Page 10 of A Deal with a Rake (Wicked Widows’ League #35)

T here were a great many things in the world that annoyed the hell out of Tavish. The chirping of birds in the early morning, the smell of shite coming off the Thames. London in general had always been the one place he couldn’t stomach above all, but he would never complain about his mother’s hugs.

His ma hadn’t released the prizefighter-like grip she had on him since the moment he’d walked into the door five minutes earlier. Patting her broad back awkwardly, he didn’t dare utter a single word that would end their embrace.

As a man well out of leading strings, Tavish was aware that the best thing for him to do when his mother was weeping in his arms was to stand there and wait patiently for her to end their embrace.

His mother wasn’t the type of woman that surrendered to her emotions easily.

In fact, Tavish was positive he could count the number of times he’d seen her cry with both hands.

“I wish your da was here to see ya.” She squeezed him tighter, her body shuddering in his arms.

She was small compared to her children. Tavish was positive that his little sister would be taller than their mother by now. Leaning over, he rested his head against the top of hers, inhaling the familiar scent of flour and amber. Two smells that always reminded him of his childhood.

“I’m here, Ma,” he said, trying to hide the emotion in his own voice.

He was a man reaching his twenty-ninth year of life, but nothing would ever stop him from needing his mother’s love. He’d felt empty for years, but standing there with his arms around the one woman who’d always loved him, he didn’t feel as empty.

“Tavish O’Brien, I should put you over my knee!” His ma released him and hit his shoulder with as much strength as any bare-knuckle fighter.

“Ma,” he teased her by pressing his hand to his shoulder. “That’s my fighting arm.”

Sucking at her teeth, his mother took a step back, her blue eyes roaming over every part of him. “Would ya look at the state of you? Busted lip, bruised eye. Tongues will wag at the state of the new Duke of Summerset, that’s for sure.”

“He’ll be the ugliest fecking duke in England,” his youngest brother Teagan said, as he galloped into the small sitting room.

In the five years Tavish had been gone, the youngest of the O’Brien boys had sprouted up to stand at least a foot taller than his own six foot two.

The O’Brien signature red hair hung past Teagan’s shoulders, nearly as long as some women’s.

His freckled face was lit up with mischief, as grayish blue eyes danced at Tavish.

“Teagan O’Brien, you watch your tongue in my house!

” his mother wagged a finger at her youngest son.

“I swear the lot of ya were raised by wolves.” Her Irish accent was thick, as she glared from Tavish to Teagan and then to Declan, who leaned against the back of the large dark green sofa in the center of the parlor.

“Would you look who it is, The Duke of Summerset,” his brother Fionn said in a mocking voice, bowing at Tavish.

“Get your arse over here, deartháir !” He called to the third eldest O’Brien.

Tavish couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips. He’d missed his family. The chaotic love that came from being a part of a large brood comforted him in a way that fighting never had.

Where Tavish and Declan were constantly bickering over something like old women, Fionn and Tavish rarely disagreed over anything. Teagan was barely reaching eighteen years when Tavish went to join the boxing mill.

“Look at ya.” He grabbed Teagan by the neck dragging him in for a hug. “Yer a man now."

Teagan patted the top of Tavish’s head. “And you’re old. Be careful, old man, I can take you in a fight.”

“He’s got a good right, like you,” Fionn said, pulling Tavish into a hug.

Laughing, he slapped Teagan hand away. “I can still knock him on his arse?—”

Their mother snapped her fingers. “Oi! Language!” Her glare made Tavish feel like a boy again.

“How’s old Dutch doing?” Fionn asked.

His younger brother had trained with Tavish and Dutch for a time.

“Still mad about everything. I left him in Scotland in the middle of a fight, when this one showed up to tell me about Da, and fecking dukedom.” He shook his head, still barely believing he was a duke even after signing the papers at Hughes office.

“Dukes don’t behave in such a way.” Her gaze shifted bounced to each of her sons.

“Now, come sit down. I’ll get you a bowl of stew.

” She patted Tavish’s cheek affectionately.

“Was it a hard journey from Scotland? We weren’t sure you’d be there after Declan had just missed you in Wales.

There’s just so many bare-knuckle matches.

” His mother prattled on as she walked out of the small parlor, walking toward the dining room.

The O’Brien’s home was the first home their father had purchased in London after the initial success of O’Brien’s Gentleman’s Club. The small townhouse with its three stories had a bedroom for every member of their family but was nothing compared to his new home in Mayfair.

From the moment the O’Briens arrived in London, they had never used the Summerset name to advance their standing in society. Everything that his da had was earned by hard work and dedication. No gentleman could ever claim the same.

His father had done everything in his power to avoid ever depending on the dukedom that turned its back on him and his family. Now, Tavish had to accept it with open arms, like a bloody beggar.

“Tavish!” A blur of wild red hair and long limbs barreled into him, nearly toppling him over.

He caught his little sister before they both tumbled to the carpet.

Squeezing her to him, he couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the little girl who’d cried in his arms begging him to stay.

Nearly as tall as he was, Tavish held her back taking in her beaming face.

Adara had grown in the years he’d been traveling around the world fighting, transforming from a gangly girl to a burgeoning young woman.

At fifteen, his little sister was blessed with long red hair the same dark color as their mother’s and shining green eyes full of mischief.

“Look at you, a stóirín .” He held her at arm’s length, taking in her strong features that reminded him of both their parents. She wasn’t his little treasure anymore.

All of his siblings favored one of their parents more than the other, but Adara was the only one that was a perfect combination of both their ma and da.

“Tavish, you’re a duke! Can you believe it? Does that make me a lady?” She bounced around excitedly, not taking a single breath as she looked around for confirmation.

“No, it makes you an amadán ,” Teagan said, patting the top of her head.

She punched him in the arm. “And you’re a horse’s arse!” she shouted before sticking out her tongue at him. Tavish and Declan might have been the only ones born in Ireland, but they all knew Gaelic, and Adara knew when she was being called a fool.

Tavish laughed at their shenanigans. The familiarity of it all transported him back to simpler times and nearly made him forget that he was there to claim a dukedom.

He didn’t know the first thing about being a proper English gentleman, and he was definitely no duke. That was made obvious by his behavior with the duchess—Florentia.

“Ada!” his ma reprimanded. “Remember, the duchess said that young ladies do not curse or shout.” She wagged a finger at his sister, the look on her face one that Tavish had feared as a boy.

“The duchess? Summerset’s widow?” he asked, confused that his father would allow any communication with his estranged cousin.

His father had never forgiven his family for turning their backs on them when they were a small struggling family in Ireland. Why would his father have any contact with Summerset?

“Not that one. I’ve heard she’s not a very agreeable lady, according to the Duchess of Karrington.” His mother walked into the small dining room. “Now come on you lot,” his mother said, before she sat at the long table that was nearly larger than the entire dining room.

“I’m off to the club before Declan has my arse.” Teagan leaned down to kiss their ma, who slapped his cheek harder than a loving tap.

“Aye, I will. I hope you two didn’t fecking burn the place down while I was gone.” Declan said, pointing from Teagan to Fionn.

“No cursing in the house that goes for the lot of you!” Their ma glared around the room, getting murmurs of agreement from each of her children. “Good. The rules haven’t changed just because your da’s gone,” she said the last part with misty eyes.

Teagan slapped Tavish on the shoulder. “Have you kicked out old Summerset’s widow?—”

“Teagan O’Brien!” His mother pointed at his youngest brother. “We don’t kick out widow’s no matter who they were married to.” She wagged her finger. “A woman’s got enough trouble in this world; she doesn’t need to be mistreated by you lot. Poor girl.”

His brother held up his hands retreating from their mother.

His ma shook her head as Teagan slinked out of the room fully reprimanded.

He stilled at the threshold of the dining room, not wanting to go in.

Regret filled Tavish at the sight of the empty seat at the head of the table.

He’d never again see the imposing figure of Flynn O’Brien sitting there, sternly controlling his family.

Standing in the doorway, Tavish lingered on the outside as their maid, Betsy, started laying down the dishes.

“Tavish, sit at the head.” His ma jutted her chin to his father’s seat.

Tavish tried to swallow the large boulder lodged in his throat, as his heavy footsteps led him to the head of the table. He wasn’t half the man his da was, and now they expected him to lead the family and be a duke.

He chuckled at the absurdity of it all.