make you feel like that," Riona protested, getting up to rest her hand on his shoulder. "I don’t mind being a servant, honestly. After all, you
'll be paying me for my work, and I have no wish to disappoint you. But nor do I want to be made to feel like a charity case. I’ll scrub floors, do the laundry, anything you ask of me, and be grateful for the work."

  "Then do what I tell you, and consider yourself my equal," he said, entirely missing the contradiction in what he had said.

  "How can I when you're so wealthy and I'm just--"

  "I run an informal household, with few servants and no one to please except myself. So please, Riona, let’s see how things go when you arrive. I have no doubt that soon we shall find just the right niche for you, all right?"

  "Very well, Dr. Woulfe, we’ll wait and see."

  They finished their breakfast chatting about the chores they would have to take care of before they were ready to leave