Ashworth Hall by Anne Perry Page B

had unfortunately died young.”
    “How very sad.” Eudora shook her head a little.
    “And you did not allow the single introduction to be the end to it?” Emily deduced with a smile.
    “Of course he didn’t.” Padraig looked from one to the other of them. “No young man worth his salt would. If you see the one woman in the world who is right for you, you follow her wherever she goes, through cities and countryside, mountains and high seas, to the ends of the earth, if need be. Isn’t that so?” He was addressing the table at large.
    Piers grinned. “Of course it is.”
    Iona kept her eyes on her plate.
    “Wherever it takes you,” Fergal agreed suddenly, looking up at Padraig, then at Piers. “Grip your courage in both hands, and to the devil with fears.”
    Kezia ground her fork into the last piece of her game pie.
    “Come heaven or hell, honor or dishonor,” she said very clearly. “Just go on, take what you want, never count the cost or look to see who pays it.”
    Piers looked disconcerted. He was one of the few who had no idea what had happened that morning, but he was not so blinded by his own happiness that he missed the pain in her voice—and no one at all could have missed the anger, even not knowing what it was for.
    “I didn’t mean that, Miss Moynihan,” he answered. “Of course, I would not have pursued her had there been anything dishonorable in it, for her or for me. But thank heaven, she was as free as I am, and seems to return my feelings.”
    “Congratulations, my boy,” Padraig said sincerely.
    The butler served Justine with a little cold salmon, sliced cucumber and potatoes with herbs, and offered her chilled white wine.
    Somebody made a comment about an opera currently playing in London. Someone else said they had seen it in Dublin. Padraig remarked on the difficulty of the soprano role, and O’Day agreed with him.
    Emily glanced at Jack, and he smiled back guardedly.
    The butler and footmen were waiting to serve the next course, as were one or two of the valets. Finn Hennessey was there. Tellman was not, which was almost certainly a good thing.
    The men returned to their political discussions. At least outwardly there appeared very little rancor. If they had even approached argument on anything at all it was not hinted at.
    The ladies decided to go for a walk in the woods. It was a bright afternoon with a few light clouds and a mild breeze. It could not be counted upon to last. Even the evening could change and bring rain or a sudden drop in temperature. The next day there could be gales, frost, steady drumming sleet, or it could be as pleasant as today.
    The six of them set out across the lawn. Emily led the way with Kezia. She tried a conversation but it very quickly became apparent that Kezia did not wish to speak, and Emily allowed it to lapse into a polite silence.
    Eudora took Justine and they followed a few yards behind, a marked contrast to each other: Eudora handsome figured, the light bright in her auburn hair, walking with her head high; Justine very slender, almost thin, her hair black as a crow’s wing, her movements peculiarly graceful, and when she turned in profile to speak, the extraordinary nose.
    Charlotte was left to walk with Iona. It was not something she wished to do, but social duty required it, and loyalty to Emily made it a necessity. She wished she knew the woods better so that they might furnish some subject to discuss. All she could think of was Emily’s warnings not to discuss politics, religion, divorce, or potatoes. Almost everything that came to her mind seemed to lead to one or the other of them. It was better to walk in silence than be reduced to making remarks about the weather.
    She could see Eudora talking to Justine, apparently asking her questions. It was as if she were hungry to learn of a courtship she knew nothing about. Charlotte wondered why Piers had said nothing to her before.
    Some remark about Piers and Justine was on her lips,