AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER1
DECEMBER 1819
The carriage jolted to a halt—the third stop of the day—when the wheels sunk too deeply into the mud to come out again. Isleen Frost winced while her mother closed her eyes and started whispering in Irish. Isleen’s older brother Teague, Baron Dunmore, cast an apologetic smile to his mother. He winked at Isleen, who sat across from him, then gave a gentle tug to their younger sister’s escaped curl.Fiona glowered at him, as though holding poor Teague responsible for the state of the road.
“We are nearly there, ladies. This will be the last time we stop. I’m near certain of it.” He opened the carriage door, not waiting for the driver to jump down and inform the passengers that they must all climb out again.
Teague did not bother trying to avoid the deep muck. Dried mud already covered his boots nearly to their tops. Isleen looked down at her far less-sturdy traveling boots and winced. The boots were fair ruined.
Fiona grumbled. “This isn’t much of an adventure.”
They’d tried to cheer Fiona when she discovered she’d spend the holiday away from her friends in Dublin by appealing to her exploratory nature. The ten-year-old wouldn’t be happy until she set sail across an ocean or climbed the Alps. She inhaled adventure novels as some would their favorite pastries.
Their brother held out his hands to help Isleen jump from the carriage, then he swung her over to the higher—and dry—rise of earth beside the road. She gave him a thankful smile as she put her hand atop her head to adjust her bonnet. Then she peered uphill, her view filled with trees and not much else.
There was supposed to be a castle at the top of one of these hills. The tree-lined road made it impossible to spy the edifice, though she’d been searching for it through her window since they’d entered Vale of Clairvoir. Apparently, approaching from the south meant the castle hid behind trees until one was only a hundred yards away from it.
Máthair came down the carriage step next, and Teague swung her to the same little rise as Isleen. Neither of them complained, though Isleen could guess well enough what they were all thinking.
They ought to have stayed in Dublin for Christmas and remained in Ireland until Parliament reconvened in January. But when the Duke of Montfort invited an Irish representative to his home for Christmas and Twelfth Night celebrations, folly alone would keep that Irishman from attending.
It took time enough for England to grant any kind of support, thanks to the bickering lords, to have their country’s needs met. And the Irish had a long road yet to travel.
Fiona made no such effort to bite her tongue. As soon as Teague had settled her boots on the dry dirt next to their mother, she heaved a large sigh. “Why must it be so wet and mucky?”
“I am not sure mucky is a word, Fi,” Isleen said before her mother could respond to the complaint.
Teague spared Isleen a raise of his brows before he tromped to the back of the carriage to help the driver and the secondary coachman push.
Lady Dunmore looked up at the gray cast sky. “At least it isn’t snowing.”
Isleen avoided adding the word “yet” to her mother’s sentence, but barely. Instead, she cheerfully tacked on, “I would take snow over mud.”
Her mother hummed with amusement, the sound nearly a song on its own. “And I would prefer flowers over snow. But we take what God gives us, and we’re thankful.”
“We do, Máthair.”
With a gentle smile, her mother warned, “Best not let your Irish show overmuch, dear. Our English hosts won’t find it to their liking, I’m thinking.”
Fiona snorted. “If they didn’t want to hear it, they shouldn’t invite the Irish to their home.” The little girl wrapped her arms tighter about herself.
A shout drew their attention before Isleen offered her own remark on the unfairness of their mother’s directive. Though she quite agreed with her little sister. Why did she have to change how she sounded merely to appease a duke and his family? The English had ground the Irish underfoot for centuries. One would think an Irish tongue the very least of their worries when families from the two countries came together. Still, Teague had made both his sisters promise to behave as the very best of guests.
The carriage lurched forward. “Ah, there we are now.” Lady Dunmore clapped her hands. “And hopefully for the last time.”
The coachman tipped his hat to them as he came around the carriage. “Ready again, ladies.”
Teague walked behind the man, mud now above the tops of his boots. “I’m not certain I ought to climb back in with the three of you. I might get this mud all over your skirts.”
“You cannot ride on top like a servant, Teague,” his mother protested. “You are a baron, visiting a duke.”
“And you are a baroness and two fine young ladies, guests of the duchess.” Teague opened the door and then came to fetch his mother to save her from the mud. “I’ll not get a spot on your gowns. It wouldn’t do to shame you like that, would it now?”
Though she didn’t argue, their mother threw a concerned glance over her shoulder to Isleen. The woman had a fair amount of pride. Anything that made them appear less in their esteemed hosts’ eyes would sting, whether or not the baroness admitted it aloud. Even if the duke and duchess themselves never let on about such a thing, Baroness Dunmore would feel it keenly.
Isleen waited until her brother returned for her before saying, “I have an idea.” He quirked his eyebrows up. “Why not put the blanket around your legs instead of over ours? That will save our gowns from ruin and you from certain shame by riding on top of your carriage instead of within.”
“I suppose a filthy carriage blanket would be better than the alternative.” Teague answered her grin with his own. “That’s a fine idea, Isleen.”
