Fifteen

To Kate, being on the Whelan lands again was the drawing near of a purpose. But as soon as the carriage entered those lands, it felt like the beginning of good-bye.

Good-bye to the land that had so long cradled the earldom.

Good-bye, in a few months, to Evan, who would cross not one sea but two, and would be forever beyond reach.

Kate pressed her face to the window and tried not to think of that.

Stubble dotted the fields, which would soon be burned and drilled for winter barley and wheat planting. All through the coldest months, seeds would slumber, then awaken in spring and stretch toward the sun.

Then came the pastures, where even in autumn, Ireland clasped its green to heart. The grass was nourished and bright from crisp mornings and impish midland rains, and here short, stocky black cows roamed and lowed.

As the carriage rolled along the road, they reached the drive and gardens of Whelan House—which was not maintained by the cows, as Kate had told Evan’s family. The over-spreading trees were turning to copper and gilt, carpeting the paths and roads with their fallen leaves.

Then the trees opened to sky, and the stately home came into view. It was an ancient H with gabled wings, gray stone walls, a roof of deeper slate, and fat stone chimneys exhaling the ash-brown of peat smoke. The face of the house was covered with clinging vines, their summer-green leaves tinted scarlet or drying to brown.

Whelan House. An unimaginative name, wasn’t it? Like Chandler Hall. Before traveling to Ireland, Kate had believed it a land of music and fable, where the names tripped off the tongue like brook water over pebbles. Tipperary. Ballyclare. Tullamore.

Ah, well. After an education at Harrow and Oxford, Con was more English than Irish. So had it gone for generations with the Whelans. Already, Good Old Gwyn was wondering when Declan would be sent away to school.

Evan had gone silent some time before, but he spoke as the laden carriage reached the front steps. “I’ve never been to this house without the sure knowledge of Con’s return.” His tone was wondering, tight with loss.

“I have done so,” Kate said. “Many times. Many days on end.”

She couldn’t add one gets used to it, because a missing life was not something one ever got used to. “It gets…more familiar.”

The structure of Whelan House was ancient, built as though people of the past cared for neither air nor light. There was nothing so snug as the walls, especially in winter, but Kate always felt she were shut up in a box.

This was the shape of the role of the Countess of Whelan. And this was the closest place she had to a home.

* * *

In the drawing room that evening, Evan whispered into Kate’s ear. “Does Good Old Gwyn come over every evening, or is this a welcome home treat for us?”

He had entertained a fantasy of one of those warm, unspooling evenings before a slow fire of turves, with or without a tumbler of whisky. But the arrival of the dowager had just been announced, and Kate had ordered tea to be served in the drawing room.

She sighed. “I did not overlook the emphasis you laid on the word treat,” Kate said. “But I must admit her visit is no compliment to you. Since Con’s death, she has been here for dinner, tea, or supper nearly every day. I’ve no idea what she ate while I was in England.”

Evan closed his eyes in pity. “The dower house is at far too easy a distance.”

“I have had the same thought before. Though to be fair, she has to bring back the children today.”

Before Gwyn could creak her way into the drawing room, two small figures whipped through the doorway.

“Nora! Declan!” Kate hopped to her feet, holding out her arms. “I’m so glad to see you! And I’ve brought you both surprises.”

“Not toys, I hope,” said a boyish voice. “I’m too old for—Uncle Evan!”

Evan, too, was standing in greeting. “Too old for Uncle Evan? I hope not. You’ll have me weeping, and I only have one handkerchief left.”

He looked at Kate quickly. Excellent. She had colored, as if recalling how they had used one of his handkerchiefs. He’d had to discard it. Fortunate handkerchief. Would that they could all be used so happily.

He returned his attention to the children. “Good Lord, you’ve both sprouted.”

Nine-year-old Declan had shot up tall, his height inherited from Conall. He had Con’s coloring, too: hair of medium brown, dark eyes, and skin ready to tan. In his chin, though, was a dimple like Kate’s.

At twelve, Nora was more like her mother, with fine features and a pale complexion. Her hair was dark like Declan’s, and she wore it in a long plait.

“Come give us hugs,” he said. “But your mother first, or she’ll catch fire from her eagerness to see you.”

“The flames are starting to prickle all over me,” Kate quavered. “Come beat them out with your arms!”

Giggling, Nora slammed into her mother’s arms. “The fire is out!”

“It’s out, yes.” With a smacking kiss on the cheek, Kate hugged the girl.

“You were gone too long! I almost forgot what you looked like!”

“Dear me.” Kate met Evan’s eyes over Nora’s dark head, smiling. “I should have drawn you a picture.”

“I remembered,” said Declan, taking his turn for a hug. “You look like Nora. I had to look at her the whole time you were gone.”

“Lucky you,” replied the girl, waltzing past her brother with her tongue out.

Evan laughed. He was shocked by how good it was to see them—and a little sad to see the changes time had wrought. They had grown, and he had not seen it happen. They had found new books to love, new things to laugh at, and much to cry over, and he had not been there to share in their feelings.

If he’d been here, it could only have been because he was a different person with no care for how he and Con had parted. It could only have been if Con were different too.

But…damn. He wished things had been different.

He gave a quick scrub to Declan’s shock of dark hair, then tweaked the end of Nora’s plait. “Look at you. You are a young lady now.”

She scuffed a shoe against the carpet. “I am not. I run too much and freckle too much and shout too much.”

“Too much for whom?”

“Too much to be a lady. Nan says so.”

“A lady,” Evan whispered into Nora’s ear, “is someone worthy of respect. That’s all. Ask your mother, and see if she doesn’t agree.”

“I can’t ask her that!” Nora’s eyes went wide with shock. “That’s too embarrassing.”

Declan raced to the doorway, then peered into the corridor. “Nan’s coming. She must have used the necessary before she walked over here.”

“Declan, you shouldn’t talk about that,” said Nora with the importance of an older sibling.

“Why not? Everyone uses it,” said the boy. “That’s why it’s called the necessary.”

Kate sidled to Evan’s side. “They’re on their best behavior for you. Aren’t you pleased?”

“Extremely. If no one talked about excretion, I would think I was in the wrong house. And what ought I to expect from Good Old Gwyn?”

“Good Old Gwyn,” Kate whispered, “is just as she always was, only more so. I plan to try something I learned from your sister-in-law.”

“From Elena? What is that?”

“Complete and total agreement.” Her eyes narrowed with sly humor.

Evan entered into the spirit of the exchange. “That might be entertaining. What should I do? Shall I agree with her too?”

“I don’t think you need to. In fact, it might be more fun if you didn’t.”

The elder countess, frail and drooping in appearance, walked in supported by the arms of two footmen. “Kate! You’ve no idea what I’ve been through.”

“I don’t, that’s true,” Kate said cheerfully. “Children, would you like to stay, or would you rather visit the kitchen?”

“Kitchen! Kitchen!” Declan whooped. “I’m so starving, I could eat a cow.”

“I’ll go with him,” Nora said. “To make sure he doesn’t eat a cow.” They made their bows to the room, then raced to the doorway. In the corridor, their hard-heeled shoes clacked on the floor, the sound fading with distance.

“My nerves,” moaned Gwyn. “My poor nerves.” She had by now settled onto a long sofa covered in heavy dark damask, a furniture piece Evan recalled from his last visit to Whelan House.

The slipper chairs into which he and Kate settled were the same, as were the red draperies and the deep-piled carpet, now worn before the hearth. Little had changed in the room or in the house since Con had died. If spendthrift Con had lived, he would have had the rooms redone twice over.

Gwyn put her feet up on the sofa, leaning against a pyramid of cushions bolstered against one arm. “It is good to see you at last, Evan.” Her voice quavered.

Her face was heavily lined and powdered. To some, these might seem signs of great age. But Gwyn, dowager Countess Whelan, had looked and behaved this way for as long as Evan could remember. In her own way, Gwyn was as skilled at firing tiny darts as were his parents.

“I am always hearing that sort of thing,” he replied. “The people of Thurles were most welcoming too.”

“Common people.” She lifted a fluttery hand to her brow.

“They are common,” Kate agreed. “In the sense that there are many of them. Or do you think people of good sense should not be glad to see Evan?”

The older woman blinked at Kate with utter incomprehension.

“They probably shouldn’t,” Evan agreed cheerfully. “I’m the devil of a guest.”

The dowager rallied. “And what has brought you back here? Loyalty, no doubt. Missing those who were once as your family.”

If Kate would be shockingly agreeable, he’d be the opposite. “Not a bit of it. I need to confirm some stone samples. Maybe explore the ruined castles hereabouts.”

“Work! Always work! I know men haven’t the hearts that women do. But you were the closest thing I had to a son since Con died.”

“Only since then?”

Kate cleared her throat. “What can I get you, Gwyn?”

The effect was instant and delightful: the dowager shot upright, scattering cushions to the floor. “You dare call me by my Christian name?”

“Yes, indeed.” Kate blinked as placidly as one of the little black cows she pastured. “You have always called me by mine, and therefore you clearly wish for greater familiarity. Which makes sense, as I am your nearest living relative and the mother of your grandchildren. I must apologize that it took me so long to grasp your preference.”

“I need a headache powder.” Gwyn swung her feet to the floor, half-rising. “It’s no use to ask for one—”

“Of course it is!” Kate sprang from her chair. “I’ll ring for a maid, and you can go with her to the stillroom and show her exactly how you want it prepared. You know best about your own health.”

With a sniffle, Gwyn plumped back onto the sofa seat. “I haven’t the energy to rise right now.”

Good Lord. Kate put up with this every day? Gwyn’s demands were no kind of a replacement for a friendly evening of chat. Even the fire, with its rounded bricks of peat, flickered in seeming exasperation.

Before Evan could protest, Kate was speaking in a soothing tone. “I understand, Gwyn. You must be exhausted after taking such tender care of the children. We’ll cover you with a blanket and leave you to rest.”

“I’ll manage.” One of Gwyn’s feet came down right onto a fallen cushion. “Is there anything left from dinner? A little something to soothe my nerves…”

Kate sat again, then looked at Evan, questioning. “Oyster patties, I think?”

“Maybe a few,” said Evan. “I ate them as though I were a shark. And Nora and Declan have probably finished the remaining ones.”

“Oysters? Such a common food!” Gwyn’s mouth pursed. “Con would never have allowed oysters on the table.”

“That’s true,” Kate said. “He preferred much costlier food.”

“And now you eat oysters in his absence!” God. The dowager could make eating oysters sound like a moral trespass worthy of an eternity of fire and brimstone.

Kate’s eyes were hard, but her tone was honeyed. “We do. We must retrench.”

Of all her agreements with Gwyn’s nonsense, this was the first one that rang completely true. He took her side with the most ridiculous comment he could think of. “If the vicar hasn’t forbidden the eating of oysters, surely it’s permissible.”

Gwyn sniffed. “Just because he has not forbidden it does not mean it’s not wrong.”

With weary docility, Kate replied, “I agree. There must be many things that are wrong that the vicar has not yet addressed.”

Evan pushed back. “What about hoisting a sheep through a window? Con and I did that once at school.”

A smile touched Kate’s lips. “Quite wrong, surely.”

“Or riding a horse into church? We did that too. Well, I rode and Con led the horse.”

“I should have to ask the vicar,” said Kate. “Likely you were both wrong, but one of you was more wrong than the other. I shall ask him about that when I ask if I may eat oysters anymore.”

“You may not,” said Evan, “for the oyster season is over. Today’s patties were the last available.”

“This is true. I shall ask ahead for next year.”

Gwyn tracked this exchange with watery eyes, doubtless wondering where she could stick out a verbal foot. “You shall make me sob with all your talk of Con!” she burst out.

“I could remind you of him by putting a sheep through your bedchamber window,” Evan said.

“Oh! You make mock of me.”

Evan shrugged. “Not really. The sheep was Con’s idea.”

At that moment, the children thundered back into the drawing room. “We ate all the oyster patties,” announced Nora. “Cook said she was saving them for you, Uncle Evan, but—”

“We told her we were starving!” Declan sounded proud. “And she gave them to us with extra melted butter.”

“Oysters,” groaned Gwyn. “Starving! After all I’ve done…”

“How about a game?” Kate said brightly. “Let’s play who’s-the-saddest, and see which of us can be the most morose.”

“Ah—no, thank you,” Evan broke in with hurried words. God. That was the sort of invitation Gwyn did not need. “That’s not the sort of game that has a winner. Who would like to see my magic lantern?”

“I would!” said Declan. “Do you have any horrid slides?”

“That depends on what you think of my artistic abilities.”

“Uncle Evan’s slides are not horrid,” said Kate. “They’re clever.”

He knew she was being “agreeable” Kate, yet the compliment was like a warm touch. “Thank you.”

“Awww.” Declan kicked the side of his grandmother’s sofa. “I wanted to see something disgusting.”

“Forgery of historical artifacts for the purposes of smuggling is disgusting,” Evan said in his serious-lecturer voice. Declan laughed.

“I cannot bear the sight of a magic lantern.” Gwyn sighed. “That bright lamp! The glass slides! An abomination against human eyesight. No, no, you must excuse me.”

“Very well,” said Kate, almost too quickly for politeness. “You may certainly be excused.”

“I’ll fetch my lantern case,” Evan said.

Kate followed him to the doorway of the drawing room. “Now you have the full experience of residents of Whelan House,” she whispered. “How did this compare to dinner with your family? Which was the more torturous ordeal?”

She was flushed and pretty, curious and indignant, and he wanted nothing more than to collect her in a crushing embrace. “The dinner with my family was far more torturous,” he replied. “Except for the bits with you. I do love watching you play the delightful brat.”

“You could try to sound a little less triumphant,” she said, but she sounded mollified.

“I could, but I don’t want to. It’s nice being Gwyn’s golden boy for a few minutes. Did you hear how pleased she was to see me?”

“You almost sound serious.”

“Do I? I shouldn’t have let that happen. Terrible habit to get into.” His heart beat more quickly as she looked at him. Close enough to see within him—close enough to kiss.

“So you say,” she said. “But I know better. One of us must change.”

From her glance backward toward the sofa, from which her mother-in-law was rising, Evan understood that by us, she meant herself and Gwyn.

“Why only one?” he asked, and he included himself too.

* * *

Kate could not remember the last time she had enjoyed one of her mother-in-law’s visits more—or at all. But the enjoyment came only from testing the strangling bond between them.

She had not needed to let Good Old Gwyn take over the manor house for all these years, had she? And she had not needed to be alone.

Had she done the best she could?

Was she doing her best, even now? She’d played the—what had Evan called it? The delightful brat again, and she felt shaky.

Con had been Gwyn’s only child, and Kate had allowed her mother-in-law the refuge of deep grief. But it was not a feeling on which she wished to dwell. Not after the first shock of Con’s loss, and certainly not now. Gwyn was as mired in loss as the people of Thurles expected Kate to be.

If she were not lost, how ought she to feel instead?

As Evan lit a lamp and set up his magic lantern, Kate exited the drawing room and closed the door on everything she wanted. Peace. Warmth. The smiles of her children.

Instead, she retrieved a pistol and powder from the locked gun case in the study. Exiting through the front door into the sunset coolness of evening, she tacked a slip of paper to a tree and shot a tidy hole through all her questions.