Chapter Twenty-seven

D ermot couldn’t say just when the change had occurred, but lately when he arrived at the schoolhouse, the sight filled him with the oddest sense of relief. He’d a feeling of coming home, despite not living there, despite having no family residing within its walls. He’d have assumed the response came from knowing Ronan waited inside, but he’d been fetching the lad from the schoolhouse for weeks and weeks and yet this feeling was a new one.

Love did odd things to a man. He’d at last admitted to himself the true state of his heart.

He hung his hat and coat on the hook near Evangeline’s door just as he always did. This evening, though, he paused to smooth out his hair and make himself as presentable as a fellow could wearing work clothes covered with the results of a day spent laboring. Had Evangeline ever seen him look anything but raggedy? He was always in his working clothes or, like last week out on the moor, in clothes just as worse for the wear.

Still, she seemed fond of him. That was encouraging.

He gave a quick rap on the door then pushed it open.

“Dermot, you’re here.” She crossed directly to him.

“I am,” he answered, watching her for signs of happiness or disappointment. What he saw was something far closer to panic. “What has you so on edge, my dear?”

She held up a small oval pendant on a dainty chain. “I want to wear this necklace. My father gave it to me, but I can’t manage the latch. I don’t usually struggle with it, but I’m nervous and that’s making me clumsy and—” She stopped abruptly, folding her fingers around her necklace. “I just need you to tell me that everything will be fine. Even if you don’t fully believe, I just need to hear you say it.”

The poor woman truly was in a panic.

He took her face gently in his hands. “Everything’ll be grand, Evangeline. Grand altogether.”

She met his gaze. “And if it all falls to pieces?”

“We’ll put it back together again.”

She took what sounded like a fortifying breath. “Grand altogether,” she repeated. “I believe I shall adopt that as my rallying cry.”

He dropped his hands to her shoulders, then slid them down her arms, watching her for signs of further distress. Though she appeared overwhelmed and concerned, there was a calmness in her demeanor that was reassuring.

He took her hands in his. She offered a tremulous but determined smile. He leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. His lungs seized on the instant, and his pulse began racing.

How fond he had grown of the scent of flowers, and how quickly he was growing enamored of the warmth of her when she was near.

“I wish I could have been here during your inspection today,” he said. “I suspect you could have used a friendly face.”

She sighed. “I was terribly nervous, though I’m embarrassed to admit it.”

“But you faced it. That’s reason to feel proud.”

She stepped back. ’Twas tempting to reach for her again, but she’d moved all the way to the window. She pulled the jewelry around her neck, fumbling with the clasp in the back.

“Are you needing help with that?” he offered.

She shook her head. “I’ll manage it.”

Ronan sat in his usual seat, content with his wooden horse and dog. He hadn’t even looked up when Dermot had arrived. ’Twas a wonderfully odd thing for his lad to be so at ease in another person’s home.

“How did the school inspection go?” Dermot asked.

She was still working at her necklace clasp. “I cannot say with certainty, but I do believe Mr. Farr was not displeased. Mrs. Barton clearly was, but her opinion is not nearly of as much importance.”

“You’re not intimidated by her, then?”

“Certainly not.”

Dermot couldn’t help but grin at the thought of how many of his men were thoroughly daunted by “her high-and-mighty lordship,” yet Evangeline, whose well-being depended so heavily on the largesse of the Bartons, was no longer cowed by them. “There’s the fiery Evangeline I’ve come to know.”

Evangeline shook her head as if she thought he was teasing. She secured her necklace. She straightened the pendant, then turned to face him. “I understand you had something of an inspection today as well.”

“I did at that, though I can’t say what Mr. Farr’s impression was of the work.”

She smiled at him. He rather adored that smile. “I can tell you what he thought.”

“Can you, now?”

A teasing glint entered her eyes. “Would you like to know what he said?”

He’d not have guessed when they’d first met that she’d be one for playful banter. Truth be told, he’d not known that about himself before Evangeline had arrived in his life. “I’d not object to it, though it’d depend on how much you’re meaning to charge me for that bit of information.”

“Are you saying that I could make my fortune on this?”

“Well, I’d have to pay you in coddle.”

Her eyes pulled wide. “Cuddle?”

He laughed long and hard. “Good heavens, woman.” His attempt at controlling his mirth only led to a deeper fit of laughter. “C o ddle. Not c u ddle. It’s a stew from Dublin.”

She pressed her hands over her mouth, color splotching her cheeks. He likely should’ve stopped laughing then, but saints above, the particular nature of the misunderstanding coupled with her look of shock was simply too much.

“Stop it.” Her eyes danced, a sure sign she was not truly humiliated by the error. “It was an honest mistake.”

“What was that you said? A hopeful mistake?”

She nudged him with her shoulder as she passed. “Hopeful on whose part, Dermot?”

Oh, on his part, to be sure. He’d have enjoyed a bit of cuddling with Evangeline, but that was getting a far sight ahead of things. He knew his feelings but not hers. Slow and steady was the safer course.

“Is it for a special reason you’ve put on your father’s necklace?” He’d not known her to wear jewelry in all the months she’d been in Smeatley. In fact, a closer look showed she’d also done something different with her hair.

“I’ve been asked to have dinner at Hillside House.” She made the statement as if being invited to dine with the wealthiest and most influential people in town was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Dinner with the Bartons? Mr. Farr will be there, I’m assuming.”

She nodded. “He extended the invitation.”

“You’re not quaking in your boots at the prospect, I see. Most would be.”

“It seems I missed my calling.” Evangeline flourished her hands. “I should have been an actress.” Then she dropped her smile and her posture slumped. “I am not looking forward to this evening. Mrs. Barton will most certainly spend the evening speaking ill of me in every way she can manage. Mr. Barton will do nothing to contradict her. And Mr. Farr will hear every word. I will spend the evening either allowing the disparagement of my character, because contradicting them would be unladylike, or defending myself in an impolite show of defiance. So much hangs in the balance: my continued presence here, the possibility of having Lucy with me again, the children’s education. What if I choose the wrong approach? What if I only make things worse?”

He took her hand once more, something he was quite fond of doing but which also seemed to give her some comfort. “’Tis a difficult thing being in the position we are, is it not? So much depending on others, having so little power over our own lives.”

“It is difficult, yes.”

He kissed her hand. “We’re rather alike, you and I, struggling to make our way in a world where we don’t belong, where we have no one.”

A degree of sadness entered her expression. “Do you really feel so terribly alone?”

There was something pleading, something deeper in what she was asking. The question beneath her words was not lost on him. “I’ve not felt as alone these past weeks.”

“Neither have I,” she said softly.

They stood a moment, neither one looking away, neither one stepping away. He’d spoken the truth of the situation. He’d been on his own for a long time, depending only on himself, answering to no one but also receiving support from no one. He’d buoyed and cared for Ronan and believed he was cared about in return, but that was not the sort of companionship he’d been unknowingly searching for. Evangeline had come to Smeatley, with her vulnerabilities and determination and loneliness, and by a miracle, he, a poor Irishman in an isolated corner of England, had found a kindred soul.

“I do need to be going.” She seemed to genuinely regret the idea of parting. “Mrs. Barton will be even more unpleasant if I am late.”

There was wisdom in that, though he wished she could remain. “I’m wishing you a fine and happy meal with the Bartons and Mr. Farr. I truly hope they’re pleasant to you and that Mr. Farr is as impressed as you deserve for him to be.”

“I hope so too.” Her gaze moved to Ronan. “You had best hop up. It’s time to be on your way home.”

Ronan slid from the chair, a figurine in each hand. He crossed to the door, not even slowing as he passed them.

“The lad’s liable to leave without me,” Dermot chuckled.

Evangeline set her hand in his. “Then we had better walk quickly.”

An easy affection existed between them. She knew the difficult details of his life; he knew hers. They shared and they trusted.

He waited while she locked her door. Ronan sat on the front step. Only a few short weeks ago he’d have rushed straight home, not wanting to stop or change their routine in the least. Evangeline’s home and the time she spent with him had become part of his life—of their life.

They walked toward the recently trimmed hedge. Ronan’s coat hung open, but at least he had it on. Evangeline secured the buttons on her own, fumbling over the task.

“All will be grand, you’ll see,” he assured her.

She nodded. “Grand altogether.”

“You do realize that is an incredibly Irish turn of phrase.”

She tucked her hands into the pockets of her coat. “I believe I am English enough to endure an Irish expression or two.”

“‘Endure’? I believe you mean ‘enjoy.’”

Evangeline laughed lightly. “Perhaps I should use a few Irish phrases tonight and see if that endears me to the Bartons.”

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Most in this country, especially those in a position of power and wealth, are a bit too English to endure the reminder of the existence of the Irish with our odd take on the language and our poverty and our unwillingness to be content with the hand they have dealt us.”

She didn’t say anything further, but simply walked quietly at his side as they crossed the street. He didn’t regret speaking aloud the frustrations he’d long held with her countrymen. She wasn’t like so many others. The two of them were more the same than different.

Upon reaching the other side of the street where their paths diverged, they paused.

“Have a good evening, Ronan.” She offered him a small wave before looking up at Dermot. “Thank you for the encouragement. If the fates are at all kind, this evening will go well, and I’ll be reunited with my sister again soon.”

Throwing caution to the wind, he kissed her cheek. She blushed but offered no objection. Then she was walking away, leaving him standing there, watching her go. How had he grown so fond of her so quickly, he who’d always guarded himself against personal connections?

He waited until she turned off Greenamble and disappeared around the corner. If only he’d been invited to the meal as well, at least she’d have someone standing beside her. The Bartons and their ilk never did speak well of anyone not from their walk of life. Despite her origins, Evangeline’s current circumstances placed her decidedly beneath the Bartons’ rung on the social ladder. Mr. Farr seemed less concerned with those boundaries, but he could be a harsh man.

Ronan made a noise of impatience.

“My apologies, lad. I’m dragging m’ feet tonight, aren’t I?” He followed his boy up the steep hill. “You’re to be especially good for Miss Blake next time you see her as she’s likely to have a difficult evening tonight. The Bartons, as we know full well, aren’t always welcoming.”

“Mr. Farr told her they would be,” Ronan said.

“Mr. Farr said the Bartons would be civil to her?”

Ronan nodded. “Because he’s her grandfather.”

Every muscle, every thought, every movement stopped in the wake of those four words. “Where did you hear that?”

“Mr. Farr said it to Miss Blake.” Ronan wore the anxious expression he always did when his expected routine was being disrupted.

“He said that?” Mr. Farr wouldn’t lie about such a thing.

Ronan rocked in place, his eyes darting continuously toward the yellow door only a few feet away.

Dermot motioned the lad on ahead, following mindlessly. He is her grandfather. Evangeline was family to the most powerful man in all of Smeatley. That made her family to the Bartons as well, who wielded almost as much influence as Mr. Farr. How alike he’d thought they were. What an utter fool he was. She did not merely come from a place of relative ease; she hailed from greater privilege than he could even imagine.

In all her talk of regaining her sister’s company, of her grandfather who made that decision, never once had she told him who her grandfather was. He’d told her of how Ronan had come to be in his life, something he’d not told another soul. He’d shared his thoughts and worries. He’d reached out to her in genuine, open affection. And she’d not told him even the most basic truths of her own life. There’d been more than ample opportunity to do so.

Why hadn’t she? And what else was she not telling him?