Page 71 of The Best-Kept Secrets
Eve stood evermore stiffly. “I’m certain.” She snatched her list from the desktop. “I sort my difficulties on my own now.” She moved quickly past him.
He didn’t turn to watch her leave. His heart couldn’t bear it. “I miss you, Eve,” he whispered. “But I don’t know how else to protect you from my family.”
He stood in the silence for a drawn-out moment. He’d imagined many times since latching on to the possibility of staying at Fairfield how quiet and peaceful his aunt and uncle’s home would be. It had been one of the most appealing things about the idea. That stillness felt more burdensome than freeing just then. He had a direction and a potential purpose for his future, but he felt lost.
He dragged himself from the library. Not far down the corridor, he came upon his mother wearing her all-too-familiar expression of pained offense.
“Dubhán, you will never countenance what I have just endured.”
Lud.Had Grandmother said something? Had Mother encountered Aunt Penelope and felt she’d been shown insufficient graciousness?
“Miss O’Doyle passed by,” Mother said. “But when I offered her my warmest greeting, she responded with nothing but a halfhearted nod and smile so fleeting it could not possibly have been sincere.” Mother’s chin quivered a little. “No doubt your grandmother said unflattering things about me during the journey from Dublin and poisoned Miss O’Doyle’s opinion of me.”
In this, at least, Duke could be of some help to Eve. “Miss O’Doyle’s sister is quite ill. Her concern for Miss Nia would, almost without question, render her thoughts distracted. We would do well to show her compassion during what must be a very difficult time.”
That seemed to give Mother at least a moment of pause. Duke took full advantage of that pause and walked away. But he wasn’t quick enough.
“Whatdidyour grandmother say about me during the journey from Dublin?” Mother asked, hurrying to catch up with him. “You heard her last night repeatedly referencing my ‘pathetically nervous disposition.’ The things she says about me when I am present are unkind; I can only imagine what she says that I do not hear.”
“You say a great many things about her that she doesn’t hear,” Duke reminded her.
“Only acknowledgments of how unkind she is to me.” Mother pressed a hand to her heart, walking alongside him. “Surely you are not going to begin disregarding her treatment of me.”
“Of course not, Mother.”
She shook her head. “You were quite harsh with your father two nights ago when she was complaining about every aspect of the evening’s activities.”
That night’s row had culminated in Father calling Grandmother a banshee. Duke had taken him to task for it, yes, but Duke had been well within his rights to do so. He shouldn’t have had to, but it had needed to be done. “I was careful to discuss the situation in private. No one was privy to our conversation.”
“But I am certain they guessed. And your aunt and grandmother, no doubt, were pleased to think he was being humiliated.”
“Neither of them has mentioned it.”
“Your father has.” Mother set a hand on his arm and stopped their forward progress. “He will need to talk about this. No one outside of the two of us ever listens. And he is particularly helped by you. When this gathering has concluded, we’ll have time to talk about it all.”
If Duke were to return to Writtlestone, that would monopolize his energy for months. He would actually miss his parents. He loved them. And during the increasingly rare times when they were focused on something other than past defeats, perceived wrongs, and family tensions, he enjoyed being with them. But Mother’s declaration drove home once more how crucial distance was between himself and his parents.
“I suspect my friends are ready to begin the day’s activities,” Duke said. “I am going to seek them out.”
“But what if your father needs to speak with you?” Mother looked shocked at the possibility of Duke not dedicating his every waking moment to the fiasco of the Seymours. “What if your grandmother is unkind to me? What if Miss O’Doyle not acknowledging me proves to be an intentional slight? What are we to do if you are with your friends when yourfamilyneeds you?”
“This gathering was planned specifically for these friends, including me, to be together. I ought not be prevented from taking part.”
She looked hurt, though he didn’t know whether the possibility that she was being inconsiderate or the possibility that he wouldnotabandon the reason for his journey in order to assuage his parents’ injured sensibilities caused her offense. No matter her reason at first, if he didn’t disrupt the thought, she would soon be bemoaning that she wasn’t a good enough mother and that he didn’t love her as a son ought.
“As you said, after the gathering has ended, Father will have ample time to discuss his experiences, as will you. I am certain you have the fortitude to be patient until then, though I acknowledge that your patience will be sorely tried.”
She squared her shoulders. “I have endured worse,” she declared. “And I can be counted on to be long-suffering.”
Duke pressed a quick kiss to his mother’s cheek. “In exchange for your forbearance, I will tell you that the library was empty. You will find a great deal of peace and many books to choose from in there.”
She didn’t seem convinced, but at least she was distracted. Duke walked away again, this time managing to escape. His parents would have plenty to say during their return journey to Writtlestone; not the least of those grievances would be the fact that Duke was not journeying with them. There was every chance they would follow him to London.
He followed the corridor around a turn and found his aunt standing in a doorway, watching him with a look of concern and compassion.
“Is it always like that, Duke?” She subtly indicated the direction he’d come from and the conversation she had apparently overheard.
“No. Sometimes it is much worse.”
