Page 15 of The Best-Kept Secrets
Duke glanced at their traveling companions. Nia was sitting beside Grandmother on the forward-facing bench. Eve was seated beside him. Neither could possibly have not overheard the conversation, but they were doing a very fine job of hiding any reaction.
Looking at the sisters proved a horrible idea, as Grandmother’s attention shifted to them as well. And with her attention came scrutiny.
“I have heard the name Eve before, obviously, but I am not familiar with Nia. Where did your parents find your names?” Asking about a person’s name was not unusual or rude, but somehow, Grandmother managed to make the question feel a bit insulting.
“They are our Anglicized names,” Eve said. “Too many in English Society cannot comprehend that Aoife is pronouncedEE-fuhand Niamh is pronouncedNEE-uv. Rather than explain again and again andstillhear our names constantly misspoken, the entire family has adopted versions of our names that are simpler for our English associates to manage.”
Grandmother turned to look at Nia. “Your name is Niamh? From Irish mythology?”
Nia nodded.
“I’ve not ever heard that used as a given name.”
Nia didn’t flinch or look embarrassed. “It was a given name in mythology.”
Grandmother shook her head. “But you aren’t living in a myth, are you?”
In a quiet, dry voice, Eve said, “At the moment, I’d be more inclined to call it a tragedy.”
Duke bit back his amusement. His grandmother’s sense of humor was not very reliable. If she thought he was amused at her expense, she would be impossible to endure for days to come.
To him, Grandmother said, “Your aunt and uncle call you Duke.”
“Nearly everyone calls me that.”
She was unmoved. “But it is not your name.”
“I have heard every possible attempt at saying my actual name, but almost never is it actually pronouncedDU-vahn. And no one can ever spell it. I, too, have chosen to make my name easier on my English friends and neighbors.”
Grandmother was quick with a counterargument. “Penelope is Irish. She can say your name. She’s simply choosing not to.”
“I have never asked her not to call me Duke. If I did, I am certain she would honor that.” If only he were equally certain she would say, “Why, yes, Duke, you may stay at Fairfield, no matter that it will make all our lives more difficult.”
More difficult.His entire motivation in formulating this plan was to escape some of the difficulty that awaited him at Writtlestone, to preserve what was left of his relationship with his parents.
Grandmother’s lips pursed again, a telltale sign that she was about to lodge another complaint. “Your uncle certainly took very quickly to the odd name you adopted.”
His uncle Niles had inspired Duke’s choice of Anglicized name. But explaining that would require him to spill a secret that was not his to share.
“Penelope ought to have married an Irishman.” Grandmother offered the declaration with an indisputable note of finality.
Duke was more than happy to leave the topic there, knowing Grandmother would add to her list of objections to Uncle Niles if given even the tiniest encouragement. She would have found reason to denounce anyone her children married. That same disapproval would, without question, be extended to any lady unfortunate enough to marry either of her grandsons.
“Mrs. Seymour,” Eve said, “we met your grandson Mr. Colm Greenberry in London during the Season. He is a very-well-thought-of gentleman.”
Duke silently said right along with Grandmother, “Colm is a war hero.”
She likely would have launched into the usual recitation of Colm’s accomplishments and the myriad ways in which he had made the family proud had not a well-timed carriage stop prevented it.
“It appears we have reached our midday stop.” Duke shrugged as if it hardly mattered, but inwardly he wanted nothing more than to bolt from the carriage. “We can step inside the inn for something to eat and to claim a momentary respite from the carriage.”
Grandmother pulled back the curtain on the window nearest her. Her mouth tightened into a wrinkled circle. “I do not care for the look of it. I will stay in the carriage.”
Duke wasn’t going to argue. “I can bring you back something to eat.”
“That will be fine.” She folded her hands on her lap and sat still as a statue.
Duke kept his demeanor calm and unconcerned as he opened the carriage door. He stepped down. He took a lungful of fresh air. Past experience had taught him that a moment away from his ambassadorial role helped him face more of it. He put down the carriage step, then assisted the O’Doyle sisters from the carriage.
