Chapter 5

Traveling to Castle Clairvoir in July meant far better road conditions than in December, the last time Teague’s coach had crept up the hill to the duke’s family seat. He sat across from his mother and his sister’s governess, Mrs. Gibson, with Fiona at his side. All the carriage windows were open, despite the risk of dust, to let air flow freely and keep the passengers cool despite the warmth of the summer’s day.

Fiona bounced up and down on her side of the bench, her nose stuck just outside the window, her whole body straining for the first glimpse of the castle. “James will be surprised to see that I am taller than he is now,” she said with an air of triumph.

“He may have grown a few inches himself,” Teague said, arms folded and eyes watching the trees.

He was thinking of Lady Ivy again. Ever since their chance meeting in the dim light of the theater, her smile had haunted him. He’d tried for a week to talk himself out of his interest in her. Why should he give an English woman, as like to scorn him for his place of birth as naught, even a moment of his thoughts? Yet she had remained, and he had resolved to see her. If only to prove to himself she was like the rest, finding him an oddity at best and an irritating upstart at worst.

He’d attempted to call on her the day before departing London, far too eager to see if the connection he’d sensed was more than a wistful notion. But the footman at the Haverford’s town home had informed him she’d been invited to visit cousins in the country, leaving Teague with unanswered questions and restless thoughts.

“Boys never grow as quickly as girls,” Fiona said with a smug grin. “Máthair said so. Didn’t you?” She turned an appealing smile to their mother.

“I said it happened that way on occasion,” the baroness corrected, waving her fan somewhat languidly. “As most young men eventually outpace young ladies, I wouldn’t be touting a thing that is beyond your command, daughter.”

Fiona at least appeared to consider that advice when she turned back to the window. Teague smiled, amused as ever by his youngest sister. Perhaps they had indulged her over-much, as she was the baby of the family and had come into the world not long before their father left it. Fiona had come to think herself capable of many things, growing bold and sometimes brazen in speaking her mind. He found it endearing, and his mother had yet to express concern, but her English governess had hinted that something ought to be done before Fiona entered Society in a few years’ time.

It didn’t seem fair, though, to stifle the girl. Not when a boy making the same sort of statements would be praised for his intellect and confidence. Teague would leave her be at present. Time would take care of maturing her far better than a reprimand from him ever could.

The castle came into view as the carriage left the shadows of the wooded hill, and Teague found himself bending to take in the sight even as his sister cheered for their arrival. The yellow-hued brick glowed golden in the afternoon light, a flag raised from the tallest tower assuring everyone the duke was at home. Teague couldn’t help but smile when he spied a welcoming party waiting on the lawn stretching away from the castle.

The ducal family and their guests stood in the sun, the ladies beneath parasols, and one eager boy waved from the wall. “Lord James seems pleased to see you,” Teague said with a grin.

“As he ought to be. I am likely the most interesting friend he has,” Fiona replied with easy confidence. She stuck the top half of her body out the window, waving back vigorously. The governess gasped and reached forward to hold Fiona by the waist, as though fearful the girl would tumble out of the carriage.

Teague guiltily took hold of his sister. “Fi, you had better sit.”

She did, her grin broader than before. She snatched her bonnet up from the seat between them and put it on her head, tying it hastily, if somewhat messily, beneath her chin. “We only saw each other twice in London, you know, before he went off to school again.”

“I know.” Máthair gave her daughter an amused half-frown. “Remember to exercise your manners when you curtsy to their graces before you run off to play.”

Fiona agreed, and none too soon. The carriage stopped before entering the portico, where guests usually departed their vehicles beneath the castle roof, entering the building through a long corridor lined with shields and banners before coming into the guardroom. Today, that formality was unnecessary because Teague’s family were kin to the duke and duchess through his sister’s marriage to the duke’s heir.

Teague left the carriage first and handed down his mother, sister, and the governess, before extending his arm to escort his mother up the short set of stairs from the ground to the raised stone terrace, where they met with Isleen and her husband, Lord Farleigh, Simon Dinard.

“Máthair!” Isleen rushed forward to embrace her mother as though it had been months since their parting and not a fortnight when they had last been together in London. “I am so glad you agreed to come. Thank you, Teague, for making the time.” She released their parent to embrace him next, and Teague’s heart softened to see his sister so well and happy. He smiled over her shoulder at her husband, who had wrapped their mother in an embrace, too.

Simon greeted Teague with a clasp of his arm. “Welcome to Clairvoir once more, brother.”

“Farleigh. My sister hasn’t razed the castle yet, I see. Very un-Irish of her.”

Isleen cast him a dark look as she wrapped her arm around her husband’s. “You best take care, Teague. I’m an English countess now, and I have been instructed on how to properly use the cannons.”

He laughed, even if it still pained him somewhat to feel he’d lost his sister—well, not to the enemy. But to the English.

He offered his elbow to their mother. Fiona hopped from one foot to the other, waiting for them to walk the twenty steps to where the duke and duchess stood with the rest of the household’s occupants. Simon and Isleen led the way.

His mother murmured softly to him, “They have made a good match of it, haven’t they? I never thought it would be an Englishman what would win Isleen’s heart. And a future duke, at that.”

“They are well-matched,” he agreed easily. He was happy for them both, truly. The two were quite enamored with one another, having celebrated the one-year anniversary of their marriage the previous March. He almost envied them.

As though she had heard his thoughts, his mother whispered, “I need to find you a lively cailín willing to put up with your politics, then I can have some peace until Fiona comes of age.”

“Now, Máthair. I trust your matchmaking skills, but I’ve yet to see a woman who could put up with me as well as you have. I’ve no doubt you’d be searching far and wide—” Simon swept Isleen to one side, revealing the family waiting to welcome them.

And Lady Ivy.

Standing next to the duchess, her figure bathed in sunlight, a wide-brimmed bonnet shading her eyes, was the woman from the theater. Time paused for Teague, and he quite forgot how to breathe.

Lord Dunmoreand Lady Farleigh were brother and sister.

Ivy’s shock fizzed through her like a lightning current as Lord Dunmore stepped into view. The Irish baron seemed as surprised as she was, given how his eyes grew to double their size. He stared at her, as though he didn’t quite believe what he saw. Warmth rushed into her cheeks, and she stood frozen a moment longer than everyone else as the polite greetings were made.

“We’re pleased to have you here again, Lord Dunmore,” the duke intoned.

Ivy’s thoughts were still unraveling the unlikely coincidence, a twist of fate that had quite tangled her thoughts. She remembered Lady Farleigh mentioning her brother, but never by title. The same Irishman she hadn’t forgotten, could not forget since their chance meeting in London, was somehow here.

“Lord Dunmore, allow me to introduce Lady Ivy Amberton,” the duchess said with a graceful gesture.

Lord Dunmore grinned unabashedly at Ivy. “We’ve met before. In London. At the theater.”

Voice wavering slightly, she added. “Yes, it was quite the unexpected pleasure.”

“How wonderful. I’m pleased you know one another.” The duchess swept her hand to indicate Ivy’s sisters, standing just behind her. “Have you met her younger sisters, Lady Juniper and Lady Betony? Their mother was a cousin of mine.”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.” Lord Dunmore bowed to them both. “Ladies, it is an honor.”

Ivy couldn’t stop staring at him as he moved through the informal reception line, greeting everyone. In the gaslit theater, he’d been quite handsome. Here, in broad daylight, he was even more attractive to behold. Warm, dark eyes. A noble bearing. A smile that made her want to tease it from him at the next available opportunity.

Her cheeks warmed at the somewhat brazen thought.

Lady Farleigh—his sister—leaned close to Ivy and whispered, amusement twinkling in her eyes. “It seems the world is smaller than we think, Lady Ivy.”

Ivy nodded, her gaze flickering towards Lord Dunmore. He caught her looking this time and sent a confident, crooked smile in her direction.

Did he remember their first encounter as vividly as she did? Had she improved in the sunlight, too?

Upon meeting Simon’s bride for the first time, only the day before, Ivy had found the woman’s Irish accent charming. Of course, it had immediately reminded her of Baron Dunmore. Yet she hadn’t said anything to Lady Farleigh about the Irishman she’d met. To assume all Irish people knew one another wasn’t at all intelligent, and some might even consider the assumption rude.

Ivy hadn’t heard a thing about Lady Farleigh’s brother until breakfast the morning of his arrival, her second day at the castle. They had never once spoken of him by his title. They had referred to the coming guests as “Isleen’s brother” and “Isleen’s mother” and “Fiona” when they spoke. She had even heard his Christian name, “Teague,” mentioned by Lady Farleigh.

It hadn’t seemed at all possible that the arriving Irishman would be the Irishman. The only one she knew. The one she had thought of again and again since their single, brief meeting.

How had he come to be here, of all places? His sister married to one of Ivy’s relatives!

The rest of the introductions were made without any further surprises.

As the duchess and Baroness Dunmore fell into conversation, Lord Dunmore found his way back to Ivy’s side. “When I went to your brother’s home, they told me you were away for the summer.”

“Yes.” She babbled while bobbing her head up and down, somehow unable to stop herself from acting ridiculous. “Her Grace invited me here. For the summer. We’re cousins. On my mother’s side.”

“I think the duchess said that already, Ivy.” Juniper had remained next to Ivy while their youngest sister had drifted to the duchess’ side, everyone milling about there on the lawn and chatting like old friends.

Ivy’s cheeks felt as though they were aflame. She winced and forced a weak laugh. “Yes, thank you, Juniper. The family tree feels a little convoluted at times, is all.”

The Irishman’s grin turned all the more charming when he spoke. “As one unexpectedly related to a future duchess, I can empathize.”

Ivy had to clamp her teeth together to keep from saying something strange aloud. Like complimenting his smile. Or asking questions about his sister. Or asking why he hadn’t come to visit her in London sooner.

Juniper looked from Ivy to the baron with a gleam of mischief in her eyes, but said nothing to detract from the awkward silence. It was almost as though she enjoyed it.

Lord Dunmore studied Ivy a moment, his smile turning from amusement to confusion. “Is everything?—”

“Fi,” a voice said abruptly from beside her, making Ivy jump. She looked down to find her cousin James with his arms crossed impatiently. “Now that you’ve done the polite thing, do you want to stop standing around and come see the new colt in the stables? He was born a fortnight ago.”

The little girl at Lord Dunmore’s side gasped happily. “May I go, Máthair?”

Lady Dunmore assented with a nod. “You may. Off with you, then. Mind you return soon.”

“Thank goodness,” the duchess murmured as the children ran away. “James has been speaking of nothing but showing Fiona that colt since the creature took its first breath.”

The mothers shared an amused glance, then went back to conversing as though they were the oldest of friends. Perhaps a future of shared grandchildren made it an easy thing to get along.

The duke steered Lord Dunmore into a conversation about the journey, and Lord Farleigh stepped closer to form a triangle for the three men, cutting off Ivy’s sight of the Irishman. Thankfully, before she made a greater cake of herself.

Juniper nudged Ivy’s shoulder with her own. “You never said anything about meeting a handsome Irishman in London,” she said, the words somewhat accusatory. “And now he’s here.”

Ivy took her sister by the arm and took several quick steps away. “Hush. Someone will hear you.” She wanted to melt into the ground. “Did I look as surprised as I felt?”

Someone did hear them. Lady Farleigh appeared on Ivy’s other side. “You looked like you’d seen the fair folk.” Her expression turned mischievous. “Surprised, but not unpleasantly so.”

Ivy ducked her head, casting her sister a horrified glance. What would the lady think, hearing them talk of her brother? She stammered out a response. “He did a kindness for me, and I didn’t expect to see him again. I hope I didn’t act foolish. I promise I am not usually such a ninny when introductions are made.”

“Who would think such a thing? Not I.” Lady Farleigh’s expression turned speculative. “What is it you think of my brother, Lady Ivy? Now that you’ve met him twice over.”

If she hadn’t already turned pink with surprise, Lady Farleigh’s question would have caused the flush all on its own. Did she think Ivy had intentions toward Teague Frost? She spoke with more haste than care, “One can always benefit from new friendships.”

“Mm-hm. That is true enough.” Lady Farleigh tipped her head forward. “Do you find him handsome?”

Her jaw fell open and she squeaked out, “Handsome?”

Juniper stared at Ivy as though her sister had grown a second head.

Lady Farleigh smiled and loosed a quiet laugh. “I am teasing you, Lady Ivy. He’s charming enough, I know, but it’s rather bad of me to speak so of my brother.”

Ivy glanced over her shoulder at the baron and found him watching their group. When she caught him staring, he was not sheepish or apologetic. Not at all. Instead, the polite smile he wore grew wider.

Ivy turned away and wished she had brought her fan to cool her cheeks and give herself something to hide behind. How could one feel both pleased and anxious at the same time?

“See now, he’s made you blush. Troublesome fellow.” Lady Farleigh cast a glare in his direction. “Pay him no mind. He’s far too satisfied at the moment.”

Juniper finally chimed in, bless her. “The accent helps. The moment a gentleman utters a familiar word with a more exotic twist to it, what lady can help but find him interesting?”

“True enough. One of our dear friends married a man from Sicily. It is always a pleasure to hear him speak of even the most mundane things, like food.”

Happily, Ivy took a step back from the conversation. The strange twist to her stomach, experienced the moment she’d found Teague’s eyes on her, hadn’t faded away. Instead, it caused a sensation she hadn’t experienced in several years. A friend of hers had called the feeling a “magnetic spasm of attraction.” It sounded somewhat like an illness in those terms, and not nearly so pleasant as it actually felt.

Memory of the last time she’d experienced such a thing went back to her days visiting Oxford with her father, when a handsome scholar had flirted with her while her father had visited an old professor.

A more recent memory of her half-brother’s parting words to her, however, came to the forefront of her mind all too readily. The spasms that recollection caused were far less pleasant than what Lord Dunmore inspired.

A cloud passed over Ivy’s thoughts, dimming the day and its surprises. As the small crowd of the duke’s family and guests went inside, Ivy took the first opportunity to slip away. Her sisters were consumed in conversation with the duke’s unmarried daughters, Lady Isabelle and Lady Rosalind, and did not notice her absence.

She needed the gardens and sunlight. Ordering her thoughts and feelings took precedence over pleasant conversation. Her half-brother had given Ivy much to think about.