Page 108 of The Best-Kept Secrets
“Before we leave for London,” Uncle Niles said, “choose a bedchamber in the family wing. That will be yours whenever you are at Fairfield.”
The family wing. Why that brought a surge of emotion to his throat, he couldn’t entirely say.
“Eve had a brilliant idea not long after you and Father made the arrangements for you to make your home here,” Colm said. “The coachman, team, and carriage you came to Fairfield in was still here but not needed. Clandestine instructions were given to the coachman to return to Writtlestone and gather all your possessions and have them brought here. If the task were seen to while your parents were still at Fairfield, the staff at Writtlestone would not have to combat the inevitable objections.”
Duke looked to Eve. “You thought to have my possessions brought here?”
“This is your home,” she said. “All the things that make a place feel welcoming and personal and... home need to be here. But if you had to gather them, it would place you back within range of your parents’ barbed arrows and introduce the possibility that they’d withhold the carriage to prevent you from leaving. And if your parents were asked to gather and send your belongings, I suspect they’d either refuse or insist on making the journey themselves to make trouble for you.”
“But it was a few days after my discussion with Uncle Niles before you began forgiving me for how abominably I behaved,” Duke said. “You made the suggestion while I was still in your black book?”
“I believe I have told you before that I am a saint.” Eve never failed to lighten his heart, even in difficult moments.
“I don’t deserve you, Aoife O’Doyle.”
“Yes, you do,” she said boldly and unabashedly. “We are happy together. Joyful. Hopeful. And you deserve that, Dubhán.”
Aunt Penelope put her arms around him. “You deserve to be happy and to feel loved without being made to think you have to continually prove that you deserve it.”
“I won’t likely know what to do with something so unfamiliar.” He could hardly even smile a little.
“It’s more familiar than you likely realize,” Colm said. “The Pack and the Huntresses are family to each other in every way that matters.”
“And”—Eve’s voice had suddenly filled with an entertaining amount of mischief—“really delicious food is not entirely dissimilar to the joys of being surrounded by loving family. I think if we baked some shortbread this afternoon, that would be a great leap toward the familiarity you wish to build.”
“I think you just want to bake shortbread,” Duke said with a light laugh.
“Always.” She grinned.
For the next hour or so, Eve talked them all through the tasks of baking shortbread as well as lemon biscuits. The Greenberrys were not merely tolerant of herton-disapproved endeavor, but they were excited to be learning a bit of the art as well.
And there was laughter, smiles, easy interactions. Duke, just as Colm had predicted, found it more familiar than he’d expected. He hadn’t experienced it with his parents or in the home where he’d grown up. But he had with the Pack for all the years they’d known each other at school. And he’d had it with the Huntresses in the year since they’d all become acquainted at the first house party.
And he’d had all of this and more as he’d fallen in love with Eve. Love. Acceptance. Encouragement.
And home.
Chapter Forty
During the five days sinceChristmas, Artemis and Eve had spent a lot of time making plans and formulating strategies, determining what Eve ought to sort out and decide on before arriving in London and what could wait until she reached Town. Seeing her grow more excited with each conversation brought Duke every bit as much satisfaction as he felt choosing the bedchamber that would be his at Fairfield, placing his things in it when they had arrived the day before, and discussing with Uncle Niles the work and responsibilities that awaited him in London.
It was the last night of the house party. Everyone, aside from Eve, Nia, Mater, and Colm, would be leaving in the morning. Duke held out hope that this would not, in actuality, be the last time all of them were together.
The older generation was spending the evening in a sitting room, leaving the Pack and the Huntresses space to be together without disruption. Toss spent the evening playing the pianoforte while the group took part in country dances and general revelry.
Colm dropped onto the chair next to Duke’s. “I’m beginning to suspect there isn’t a tune Toss can’t play.”
“He is shockingly talented.”
Colm nodded. “This is a remarkable group of people. Thank you for allowing me to become part of them.”
“Allowing you?”
His cousin seldom looked uncertain or upended, but he did just then. “I worried when I was invited to one of your friends’ gatherings that you would resent me being there. Considering the chasm between our branches of the Seymour family, I wasn’t certain if I was permitted to cross it even that little bit.”
“Much like I worried that you and your parents would consider me an interloper if I asked for houseroom,” Duke said.
Colm nodded slowly. “We’ve both been rather carefully taught by our grandmother—you by your parents as well—to expect a shaky welcome from anyone we attempt to forge a connection with.”
