Comfort and Joy Read Online Free Page A

Rycroft, in the great beyond ever since his abrupt departure.
    Each year, Beatrice returned to Boston for a few months to visit with old friends. Her visits usually occurred in the summer, when she removed to one of the north shore resorts to take advantage of the cooling ocean breezes. This year, however, Beatrice had sent a message announcing she would join Charles for the holiday season. She’d neglected to mention an arrival date but he had immediately put the household on full alert and preparedness.
    Charles hardly knew his mother. Tall and elegant, Beatrice had always been a social butterfly, flapping about in bright, beaded evening dresses with wide satin skirts. Owing to Beatrice’s lack of maternal instincts, a succession of nannies raised Charles. His favorite, Lizzie, served as mother and father to him for the longest period of time. He’d been twelve years old when Lizzie’s gout got to be too much and she retired. His heart had broken. Even though Charles was off to boarding school, knowing Lizzie would not be there when he returned home for the holidays saddened him. His deep, constant loneliness intensified when Lizzie left.
    He conspired to stay in touch with his beloved nanny, sending her funds regularly, disguised as birthday and holiday gifts. A wizened old woman now, she lived with her daughter in the mill town of Lowell. Charles stopped to call whenever he was in the area.
    “Is this where ye be livin’ then?”
    Dear God, she was still with him.
    Charles had momentarily forgotten the little bit of a woman who sat at his side. All hope that he might soon waken from an especially grievous nightmare vanished.
    “Yes. This is my home. Come.” He helped Maeve from the carriage. Her mitten scratched against his palm as he took her hand. But the sweet violet scent of her somehow contrived to soothe and warm him in the frosty morning air.
    Maeve O’Malley’s eyes grew wider as Charles escorted her up the steep steps of the brownstone.
    “I’ve lived here ever since I was a boy,” he said, releasing her hand. Charles knew he must be careful not to give the diminutive creature any reason to think he might continue their unsuitable marriage. He’d married under duress, married in the only way conceivable to a confirmed bachelor. He’d been quite out of his mind at the time. Literally.
    “The Deakins house is not near so grand as this,” Maeve whispered. “And sure’n I’ve never walked in through the front door. Aye, and just look at the polished brass nameplate ye have here!”
    “My grandfather built the original house,” Charles told her. “Later my father added two floors.”
    Charles loved his home. The high-ceilinged, paneled rooms smelled of beeswax, lemon, and leather; clean, comforting aromas. He took solace in the evenings reading manuscripts in his study. Bolstered by a fine cigar and brandy, Charles found contentment surrounded by his favorite leather-bound books and treasured art collection. By nature he was a quiet, solitary man.
    Maeve did not move when he opened the door.
    “What is it?” he asked.
    “After you,” she deferred in a hushed tone.
    “No, after you. Ladies before gentlemen.”
    She inclined her head.
    Charles leaned to whisper in her ear. “I’m not going to carry you over the threshold.”
    Maeve’s hands went to her hips and her lovely lapis eyes darkened to a deep, stormy indigo. “‘Tis not what—”
    “Please,” he begged, raising his hands in front of his chest as if he expected to ward off a blow. “No public scenes.”
    With a sniff and a tilt of her chin, she marched before him into the foyer.
    Inexplicably amused, he followed.
    A scream went out from the top of the stairs. The upstairs maid, who had been polishing the banister, stood stock still, her hand clapped over her mouth.
    Responding to her cry, Dolly, the housekeeper, and Stuart, the butler, rushed to the foyer, each coming to an abrupt halt. Charles’s servants were clearly