Hargrave suddenly struck the tabletop with his fist, causing many gathered before him to startle. “No more! Padraig Boyd has come to Darlyrede House along with Sir Lucan Montague, to lay claim to Thomas Annesley’s title and estate as the fugitive’s only legitimate heir. And I have welcomed himinto my home.”
The crowd broke out in exclamations again, and in their midst a thin man with an odd, potbelly stood, his black hair combed back from a high widow’s peak that pointed tohis thin beard.
The man’s servant announced him. “Lord Adolphus Paget, Viscount Elsmire.”
Iris tried to stifle her gasp, and her fingers itched for her quill and paper, even as her heart trilled in her chest, so close to danger herself now.
“Lord Hargrave, are you saying that this man from some godforsaken, primitiveScots island”—Lord Paget extended his arm toward Padraig—“claims openly not only to be that monster’s son, but is demanding that he now somehow has arightto Darlyrede House, which you have built with your own hands?”
This is a farce, Iris realized.He’s memorized it as a verse from a manuscript. Lord Paget couldn’t know where Padraig Boyd was from unless Hargrave had toldhim beforehand.
“I’ve given Lord Hargrave leave to say what he would,sir,” Padraig said in a cautionary voice, drawing the scrawny man’s attention. “But as we’ve nae yet met, I’ll thank you to keep your opinion a bit closer to the vest, if you ken my meaning.”
A thrill of pride raced up Iris’s spine. Perhaps it wasn’t the way the nobility in the hall spoke, but she had to admit, Padraig Boyd’s warning wasvery effective.
Hargrave made placating motions with his hands. “Lord Paget,if you please.”
But Lord Paget apparently did not please. “If I ken your meaning?” He winced at Padraig. “Good lord. You can’t possibly expect decent folk to accept that you have any right at all to even a crumb of bread from Lord Hargrave’s table.”
“Darlyrede House was stolen from my father. As his heir, it is my dutyto reclaim it.”
“Is that just so?” Paget challenged. “And you can prove your legitimacy? Present at your own conception, were you?” He twittered at his own joke.
“Aye,” Padraig answered solemnly. “Shortly thereafter, I reckon.”
There were a handful of sniffling snickers.
“Friends, Master Boyd, please,” Hargrave intervened, the look of pleading on his face infuriating, considering it could only be he who had set this event in motion. “Allowme to finish.”
Adolphus Paget gave a bow toward the lord’s table. “Forgive me for the interruption, Lord Hargrave. I could not help but come to your defense.” He sat.
Hargrave laid his hand upon his breast and gave him an understanding nod before addressing the crowd once more, his posture totally at ease after such a scene. “As I said, I have welcomed Master Boyd into my home until such a time that our king shall give his judgment as to whose right it is to claim the title of Baron Annesley. And so I vow before you all—friends, family, valued servants, and Master Boyd, himself: my household and I shall fully cooperate with any inquiry set forth by Henry or by his servant, Sir Lucan Montague. I am prepared to accept his ruling without question and without gall. If I am decided against… well, so be it. I shall assist with Darlyrede House’s transition inany way I can.”
He looked directly at Padraig now and raised his cup. “May the best man win.” There was a bold glint in his eyes, cold, cunning. He swept his chalice toward the crowd.“To Darlyrede.”
The answering huzzahs did much to mask the excited twittering of the guests, but Iris was so rattled that she was late picking up her cup and practically missed the toast to the estate’s success. Lucan caught her eye for a fleeting moment, and she could see the solemn concern reflected in herbrother’s face.
At her side, Padraig sat and returned his chalice to the tabletop, where it was promptly attended to by the cupbearer. Music filled the hall then, as the string of servants began to snake through the maze of tables depositing the platters and chargers laden with food.
“Nae awkward at all,” he muttered grimly.
“Perhaps, yes. But you handled yourself very well.”
He turned his head to look into her eyes and, as usual, his gaze held more words than were released from his lips. “I had agood teacher.”
“No,” Iris argued quietly, fussing with her napkin while her stomach flipped at his direct, honest attention. If there was a single word that could be used to describe the man at her side, perhaps it was honest. And perhaps it prompted Iris’s own transparency of thought. “As your tutor, I would have strongly advised against what you did. That was entirely Padraig Boyd a moment ago. And I think it was perfect.”
His dark brows flinched toward each other in surprised curiosity. He leaned closer—perhaps only a fraction of an inch toward her—but Iris could sense him once more through the sensitive silkof her sleeve.
“Beryl—”
A platter clanged on the table between their places just then, startling them both from their concentration on each other and prompting them to sit upright as aproned servers swarmed about their table. The moment was gone, and it was likely just as well.
Iris blew a silent breath through her lips. She was forgetting herself. Which wasn’t unreasonable, as she was a lady who was playing a maid, who was playing a governess, who was playing a lady. It had nothing at all to do with Padraig Boyd, she told herself.
“Hargrave’s up to something,” Iris whispered after a woman set an empty platter each before her and Padraig. “That was all justa performance.”
Padraig huffed. “You suppose?” He picked up his eating knife, but Iris laid her hand on his wrist at once, staying him.
