Page 4 of The Homecoming (The De Montforte Brothers #6)

Chapter Three

“ A nd let’s start with the puppy!” cried Celsie, clapping her hands in glee, perhaps with a bit more enthusiasm than the situation warranted. Like the others, she was keen to defuse the tension before things could go from bad to worse. “Oh, where did you both find such a sweet little dog?”

But the de Montforte brothers had risen to their feet and her words were all but lost in the clamor as introductions were made, laughter exchanged, complements were swapped and welfare inquired about.

“Nerissa, you look radiant!” gushed Amy. “American life must favor you!”

Embraces, more smiles, the child in Lucien’s arms yawning and a young nurse— quietly summoned from upstairs—swooping in to take the child up to the nursery.

Throughout it all, the puppy’s yapping continued.

The Irishman looked to Nerissa, uncertain what he should do with the squirming bundle.

“Just set him down, Ruaidri,” she said. “We don’t stand on any ceremony here when it comes to family pets.”

“Are ye certain that’s such a good idea?”

“He’ll be fine,” Celsie assured him.

He put the puppy down. The terrier immediately shot beneath the table and seized the rug, rump raised, front paws outstretched, and tail whipping, his eyes naughty as his teeth worried the ancient Persian carpet.

Celsie reached down and grabbed him. The puppy refused to let go of his prize until she finally pried open his jaws and lifted him to her lap.

Esmerelda was also under the table, nose now firmly planted in the puppy’s bottom.

The puppy reared up on his hind legs and rotated his head like a windmill, paws flying, squealing in excitement as he tried to get down to play with the older dog.

Celsie finally relented and lowered him to the floor once more and the two shot out of the room in a skitter of toenails and yapping.

“What is his name?” Eva inquired. “He certainly seems to have ... energy.”

Nerissa allowed Ruaidri to seat her. “He doesn’t yet have one. We thought the children might like to name him.” In response to the questioning looks, she added, “He’s a gift. From America.”

“Aye, one of our neighbors had a litter. The little devil’s mother is the best ratter he’s ever had,” said the captain as he took his own chair. “Not implyin’, o’ course, that ye have rats,” he added hastily.

“My dear Ruaidri,” Lucien intoned. “I’m sure there are rats aplenty out where the chickens are penned, if not in the stables themselves. Doubtless he will have much to keep him occupied.”

The Irishman’s smile was quick, relieved, and Charles, discreetly watching him, saw that despite his initial confidence O’Devir was indeed uncomfortable and feeling very much out of place here in this grand ancestral home that was chalk and cheese from the quaint fishing village in Connemara where he’d grown up.

He returned his attention to his tea, gazing into the depths of his cup while his family did their best to welcome the man.

You don’t belong here.

He lifted the cup to his lips, the scalding brew on his tongue punctuating his thoughts.

You’re not good enough for my sister, you thieving wretch.

And Lucien, also trying to put the rogue at ease. The others, trying to smooth the way for him so he wouldn’t feel awkward and out of place.

After what he did to Nerissa , Charles thought bitterly, with a discreet glance at his little sister.

She was happily babbling about the voyage and all but ignoring him.

After what you did to this family. He studied her with a critical eye.

Searched her face, her voice, her very form for the least shadow of unhappiness, despair, abuse, anything that would justify his preconceived feelings about this . .. this knave that she had married.

He found nothing.

And felt Lucien’s gaze heavy on his.

He glanced over. His brother just gave a faintly perceptible nod, and something churned in Charles’s gut.

Don’t be rude, his brother’s black eyes warned.

“Well, you said you’d be here by the time the roses were in bloom,” he heard himself saying to his sister, who turned frosty blue eyes upon him. “You timed it well. Mama’s flowers are just beginning to open near the gatehouse.”

“Ruaidri promised he’d get me here in time to see them, and he did.”

Charles forced a thin smile, wondering if Ireland had gained a new saint named Ruaidri to go along with their Patrick and Brendan.

The Irishman recognized Charles’s attempt to join the conversation. “Nerissa tells me ye were stationed in Boston back in ’75?”

“Yes.”

“Which regiment?”

“Fourth foot. King’s own.”

Charles abruptly reached for his cup. He had no wish to exchange pleasantries with the man and made no attempt to hide the fact.

Again, he felt Lucien’s dark, warning gaze upon him.

He sipped his tea, and a glance at his wife only added to his irritation.

Amy was staring at O’Devir in awe, and Juliet and Celsiana were twittering like fledgling titmice.

Charles felt his pulse getting louder in his ears.

A vein pounding in his temple. And now Gareth was saying something about it being too bad that Charles and Ruaidri hadn’t met back then in Boston, Charles was privately thanking God they had not, and Eva, making small talk and showing proper interest as hostess, was discreetly studying the newcomer behind a welcoming smile.

Her catlike green gaze went to Charles’s.

Was the Duchess of Blackheath sharing his thoughts?

Did she, too, wonder what Nerissa had found so intriguing in such a rough, ill-bred man?

A pirate. A thief. A hero to the New England colonies, who’d been handpicked (or so Andrew said) by John Adams for the special mission that had crossed his path with Nerissa’s, who was supposedly now some prominent officer in the American Navy.

They must be really scraping the bottom of the barrel, Charles decided, if common thieves were elevated to such ranks.

You are being churlish.

His conscience all but yelled the words at him.

And his family’s pleas. Give the man a chance.

“So how was your crossing?” Eva asked, pouring herself another cup of tea.

“Uneventful,” Nerissa said happily. “Nobody harassed us, chased us, or tried to apprehend us, though Ruaidri is far too clever to ever get caught. Oh, and we did run into a squall just east of Newfoundland. It was most dreadful, with large swells that would’ve swept anyone overboard who wasn’t roped to something strong, but Ruaidri kept us all safe and the ship too. I was never worried.”

“Ah, lass, you give me credit when it should go to the good Lord above,” O’Devir said, reaching for his own tea.

Charles noted the hand he extended was large, calloused and scarred, deeply tanned from years at sea.

It was a working man’s hand, and it looked strangely out of place against the elegant porcelain of the cup.

“Even so, if it weren’t for your skills, I’m not sure we’d all be sitting here talking about it.”

“’Wasn’t such a big storm as all that, lass.”

“Well, it was the biggest one I’ve ever seen and if I never experience another like it, I’ll count myself most fortunate.”

“Did you get seasick?” Gareth asked.

“Oh, no. I have never been seasick. Ruaidri says I make the perfect sailor’s wife.”

Ruaidri this, Ruaidri that, God help me. Charles began to wonder how he could extricate both himself and Amy from this dreadful gathering and call it an early—a very early—night, without appearing any ruder than he’d already shown himself to be.

“Do you have a big ship?” Celsie asked, sneaking a bit of cake to the dog at her feet. “One from the American Navy?”

Nerissa exchanged a grin with her husband.

“Oh, gosh, no. That would hardly do, now, would it? Captain Merrick and his wife, Mira, offered to bring us in their schooner, but Ruaidri took a smart little sloop as a prize some time back, and we renamed her and took her instead. She is quite seaworthy, is she not, Ruaidri?”

“She is indeed, lass.”

“Isn’t it bad luck to rename a ship?” Charles managed tightly.

“The Royal Navy does so all the time,” Nerissa retorted, and Charles heard the sharpness in her tone behind the blithe delivery of her words. “If it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for us.”

Us.

So now she called herself an American, and not an Englishwoman?

She, who was the only daughter of one of the oldest, most prominent families in England?

He looked down, veiling his expression, determined not to make a scene or spoil his sister’s homecoming, despite how much her words burned him, no matter how much it felt as though she was baiting him with her praise of Saint Ruaidri’s godlike qualities.

She was no longer the little sister with whom he’d always been so close.

She was no longer the Nerissa he’d always known and loved; she was this rogue’s wife.

She was changed, different, almost unrecognizable, and it was obvious where her loyalties lay.

It pained him.

Angered him.

She could have done better. So much better.

Why hadn’t she?

And now she was happily reaching for her tea, her gaze meeting her husband’s over the rim of her teacup, full of adoration and a worship that Charles found sickening.

“In any case, the crossing was rather uneventful, and despite the fact we were buffeted by the storm, we all came through just fine. Even little Aidan never got fearful or sick. He must have inherited Ruaidri’s seafaring blood.”

Charles rubbed his forehead and resisted the urge to look at the mantelpiece clock.

Lucien wiped his mouth with his napkin. “And how are Captain Merrick and his wife, Mira?”

“They are quite well. They send their regards, of course.”

“I miss Mira,” Amy put in, referring to her old friend back in Newburyport. “We write to each other, of course, but it’s not the same.”

“Well, I confess it took me some time to warm up to her—I mean, she is quite unconventional, and says the most shocking things!—but we’ve developed a warm friendship and she always goes out of her way to help me with things that I’m still getting used to.

It is a different life there. If it weren’t for her, I’d be so dreadfully homesick. But she keeps me laughing.”

Amy looked down at her plate. “And my ... family? The Leightons?”

“Your brother, Will, has a sweetheart, your father has been courting a widow in the church, and those two stepsisters of yours are still unmarried.”

“Probably always will be,” Charles said beneath his breath, remembering the evil the two young women had visited upon him, but those were memories that were in the past and he willfully returned them to their rightful place.

Lucien leaned back in his chair. “Perhaps for the next reunion, we will all come to you, instead of you having to come all the way to England. I should like to see your new home, Nerissa, under less trying circumstances than I left it.”

“Hear, hear!”

“A toast to Newburyport,” Gareth said merrily, raising his glass. “This place that I’ve yet to see but which I’ve heard so much about. If it makes you happy, sweet sister, then it makes me happy to come visit. Fancy a trip across the great blue sea, Juliet?”

“It’s not one I ever thought to make again, but I would love to see Nerissa’s new home.”

And so the tension of the initial meeting softened, to become a soft thrum beneath the bright smiles, chatter, laughter and dogs that returned to wrestle and play beneath the table, until a furry back hit one of the table legs, a cup overturned, and Nerissa, scooping up the puppy, declared she was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to sleep in her old bed.

“You both must be tired from such a long journey,” Celsie said, reaching for the puppy. “Why don’t you let Andrew and I take him tonight. Is he housebroken?”

“Well...”

“He’ll sleep in the bed with us until we all figure out where and with whom he’ll reside. Andrew? Are you good with another dog in the bed?”

He shut his eyes and made a helpless little motion with his hand. “Of course, Celsie. What’s one more dog.”

“Well, this one is small, and he’ll be no trouble.” She laughed as the puppy licked her face. “Will you, little one? Perhaps tomorrow when the children are all here, they’ll come up with a proper name for you.”

They all rose from the table, goodnights were exchanged along with yawns and vows to see each other at supper, and as they did so, Nerissa found a moment to press close to Charles, who felt stung, confused, and adrift in feelings he didn’t understand.

She leaned closer, her words meant for him alone.

“Give him a chance, Charles. I know it’s hard. But I beg of you, just try.”

And then she stood on tiptoe, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and taking her husband’s arm, led him out of the room.