Chapter Fifteen
The group that awaited them was larger than Rynn had anticipated. Besides the Duke, whose disposition seemed to improve once
he was provided with a cup of tea and a selection of tiny cakes and sandwiches, and the Duchess and the two young women they
had encountered in the hall, she was introduced to the heir, Thomas’s six-years-older brother, Geoffrey, who was tall, thin
and fair-haired with patrician features, an impressive mustache and a strong resemblance to Thomas and their father. Also
present were Lady Maud’s mother, Lady Jane Moore, who was the Duke’s sister and thus Thomas’s aunt, her husband, Lord Moore,
and younger daughter, Lady Emma, and Lady Maud’s much older fiancé, Sir Reggie North. So many introductions meant that some
facts escaped Rynn almost as soon as she was told them, but she sipped her tea and made polite conversation while trying not
to be overly aware that she was, to a greater or lesser extent, the cynosure of all eyes.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone named Rynn before,” Lady Wycomb said under cover of the general conversation. Her new
sister-in-law’s smile was in place, Rynn saw, but there was something in her tone that made her not quite trust it. “Is that
a popular name among your people?”
“I was named after Lough Rynn,” Rynn said, absorbing the “your people” but determinedly overlooking it. “My father apparently spent a lot of time at the castle there before I was born and fell in love with the area.”
“Your father?” The condescension in Lady Wycomb’s tone was unmistakable. It made Rynn’s lips tighten, but before she could
once again choose to overlook it Thomas spoke up.
“Her father was the late Baron George Carmichael. She was the Honorable Mary Rynn Carmichael before she did me the honor of
marrying me.” The steel was back in Thomas’s tone as he turned away from the discussion he’d been having with his brother
and Sir Reggie to respond. Rynn realized he’d been keeping track of her conversation with her new relatives for the purpose
of coming to her aid if need be, and smiled at him.
Lady Wycomb said, “Perhaps we could call you Mary, then? It would be more . . . usual.”
“I’m sure it is, but I prefer Rynn.” Rynn held on to her smile with effort.
“Are you saying you’re Penelope Carmichael’s sister?” Lady Maud looked at her wide-eyed.
“Half-sister, yes.” Rynn took a sip of her tea as she worked to keep a grip on her equanimity. After her mother’s death and
her father’s return to his family in England, he’d remarried almost immediately. Within a year, that marriage had produced
a third daughter, Penelope, who would be around eighteen years old now. Rynn and Glenna had never met, spoken with or even
corresponded with their half-sister, and the only contact they’d ever had with her mother had been her signature on the letter
sent by the family’s lawyer informing them of their father’s death—and the resulting immediate cessation of the allowance
he had been paying Granny for their upkeep.
“Oh, my.” The Duchess stared at Rynn like she was seeing her for the first time.
“Well, that’s a relief.” Lady Jane Moore’s whisper to her husband, who responded with a silencing frown, was just loud enough for Rynn to overhear.
“I told you the girl was perfectly acceptable on the father’s side.” The Duke left off eating his third sandwich to cast an
irritable look around the group. “D’ye think I would have countenanced a total mésalliance?”
Rynn’s hand tightened on her cup, and she carefully set it down. The usual British assumption of superiority over the Irish
was not a surprise; she couldn’t remember a time in her life when that hadn’t been the case and she had come into this meeting
with Thomas’s family prepared to face a degree of prejudice. But the idea that the father who had abandoned her and her sister
was “perfectly acceptable” with its obvious implication that her mother and Granny were not made her hackles rise. Her eyes
must have kindled with indignation, because Lady Wycomb, who was watching her, sank back in her chair in response.
“I consider myself the most fortunate fellow on earth to have won Rynn for my wife, and that has nothing at all to do with
who her parents or sister might or might not be,” Thomas said before she could speak, which was probably just as well. “She’s
remarkable in and of herself.”
“Hear, hear.” Lord Wycomb made a little show of applauding and earned a poisonous look from his wife. Rynn, meanwhile, gave
Thomas a quick, grateful smile.
“Penelope Carmichael is quite the heiress,” Lord North observed.
“Are you fabulously rich, too?” Lady Maud regarded Rynn with fascination.
“All right, that’s enough.” Thomas put down his cup with enough force so that it made a sharp sound as it hit the saucer.
“I’m sure the last thing Rynn wants to talk about is her family connections. Tell me, Maud, when is the wedding?”
Lady Maud answered, and the conversation once again became general.
Rynn drank her tea and said little. Thomas’s championship had taken the edge off her budding anger, but the underlying hurt remained.
She felt as out of place as a bird in a fishbowl and found herself wishing she was back in Bundoran with an intensity that surprised her.
She suddenly missed them all fiercely: Granny, Glenna, even, if she were to face the truth of it, Donal.
Seen in the context of his home and family, Thomas seemed a stranger.
Looking around at the elegant room and the elegant people in it, she shivered inwardly at the thought that this was her new home, and her new life. The one she had chosen.
What have I done?
But there was no undoing it now. She wasn’t even sure that she would if she could. But oh, how she wished she was taking tea
with Granny and Glenna in the little stone cottage at the end of the lane.
Jansing, who’d left them, reappeared, gliding over to the Duke to say in a confidential tone, “Your Grace, you have a visitor.
I . . .”
“Hello, all!” A cheery voice had them all looking around to find a robust, mustachioed gentleman of perhaps sixty years striding
into the room on Jansing’s heels. “Duchess, I apologize for interrupting such a charming family party, but I have urgent need
of your husband.”
“Andrew Bonar Law! What brings you to Ashton?” The Duke rose to greet the new arrival with a handshake, while the Duchess
said, “Not at all! Such a pleasure to see you. Won’t you join us and have some tea?”
“No time, and I apologize for that, too. I’m on my way to call on Churchill, who as you know has just been named the Secretary
of State for War and Air, which makes him the very man I need, and I’m afraid I hope to steal your husband away with me.”
“Is Winston at Lullenden, then?” The Duchess put down her cup. “One never knows. He so seldom is these days. I feel sorry for Clementine, as often as she is left on her own.”
“He is,” Law said.
“What’s happened?” The Duke’s tone, and expression, were suddenly grim.
“The damned mad insurrectionist Irish, what else? This murderous bunch call themselves Volunteers. Last evening they went
and murdered two RIC officers at Soloheadbeg in Tipperary. We’ve got to formulate a response, and I want to make sure Churchill
has all the facts before he goes to Lloyd George with a recommendation. Will you come?”
“I will.” The Duke looked around. “Blanche, it’s unlikely I’ll be back tonight. Jansing, tell Porter to pack me a bag. Law,
come along to my study and fill me in on the details while we wait. The rest of you, good night.” He was ushering the newcomer
out of the room as he spoke, then paused at the door to glance back. “Thomas, late or not, I’m glad you’re home. It’s time
and past. Rynn—may I call you Rynn?”
Already put on high alert by the visitor’s jarring announcement, Rynn nodded warily.
“Welcome to Ashton. From what my son tells me you are no doubt as outdone with the villainous rogues and rabble-rousers among
your countrymen as the rest of us. Please do not consider anything that any of us may say in the context of these unfortunate
events to be directed at you.”
He left the room, leaving Rynn sick with alarm over the news even as her Irish born-and-bred heart swelled with indignation on the part of her maligned countrymen.
But she said nothing of what she was feeling, doing her best to present a serene exterior as she drank her tea.
Thankfully it wasn’t much longer before Thomas, pleading exhaustion to his mother, made their excuses.
The Duchess herself showed them to their quarters on the ground floor, which, she said, had been specially prepared to accommodate Thomas’s condition once they’d been informed of the likely long-term duration of it.
It was a suite of rooms that included a private parlor and two bedrooms, one of which had been hastily refitted to accommodate a wife instead of an attendant, as had been its original purpose.
Their baggage had already been unpacked for them, Rynn discovered upon being shown her bedroom, and several of her dresses taken away for pressing.
“Parry will have them back in time for dinner,” the Duchess promised as she turned to leave. “She’ll be waiting on you until
we can get you a proper lady’s maid. You’ll find her satisfactory, I’m sure, but you have only to say if you want to make
a change.”
“Thank you,” Rynn said, and was surprised when her mother-in-law, with a glance at her son, who’d rolled himself over to look
at the selection of books that filled the shelves on either side of the fireplace, beckoned her to follow her to the door.
“You will tell me, won’t you, if Thomas needs anything?” the Duchess spoke in a near whisper. Clearly she didn’t want her
son to overhear. “I know he finds his—altered state—a great burden to bear, and his spirits sometimes are low as a result.”