Chapter Thirty-Three
The elder Mrs. Seymour had sat petulantly among those gathered in the drawing room that night ever since the ladies had departed the evening meal. Her daughter had made one valiant attempt to urge the lady to set aside whatever grievance she was currently nursing, but to no avail. Her son had done the same when the gentlemen had joined them and had been equally unsuccessful. His attempts, though, had led to a tense exchange of words with his mother, his wife’s disapproving commentary, and vague references to his sister’s inability to create a hospitable environment for a house party.
Eve had seen Duke push down and tuck away the obvious frustration and disappointment he felt. How could they not see the pain they caused? Worse still, Eve found herself wondering if they did see it but were too selfish to stop hurting him.
The guests were playing whisper down the lane, a less-common parlor game but a decidedly entertaining one. The person chosen to begin whispered to the person nearest, who then whispered what they heard to the next nearest. As the whispers proceeded around the room, the message inevitably changed, resulting in a humorous and often nonsensical collection of words at the end.
The message transformations thus far that evening had been delightfully entertaining. Even the often-warring Seymours had allowed their enjoyment to show.
The most recent whisper around the room ended with Daria. Looking utterly confused, she shared what she thought she had heard. “A man saw his feet with turnips.”
Among the laughter that followed, M. Fortier revealed what he had actually said to begin the whispers. “At tea, we had delicious biscuits.”
That inspired further laughter. Absolutely nothing in the original sentence had survived the journey around the drawing room.
“The biscuits were delicious,” Toss said. “Though now I am desperate to sort out the mystery of this man and his turnip feet.”
Mr. Seymour was seated next to Duke. “They reminded me of Shrewsbury biscuits.”
“I believe that is what they were,” Duke said.
Eve saw an opportunity for a more encouraging conversation than usually happened. “I understand you attended school at Shrewsbury, Mr. Seymour.”
“I did.” Mr. Seymour’s features pulled with tension. “I realize the other gentlemen here attended much more exalted institutions, but—”
“My brothers attend Shrewsbury.” She jumped in before he could turn her comment into yet another reason to be upset with everyone. “We are so proud to have two Shrewsbury lads in the family.”
He didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. Uncertain silence was not a terrible option when compared to the other ways he’d behaved during this house party.
“I believe it is your turn to begin the whispers, Mr. Greenberry,” Daria said.
“I predict he will whisper something to do with Parliament.” Mater’s teasing expression brought entertained smiles to the faces of her generation. Aside from Duke’s parents.
“Not for another few days,” Mr. Greenberry said. “Until we leave for London, I reserve the right to speak of any- and everything else.”
“A few days?” Eve repeated. “Are all of you leaving for London so soon?”
Mrs. Greenberry nodded. “A few days after Christmas. As a newly seated— re seated—MP, my husband needs to be in attendance at the official opening of Parliament.”
Eve looked at Duke. Was he leaving with them? Likely, since his path forward was entwined with his uncle’s. She wasn’t in a position to ask about that with so many people about. She didn’t know if he had yet informed his parents of his future plans.
“I do not know if Nia will be recovered enough to depart Fairfield so soon.”
“She will not need to leave,” Mrs. Greenberry said. “You and your sister are to remain as long as is necessary for her health.”
“Alone?” Duke’s mother’s shock could not have been more apparent.
“Lady Lampton will be staying with them,” Mrs. Greenberry said as calm as can be.
“But no member of the family?” Duke’s father clearly didn’t think the dowager countess’s presence would be sufficient. “You would relegate your duties as mistress of this estate and abandon your guests? One of whom is still too unwell to join us in the evenings?”
“Father.” Duke’s quiet voice echoed with a strong warning.
Mr. Seymour recognized the reminder. He snapped his mouth shut and folded his arms across his chest.
“I am remaining at Fairfield,” Colm said. “My parents need to depart at the end of the planned length of the house party. But I will stay behind.”
This was a new revelation to Eve. But neither Mater nor the Greenberrys seemed surprised by it.
“You will be denied a return to London?” Duke’s mother pressed a hand to her heart. “A young gentleman as well-liked as you must certainly wish to be in Town rather than kept in such isolation.”
For the first time in at least thirty minutes, the elder Mrs. Seymour spoke. “It is unfair of your parents to rob you of your opportunities, Colm. A hero such as yourself should have everything he wishes to have.”
“I am glad to hear it, Grandmother,” Colm said. “Because what I wish is to remain at Fairfield after the house party is over.”
Mrs. Seymour senior sniffed. Duke kept his expression neutral, but Eve saw the exasperation that flitted through his eyes.
“I have decided on a phrase for our next whisper around the room,” Mr. Greenberry said.
With an unpleasant twist of his mouth, Duke’s father said, “It is whisper down the lane , Niles. The name is nearly as simple as the game.”
“And the players,” Duke’s grandmother muttered.
Even a terribly unobservant person would have been immediately aware of the discomfort in the room intensifying.
“‘The name is nearly as simple as the game’ was the phrase I was going to whisper,” Mr. Greenberry said as if thoroughly disappointed to have had his secret spilled.
Colm smiled broadly. Even Duke looked a little less on edge.
“I’m sorry, dear,” Mrs. Greenberry said, “but you will have to choose something else.”
“It’s a shame he didn’t ‘choose something else’ thirty-two years ago,” Duke’s father said dryly.
“From what I’ve been told,” his mother chimed in, “he did , but she wouldn’t accept it.”
The small hint of light that had tiptoed into the room dissipated once more.
“Stop,” Duke said quietly but firmly.
“We have said nothing that is untrue,” his mother insisted.
“You are being rude.”
“It is Penelope’s history we recounted.” Duke’s father was all indignation. Eve was feeling a swelling of that same emotion. “If it is so objectionable, that cannot be laid at our feet.”
With a tense sigh, Duke rubbed at his forehead. His posture drooped in resignation. His parents were draining every bit of happiness from him, and Eve couldn’t bear to see it any longer.
“You promised,” she blurted, the Eve who quickly spoke her mind making a bold and sudden reappearance. The unexpected declaration turned all eyes to her, but she didn’t care at all that she was about to make a spectacle of herself. “I heard you promise your son just yesterday that you wouldn’t squabble or pick at your family, that you wouldn’t be rude or uncivil, that you would adhere to the most basic level of politeness.”
His father attempted to interrupt, but she didn’t so much as pause to breathe.
“Is that all your son is worth to you? Thirty-six hours of vaguely keeping an incredibly simple promise?”
“His grandmother—”
“Didn’t make that promise,” Eve cut across Mr. Seymour once more. “He shouldn’t have to ask her to. He shouldn’t have to ask any of you not to cause him embarrassment or struggle or unhappiness. He deserves at least that much.”
She knew everyone in the room must have been staring at her, but she couldn’t look away from the Seymours. She was far too bewildered and riled to stop now.
“Your son is remarkable. He is loyal and kind, clever and funny, thoughtful and dependable. He cares about people and does all he can to help those who need him. He makes people better simply by being part of their lives. You should love him, but instead, you treat him like rubbish.”
Duke’s mother looked horrified at the accusation. Mr. Seymour stood, likely intending to give her a piece of his mind, so Eve rose as well, tipping her chin defiantly.
“He wants so badly for there to be peace in his family that he endures your mistreatment. He bears those blows repeatedly. And I keep watching to see if you”—she eyed his mother and grandmother quickly as well—“any of you will ever decide to care about the pain you are causing. But you don’t. He is—” Emotion broke her voice. “He is so easy to love. You could manage it accidentally , but instead, you hurt him. That cannot be anything but a choice you are making over and over again.”
For the first time, his mother began to look a little uncomfortable.
A tear slipped from Eve’s eye. She swiped it furiously. “You don’t deserve him. And I suspect it’ll not be long before he realizes that. You will lose such a wonderful and remarkable person from your lives, and it’ll be entirely your fault.”
Another hot tear escaped. Eve turned quickly to the rest of the room, though she couldn’t bring herself to so much as glance at Duke.
“I am sorry to have disrupted the game.” She swallowed against the rawness of her emotion-clogged throat. “I am going to go check on my sister now.” Then she spun on her heel and left the drawing room, nothing more to say and no energy remaining with which to say it. She moved swiftly down the corridor, making good her escape.
How she hoped she hadn’t made things more difficult for Duke. No one ever championed him when his parents and grandmother mistreated him. And no one ever confronted them with their own terrible behavior. She simply couldn’t listen to it any longer.
She’d reached only the first step of the staircase leading up to the guest wing when a voice called out from behind her.
“Aoife.” Duke. He was moving swiftly toward her.
“I likely shouldn’t have said anything to them,” she said. “But they are so thoughtless and unkind to you. I couldn’t bite my tongue any longer.”
He’d reached the base of the stairs, standing on the floor directly in front of her. Standing as she was on the first step, she was nearly eye to eye with him. And those gorgeous eyes of his were focused entirely on her.
“Please don’t be angry with me,” she whispered.
His mouth tipped up in a slow-spreading smile. “You were brilliant.” He slipped his arms around her. “And in case no one has told you”—he leaned closer, his deep, captivating voice growing tenderly quiet—“you are also astonishingly easy to love.”
He closed the minute gap between them, enfolding her in the warmth and shelter of his embrace. And then he kissed her. His lips were as soft as they’d been at the inn. Eve folded her arms around his neck and poured into her answering kiss every moment of longing and every hopeful hum her heart had beat out since the last time he’d kissed her.
She’d worried that he might break her heart. But she felt in that moment his unwavering promise to cherish it.