Page 62 of Calling on the Matchmaker
At a sudden and heavy banging against the front door of the mansion, Finola bolted up, and her heart began to tap erratic rhythm. Not many would knock so forcefully.
But Riley would. If he was anxious to see her...
Although he’d said he’d stay away, maybe he wanted her enough to make another effort to work things out between them. Maybe he’d come because in spite of her confession, he’d decided none of her mistakes mattered, that he loved herenough to leave them in the past, that he was willing to accept her shortcomings, that he wanted to build a future with her anyway.
With her chest constricting, she picked up the heavy skirt of her day dress and ran across the room, desperate to answer the door before Winston did. By the time she reached the bottom of the steps and was racing across the front entryway, the butler was already there and opening the door.
Breathless, she halted, her muscles tightening with a need she didn’t understand.
“Is Finola here?” came a man’s voice from the front veranda. “I heard she’s still in the city.”
It took her only a moment to recognize the voice belonged to Bellamy McKenna. Why had he come? Had Riley sent the matchmaker in his stead to plead with her? Or maybe Bellamy was there to formally dissolve the match. After all, agreements had been officially signed. Maybe they had to be officially unsigned.
But did she really want to go through with unsigning any documents right now?
Winston opened the door wider.
“This is urgent.” Bellamy’s voice was grave.
What reason did the young matchmaker have to be so grave unless something had happened to Riley?
Her heart picked up its pace again, and she strode forward, sidling past Winston.
At the sight of her, Bellamy expelled a breath. “Thank Mary, Joseph, and Jesus.” His garments were disheveled, as though he’d slept in them. And he was hatless, his dark hair a mass of messy waves.
“What’s this urgent news you have for me, Bellamy?”
“’Tis Riley.” His expression was more serious than she’d ever seen. Something was wrong.
“What happened?”
“Riley has cholera and is sick and weak in bed.”
Cholera? Her knees buckled.
Bellamy shot out an arm and caught her.
“No, please, no.” She clutched him.
“I’m afraid so, Finola. The doctor has already been and gone a couple of times.” Bellamy’s brows furrowed above his dark eyes, which were absent of any mirth.
With Oscar’s Pub the center of the latest gossip among the Irish of St. Louis, he’d no doubt already heard about her breaking the match with Riley. And he’d probably also learned about her imminent leaving of St. Louis.
So why had he come over to deliver the news? Did he think she cared enough about Riley even after their parting ways that she’d want to say good-bye? If so, Bellamy knew her well. Even if the prospect of seeing Riley on his deathbed was frightening, she couldn’t stay away.
What if there was more she could do to save his life?
She reached for her cloak from the coat-tree, only to have Winston clear his throat. “Miss Shanahan, your father will be expecting you to leave the city this afternoon.”
“Another hour or so of delay won’t matter, Winston.” She tossed the garment around her shoulders.
“But ’tis the cholera, miss. I don’t think your father would be approving of you going anywhere near it.”
“She can stay in the hallway,” Bellamy offered. “No need to go into Riley’s room.”
“I should think not.” Winston’s eyes rounded, as though he were scandalized by the mention of such a possibility.
She wasn’t about to make Winston or Bellamy any promises about staying out of Riley’s room. She’d never let illness or disease stop her from visiting sick immigrants. She most certainly wouldn’t let anything stop her from seeing and helping Riley today. But if she said so, both the butler and Bellamy would forbid her from going.
