Page 89 of The Best-Kept Secrets
Bless him, his expression immediately filled with pride. “I would have been satisfied with, ‘You didn’t ruin it.’ How fortunate to discover, instead, that I am a baking prodigy.”
“But terriblyunfortunate for your uncle.”
“How so?”
She shrugged. “His newly hired political secretary is likely to abandon him and join a troupe of traveling bakers instead.”
“Are there troupes of traveling bakers?”
“Thereshouldbe.” She scooped up a handful of the now-chopped currants and dropped them in the bowl. “And the moment one is formed, I assume joining said troupe will be the fulfillment of your elusive dreamed-of future.”
“No,” he said with another smile. He nodded to the currants now in the bowl. “Do I stir those in?”
Eve nodded as she scooped up the rest. As she dropped them into the bowl, her hand brushed against his. So briefly. So lightly. But a surge of warmth rushed from her fingers, along her arm, and directly to her heart.
She kept her gaze on the bowl. If she looked up and didn’t see any reaction at all to the unintentional and fleeting touch, it would probably break her heart. She was letting herself begin hoping for things, which she realized was an enormous risk so soon after having her hopes dashed. Byhim.
“Were you able to finish the letter for your parents?” he asked as he stirred the thick dough.
“Yes. I finished it last night. It is such a relief to know that they will be aware of Nia’s illness.” She moved the pan she’d chosen for the shortbread over to where they stood. “The O’Doyles excel at supporting each other, even if we have to do so at a distance.”
“I’ve seen that between you and Nia. I sometimes wonder, if I’d had a brother or sister, if we would have had a connection like the two of you do.” His wistfulness brought her gaze to him once more. The laughter in his eyes was gone, and she missed it immediately. “But my parents would likely have tormented this hypothetical additional child the same way they have me, which would have made the last decades even worse.”
“Although, this imaginary sibling of Duke could be nicknamed Earl or Viscount, which would be enormously entertaining,” Eve said.
His smile bloomed immediately. “I should tell my parents that I’ve decided to abandon Duke, as they’ve so long insisted I should, and will henceforth be called Marquess. They will be so pleased.”
“Better yet, tell them you will now answer only to Scuff.”
He laughed, his eyes dancing with genuine delight and a tender vulnerability that she felt certain few people were permitted to see. She had been among those privileged few during their journey from Ireland. That she was once more filled her heart with hope.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The elder Mrs. Seymour hadsat petulantly among those gathered in the drawing room that night ever since the ladies had departed the evening meal. Her daughter had made one valiant attempt to urge the lady to set aside whatever grievance she was currently nursing, but to no avail. Her son had done the same when the gentlemen had joined them and had been equally unsuccessful. His attempts, though, had led to a tense exchange of words with his mother, his wife’s disapproving commentary, and vague references to his sister’s inability to create a hospitable environment for a house party.
Eve had seen Duke push down and tuck away the obvious frustration and disappointment he felt. How could they not see the pain they caused? Worse still, Eve found herself wondering if they did see it but were too selfish to stop hurting him.
The guests were playing whisper down the lane, a less-common parlor game but a decidedly entertaining one. The person chosen to begin whispered to the person nearest, who then whispered what they heard to the next nearest. As the whispers proceeded around the room, the message inevitably changed, resulting in a humorous and often nonsensical collection of words at the end.
The message transformations thus far that evening had been delightfully entertaining. Even the often-warring Seymours had allowed their enjoyment to show.
The most recent whisper around the room ended with Daria. Looking utterly confused, she shared what she thought she had heard. “A man saw his feet with turnips.”
Among the laughter that followed, M. Fortier revealed what he had actually said to begin the whispers. “At tea, we had delicious biscuits.”
That inspired further laughter. Absolutely nothing in the original sentence had survived the journey around the drawing room.
“The biscuitsweredelicious,” Toss said. “Though now I am desperate to sort out the mystery of this man and his turnip feet.”
Mr. Seymour was seated next to Duke. “They reminded me of Shrewsbury biscuits.”
“I believe that is what they were,” Duke said.
Eve saw an opportunity for a more encouraging conversation than usually happened. “I understand you attended school at Shrewsbury, Mr. Seymour.”
“I did.” Mr. Seymour’s features pulled with tension. “I realize the other gentlemen here attended much more exalted institutions, but—”
“My brothers attend Shrewsbury.” She jumped in before he could turn her comment into yet another reason to be upset with everyone. “We are so proud to have two Shrewsbury lads in the family.”
