Page 2 of A Rake's Redemption
The animal gave another small whimper, looked at him with soulful eyes, and snuggled into the crook of his arms. Alex stroked its head softly.
“Lucky,” he said. “I am going to find you a safe home.”
…
Sweet Mary and all the saints. Inis Fitzgerald couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. If she hadn’t already been sitting in the chair in front of her Uncle William’s desk in his library, she might well have toppled over. “You cannot expect me to marry that dull, obnoxious fool.”
He frowned. “Silas Desmond is the Earl of Adare’s eldest son. He will inherit.”
“That does not stop him from being a dull, obnoxious fool. When he is not at Daly’s Club drinking with his idle friends, he complains the tenant farmers and weavers do not produce enough to keep the coffers filled. Not that he is inclined to get either his hands or his clothes dirty. He considers it beneath him to get into the fields—”
“How many times have you been instructed to curb your tongue? Such outbursts are precisely why you are not married, even though you are near two-and-twenty.”
At least her uncle didn’t add that her slight frame also made her look more like a child than a young woman. She had heard snide remarks by other girls that her shape didn’t help in the suitor market, although she considered her lack of voluptuousness more of an asset than a liability. She didn’t think big breasts that always looked like they would pop out of low-cut bodices would be that comfortable to carry around.
Her uncle’s frown deepened. “I am your guardian. I promised your father I would make a good match for you. Silas is a gentleman, and his father agrees ’tis a good match.”
Inis snorted, and her uncle winced. She was tempted to remind him of thegentlemanin question shouting at a maid and bringing the young girl to tears for spilling wine at a banquet not long ago. But her uncle had been there; he had witnessed it.
“The only reason the earl is so eager to agree is because you are the Duke of Kildare. ’Tis prestigious for him, not to mention the dowry my parents left me. The earl is near penniless.”
The duke’s eyes widened slightly. “How do you know that?”
She pointed to the ledgers on his desk. “You keep records of all the nearby entailed lands. They are easy enough to decipher.”
Her uncle sighed. “My brother should never have taught you to do accounts.”
“It was my mother who encouraged it,” Inis replied, her chest tightening at the thought of her mother who’d died giving birth to a stillborn brother several years ago. “Besides, my father needed help keeping track of the hours we spent training horses, so he’d know what to charge their owners.”
“I do not understand what my brother was thinking to let you train horses.” The duke eyed the trews she wore since she’d just come from the barn. “It is not a job for a woman.”
Inis had been told the same thing by too many grooms and male trainers to be bothered with the statement. Although she’d landed on her backside enough times, she also managed to gentle horses that had dislodged men from their saddles like so much barley shaft in a wind. She shrugged. “My father realized I have a way with animals.”
The duke nodded grudgingly. “You do, but since the earl is widowed, he will expect you to take up the duties of chatelaine once you marry his son.”
“Which is exactly why I will not marry the oaf,” Inis said. “I have no interest in keeping the linens counted and the furniture polished.”
Her uncle winced again. “You may not like it, but ’tis a woman’s duty.”
Inis lifted her chin. “Not if I—”
“This conversation is finished,” he said. “I have the final say in the matter of whom you will marry. You will do well to remember you are a Fitzgerald, one of the proudest clans in Ireland. And one of the most honorable. Your father’s honor has already been tarnished. Do not disgrace it further.”
Inis opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, tears stinging the backs of her eyes. It was not like her uncle to sling such a low blow. Her father had taken to drinking and gambling after her mother’s death and been shot when he accused another man of cheating at cards. She would never dishonor her parents or besmirch the Fitzgerald name. She swallowed hard. “May I be excused?”
The duke studied her, looking as though he might want to get her to agree first, but then he waved her out. “You will see the wisdom of this when you have a chance to think on it. There are worse fates than marrying an earl’s son.”
Inis couldn’t think of any as she walked to the door. Silas was a self-righteous stick-in-the-mud who would bore her senseless in weeks. But there was no use in arguing with her uncle. He was her guardian. He could see her married to whomever he saw fit. Women had no say in the matter.
She marched down the hall and through the kitchen where her uncle’s chatelaine was conferring with the cook over tonight’s dinner and tried not to shudder. If her uncle married her off, she’d be in that same position soon. She had no interest in setting menus. Even worse, she’d be expected to plan parties and be a hostess. She made a quick exit through the back door.
Once outside, she ran toward the grove of oak trees behind the country house, heading to a small glade near a bubbling brook she liked to retreat to when she needed to think. And sheneededto think. Just not on the wisdom of marrying Silas Desmond.
Inis followed a narrow footpath that led to the glade, startling a deer who quickly jumped away as she entered the clearing. “You do not need to run from me,” she said as she climbed onto a large, sun-warmed rock next to the stream, pulled off her boots and socks, and let her feet dangle in the cool water. The doe had paused on the other bank near a patch of primroses and was watching her, ears alert and nose sniffing. “I mean you no harm.”
Apparently, the doe didn’t believe her, because she turned, flashing her tail, and disappeared into the bushes. The wind was still, leaving only the soothing sound of water tumbling over stones.
How strange that a deer should be out in the middle of the day, especially since hunters were still about. Inis dropped her gaze to the primroses. Odd that they should be blooming so late in the fall. She sharpened her focus. Had those flowers even been here the last time she’d come? Primrose patches were said to be portals to the Sidhe world. Not that she was superstitious. Inis didn’t believe in leprechauns or stories of pots of gold, but the Fae were another matter. A person was wise not to deny the possibility that the Fae existed. Faerie mounds and wishing wells were scattered throughout Ireland, and when Inis encountered one, she always left a scrap of cloth tied to a nearby tree as a gift.
