Chapter Six
They were halfway through their first full day in the carriage, and Duke was beginning to ponder the very real possibility of tossing himself out onto the roadside, risking injury for the chance to escape.
“I am not one to complain”—Grandmother made the declaration without the slightest hint of irony—“but it was rather thoughtless of your father to insist that I make a journey several days longer than I had anticipated. He ought to have kept to the original arrangements and permitted me to journey directly to Writtlestone.”
Duke most certainly agreed with that. “Let us hope he arranges direct journeys for you from now on.” His hopes on the topic were firmly built on the need to keep Grandmother from detouring to Fairfield, where Duke had every intention of being, and that when she did journey to her daughter’s home, it would always come with ample warning so he could make himself scarce for the duration of her visit. Perhaps those would be ideal times for him to make brief visits home. His parents might welcome him back if they saw his albeit temporary return as a show of loyalty to them and disapproval of the extended family.
“I intend to confront your father about this disloyalty,” Grandmother declared.
“What disloyalty?” He couldn’t entirely keep the sudden hint of panic out of his voice. Surely Duke hadn’t given away his plan.
Grandmother pursed her thin lips and tipped her chin defiantly. “He has subjected me to unnecessary suffering. He should know how unfairly he is treating his mother.”
She was, then, upset about what she saw as Father’s betrayal, not Duke’s upcoming perfidy. Lud, he hoped he could manage to make his end goal less of a mess than it seemed destined to be.
You’ve navigated complicated situations with your family before , he reminded himself. You’ll manage to do so again.
“He owes me an explanation as well,” Grandmother said. “One does not cause such consternation to one’s family without explaining oneself to that family.”
Duke was hearing the very complaints that would soon be lodged against him , the same denouncements, the same upbraiding. He felt certain his only chance of maintaining a relationship of any kind with his parents was to put distance between himself and them. Yet they would, without question, castigate him for doing so. It was very discouraging.
“Does my son not care that I am being subjected to a much longer journey than I would otherwise have endured? Am I so unvalued as a mother that such a thing seemed perfectly reasonable?”
When Grandmother’s complaints shifted toward pointed questions about the possibility of being a dismal mother, Duke knew he was expected to redirect. Unfortunately, he’d found over the years that taking some of the blame on himself worked best. “Father likely would have kept to the original arrangements except that I needed to make a journey as well. There would be a great deal more expense in two separate journeys occurring at the same time, something I ought to have considered sooner.”
She pondered that a moment and seemed a little appeased. “He has had to be rather careful in financial matters these past years. That, of course, can be laid at Penelope’s feet.” Duke subtly mouthed the next phrase in perfect synchronicity with his grandmother. “Selfish girl.”
“Aunt Penelope is not responsible for Father’s difficulties,” Duke said.
“She might not have caused them, but she most certainly didn’t help when his situation grew precarious.”
Duke hadn’t been old enough when this bit of family history had occurred to know all the details, but the versions he’d heard from his father, his grandmother, and his aunt did not match. He’d more or less sorted out which bits of truth existed in which retelling of events. But truth was not usually the highest consideration in decades-old quarrels.
“I know that was a very difficult time for you,” Duke said.
“The estate that had been my home was taken from our family.” Grandmother sniffed. “My son lost his inheritance, and my daughter allowed him to lose it. Difficult does not begin to describe my experience.”
Duke glanced at their traveling companions. Nia was sitting beside Grandmother on the forward-facing bench. Eve was seated beside him. Neither could possibly have not overheard the conversation, but they were doing a very fine job of hiding any reaction.
Looking at the sisters proved a horrible idea, as Grandmother’s attention shifted to them as well. And with her attention came scrutiny.
“I have heard the name Eve before, obviously, but I am not familiar with Nia. Where did your parents find your names?” Asking about a person’s name was not unusual or rude, but somehow, Grandmother managed to make the question feel a bit insulting.
“They are our Anglicized names,” Eve said. “Too many in English Society cannot comprehend that Aoife is pronounced EE-fuh and Niamh is pronounced NEE-uv . Rather than explain again and again and still hear our names constantly misspoken, the entire family has adopted versions of our names that are simpler for our English associates to manage.”
Grandmother turned to look at Nia. “Your name is Niamh? From Irish mythology?”
Nia nodded.
“I’ve not ever heard that used as a given name.”
Nia didn’t flinch or look embarrassed. “It was a given name in mythology.”
Grandmother shook her head. “But you aren’t living in a myth, are you?”
In a quiet, dry voice, Eve said, “At the moment, I’d be more inclined to call it a tragedy.”
Duke bit back his amusement. His grandmother’s sense of humor was not very reliable. If she thought he was amused at her expense, she would be impossible to endure for days to come.
To him, Grandmother said, “Your aunt and uncle call you Duke.”
“Nearly everyone calls me that.”
She was unmoved. “But it is not your name.”
“I have heard every possible attempt at saying my actual name, but almost never is it actually pronounced DU-vahn . And no one can ever spell it. I, too, have chosen to make my name easier on my English friends and neighbors.”
Grandmother was quick with a counterargument. “Penelope is Irish. She can say your name. She’s simply choosing not to.”
“I have never asked her not to call me Duke. If I did, I am certain she would honor that.” If only he were equally certain she would say, “Why, yes, Duke, you may stay at Fairfield, no matter that it will make all our lives more difficult.”
More difficult. His entire motivation in formulating this plan was to escape some of the difficulty that awaited him at Writtlestone, to preserve what was left of his relationship with his parents.
Grandmother’s lips pursed again, a telltale sign that she was about to lodge another complaint. “Your uncle certainly took very quickly to the odd name you adopted.”
His uncle Niles had inspired Duke’s choice of Anglicized name. But explaining that would require him to spill a secret that was not his to share.
“Penelope ought to have married an Irishman.” Grandmother offered the declaration with an indisputable note of finality.
Duke was more than happy to leave the topic there, knowing Grandmother would add to her list of objections to Uncle Niles if given even the tiniest encouragement. She would have found reason to denounce anyone her children married. That same disapproval would, without question, be extended to any lady unfortunate enough to marry either of her grandsons.
“Mrs. Seymour,” Eve said, “we met your grandson Mr. Colm Greenberry in London during the Season. He is a very-well-thought-of gentleman.”
Duke silently said right along with Grandmother, “Colm is a war hero.”
She likely would have launched into the usual recitation of Colm’s accomplishments and the myriad ways in which he had made the family proud had not a well-timed carriage stop prevented it.
“It appears we have reached our midday stop.” Duke shrugged as if it hardly mattered, but inwardly he wanted nothing more than to bolt from the carriage. “We can step inside the inn for something to eat and to claim a momentary respite from the carriage.”
Grandmother pulled back the curtain on the window nearest her. Her mouth tightened into a wrinkled circle. “I do not care for the look of it. I will stay in the carriage.”
Duke wasn’t going to argue. “I can bring you back something to eat.”
“That will be fine.” She folded her hands on her lap and sat still as a statue.
Duke kept his demeanor calm and unconcerned as he opened the carriage door. He stepped down. He took a lungful of fresh air. Past experience had taught him that a moment away from his ambassadorial role helped him face more of it. He put down the carriage step, then assisted the O’Doyle sisters from the carriage.
He accompanied Eve and Nia across the inn yard.
“Thank you for your patience,” he said. “I am certain this has not been the quietly pleasant journey you would have preferred.”
“I don’t think either of us has ever been on a quiet journey,” Eve said. “And we’ve become adept over the years at ignoring happenings we’d rather pretend aren’t part of the experience.”
“I am not in a position to ignore those things, I am afraid.”
“She is your grandmother,” Eve said. “Ignoring her expressions of unhappiness would, naturally, be difficult for you.”
Somehow, Eve had managed to make him sound almost heroic instead of pathetic.
“I don’t want her to give you a wrong impression of my aunt and uncle before you’ve even arrived at their home. They are good people. The very best, in fact. Families are...” How to finish the explanation?
Eve threaded her arm through his in a friendly and encouraging way. “Complicated,” she finished for him.
“Precisely.” He looked to Nia walking on his other side. “If you need a respite from sitting beside my grandmother, I can attempt to convince her to move to the rear-facing bench.”
Nia shook her head without hesitation. “I don’t mind.”
They stepped into the inn, and the proprietor greeted them quickly and warmly.
“Mr. Seymour,” Duke identified himself. “I sent word requesting arrangements be made for a meal.”
“Yes, Mr. Seymour. Yes, of course.” The proprietor dipped his head. “I’ve put it in a basket for you.”
“Excellent.”
The proprietor turned to go, but Eve stopped him. “Have you a newspaper?”
He looked back. “I do. From London, though it’s a week out-of-date.”
“Might we take it with us?” she asked.
“If you’d like.”
“We would.”
He left to go fetch all they’d requested.
Eve turned to Duke, smiling broadly. “There you are, then.”
“Why a newspaper?” he asked.
“I assumed you were so desperate for news from London that you would find yourself tucked behind the newspaper for hours and hours and hours.”
Ah. “You are providing me with an escape.”
“One that is unlikely to put your grandmother’s back up.” Eve dipped an exaggerated curtsy. “You’re welcome.”
Shaking his head in amazement and amusement, Duke said, “Where have you been the last twenty-one years, Eve O’Doyle?”
With a grin that lit her silver eyes, she said, “Ireland.”