Year After Year (Hathaway/Wallflower Next Generation)
lapiccolina and xlovebecomesher, you guys are really spoiling me with all of the attention and love you've been showering on me, I hope you enjoy this next installment!
Get ready, this is where I had to have a freaking spreadsheet in front of me, to keep track of where all these crazy characters might be in the room!
Title: Year After Year
Characters: Elizabeth Rutledge, Emmaline Hathaway, Russell Bowman, Jeremy Hunt, Edward Hathaway, Jado Merripen, Claire St. Vincent, Rory Bowman, Nicholas Hunt, Isabelle Gaultier, Charles Gaultier, Merritt Marsden, Stephen Crayton, Phoebe McKay, Argus McKay, Rye Rohan, Miranda Crowley, Byron Crowley, Robert Bowman, Camille Bowman, Simon Marsden, Thomas Swift, Peter Swift, Simon Hunt, Annabelle Hunt,
Rating: pg
Word Count: 2,685
Summary: You put your arms around me and I'm home...
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: Random cuts from my 2011 NaNo, Next Generation fic for Lisa Kleypas's Wallflower & Hathaway series. Not all will be posted, but if you have any certain character you would like to see, let me know and I will see what I have (or perhaps write something new in this universe). This is all set about 20 years after the Hathaway series. For your convenience, cast of characters listed here.
Elizabeth reached behind her to give Emmaline a small pat on the back while they waited to be seated. There was an empty chair on either side of the girls, and Elizabeth hoped against hope that the empty chair on Emmie’s right was not for Russell Bowman and hoped against hope that the empty chair on her left was for Jeremy Hunt. He had invited her here along with practically everyone she knew. This was his own home.
Where was he?
Edward and Jado were seated across from them, both of the boys looking alert and accusatory at the house, the table, the entire evening. Elizabeth caught her cousin Jado’s eye, and smiled at him. Lady Claire St. Vincent had seated herself between Jado and Rory Bowman, Russell’s younger brother, who was a compact version of the elder, but she only seemed to be glancing out the corner of her eye at Jado. She was beautiful and she threw more than one pouty glance, eyelashes lowered, in Jado’s direction, but he seemed to not notice at all. He looked away, still watching the room for any sign of treachery and Elizabeth laughed fondly at him. Her cousin, ever the watch dog.
The last member of their still not-quite-full table was Mr. Nicholas Hunt, Jeremy’s younger, blond brother. He looked completely different from Jeremy and Elizabeth could see that he favored Mrs. Hunt’s coloring and features, but he carried himself much in the same way as Jeremy Hunt, like a big, deceptively lazy panther who was always hungry, with that predatory gleam in his eyes. And much like his brother, he seemed to be amused by absolutely everything in life. And Elizabeth wondered at herself, that she seemed to think she knew this man whom she had only met on one occasion so very well. The youngest Mr. Hunt eyed her suspiciously, and Elizabeth vaguely felt that she was being ‘sized up’.
Isabelle Gaultier, Jeremy’s older sister, and her husband Charles were seated at a table with Lady Merritt, the earl of Westcliff’s daughter, and her own husband Stephen, Lord Crayton, as well as Lady Phoebe and her Scottish lord. Each of the couples had a talkative, inquisitive baby girl between them, who all seemed quite used to being at the dinner table with their parents. Elizabeth appreciated that. Her own family had always been the same way, never excluding the young children from dinner and formal occasions. A minor temper tantrum by a little one was always the least of the disturbances at a Hathaway family dinner table.
Rye sat alone at the next table over with Lady Miranda and her husband, the doctor, Mr. Robert Bowman (the eldest of the three brothers) and his wife Camille, who was a tiny little slip of a blonde thing next to her rather tall, dark, imposing husband. And then there was Simon, the earl of Westcliff’s only son and heir. Elizabeth knew that he was named after Jeremy Hunt’s father. They had a very long friendship and Elizabeth had heard that the earl saved Mr. Hunt’s life on one occasion right after he had first been married. Next to Simon Marsden were his cousins, Thomas and Peter Swift. Thomas Swift looked curiously over at Rye, Elizabeth noticed.
The older married couples, all of the Hathaway siblings mixed in with the other guests, were seated at two larger tables in the center of the room, and they seemed to take the longest to settle in. Elizabeth noticed that there had been no mention made of an official procession into the room, led of course the Duke and Duchess of Kingston, as they held the highest rank. The Hunts seemed to not care for such things, and nobody else made any sort of fuss about it either. Elizabeth glanced across the room, where her Uncle Kev sat, looking suspicious as he always did. At the next table, Mr. and Mrs. Hunt seemed to be having some sort of silent conversation.
“Well,” Mr. Hunt cleared his throat, and raised his voice over the din of all of the quiet side conversations. “We will begin serving in just a few moments, but I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for joining us at our humble home this evening...” Mr. Hunt continued, and Elizabeth saw her mother reach out to place a hand on her father, who was clearly steaming with anger. She felt a peculiar sinking feeling in her heart, that seemed disproportionately melancholy for this lovely night, this fascinating mix of people. If she was to be honest with herself, she had lived and dreamed on the hope of seeing Jeremy Hunt again on this night, and now she felt like the worst sort of fool.
“...And once again, I would just like to say thank you, on behalf of myself and my wife, Annabelle...oh, and look who has decided to join us, your true host for the evening,” A note of harshness crept into Mr. Hunt’s tone as he looked over to the door and Elizabeth heard herself whisper oh, as she followed her gaze over to where he had shot his glare. Jeremy Hunt had tried to sneak into the room like a naughty school boy, still adjusting his tie. Elizabeth fought every instinct she had to smile and forced herself to look down at the floor.
He didn’t fool her for a second. That was a calculated, planned entrance. No one ever was that careless on purpose.
He stopped at the entrance of the door, tossing an apologetic smile at his mother (who rolled her eyes at him, Elizabeth had seen her Auntie Amelia look at Rye in much the same way) and then searched the room, his eyes coming to rest on her, unmoving, and Elizabeth knew.
He had done all of this for her.
Warmth spread through her at the thought, color rising in her cheeks and Elizabeth had to look down again. She had dressed with special care for this evening, but now she was rethinking her mauve satin, which had previously been the dress that Anna had most coveted. (Elizabeth figured that the gown that Anna most wanted would be the best for attracting any particular gentleman.) She looked back up, and he was still staring across the room, as if they were the only two people there, perhaps the only two people in the world.
She heard Emmaline catch her breath next to her, and Elizabeth finally looked past Jeremy Hunt, to Russell Bowman. He was much thinner than the last time she saw him, after Emmaline had rejected his proposal, but that was to be expected after all of the stories she had heard about him over the past few weeks from Jado and Rye. Edward had said that his beloved twin would be far better off without a husband like that, which had ben something of a surprise, coming from him, speaking about his childhood friend. Russell looked across the room to Emmaline, and with a firm nudge forward from Jeremy, he went to the table, taking his place next to Emmaline.
And Elizabeth’s own chair was pulled back, she turned to see that he was beside her, so close, too close, as feeling and a searing heat coursed through her veins. “Miss Rutledge,” he murmured, and she shivered at the sound of his voice, dark and sweet. “I am so happy you were able to come tonight.”
“How can one resist an invitation to the home of Annabelle Hunt?” Elizabeth said, trying for her usual ease of conversation as she settled into the chair, as gracefully as possible. She smiled over her shoulder at him, lashes lowered, but she knew her usual tricks were not going to work on a man such as Jeremy Hunt, and he smiled, delighted, as he settled in beside her. Footmen had begun moving about the table with platters and pouring wine.
“Just a drop for Miss Rutledge,” Jeremy instructed as one of the footmen leaned in with a bottle of white.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a child, Mr. Hunt?”
He smiled at her. Elizabeth believed he had not looked in any other direction since he had entered the room. “I believe that if your father thinks you are getting tipsy while sitting next to me, he may challenge me to a duel in the parlor,” Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from giggling, as Jeremy took the bottle from the footman and poured a very ladylike amount in her glass himself. “And unfortunately, I’m not quite up to speed on my sword-fighting these days.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh at that. “It’s called fencing. My father isn’t a medieval knight, you know.”
Jeremy shrugged. “He’s not a cuddly puppy either.”
Elizabeth felt a stitch in her side, she was so tempted to keel over with a fit of laughter she seldom experienced outside of lounging around lazily with her cousins. She glanced over her shoulder to where her parents were sitting, and indeed, her father was glowering at Jeremy. Elizabeth had not known until just a short time ago how very intimidating her father could be to someone who challenged him. As she turned back, she saw that Emmaline was sitting, with a statue’s stillness, her plate and wine glass untouched. Russell was just as tense next to her.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth whispered, as close to silently as possible.
“Please don’t,” Emmaline whispered back, and Elizabeth could hear the strain in her voice to keep her composure. “I just have to get through it, there’s no making it better.” She looked Elizabeth in the eye, letting her know that she just needed to leave her be. There was nothing to be done. “Just turn around, Bess.”
And Elizabeth did. Jeremy Hunt did not seem quite so amused as he had, as he had evidently caught the gist of their exchange, even if he had not heard word for word. “Did she call you Bess?” He asked, after a moment.
It had been her childhood nickname, and she insisted on being called Elizabeth by all from the time she was about Anna’s age, but it sounded like an endearment from Jeremy. Elizabeth nodded. “But...nobody calls me that any more.”
At this Jeremy smiled. “You shouldn’t have told me that.”
Elizabeth wondered at how she could so completely feel his presence, when he did not touch her. She felt him everywhere on her skin. “You are quite something, Mr. Hunt,” she replied.
“What will it take for you to call me Jeremy,” he returned, his voice so quiet. They were quite in their own world.
“We’ll have to see,” she answered.
He poured her another drop of wine. “So we will, Bess.”
*
After five marvelous courses of more exotic fruits and and meats and sinfully decadent desserts, Rye sat, slowly sipping his glass of port. He’d had a curious seating arrangement, not being near any of his cousins, and it made him feel somewhat unprotected. He had met or at least seen most of the men at Jenner’s at one time or another, but it was something else entirely when he was out of his territory. He glanced back at Jado, who had not stopped glaring at Jeremy Hunt, bent possessively over Elizabeth all evening. It was always a good thing to have his enormous bear of a cousin by his side.
He tried to turn back to the conversation he’d been having with Dr. Crowley, who had spent some years in America, in the wild west, working with settlers from all over the world, and even Indians. Rye found it fascinating, to hear of his work with the Lakota people. “They are not savages,” the doctor corrected Mrs. Bowman, when she had asked a question. “Theirs is an old system of community and care. They wander, never taking more than what is needed.”
They sounded like the Roma, Rye thought.
“Oh, I apologize, I...” Mrs. Bowman seemed a little embarrassed, and Bowman shot the doctor a look.
“It’s a common misconception, Mrs. Bowman,” Dr. Crowley said gently. “It’s just something I’m trying to correct.
“And that’s to be commended,” Rye added, lifting his glass in a toast. “The only weapon against ignorance is to learn.”
“Where did you learn that, Mr. Rohan?” Rye shifted his focus to the end of the table at Thomas Swift. Swift did not like him, he knew, he had made no secret of it, and the feeling was mutual. They had always avoided each other, even when Swift visited Jenner’s, Rye always deferred him to Colsun or one of the other more experienced bosses. Swift’s stare was unflinching - this might not have been his home, but he made Rye perfectly clear that he was unwelcome.
And Rye knew the reason.
“My father taught me that,” Rye answered finally.
“What an honorable thing to teach a son,” Swift’s smile did not reach his eyes. But Rye was used to people disliking him - he was a rich gypsy. And he was not afraid of Thomas Swift.
He glanced over his shoulder to where his brothers were seated with Henry, John, Anna and Rose Swift, Thomas and Peter’s younger sister. Anna and Rose were apparently fast friends, quickly whispering in each other’s confidences and chatting easily back and forth. Griffin and Henry both seemed to be quite taken with Rose, who was tiny and slight, even for her age, but she had a sharp intelligence in her tip-tilted dark eyes, and a quirk of mischief at the corner of her mouth. She was a little imp, that was for sure.
He could hear Alex’s voice carrying over, telling an exaggerated story of their last hunt at Ramsay House in Hampshire, and the excellent shots he had brought home, and how he’d had to nearly cross a death-trap of a rushing river to carry a sick and injured bird back to his Auntie Bea for patching up. “Oh please, sir, that stream is little more than a trickle,” and then he heard little Rose brush Alex off easily. There would be no fooling her, after all her uncle’s grand estate abutted Ramsay House and she knew that country as well as they did. She had grown up playing in the same meadows and swimming in that same stream. The Swift children had a peculiar accent, having grown up in England with their American parents. The accent sounded flat and dry in Thomas Swift but had a playful lilt with young Rose.
“What is it now?” Rye heard Mrs. Crowley murmur to her husband. Mrs. Crowley looked particularly ill, and Rye wondered what kind of doctor Byron Crowley might be.
“It will be brandy and coffee, dear, are you well enough to sit up?” Dr. Crowley was all concern, so at least he was well-intentioned even if his wife did look like she was going to cast up her crumpets.
“For a little while, maybe,” but Mrs. Crowley was very pale and her voice was weak. Dr. Crowley half-lifted her from her chair, spiriting her away in urgent concern, and as they passed by the Duke and Duchess of Kingston, on a leisurely stroll to the parlor, the woman’s parents followed behind, alerted that their child was in need of them.
“Is everything all right with Mrs. Crowley?” Rye asked in concern to Mrs. Bowman. He turned back around, searching for his father, who knew quite a bit about healing herbs.
“She’ll be fine,” Thomas Swift answered gruffly. The younger Mr. Swift had not spoken any words, but it was clear that he shared his brother’s affectionate ways, and Peter Swift narrowed his eyes at Rye.
Rye rolled his eyes. He had no interest in being in the Swift brothers’ company any more that evening, and followed out into the parlor, looking for one of his cousins.
<<<333
Get ready, this is where I had to have a freaking spreadsheet in front of me, to keep track of where all these crazy characters might be in the room!
Title: Year After Year
Characters: Elizabeth Rutledge, Emmaline Hathaway, Russell Bowman, Jeremy Hunt, Edward Hathaway, Jado Merripen, Claire St. Vincent, Rory Bowman, Nicholas Hunt, Isabelle Gaultier, Charles Gaultier, Merritt Marsden, Stephen Crayton, Phoebe McKay, Argus McKay, Rye Rohan, Miranda Crowley, Byron Crowley, Robert Bowman, Camille Bowman, Simon Marsden, Thomas Swift, Peter Swift, Simon Hunt, Annabelle Hunt,
Rating: pg
Word Count: 2,685
Summary: You put your arms around me and I'm home...
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyrighted material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual.
Author's Note: Random cuts from my 2011 NaNo, Next Generation fic for Lisa Kleypas's Wallflower & Hathaway series. Not all will be posted, but if you have any certain character you would like to see, let me know and I will see what I have (or perhaps write something new in this universe). This is all set about 20 years after the Hathaway series. For your convenience, cast of characters listed here.
Elizabeth reached behind her to give Emmaline a small pat on the back while they waited to be seated. There was an empty chair on either side of the girls, and Elizabeth hoped against hope that the empty chair on Emmie’s right was not for Russell Bowman and hoped against hope that the empty chair on her left was for Jeremy Hunt. He had invited her here along with practically everyone she knew. This was his own home.
Where was he?
Edward and Jado were seated across from them, both of the boys looking alert and accusatory at the house, the table, the entire evening. Elizabeth caught her cousin Jado’s eye, and smiled at him. Lady Claire St. Vincent had seated herself between Jado and Rory Bowman, Russell’s younger brother, who was a compact version of the elder, but she only seemed to be glancing out the corner of her eye at Jado. She was beautiful and she threw more than one pouty glance, eyelashes lowered, in Jado’s direction, but he seemed to not notice at all. He looked away, still watching the room for any sign of treachery and Elizabeth laughed fondly at him. Her cousin, ever the watch dog.
The last member of their still not-quite-full table was Mr. Nicholas Hunt, Jeremy’s younger, blond brother. He looked completely different from Jeremy and Elizabeth could see that he favored Mrs. Hunt’s coloring and features, but he carried himself much in the same way as Jeremy Hunt, like a big, deceptively lazy panther who was always hungry, with that predatory gleam in his eyes. And much like his brother, he seemed to be amused by absolutely everything in life. And Elizabeth wondered at herself, that she seemed to think she knew this man whom she had only met on one occasion so very well. The youngest Mr. Hunt eyed her suspiciously, and Elizabeth vaguely felt that she was being ‘sized up’.
Isabelle Gaultier, Jeremy’s older sister, and her husband Charles were seated at a table with Lady Merritt, the earl of Westcliff’s daughter, and her own husband Stephen, Lord Crayton, as well as Lady Phoebe and her Scottish lord. Each of the couples had a talkative, inquisitive baby girl between them, who all seemed quite used to being at the dinner table with their parents. Elizabeth appreciated that. Her own family had always been the same way, never excluding the young children from dinner and formal occasions. A minor temper tantrum by a little one was always the least of the disturbances at a Hathaway family dinner table.
Rye sat alone at the next table over with Lady Miranda and her husband, the doctor, Mr. Robert Bowman (the eldest of the three brothers) and his wife Camille, who was a tiny little slip of a blonde thing next to her rather tall, dark, imposing husband. And then there was Simon, the earl of Westcliff’s only son and heir. Elizabeth knew that he was named after Jeremy Hunt’s father. They had a very long friendship and Elizabeth had heard that the earl saved Mr. Hunt’s life on one occasion right after he had first been married. Next to Simon Marsden were his cousins, Thomas and Peter Swift. Thomas Swift looked curiously over at Rye, Elizabeth noticed.
The older married couples, all of the Hathaway siblings mixed in with the other guests, were seated at two larger tables in the center of the room, and they seemed to take the longest to settle in. Elizabeth noticed that there had been no mention made of an official procession into the room, led of course the Duke and Duchess of Kingston, as they held the highest rank. The Hunts seemed to not care for such things, and nobody else made any sort of fuss about it either. Elizabeth glanced across the room, where her Uncle Kev sat, looking suspicious as he always did. At the next table, Mr. and Mrs. Hunt seemed to be having some sort of silent conversation.
“Well,” Mr. Hunt cleared his throat, and raised his voice over the din of all of the quiet side conversations. “We will begin serving in just a few moments, but I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for joining us at our humble home this evening...” Mr. Hunt continued, and Elizabeth saw her mother reach out to place a hand on her father, who was clearly steaming with anger. She felt a peculiar sinking feeling in her heart, that seemed disproportionately melancholy for this lovely night, this fascinating mix of people. If she was to be honest with herself, she had lived and dreamed on the hope of seeing Jeremy Hunt again on this night, and now she felt like the worst sort of fool.
“...And once again, I would just like to say thank you, on behalf of myself and my wife, Annabelle...oh, and look who has decided to join us, your true host for the evening,” A note of harshness crept into Mr. Hunt’s tone as he looked over to the door and Elizabeth heard herself whisper oh, as she followed her gaze over to where he had shot his glare. Jeremy Hunt had tried to sneak into the room like a naughty school boy, still adjusting his tie. Elizabeth fought every instinct she had to smile and forced herself to look down at the floor.
He didn’t fool her for a second. That was a calculated, planned entrance. No one ever was that careless on purpose.
He stopped at the entrance of the door, tossing an apologetic smile at his mother (who rolled her eyes at him, Elizabeth had seen her Auntie Amelia look at Rye in much the same way) and then searched the room, his eyes coming to rest on her, unmoving, and Elizabeth knew.
He had done all of this for her.
Warmth spread through her at the thought, color rising in her cheeks and Elizabeth had to look down again. She had dressed with special care for this evening, but now she was rethinking her mauve satin, which had previously been the dress that Anna had most coveted. (Elizabeth figured that the gown that Anna most wanted would be the best for attracting any particular gentleman.) She looked back up, and he was still staring across the room, as if they were the only two people there, perhaps the only two people in the world.
She heard Emmaline catch her breath next to her, and Elizabeth finally looked past Jeremy Hunt, to Russell Bowman. He was much thinner than the last time she saw him, after Emmaline had rejected his proposal, but that was to be expected after all of the stories she had heard about him over the past few weeks from Jado and Rye. Edward had said that his beloved twin would be far better off without a husband like that, which had ben something of a surprise, coming from him, speaking about his childhood friend. Russell looked across the room to Emmaline, and with a firm nudge forward from Jeremy, he went to the table, taking his place next to Emmaline.
And Elizabeth’s own chair was pulled back, she turned to see that he was beside her, so close, too close, as feeling and a searing heat coursed through her veins. “Miss Rutledge,” he murmured, and she shivered at the sound of his voice, dark and sweet. “I am so happy you were able to come tonight.”
“How can one resist an invitation to the home of Annabelle Hunt?” Elizabeth said, trying for her usual ease of conversation as she settled into the chair, as gracefully as possible. She smiled over her shoulder at him, lashes lowered, but she knew her usual tricks were not going to work on a man such as Jeremy Hunt, and he smiled, delighted, as he settled in beside her. Footmen had begun moving about the table with platters and pouring wine.
“Just a drop for Miss Rutledge,” Jeremy instructed as one of the footmen leaned in with a bottle of white.
Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Are you calling me a child, Mr. Hunt?”
He smiled at her. Elizabeth believed he had not looked in any other direction since he had entered the room. “I believe that if your father thinks you are getting tipsy while sitting next to me, he may challenge me to a duel in the parlor,” Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from giggling, as Jeremy took the bottle from the footman and poured a very ladylike amount in her glass himself. “And unfortunately, I’m not quite up to speed on my sword-fighting these days.”
Elizabeth couldn’t help but laugh at that. “It’s called fencing. My father isn’t a medieval knight, you know.”
Jeremy shrugged. “He’s not a cuddly puppy either.”
Elizabeth felt a stitch in her side, she was so tempted to keel over with a fit of laughter she seldom experienced outside of lounging around lazily with her cousins. She glanced over her shoulder to where her parents were sitting, and indeed, her father was glowering at Jeremy. Elizabeth had not known until just a short time ago how very intimidating her father could be to someone who challenged him. As she turned back, she saw that Emmaline was sitting, with a statue’s stillness, her plate and wine glass untouched. Russell was just as tense next to her.
“Are you all right?” Elizabeth whispered, as close to silently as possible.
“Please don’t,” Emmaline whispered back, and Elizabeth could hear the strain in her voice to keep her composure. “I just have to get through it, there’s no making it better.” She looked Elizabeth in the eye, letting her know that she just needed to leave her be. There was nothing to be done. “Just turn around, Bess.”
And Elizabeth did. Jeremy Hunt did not seem quite so amused as he had, as he had evidently caught the gist of their exchange, even if he had not heard word for word. “Did she call you Bess?” He asked, after a moment.
It had been her childhood nickname, and she insisted on being called Elizabeth by all from the time she was about Anna’s age, but it sounded like an endearment from Jeremy. Elizabeth nodded. “But...nobody calls me that any more.”
At this Jeremy smiled. “You shouldn’t have told me that.”
Elizabeth wondered at how she could so completely feel his presence, when he did not touch her. She felt him everywhere on her skin. “You are quite something, Mr. Hunt,” she replied.
“What will it take for you to call me Jeremy,” he returned, his voice so quiet. They were quite in their own world.
“We’ll have to see,” she answered.
He poured her another drop of wine. “So we will, Bess.”
*
After five marvelous courses of more exotic fruits and and meats and sinfully decadent desserts, Rye sat, slowly sipping his glass of port. He’d had a curious seating arrangement, not being near any of his cousins, and it made him feel somewhat unprotected. He had met or at least seen most of the men at Jenner’s at one time or another, but it was something else entirely when he was out of his territory. He glanced back at Jado, who had not stopped glaring at Jeremy Hunt, bent possessively over Elizabeth all evening. It was always a good thing to have his enormous bear of a cousin by his side.
He tried to turn back to the conversation he’d been having with Dr. Crowley, who had spent some years in America, in the wild west, working with settlers from all over the world, and even Indians. Rye found it fascinating, to hear of his work with the Lakota people. “They are not savages,” the doctor corrected Mrs. Bowman, when she had asked a question. “Theirs is an old system of community and care. They wander, never taking more than what is needed.”
They sounded like the Roma, Rye thought.
“Oh, I apologize, I...” Mrs. Bowman seemed a little embarrassed, and Bowman shot the doctor a look.
“It’s a common misconception, Mrs. Bowman,” Dr. Crowley said gently. “It’s just something I’m trying to correct.
“And that’s to be commended,” Rye added, lifting his glass in a toast. “The only weapon against ignorance is to learn.”
“Where did you learn that, Mr. Rohan?” Rye shifted his focus to the end of the table at Thomas Swift. Swift did not like him, he knew, he had made no secret of it, and the feeling was mutual. They had always avoided each other, even when Swift visited Jenner’s, Rye always deferred him to Colsun or one of the other more experienced bosses. Swift’s stare was unflinching - this might not have been his home, but he made Rye perfectly clear that he was unwelcome.
And Rye knew the reason.
“My father taught me that,” Rye answered finally.
“What an honorable thing to teach a son,” Swift’s smile did not reach his eyes. But Rye was used to people disliking him - he was a rich gypsy. And he was not afraid of Thomas Swift.
He glanced over his shoulder to where his brothers were seated with Henry, John, Anna and Rose Swift, Thomas and Peter’s younger sister. Anna and Rose were apparently fast friends, quickly whispering in each other’s confidences and chatting easily back and forth. Griffin and Henry both seemed to be quite taken with Rose, who was tiny and slight, even for her age, but she had a sharp intelligence in her tip-tilted dark eyes, and a quirk of mischief at the corner of her mouth. She was a little imp, that was for sure.
He could hear Alex’s voice carrying over, telling an exaggerated story of their last hunt at Ramsay House in Hampshire, and the excellent shots he had brought home, and how he’d had to nearly cross a death-trap of a rushing river to carry a sick and injured bird back to his Auntie Bea for patching up. “Oh please, sir, that stream is little more than a trickle,” and then he heard little Rose brush Alex off easily. There would be no fooling her, after all her uncle’s grand estate abutted Ramsay House and she knew that country as well as they did. She had grown up playing in the same meadows and swimming in that same stream. The Swift children had a peculiar accent, having grown up in England with their American parents. The accent sounded flat and dry in Thomas Swift but had a playful lilt with young Rose.
“What is it now?” Rye heard Mrs. Crowley murmur to her husband. Mrs. Crowley looked particularly ill, and Rye wondered what kind of doctor Byron Crowley might be.
“It will be brandy and coffee, dear, are you well enough to sit up?” Dr. Crowley was all concern, so at least he was well-intentioned even if his wife did look like she was going to cast up her crumpets.
“For a little while, maybe,” but Mrs. Crowley was very pale and her voice was weak. Dr. Crowley half-lifted her from her chair, spiriting her away in urgent concern, and as they passed by the Duke and Duchess of Kingston, on a leisurely stroll to the parlor, the woman’s parents followed behind, alerted that their child was in need of them.
“Is everything all right with Mrs. Crowley?” Rye asked in concern to Mrs. Bowman. He turned back around, searching for his father, who knew quite a bit about healing herbs.
“She’ll be fine,” Thomas Swift answered gruffly. The younger Mr. Swift had not spoken any words, but it was clear that he shared his brother’s affectionate ways, and Peter Swift narrowed his eyes at Rye.
Rye rolled his eyes. He had no interest in being in the Swift brothers’ company any more that evening, and followed out into the parlor, looking for one of his cousins.
<<<333