Page 1 of The Best-Kept Secrets
Chapter One
Tulleyloch, Ireland
December 1819
Eve O’Doyle was far tooacquainted with chaos to be the least bothered by it. In fact, she felt right at home in the midst of a hubbub. Truth be told, she was usuallyathome when in the midst of a hubbub.
Not even the kitchen at her family home of Tulleyloch was calm. The family’s precarious finances had long ago emptied that room of the usual servants employed in a home this size and by a family of the O’Doyles’ perceived status. Mother had proven herself an adept cook, and Eve had taught herself to bake, so between the two of them, they’d saved the family a great deal of money.
They were both undertaking those tasks when Nia, Eve’s sister, who was only just younger than herself, stepped inside. “I feel it important for the two of you to know that Edmund and Scuff are currently in the yard pretending to be chickens.”
Mother met Eve’s eye and shook her head with a look that clearly said, “Those boys are nothing short of ridiculous.”
“Did our two distinguished Shrewsbury lads explain just why they’ve chosen to imitate barnyard fowl?” Eve asked.
Nia shrugged as she approached the worktable. “All Scuff would tell me is that they were undertaking ‘an experiment.’ Edmund then laughed in that way he always does when the two of them are about to shift from ‘mischievous’ to ‘someone send a message of condolence to the king of the leprechauns because he is about to be dethroned as the world’s most dangerously mischievous imp.’”
Eve assumed a comically stern expression and looked to Mother once more. “Remind yourself that you were eager to have them home from school.”
“I had hoped they would return home the mature sixteen- and fourteen-year-old boys they are.”
“Our brothers?” Nia’s expression twisted into one of overdone doubt.
In a tone as mock-serious as Nia’s, Eve said, “I think Mother must be succumbing to a dreadful fever of some kind that is addling her mind. A very tragic turn of events indeed.”
“The entire family’s suffering will be significant, I don’t doubt.” Nia sighed. “There’ll be a great deal of fainting.”
“Mostly by her,” Eve added solemnly. “On account of the fever.”
Mother pointed a knife at them but not menacingly. “You two are as bad as the boys.”
“Oh, no.” Eve shook her head. “We arefarworse.”
Mother laughed as she returned to slicing vegetables for the family’s supper. Eve slid a perfectly shaped, deliciously golden loaf from its pan into her cloth-draped hand, then flipped it over to sit upright on the worktable.
“That smells delicious,” Nia said.
“Let us hope ittastesdelicious,” Eve answered.
In unison, her sister and mother said, “It will.”
Baking was one of Eve’s talents—a talent and a passion. But it wasn’t considered an acceptable pastime or interest for a lady. Such was the unfortunate nature of her inability to choose commonplace activities to capture her curiosity. No one in the O’Doyle family did anything sedately or with excessive consideration given to meeting others’ expectations.
“We’ve received a letter.” Nia held it up.
It was addressed to the both of them.
“Who is it from?” Eve asked.
“Artemis.”
Eve laid a cloth over the loaf and moved with her sister into the spill of light from the window, eager to hear what their beloved friend had written.
Dearest Huntresses,
Their group of particular friends were known among themselves as well as in Society as the Huntresses.
Plans for our Christmastime house party are at last finalized. True to the forfeit they are required to pay on account of our dear Daria winning this summer’s wager, the gentlemen of the Pack
