The Christmas Secret by Julia London Read Free Book Online Page B

for Molly or Mabe Hannigan, no. It was for Erin—or however the devil she said her name.
    Henry loved the horses, he loved the racing, and he also came to love the nightly suppers. Molly and Mabe Hannigan, along with their parents, were permanent fixtures at Ballynaheath now that their sister had married the earl. It was somewhat puzzling to Henry—he had seen the Hannigan estate while out riding one day, and if there was a house that could rival Ballynaheath, it was that one. Yet the twins missed their sister, and the parents missed their daughters, and therefore, they had taken to dining at Ballynaheath, and if too much was drunk, they stayed overnight. Furthermore, if any of the gentlemen who had called on any of the ladies during the day were fortunate enough to be at Ballynaheath when supper was served, they were invited to dine as well.
    The result was a full table, which meant that Henry could rarely wedge as much as a word into the conversation. Nor could he ever manage to seat himself near Erin. He wanted to speak to her, to hear her lilting voice, to watch her eyes sparkle when she laughed. The seating arrangements, however, had something to do with social hierarchy. Henry finally resorted to bribing a footman with a pouch of American tobacco he’d intended as a gift for the earl to gain better seating. That got him closer to Erin, but not close enough. He had to content himself with watching her, and horning in on the conversation when he could manage.
    He never tired of watching his angel of mercy. She was as beautiful as she’d been that night on the ship, with the long brown hair that curled down her back. At times, loose strands would curl around her neck. Her sky blue eyes sparkled in the light of the candles that graced the table. When she laughed, her eyes crinkled in the corners, giving the impression that she laughed often.
    She often glanced at Henry, too, most especially when someone said something astounding, and they would smile at one another in surprised unison. It made Henry long to be alone with her and hear her laugh. He would never abuse Donnelly’s hospitality, but he wished more than anything for a few moments alone with the lass.
    From time to time, someone would inquire about America. Henry was happy to oblige their curiosity and felt proud to speak of his family, who had been in New York for four generations, and of their farm and the work he did there. They seemed to most enjoy tales of the War of Independence. Henry had a few, as his grandfather had been a participant, and the Irishmen hung on every word of how the Americans had defeated the British troops.
    “I have always marveled,” Mr. Hannigan said, “that the Americans could defeat one of the most powerful forces on earth.”
    “My grandfather liked to say that the Americans who fought were a pugnacious lot,” Henry said. “They were willing to attack in ways the British had never seen before, and the British were unable to adapt over time. It was as if the Americans always knew what the British would do before they knew it themselves.”
    “No doubt the light cast from the brass of all their buttons gave them away,” Erin said with a devilish smile, and the Irish seated at that table laughed heartily.
    Henry told them about the family’s brickyard and the farm. He discussed his affinity for horses, and how it had begun at the age of three, when his father had put him on the back of a horse. He regaled them with the wretched tale of his crossing, making those weeks of illness amusing for the benefit of his hosts.
    And, naturally, he told them how he’d first met his angel of mercy, Erin O’Conner. “She saved me,” he avowed.
    “You must never sail without a potato soaked in Irish whiskey,” Mrs. Sullivan warned him. “It is the only cure for seasickness.”
    “I do not believe the potato cures, Grandmamma,” Donnelly said. “I rather think it creates more ailments than it serves.”
    “Do not pay him any