Page 32 of Only By Grace
While she was looking forward to Ireland, she was not looking forward to being parted from Carew. She’d had his full attention at times on this journey, and it had been beyond her childish dreams. His attention, even though received by accident, had become something she cherished more than she ought. For once she had felt seen by him instead of found wanting.
And yet, there was an unpredictability to him that left her uncertain in more ways than one. One moment he was warmand engaging, his sharp wit and keen intelligence transforming their conversations into a lively dance that left her mind alight and her heart racing. But then he would retreat into himself, becoming distant and inscrutable. Had she imagined the connection between them entirely? What version of Carew awaited her once they reached Ireland? Would he withdraw from her completely, an obligation now fulfilled? The thought gnawed at her, though she tried valiantly to push it aside.
The problem with fairy tales was that reality eventually intruded. TakePersuasion, for example. While Anne Elliot’s steadfast patience had earned her a triumphant reunion with her Captain Wentworth, Grace could not bring herself to expect the same happy ending for her own tale. Lord Carew was nothing at all like she’d first thought him. It was possible, she supposed, that his particular manner aboard the ship—his attentiveness, his occasional warmth—was an anomaly, a reflection of the confined setting rather than his true character. It was also possible she was getting a rare view of the real man…unguarded and unfiltered. That possibility more than any other unsettled her, for she wanted to keep him.
A sharp knock at her cabin door startled her from her sleep. Rising quickly, she smoothed her impossibly wrinkled skirts and opened it to find Lord Carew standing there looking like Satan himself come to tempt her.
“I thought,” he began, his voice quieter than usual, “that you might wish to watch as we approach Kenmare Bay. ’Tis a sight worth seeing.”
Grace blinked in surprise, her heart leaping before she could suppress it. “Oh. Yes, I would very much like that. Thank you.”
He stepped aside, allowing her to follow him on to the deck. The crisp, bracing morning air greeted her, carrying with it the familiar tang of salt and something else—something earthy and green. Ireland. They were nearly there.
As she reached the railing, the horizon was no longer the endless expanse of sea she had grown accustomed to. Instead, it was broken by cliffs, their rugged faces rising dramatically from the water. The sunlight danced across their surfaces, as though nature herself had carved out the stone.
The cliffs gave way to rolling hills, their slopes lush with emerald grass that glowed in the sunlight. Scattered dots of white hinted at cottages, their thatched roofs contrasting with the verdant landscape. It was a place both wild and welcoming, untamed yet not. Grace felt a pang of longing she could not explain, as though some part of it called to her like England’s gentle countryside.
As the ship rounded a bend in the coast, a medieval castle came into view, perched high above the bay. Its imposing silhouette proclaimed it a fortress with its towers and turrets, while the wide windows reflected light. The castle commanded its position with authority over the water and the cliffs, where waves crashed against the rocks below. It was stunning, a place to warn off invaders and make them question the wisdom of trying to attack.
“That is your home?” Grace asked, her voice awe-filled.
Carew nodded. “Donnellan Castle.” There was a note of pride in his tone, tempered by something quieter—perhaps even wistfulness.
“It’s…magnificent. I do not think I could have conjured such beauty in my dreams,” she said earnestly, her eyes sweeping over the house and its surroundings. “Though it looks fierce at the same time.”
He chuckled softly, a sound that sent warmth through her chest. “An intentional impression, and there’s some truth in it. I love that the cliffs have always shaped the castle as much as the castle has shaped the land.”
She turned her attention back to the view, allowing the silence between them to stretch, comfortable and companionable.
As the ship drew closer to the bay, the details of Donnellan came into sharper clarity—the tall stone walls, rising from the cliffs down which water poured in a great fall into the sea below. Grace could scarcely take it all in.
And yet, as much as she looked forward to setting foot on land, to exploring the castle and its grounds, a quiet sadness settled over her. This journey, this time with Carew, had been a gift she had never expected. She feared that once they disembarked, the spell would be broken, and he would retreat into his revenge on Flynn, leaving her on the periphery once more.
“Miss Whitford,” Carew said suddenly, drawing her attention back to him. There was something in his expression she could not quite place, a flicker of hesitation. “I hope you will find Donnellan to your liking.”
“I am certain I will,” she replied, her heart tinged with sadness. “It is an extraordinary place, my lord.”
“I wish I would be able to show it to you.” His gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as though he wished to say more, but then he turned back to the view, thus putting a jagged point on any question she might have had about furthering their relationship. If what this was could be quantified as such.
Grace followed his lead, and turned to watch as the ship made its final approach.
The cliffs seemed to rise higher as they entered the bay, the waves gentler now, lapping against the ship’s sides with a rhythm that matched the beating of her heart. For better or worse, their journey was coming to an end, and with it the fragile connection she had begun to treasure. Her insides felt strippedbare, as though the pages of her fairy tale were ripped away—ended before it had really begun.
Perhaps she needed to read less. Her flair for dramatic prose, even if only in her thoughts, was startling.
A loud crack sounded, sharp and jarring, breaking the tranquillity like a thunderclap. Grace started, clutching the railing as the ship jolted with the impact of something striking its hull. Shouts erupted around her, the crew scrambling to action, their movements swift and purposeful. Another crack followed, splintering a section of the deck not far from where she stood. It was only then that she realised the ship was under attack.
“Get down!” a voice commanded, cutting through the chaos like steel through silk. Before she could fully comprehend what was happening, she felt the solid weight of Lord Carew pressing her down to the deck, his arm shielding her head as another deafening crack split the air. She barely registered the shouts of the crew or the distant flash of gunfire. All of her senses were centred on the protective presence of Carew, his body taut with tension, his breath steady despite the danger.
“Do not move until I tell you,” he instructed, his voice calm but firm.
Her heart hammered in her chest, the shock of the moment rendering her mute. She nodded, her cheek pressed against the rough wood of the deck as the acrid smell of gunpowder filled her nose. Carew shifted slightly, his sharp gaze sweeping across the horizon as if assessing the threat.
“They’ve positioned themselves along the cliffs. A coward’s tactic.”
Grace clung to his words, her mind reeling. Who would dare fire upon them? It must be Flynn’s doing. Had the enmity between the families escalated to open violence? She did not know, and in that moment, she could not bring herself to ask.Her world had narrowed to the immediate danger and the steady presence of Carew beside her.
Another shot struck the ship, the sound reverberating through the planks beneath them, followed by a sickening cackle of laughter that echoed through the cove.
