The Shamrock & the Rose Read Free

O’Connell, the barrister who
leads the Irish in their campaign for Catholic emancipation? I
believe he has a son named Morgan, but I dare say you are too old
to be him.”
    “The name Morgan is as common as Maurice or
Daniel in my family. Suffice it to say there are many. The Daniel
O’Connell you speak of is my cousin, older than me by ten years at
just past forty. He is the one who encouraged me to come to London
to read the law and attend one of the Inns of Court. Daniel thought
a Protestant might be better received here.”
    “A Protestant in the very Catholic O’Connell
family?”
    “Yes,” Morgan admitted with a rueful smile.
“From my mother’s side. A bit of a misfit, perhaps, neither
accepted by all of the O’Connells nor trusted by the Protestant
Ascendancy.”
    “A misfit…” The countess studied him
intently. “You must be a man who thinks for himself, Mr. O’Connell,
if you are willing to draw the ire of all.”
    “I should like to think that is the case.
However, my cousin has been most supportive. While Daniel is
critical of the Protestant leaders in Ireland, he is a fair man. He
believes religious and civil liberty for Catholics in Ireland will
also protect Protestants in France and Italy. And he counts
Protestants among his friends.”
    “Most interesting,” murmured the countess.
“I have read some of his speeches. Your cousin is certainly
eloquent, and his words reflect a sharp mind. But I appreciate most
his contempt for violence in the cause of equality.”
    “That is due to his days in France where he
witnessed the excesses of the revolution. Most of Ireland supports
his efforts for peaceful reform, but the English are a different
matter. Many look upon him with only disdain. You are an
exception—a woman who thinks for herself, perhaps?”
    “Touché, sir,” she said with a warm
smile.
    It was time. Morgan reached for the envelope
in his pocket and extended it toward the countess. “This is the
note I found. I apologize for its condition, but it was lying on
the street.”
    The countess glanced at the address but did
not take the envelope. “Mr. O’Connell, are you a man to be trusted
with secrets?”
    Somewhat surprised Morgan said, “I believe I
am. Certainly those who seek my services as a barrister will expect
me to hold their matters in confidence, and I am prepared to do
so.”
    “Well, then, in confidence, for your knowing
her residence poses a problem otherwise, allow me to explain. Miss
Underwood—the one to whom you would seek an introduction, the one
you know to be an actress—is not the real name of my houseguest.
Miss Lily Underwood is, in truth, Miss Rose Collingwood, a baron’s
daughter and a fine young lady who happens to have an affinity and
talent for the theatre. Staying with me protects her identity as
well as her virtue. Her mother is a good friend of mine, and both
the theatre manager Mr. Colman and I are committed to this
endeavor.”
    Morgan had not expected to learn the truth
so easily, and he was flattered by the countess’s honesty. “Well,
that explains much.” He wasn’t sure what else to say, for his
earlier plans seemed ruined by the revelation. Perhaps they were
ruined the moment he arrived at Claremont House.
    The countess rose, and Morgan followed. Then
she surprised him again: “Why don’t you come to dinner this
evening, Mr. O’Connell? I am having a few guests in, and Miss
Collingwood will be in attendance. She has the evening free from
the theatre, so you can deliver the note personally.”
    Morgan blinked. “That is very gracious of
you, my lady.” There seemed no choice, not that he would ever
reject such good fortune. “I heartily accept.”
    * * *
    “A note, you say?” Rose had returned from
her morning calls to find the countess seated on the parlour sofa
with a glass of sherry in hand and a smile on her face.
    “Yes, it seems Mr. O’Connell found it lying
on the street. He first thought to deliver it to the theatre