Chapter Thirty-two

T he week following the arrival of the telegram from Evangeline’s grandfather, Dermot spent every evening at Evangeline’s home, he and Ronan taking their meals with her and remaining for a time afterward. Evangeline had taken to sitting in his arms while they talked about their day, their memories, their thoughts for the future. Ronan even joined in the discussions now and then, expounding on the proper way to mix mortar or offering endless facts about sheep. ’Twas by far the most pleasant few days Dermot had known. Returning to her each day felt like coming home.

He stepped across the threshold of her living quarters, then paused, listening to Ronan reading.

“To fetch a p—p—” The boy struggled a moment.

Evangeline stood at the fire, stirring a pot. Though she didn’t offer any assistance, she was clearly listening.

“Pail,” Ronan finally said.

Evangeline nodded, but didn’t interrupt.

“Of water.” Ronan did not read loudly, but he was intent on his paper. “Jack fell doe.” Ronan shook his head. “Jack fell down and brock— broke —his crown, and Jill came—” His brow creased. He studied the words on the page. His little mouth moved, but no sound emerged.

Evangeline didn’t turn to look at the boy, but she had stopped stirring. Indeed, she stood with all the tension of one fully expecting to be called upon to move swiftly at any moment.

Ronan looked over at her. “This one,” he said.

She sprang into action, kneeling on the floor beside his chair. They put their heads near each other, and she spoke of vowels followed by consonants and what that meant for the sound they made. Dermot had listened during a few of their lessons and, though he’d not yet learned to read himself, he at least recognized the terms she was using.

Ronan listened intently. When she finished her explanation, he returned his attention to his reading. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, he settled on the word “tumbling.”

Evangeline nodded. “Very good.” She patted his hand, something he permitted but did not seem to enjoy. Still, that was progress.

Ronan kept at his lessons. Evangeline returned to the fireplace. She did not take up her spoon again, though. She paused in front of the photograph of her family. Her gaze lingered on their faces. Fate had been unkind in the extreme, taking away all her family at once.

Dermot quietly crossed to her side. She must have heard him approach. “I miss them,” she whispered.

“I know.” He moved to stand directly beside her, then put an arm around her shoulders.

After a moment, her defeated posture gave way to determination. “I hadn’t meant to greet you with sadness. I have news to share, actually.”

“Have you?”

She led him by the hand to their usual place on the long, spindle--backed bench near the fire, and sat, waiting for him to do the same. This time, she did not settle into his embrace, but sat facing him.

“I received another telegram today from my grandfather.” A small smile appeared on her face, which gave him hope that the telegram had held good news. “My letter to him explained that he was being unfair by not sending Lucy to Smeatley when that had been our original agreement and I had kept up my part of it.”

This woman had a backbone of steel, something he’d not have guessed in those early days and weeks when she’d been so dedicated to being prim and proper. “What did Mr. Farr say to that?”

“He admitted that I was correct.”

Dermot whistled long and low. “’Tis no small feat to receive an admission of guilt from a man of his standing.”

“I know.” She fair glowed with pride, a sight he truly enjoyed. “Now, he has not agreed to let Lucy come live with me, but he has said she can come to visit.”

“You’ll be seeing her again, then.”

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement and, if he was not mistaken, unshed tears. “After all this time, I will have her with me.”

“I’m happier for you than I can say. You’ve needed your family here—the family you’re fond of, at any rate.”

She hopped up. “Lucy will be arriving Saturday afternoon. Will you come with me to greet her at the train station?”

Dermot watched her with a contented joy. ’Twas a wonderful thing to see her so happy. “Of course I will.” He wanted to meet the sister who meant so much to her, and he wanted to be with Evangeline during a moment that she’d waited for all these weeks. He wanted to be part of all her precious and important moments.

Saturday morning dawned bitterly cold. Dermot dressed Ronan in his warmest clothes with an extra scarf wrapped around his head.

“Miss Blake’s sister arrives this morning,” he explained. “She loves her sister very much, so we will make certain Miss Lucy feels welcome here.”

Ronan nodded, though Dermot couldn’t imagine he would greet this new arrival with anything other than his usual wariness. He only hoped Lucy was as patient and understanding with the lad as Evangeline was.

They hadn’t quite reached Evangeline’s door when she stepped out of it, bundled against the cold and overflowing with anxious energy. She checked the door more than once to see if it was locked. She fiddled with her coat buttons and adjusted her scarf.

Dermot set his arm around her waist, walking beside her toward the street. “You’re nervous.”

“What if she isn’t happy to see me? What if she blames me for leaving her at that school for so long? What if she hates me?”

He held her a touch closer. “Let’s not open that door until we’re certain fate’s knocking at it.”

“You’re telling me not to go borrowing trouble?”

“I’m attempting to set your mind at ease.”

She smiled up at him, and he, who had spent so long guarding his heart, lost a little more of it to her. “You being here with me sets me more at ease than I can say.”

“We’re happy to be here.” He adjusted Ronan’s loose scarf. “I’ve heard so much of Lucy. I’m looking forward to making her acquaintance.”

“She is a sweet girl,” Evangeline said. “Rather quiet, really. I don’t know what she’ll make of this town or the people in it. Given that they’ve been more distant with me lately, I worry she’ll be given something of a cold reception.”

He wished he could offer her reassurance. The people of Smeatley were a headstrong lot, and they clung to what was familiar and what most closely resembled their own experiences.

The train platform was not overly busy. It seemed the factory was not sending or receiving any shipments that morning. Evangeline watched the tracks. She walked back and forth, rubbing her hands. Her eyes never lost their worried glint.

Mr. and Mrs. Barton arrived in the midst of Evangeline’s pacing. Neither looked excited to be there.

“McCormick,” Mr. Barton said in acknowledgment.

“You’ve come to greet your niece?” Dermot guessed.

Mr. Barton nodded. “It seems all the town knows of our relationship with the Blakes now.”

“Mr. Farr revealed it.” Dermot wanted to make certain Mr. Barton did not blame Evangeline the way his wife had. “One can’t help wondering if forcing Miss Blake to be entirely without family these past months truly had been one of his requirements in the first place.”

To his credit, Mr. Barton looked abashed. “My wife—” He didn’t finish, but fell into an uncomfortable silence.

Dermot offered him no escape. Let the man wrestle with his conscience; it’d do him good.

Mrs. Barton took notice of Dermot and Ronan for the first time. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

He ignored the implied disapproval. He returned his attention to Evangeline, who was moving swiftly back to where he stood.

“The train is coming.” She clutched his arm. “She’ll be here in a moment.”

If not for the Bartons standing nearby, he’d’ve wrapped an arm round her. As it was, he hoped his smile proved support enough.

The familiar rumbling began underfoot. Evangeline held more tightly to his arm.

“Only a moment more,” he said.

In a cloud of steam, the train arrived. Its wheels squealed as it slowed painstakingly to a halt. Evangeline didn’t look away, didn’t even seem to blink.

A lone figure emerged a few cars down from the engine. She wore a dress of unrelieved black and a wide-brimmed bonnet. She struggled with the traveling bag clutched in her hands.

“Is that your Lucy?” he asked.

“I believe so.” She took a single step forward. “Yes. Yes, that is Lucy.”

She rushed headlong toward her sister and threw her arms around her, sending the bag to the ground with a thud. Her sister returned the embrace without a word.

Dermot moved quickly to where they stood, though making every effort not to disrupt the reunion. He picked up Lucy’s bag, then took a step backward to give them a measure of privacy. Ronan joined him. The Bartons didn’t move.

“My dear, sweet Lucy,” Evangeline said, still holding fast to her sister.

“Do not make me go back, Evangeline. Please do not make me go back.”

Those desperately whispered words reminded Dermot of the fear that he’d seen in Ronan’s eyes the day he’d struck the bargain that had saved the boy from a life of misery. He’d not allowed himself to think much about that time—doing so still cut deeply—but seeing a similar scene play out now brought the memory fresh to his mind.

He tucked Ronan up close against him, grateful that the lad allowed it in that moment. He didn’t always.

Evangeline held her sister at arm’s length, looking her over with the same worry she’d worn all morning. “I will do everything in my power to make certain you don’t have to return.”

“What power do you have?” So much defeat lay in that question, so much despondency.

“Grandfather allowed you to come, something I insisted on. I believe I have more influence with him than I realized.”

“You told him what to do?” Lucy sounded both doubtful and impressed.

“I did.” Evangeline turned toward Dermot. She smiled, though tears hung on her lashes. “Lucy, this is Dermot McCormick and his boy, Ronan. They are neighbors of mine, and my dearest friends.”

Though “friends” was not the word he’d have preferred, something in the tender way she looked at him added a note of something more to the declaration.

“We’re right pleased to meet you, Miss Lucy,” he said, doffing his hat. “Your sister speaks of you often.”

“He is Irish,” Lucy said in a surprised whisper.

Evangeline smiled. “He is very Irish. He is also very kind and clever and helpful and ... rather wonderful.”

If ever a woman had offered a more welcome bit of flattery than that, Dermot wasn’t aware of it. Despite the bitter wind punishing them all, he felt warmed to his core.

“M’ mother’d be right pleased to hear you say that, Evangeline.”

Lucy, keeping close to her sister’s side, eyed Dermot more closely. “Are you two sweethearts?”

Dermot grinned, while Evangeline blushed a deep shade of red.

Lucy appeared to bite back a smile of her own. “Never mind. I think I know.”

Dermot thought he knew as well. ’Twas a fine thing to have an answer to that particular question.

“This is Ronan,” he told Lucy. “He’s a good lad, though a quiet one. He’s not likely to greet you warmly, but you needn’t take offense at that.”

Evangeline leaned closer to her sister and said, “He is very much like our James.”

Lucy made a sound of understanding and nodded. “I am happy to meet him, though I will not press him for conversation.”

Their brother James must have been quite like Ronan for Lucy to have understood the situation so quickly and so entirely.

“We had best go greet your aunt and uncle,” Evangeline said. “They have come as well.”

“If we must,” Lucy said.

Dermot walked alongside them, Ronan tucked against him. They moved slowly toward the Bartons, who made no effort to close the gap.

“Grandfather did not send you alone on the train, did he?” Evangeline asked.

“A servant came along,” Lucy said, “but she was on her way further along the route and did not disembark here.”

Evangeline breathed a sigh of obvious relief. “I felt certain he wouldn’t have left you entirely unprotected, yet you were alone when you stepped from the train.”

“Grandfather does not particularly care for me, but he is not entirely thoughtless.” Lucy spoke so matter-of-factly, as if indifference from her mother’s father was acceptable. How lonely she must have been these past months. ’Twas little wonder Evangeline had worried so much for her.

Lucy offered a brief curtsey to her aunt and uncle, though she neither spoke to them nor looked them in the eye.

“Now that you are here, we can be on our way,” Mrs. Barton said. “Mr. McCormick, I am certain, will place your bag in our carriage.”

“While I appreciate the offer of a ride in your vehicle,” Evangeline said, “we are happy to walk. I should like Lucy to see the town, which she can easily do between here and our home.”

“You misunderstand,” Mrs. Barton said. “Lucy is staying with us. That was your grandfather’s arrangement.”

Lucy shrunk against Evangeline, who stood firm. “I haven’t the slightest intention of agreeing to that arrangement. Lucy will be coming home with me.”

Lucy turned wide eyes on her sister, apparently surprised by the stand she took.

“You are in no position—” Mrs. Barton began.

“She is my sister, and she will be coming home with me.” Evange-line stepped beyond her aunt. “I made the mistake of leaving her in your care once, and you sent her away. I will not allow that to happen again.”

“Robert,” Mrs. Barton said. “Do something.”

“I am doing something,” he answered. “I am taking you home and leaving the girls in peace.”

For a brief moment, Dermot held Mr. Barton’s gaze. He hoped his hard expression communicated how little he approved of the way Evangeline had been treated by her family. Far from shrinking from the silent criticism, Mr. Barton nodded. “You’ll look after the Blake sisters, I presume.”

“I’ve every intention of doing so,” he answered.

Mrs. Barton assumed her all-too-familiar tone and expression of distaste. “I imagine you do.”

“Enough,” Mr. Barton spoke sharply. “You have offered enough unwarranted insults to last most people a lifetime, and I, for one, will not endure it any longer.”

He stepped away from his wife and moved toward their waiting carriage.

“Do you mean to leave me here?” she called after him.

“I mean to return home,” he said, not slowing or looking back. “If you wish to come as well, I suggest you hurry.”

No more was said. No peace was restored between them. Dermot did not know the history that had led to such animosity in their marriage, but he found himself feeling unexpectedly sorry for the Bartons. They were so obviously unhappy, and that misery infected most everyone they encountered. Somehow, Evangeline had managed to rise above it.

Her determination, her hope in the face of sorrow, her strength had thoroughly captured him. Which presented a question he was not yet ready to answer: what would he do if her grandfather insisted that Lucy return to Leeds and Evangeline chose to follow? How could he possibly live without her?