Page 4 of The Remarkable Myth of a Nameless Lady
Alicia paused in the doorway, looking back at those who reveled so foolishly in the middle of the afternoon, when there was work to be done. She had the uneasy feeling that these men would feel the wrath of the new Duke for their insolence, that her father would be punished somehow. His actions in the street would not be forgotten.
She raised one hand to her cheek, remembering that ringing slap.
I will not forget either.The Duke called Da’s behavior despicable, and he was right.Anger spiked through her breast, as sharp and fierce as that strike had been.
Although she had made a show of accepting her father’s hurtful actions and his humiliation of her, and had pleaded with the Duke not to bother himself over it, it had been exactly that… a show. It had been a necessary performance to prevent further chaos—a defensive tactic to calm rising tempers. But that did not mean she had taken it lightly. Never in her life had she taken one of his slaps lightly, nor did she truly blame herself for being on the receiving end of his ire. Instead, each strike burned in her chest, with the same fury as the very first. A tally of pain, to mark out her sentence as a bitterly obedient daughter.
She turned to go, not quite able to hide the look of distaste upon her face before Patrick saw it.
And smiled in reply, as though it pleased him to see her upset.
So be it.Maybe a day clapped in irons would do her father good. Would do all of them good.
Let the Duke come and punish as he will.
What did she care? She would not be there to see it.
Chapter 3
He saw the castle first. The old one. This Jacob remembered from coming here as a boy. The towering ruins, built back in the days of druids and St. Patrick himself, had burned in some war or another and not been rebuilt, which was a shame. He rather liked the old ruins.
After such an unsettling encounter in the village, Jacob needed a moment to breathe and gather himself again before riding the rest of the way up to the house. The estate was set back from the road, through a forested area. At some point the castle must have been glorious. Even now the old building seemed dark and mysterious as seen through the trees.
It stood at the top of the hill. The old road diverged from the new, still faintly visible through the trees. Not for the first time, Jacob wondered at the whispered stories about luck and leprechauns. What mysterious thing would await him if he took a detour here and rode up to the top?
Such a thought was a tempting one. He was not in the hurry to get home that he’d been only an hour before. That little conflict had left him wondering just what life would be like as the Duke in such a remote place. Would he be as unwelcome by the inhabitants of Ravencliff?
Beneath him the horse pranced a little, impatient to be on his way. The trees came in close here, leaving little room for even a carriage to pass easily. Jacob glanced back the way he had come, seeing how quickly the road had been swallowed by the greenery. The entire road held a neglected air, as though haunted by things he did not understand.
Feeling chilled suddenly, Jacob gave the command for the horse to walk on. The horse obeyed, a little skittish. It was dark here under the trees, the woods shadowy and deep.
Ballycrainn. Place of Trees. He had not remembered them being this dense.
Then, just like that, they were free of the forest. The trees ended abruptly at a stone wall as though the fields themselves held back the forest from encroaching further. This was more familiar territory, the pastures that seemed to go on forever, and the massive house right at the cliff’s edge, with the sea beyond. The newer manor had been built in the last hundred years, was less castle and more country house.
Ravencliff. His father’s home.
For a moment, he had the urge to allow the horse its head. Let the animal run like the wind and bring them to the front door in a thunder of hooves, with a mighty declaration that the Duke had finally returned. It was a silly fantasy, and one that would probably not be appreciated by his mother or brother. Had they not been taking care of the estate since his father died?
I would do well to remember Owen’s hard work. He has had to bear this burden for several months now.
The forest behind him now, Jacob allowed his horse to move forward at a trot, a pace fast enough to see him to the manor quickly, but that would still allow him a glance at what was now to be his home. There was much that seemed new, or at least were things he had not remembered. Had there always been so many fields cleared?
He noted each new barn, each building that had been added to the place. The estate was a small village unto itself. Like many a castle, it had its own trades—blacksmith, cooper, plowmen, shepherds, and every manner of industry that the estate could supply itself without needing to rely on Ballycrainn for anything at all.
They must have heard him coming, for the door of the manor opened as he approached. A handful of people waited for him on the cobblestoned drive in front of the house, a group that included both brother and mother. He caught his breath when he saw them, for it had been years since he had seen his family and Jacob had not guessed how much he’d missed them until now.
He flung himself down from his horse almost before it had stopped. In moments he had his mother—his dear mother in his arms. When had she grown so frail? She seemed so small. It took him a moment to realize that he hadn’t been fully grown when he’d seen her last. They had been much the same height when he’d left.
“Jacob! I had scarcely hoped you would be here so soon!” she cried, taking him in her arms, that were still strong despite the years. This was a strength born of long hours of weaving. He caught her hands in his as she stepped back, feeling the callouses in her fingertips.
“You still weave?” he asked, tilting his head to examine her, seeing the brightness of her eyes, and the silver strands worked into the gold of her hair.
“Constantly!” It was his brother who answered. Owen had grown, too, though he’d seen him in London only two years past when he’d come down for a trip with Father and they’d chanced to see each other before Jacob’s ship set sail the following day.
“Owen!” Jacob threw an arm around his brother and laughed when he realized that his little brother had actually grown beyond him, towering over him by a good inch or two. No mean feat, given that Jacob was already rather tall himself.
“’Tis good to see you, Brother! But you came alone? The military has surely changed you then, for last I saw you, you were surrounded by several trunks and crates that you claimed were things you could not live without. Along with retinue enough to carry them all.”
