Chapter Eighteen
“What will happen when you have cost him every connection he has, Liam?”
Aunt Penelope’s question—her prophecy , if Duke were being entirely honest about how it felt—had echoed again and again in his thoughts all night long. And the reality of it all had crashed down on him that morning as he’d dressed. He had fully expected to attend this house party as Duke, member of the Pack. But if he were to have any hope of keeping his family from making his friends utterly miserable and ruining this rare time of all being together, he needed, instead, to spend the next two weeks being Dubhán, peace negotiator of the Seymour Family.
It is horrifically unfair.
“Do you think he will thank you for the lonely future that would stretch out in front of him?” Aunt Penelope had also asked Father the night before.
Lonely future. As if all this hadn’t already cost him connections and moments of camaraderie. He’d missed some of the school holidays the Pack had spent together because he’d needed to go to Writtlestone and he didn’t dare invite his friends there. When Father had visited him at Eton and Cambridge, Duke had arranged for the two of them to be extremely busy so there would be limited opportunity for Father to interact with anyone.
Living with his parents when they were in London would mean never having his friends there. He’d have to do his utmost to avoid connecting enough with anyone new that they would not call at his parents’ home. And he’d likely not have the privilege of joining the same gentlemen’s club as Father. All this had Duke’s thoughts begging houseroom from his aunt and uncle even when in Town.
Now, with his parents’ and grandmother’s decision to remain at Fairfield, he would have to spend this house party as the peacekeeper rather than being permitted to relax and participate fully. This was his first social foray since ending his time as a student. It was a new beginning of sorts, yet his old difficulties had followed him through the door.
“Good morning,” Colm said, approaching him with curiosity.
That morning after finishing his breakfast, Duke had placed himself next to the door everyone used when making their way out to the stables. His cousin, being a Seymour and thus an avid and skilled equestrian, would without question be planning on a morning ride. Hovering near the exit was Duke’s best chance for talking with him.
“Before you leave for your ride,” Duke said, “I have two favors to ask, which I realize is a little presumptuous.” They were cousins, but they were also not well acquainted and didn’t interact often.
“No harm in asking,” Colm said, still watching him with an inquisitive look. Though Colm was not truly a hardened person, at least from Duke’s limited time with him since Colm’s returning from war, there was an authoritative air to him that a person couldn’t miss.
“The first is a little odd,” Duke said, “but mostly because I’m not certain precisely what it is I’m asking for.”
A quick nod of acknowledgment. “That is odd.”
“I unintentionally overheard a conversation between your mother, my father, and our grandmother last night,” Duke said.
Colm’s mouth pulled into a tense line. A lifetime of their family members being at odds with each other hadn’t exactly been a delight for either of them. “Were they arguing again?”
“Of course they were.” He didn’t bother hiding his annoyance. “I wish I knew how your mother maintains as much of her composure as she does during these altercations.”
“How Mother stays composed? Duke, you are the Unshakable Dubhán. I’ve wondered for years now how you manage to keep the peace as well as you do.” With a hint of a smile, Colm added, “We could have used that gift on the Continent while Napoleon was frolicking around Europe.”
There was just enough lightness in Colm’s response to ease Duke’s mind. He found he could jest a bit as well. “I did prove myself an excellent spy last night.”
Colm looked intrigued. “Did you?”
“I overheard your mother say something that I think you ought to know.” Duke felt strange making the request he was about to, but he’d heard heartbreak in Aunt Penelope’s voice last night. “The undefined favor I’m going to ask is that after I tell you what she said, you do something about it.”
“With the undefined part being that you don’t know what precisely I ought to do,” Colm guessed with a flicker of a smile. “What did she say?”
Duke had debated all night how to approach this. He didn’t want Aunt Penelope to continue being unhappy and worried. But he didn’t want to transfer that distress to Colm. “That, essentially, she’s a little worried about you.”
All hints of Colm’s smile disappeared, though he didn’t look upset or offended. “Worried about what in regard to me?”
Duke wasn’t going to tell Colm that he was breaking his mother’s heart or that she felt like she’d lost her son to the ravages of war. Those ravages were likely still tearing at him. “She wants you to enjoy this house party, but she worries that you won’t now that my parents and our grandmother have decided to remain.”
Colm breathed tensely. “They’re staying?”
“Unfortunately.” This was an approach to the matter that didn’t require Duke to tell Colm all the pain he’d heard in Aunt Penelope’s voice. “She said this was the first time you’ve had friends at Fairfield since returning from the Continent, and I suspect she wanted everything to be as close to perfect as she could manage.”
“And she’s worried that I won’t bring friends around again if—when the Seymour family’s bickering causes the inevitable upheaval?”
“Yes, and that you’ll be made unhappy by it. Aunt Penelope very much wants you to be happy.”
Colm’s jaw worked in a movement that spoke of uneasy contemplation. “She looks at me sometimes with an expression that tells me she knows I’m not as happy as I used to be. War does that to people, Duke. It breaks something in a person that makes happiness a little hard to keep hold of.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have even tiptoed toward this. Wanting to ease Aunt Penelope’s worries might have led him to cause Colm pain, which wasn’t at all what Duke wanted. Everything about the extended Seymour family felt impossibly complicated.
“I am glad the Pack and the Huntresses are here,” Colm said. “And even with the eruption of hostilities you and I can easily predict between our parents and grandmother, I will still be pleased to have our friends here.”
Duke hoped that proved true, but he knew perfectly well how destructive the family’s feud could be.
A flicker of a smile tugged at Colm’s lips. “I will make certain my mother knows how pleased I am to have this house party at Fairfield.”
“I think she would appreciate that.” And Duke hoped he’d done the right thing in turning Colm’s thoughts toward that expression of gratitude.
Colm leaned against the doorframe. “What was your other favor?”
“This one requires you to keep a secret,” Duke warned.
“Understood.”
Duke rested his shoulder against the other side of the doorframe. “Eve told me last night that she thinks Nia ought to be seen by a doctor.”
“Gads.” Colm’s posture grew rigid once more. “She’s that ill?”
“Eve thinks she might be.”
Colm nodded. “Nia didn’t seem like herself yesterday.”
“I don’t know where the nearest reliable man of medicine is.”
“Dr. Wilstead in Epsom. I’d trust him with the lives of anyone I care for.”
“Excellent. Will you send for him?”
“Of course.” Colm’s gaze narrowed a bit. “But I suspect that isn’t the thing you need me to keep secret.”
“Eve was embarrassed to admit that they haven’t money enough to pay a doctor. She’s been worried about the gratuities expected for the servants.” Duke didn’t feel he was betraying her confidence in mentioning that. What he had already understood about their financial situation before Eve’s further revelations would have told him as much. “While everyone, the Huntresses especially, knows the O’Doyles are quite thin in the pocketbook, Eve was so clearly embarrassed by her inability to afford those two things that I am certain we oughtn’t reveal it to the others. But we also need to find a way for the sisters, without being further humbled, to be relieved of those expenses.”
Colm dropped a hand on Duke’s shoulder and steered him back down the corridor, clearly not intending to go for his ride as he’d originally planned. “No gratuities will be owed to the servants, from anyone . Mother and Father arranged for that, knowing quite a few of the Huntresses and the Pack are stretched thin. See if you can’t communicate as much to Eve.”
“I will.” Duke was breathing a bit more easily.
“And my parents would likely be offended if any of their guests thought a doctor summoned to Fairfield would not be recompensed by Fairfield . So, Eve has no reason to worry on that score either.”
Relief washed over Duke. “I told her that would be the case, though I wasn’t completely certain. I would have paid the doctor if need be, but Eve insisted that if I did, she would repay me over the years to come, which she absolutely cannot afford to do. I’d hoped you would be willing to help me work around that.”
“Consider it worked around. I will send for Dr. Wilstead. The estate will pay for his services and for any medicines he says Nia needs. Eve has nothing to be concerned about except looking after her sister.”
“Thank you,” Duke said.
“I am newer to this group of friends than you are, Duke, but they all matter to me. It’s been too long since I’ve allowed myself to really care about people.” A little emotion had crept into his admission, but Colm pushed it out of his expression. “Don’t you dare tell my mother I said that.”
“I’m good at keeping secrets,” Duke assured him.
Colm answered with a crisp nod. Duke watched his cousin continue down the corridor, no doubt to ask the butler to have a message sent to Dr. Wilstead in Epsom. “ It’ s been too long since I’ve allowed myself to really care about people. ” The friendship Colm had with the Pack and the Huntresses was helping him find some happiness and connection, helping him heal a little after the brutality of war. If their family caused distress to Colm’s newfound friends, he would lose this chance to solidify those bonds of friendship. Duke couldn’t sit idly by and allow that to happen.
* * *
Duke stood in the corridor, a bit to the side of the door to Eve and Nia’s bedchamber. Dr. Wilstead had arrived a few minutes earlier and was checking on Nia. Duke wanted to be close at hand should anything be needed.
“Dr. Wilstead can be depended on, Eve. I promise you.” Aunt Penelope was inside. She’d offered variations on that reassurance more than once already, a sure sign that Eve wasn’t hiding her worry very well.
“Nia is almost never ill,” Eve said. “And on the rare occasion when she is, she won’t admit to it. She had a miserably sore throat a couple of weeks ago, and though we could all hear it in her scratchy voice, she still insisted she was fine.”
“We Irish are a stubborn people, aren’t we?”
“Stubborn enough not to admit we’re stubborn,” Eve said.
A moment passed in silence. Duke was sorely tempted to peek inside, but he would not invade their privacy that way. Part of him wasn’t certain he was within his rights to be as near to doing so now as he was.
“I knew she had been tired,” Eve said, “but she told me this morning that she’s been in pain as well. Something about the long carriage ride increased her suffering enough that she could no longer pretend all was well.”
Duke thought Nia had done a good job, actually. He’d not guessed she was hurting. That she was exhausted had been obvious. But he had seen no indication that she’d been in pain.
From behind him, Colm walked almost silently to where Duke stood. “The doctor arrived, I heard.” He spoke quietly.
Duke nodded. “He’s in there now. Thank you again for arranging this.”
“Of course. What has Wilstead said?”
“Nothing yet. I suspect he is still in the midst of his evaluation.”
Colm met Duke’s eye once more. “You’ve likely not long before the Huntresses hear that Nia has required a doctor. Do you mean to stand guard and prevent them from breaching the threshold?”
Duke raised his brows. “Do you ?”
Colm held up his hands in a show of denial. “I tiptoed uncomfortably close to death enough times in the army not to wish to repeat the experience.”
“You think Artemis would murder you?”
“Readily and eagerly.” Though Colm made the declaration with an air of somberness, there was laughter in his eyes.
“Do the Huntresses frighten you?”
“Absolutely,” Colm said without hesitation.
They could hear Dr. Wilstead’s voice from inside the room. “A word, Miss O’Doyle.”
Duke grew instantly still and listened. Colm did the same.
“How long has your sister had this rash?”
A rash? That was not a good sign at all. Depending on what type of rash, Nia might be horribly ill indeed.
“I will not tolerate her neglect.” Grandmother’s well-known shrill tones carried over to them. “It is an embarrassment to the entire family.”
“What is stuck in her craw now?” Colm muttered under his breath as they turned to watch their grandmother approach.
“I suspect she will tell us without prompting.”
Grandmother stormed toward them, her eyes on the doorway. Duke moved to stand between her and her apparent destination. Nia needed to rest, not be subjected to a Seymour squabble.
“Penelope is in there instead of seeing to the rest of her guests, and I mean to remind her of her duties.”
Duke reached back and pulled the door closed, preventing their grandmother’s voice or her presence from intruding further upon the sickroom.
“The younger Miss O’Doyle is not feeling well,” Colm said. “Mother is acting as a support to the older Miss O’Doyle, who is understandably concerned about her sister. That is the perfect thing for a hostess to do.”
Grandmother ruffled up on the instant.
Duke would do best to head off whatever was coming before it burst forth. “The time you spent teaching her how to look after guests in her home has clearly proven beneficial now. All the guests will be singing the praises of the Seymour family.”
Colm very clearly bit back a laugh. He obviously knew Duke was soothing Grandmother’s ire with a bit of exaggeration.
“Would you be so good as to make certain the breakfast items have been refreshed?” Duke said. “Not all the guests have risen yet, and I do not have to tell you how important it is that they not find stale offerings when they do.”
Grandmother gave a firm nod. “I suspect that hasn’t been seen to. I will do so at once.” She made good on her declaration and stormed off only slightly less snappish than she had been when she’d arrived in the corridor.
“That was a near-run thing,” Colm said. “She almost bullyragged her way inside.”
“Our parents and grandmother all being at Fairfield is likely to lead to more disasters like the one we only just narrowly avoided.”
Colm released a tense breath. “Unfortunately, I’ve been having the same thought. The Seymours can’t manage to be entirely at peace, can we?”
“I’ve never known the family to accept a ceasefire.” Duke rubbed at his forehead, tension and frustration expanding ever more inside him.
“Makes you feel sorry for anyone who has to spend any amount of time with us.” Colm set himself on the other side of the closed door, likely intending to keep watch over that end of the corridor.
“Our friends will leave here grateful that they aren’t required to endure a lifetime among the Seymours.”
A lifetime among the Seymours. Colm hadn’t, Duke felt certain, meant the observation to be pointed, yet it struck Duke with piercing emphasis.
Duke was making plans to reduce the amount of “this” that he would have to endure during his lifetime, knowing it wouldn’t ever be fully eliminated. And any lady he brought into his life would have to endure it as well. The arguing and petulance. The demands for appeasement. The barbed comments and thinly veiled criticisms. The embarrassment when other people witnessed the combative connections in the Seymour family.
Courting a lady would bring her into the periphery of that purgatory. Actually marrying her would permanently tie her to it.
He supposed he had always known that to an extent, but he’d not dwelled on it overly much. There’d been no reason. But there was now.
The growing infatuation he had for Eve couldn’t be allowed to grow. Even setting aside the precariousness of his housing situation, something no lady should be pulled into, the life he had to offer was one inextricably connected to conflict and unhappiness, with a family he suspected would treat her as poorly as they treated each other. It was, he knew all too well, a dismal prospect.
Eve deserved better.