Rescuing Mr. Gracey Read Free

the ridiculous attraction. He’s the devil himself , she thought, regaining a bit of pride with her temper.
    “Me da got his hut tumbled, so I dug a hole along a hill, ya know. Well, since the Gracey mill ain’t never goin’ to hire natives, I’m spanking to earn me a potato.”
    Mr. Alexander startled, then stiffened before he recovered with a wipe of his expression.
    Lily noticed his reaction and interpreted it as confusion. “I’m guessin’ a fine gentleman like yourself don’ know me meanin’, so I’ll tell ya, sir. Spanking is cuttin’ away turf. ’Bout breaks me back…and look at me hands.” Batting her eyelashes, she waved her torn hands in front of Mr. James. “What else is an unattached girl to do?”
    Flicking a brief inspecting glance, Mr. James frowned. “Gruesome to think some must toil.” His nose lifted in the air. “Delighted it isn’t me.”
    Mary bit her tongue and forced her itchy fingers not to slap the arrogant face. British invader would not last one week cutting turf!
    “I doubt anyone respectable would hire you, sir,” Mr. Alexander said sharply. “You obviously eat plenty of cake and lack the strength and endurance to perform any real work.”
    Lily laughed. Mr. James’s face flushed. Both men glared at the other, their dislike obvious. The tension between the two made the afternoon sun seem all the warmer.
    “We have commitments,” she said. “Thank you for the use of your frockcoat, sir.”
    Mr. Alexander’s scowl cleared as he shifted his attention back toward Mary. “Miss Connelly and Miss Smyth, will you tarry long enough for a bit of refreshment? Sharing our small offering will ease my conscience for the carelessness of our carriage.”
    Before Mary could refuse, Lily shouted approval. “Oh, t’ be sure. All we got is a petate ’tween us.”
    With swift deliberation, Mr. Alexander swung a small satchel from his shoulder and lifted rare, delectable offerings. Wine, cheese, bread, salted beef.
    A hollow ache twisted her stomach, reminding her of her own poverty. The block of cheese and the long loaf of bread would feed her entire family for days. But the beef?
    Lily’s eyes widened. “Mary,” she whispered. “Did ya ever see the likes?”
    Mary’s heart thudded a warning. The hefty price of beef screamed the wealth of these two men…and wealthy men were something the native Irish feared.
    “Lily…” she whispered. They needed to leave now.
    Turning toward Mr. Alexander, Lily said, “We don’t eat like that since an Gorta Mór . The famine, brought on by the black blight, ya know? ”
    Mr. Alexander hesitated, his hand paused over the satchel. “I came upon funds from…a relative.” The beef disappeared inside the bag. “I spent a portion on our empty stomachs…”
    Lying. Again. Mary tugged Lily’s thin arm, but her friend jerked away.
    “We’d be pleased to eat a wee snack, sir.”
    “I’m afraid I don’t have any cups,” he said, extending the silver container. “Do you mind drinking from the flask?”
    Lily’s devilish smile spread. “Are ya’ foolin’?” Snatching the wine flask, she rudely chugged, liquid overflowing from her mouth and dribbling onto her chin.
    Mary recoiled. “Lily!” Dread, embarrassment, desperation tightened her voice until it sounded like an out-of-tune fiddle.
    Lily flicked an irritated frown. “I’m thankin’ ya for the fine offering.” She tipped the container to her mouth again and gulped.
    Mary heard her own blood pounding in her ears. Humiliation became a living, breathing thing that loomed over her, melting her burning face, her trembling hands. Why did she want to cry and cover her face with her torn apron all the while explaining that, despite her tattered dress and shoeless feet, she had not always been poor? She wanted to explain that, once, she had been educated by her father, the best Hedgemaster instructor in Ireland, and she wore pretty dresses and even ate cheese.
    Once, a thousand hungry