The Shamrock & the Rose by Regan Walker Read Free Book Online Page A

he
knew.
    ’Tis said you are the lily fair
that springs amidst the green.
I say nay, you are the red, red rose,
passion’s sister rarely seen.
A rose with soft petals yet nary a thorn,
’tis said you have many suitors.
But only a tender love will warm your heart—
one from a shamrock true,
who counts the days till you are his
and he’ll ever be with you.
    * * *
    As Rose dressed for the theatre that night,
she thought about the gifts the Irishman had brought her. A
sentimental poem most recently, but she liked it. The verses
brought a smile to her face and spoke to her heart.
    So, he would pursue her! Was it only to play
the gentleman, or was he sincere? They had known each other such a
short time. Still, he did not act the stuffy man her other suitors
had, holding out a dismal future. Morgan, as she now thought of
him, was unorthodox, different. And perhaps he wanted her to be
different as well. He was a charmer, yes, and maybe more.
    In addition to the poem, he had sent her a
beautiful enamel box painted with flowers that held a rose and a
shamrock carved in wood, treasures she would always have from the
man who’d given her an amazing first kiss. A reminder, too, of
their different cultures, because they could never share anything
more. What would her family say if she allowed it to be more? The
countess had not truly considered him a suitor, had she? Yet when
Rose was with Morgan O’Connell, there seemed no other man in the
world.
    The day before, Sir Alex had paid her a
call. Ever the gentleman, he seemed stiff and somewhat
uncomfortable as he tried to find topics other than some battle or
another. She thought it understandable he could only talk of war;
it had been his whole life. And she had to admit he was a hero. An
MP for less than a year, he did not appear much taken with
political life. But, as he explained, his brother Sir John had
served before him, and so must he.
    “My one dream has been to return to my
family seat in Scotland. I tell myself a fine wife is what I
deserve after so many years away.”
    “And so you should have one, Sir Alex. After
all you have done for the Crown, you deserve a family and your
home.”
    Rose considered what being wife to Sir Alex
might look like. Certainly nothing she wanted. She had no desire to
marry the man and had tried to discourage him, though she was also
glad she’d heard no gossip about herself and Mr. O’Connell. Her
mind wandered repeatedly to the handsome Irish barrister who fit
neither in Ireland nor in England. It would require much of a woman
to stand by his side through that great divide.
    She thought often of his kiss in the time
that passed since he brought her home that day, and whenever she
recalled his warm lips she trembled. In his arms was the place she
wanted to be, though he had taken all manner of liberties with her.
No English gentleman would have done the same. But then, she
reminded herself, he wasn’t English. She wasn’t even certain he was
a gentleman. An Irish charmer and a rogue, that’s what he was, and
she should well remember it!
    The countess entered her room to ask,
“You’ll have the footmen with you tonight?”
    “Yes, Albert has promised to wait at the
stage door while Robert will accompany the carriage in front of the
theatre.”
    Rose also remembered the words Morgan had
spoke to her. I will be there.
    The thought excited and comforted her.
    * * *
    Morgan drew his greatcoat tightly about him,
damning the cold night as he waited across the street from the side
door through which he knew Rose would emerge. As he fixed his gaze
on the dark alley, faint rays of moonlight broke through the clouds
and allowed him to see shapes and people. He recognized the livery
of one of the countess’s footmen, though the countess’s carriage
still lingered on the other side of the theatre.
    He’d been wrestling with himself since
taking Rose home three days before. How did a man know when he’d
met the woman with whom he wanted to share