The Ground She Walks Upon

by Meagan Mckinney

  “I have the honor for ’twas I who invited her,” said Chesham, holding out his arm for her to take it.

  “The jousting has been done, Chesham. I am the host of this gathering. It’s my responsibility to escort my guests to dinner.” Trevallyan’s voice brooked no argument.

  Still without meeting her gaze, Trevallyan stepped to the couch and held out his hand. The ring gleamed on his small finger. Ravenna’s heart hammered in her chest.

  She was insulted and flattered in the same breath. That he could treat her as invisible, then demand the right to escort her to dinner seemed the behavior of a lunatic. And she was as much a lunatic as he, because all she wanted him to do was give her just one look of the admiration that the other men poured upon her like sweet wine, and she would have gladly allowed the blackguard to escort her to dinner.

  “Ravenna?” His gaze locked with hers. A long stare that ran the gamut of emotions from confusion to near hatred, crushing her inexplicable desire to gain his admiration.

  Manners dictated she should not refuse him, so slowly she forced herself to place her hand in his. The warmth of his grasp shocked her, but the hardness didn’t. He made it painfully clear he didn’t want her at the castle, and suddenly she had the urge to run home and never return.

  He helped her to her feet. She smiled woodenly and took his offered arm, counting the minutes when the dreadful ordeal would be over and she would never have to see the master of Trevallyan again.

  The small eating room was done in shades of puce, Prussian blue, and gold. Dinner was course after course of culinary ecstasies. Footmen brought in platters of pheasant, beef, and peacock until Ravenna could hardly bear to look at them. Trevallyan, his cousin Chesham, and Chesham’s cohorts seemed unimpressed with the presentation and the amount of food, but Ravenna was beside herself with delight, remembering all the terrible meals she had had back in London. Father Nolan was none too apathetic, either, for she could swear he was on his third helping of trifle.

  Conversations with Ravenna confined themselves to ingratiating flattery from Guy or thinly veiled ribald comments from Lord Reginald. Father Nolan attempted to lead them in a discussion of the New Testament. Trevallyan said hardly a word. She did her best to ignore him, yet when the meal was through, and she and the gentlemen returned to the parlor for cordials, she couldn’t help but steal glances at him.

  Trevallyan stood out from the other men like a stag with a full rack of antlers stands out in a group of young bucks. Yet his presence was more subtle than that and she found she had difficulty defining what it was about Niall Trevallyan that captured her attention. He did not tower over the other men; rather, he was of a good, but average size; and his face, while handsomely wrought, was certainly not as classic-Greek-god-beautiful as the count’s or Guy’s. Where the count, and Guy, and Lord Reginald wore fashionable white cravats, Trevallyan wore an old-fashioned black one. His vest was not a riotously-colored paisley, it was a somber maroon watered silk. The blush of youth was gone from his face, but perhaps that was what made it arresting. Unlike younger men, the exuberance of stupidity and ignorance didn’t hold him in its newborn clutches. With every line on his face, every gray streak of his hair, he stood as a man fully matured, resonating depth. And when she looked into his eyes, she seemed to find a soul even older than his physical self, a man burdened with some kind of inexpressible tragedy, a man pressed by his own mortality. Yet, a man who seemed to understand life as it really was, one who seemed ever more capable of exposing its wonders and limitations than someone of lesser years. All that, Ravenna found when she watched him. And though she wanted to give her attention to Father Nolan, or even Guy, Trevallyan drew her interest even now, as he lounged by the mantel, his preoccupation with some dark thought leaving his cordial forgotten in his hand.

  “Ravenna, how have you hidden from my notice all these years?” Lord Chesham said, breaking into her thoughts.

  Her gaze darted from Trevallyan upon the dread notion that he might catch her staring. “I’ve been in England for many years. I left Lir when I was barely thirteen and have not returned since.” She hoped she hid the pain in her voice. It wouldn’t do to make a gift to Trevallyan of how much he’d already been able to hurt her.

  “Ravenna received her education from one of the finest ladies’ schools in London,” the priest interjected from his seat closest to the hearth.

  “London! Huzza! My favorite place!” Chesham brightened. He took her hand and kissed it as they sat on the settee next to the hearth. “And when will you return to England?”

  “Never, I should think.” She glanced at the father, perhaps a little accusingly. “I’m planning to go to Dublin at some point. Perhaps to find a job with a milliner.”

  “A job? In Dublin?” Chesham drew back in mock horror. Even the count was able to rouse himself to stare at her in disbelief.

  “My dear sweet girl, surely it isn’t necessary for you to leave Lir to go to Dublin to work. Whatever would become of you?” Chesham stared at her with such genuine concern in his eyes she was almost touched.

  “Lord Chesham, I must make my way in this world, and when Grania dies, my ties to Lir will be no more.” She smiled and extracted her hand from his hold. She’d had enough of hand-holding already this evening.

  “But that’s unheard of. A fine, educated lady like yourself lowering herself to a job in Dublin.” Lord Chesham took her hand once more. His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Perhaps I can find you another occupation. Right here in Lir.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to ask exactly what kind of “occupation” he meant, when he blurted out, “Or better yet, mayhap I should marry you and make you a baroness!”

  Father Nolan gasped and the blood drained from his face. But he seemed the only man in the room able to take the idea seriously. Even the count tittered with laughter. Chesham’s comment was so ridiculously false, it was an insult to her intelligence. Still, she bit her tongue to kill her acerbic answer. It wouldn’t do to ruffle the feathers of a powerful man, even if she was never to see that man again. “You jest, Lord Chesham,” she said calmly, hardly able to look him in the eye without showing her loathing. “I can’t be your baroness. You hardly know me.”

  Chesham laughed. Her play-along seemed to amuse him no end. “But I would very much like to get to know you better,” he whispered for her ears only.

  She glanced at him, bemused and irritated by his display. Trevallyan stared at both of them from the mantel, and she could tell by his expression he thought they were behaving worse than fools.

  “I’m very flattered, Lord Chesham, but—”

  “You must let me call on you. You can’t leave for Dublin. Not now, when I’ve all the world to show you.” The earnest expression in Chesham’s eyes took her aback.

  “Why, how flattering,” she murmured, unsure of what to do next. She desperately wanted to leave, but could find no exit. Lord Chesham waited for some kind of answer while she rested her attention on the green damask of a nearby chair. It was an awkward moment. The idea of a courtship might intrigue her if it had come from any man in the room but Chesham. She then glanced at Guy and the count, and threw them in as well. It was a revelation to realize that it would be better to be courted by Reginald Ramsay or Father Nolan than these three fops. Her gaze then darted to Trevallyan. He didn’t look at her, and he made her wonder how she would regard a courtship from him.

  “Why are you so quiet, my lovely lady?” Chesham whispered in her ear.

  She colored forty shades of red to counter the green in the room. Lord Chesham was in no way unattractive. He was a young version of Trevallyan, though Chesham had to be ten years older than herself, and Trevallyan had to be ten years older again than Chesham. Logically, she could see the advantages in having a man like Lord Chesham court her. So why did she wonder what Trevallyan thought of Chesham’s offer? And, worst of all, and most mysteriously, why on earth did she even care?

  “Shall I post the banns?” Treva
llyan asked dryly, contempt mirrored in his eyes as he still leaned against the mantel, not two steps from where she and Chesham sat.

  “Forget the wedding, Chesham, and move right along to the honeymoon,” Ramsay interjected drunkenly.

  “My son, get hold of your tongue!” Father Nolan exclaimed.

  Trevallyan shot Lord Reginald a glance that should have killed the young sot right where he stood.

  A thousand deaths were preferable to the blush that crept up her cheeks. “I really should go now.…” She glanced at the velvet bellpull near Trevallyan. “Would someone please ring Greeves to see me out?”

  “Don’t go.…” Chesham pleaded softly.

  “My grandmother is an old woman. I can’t leave her alone much longer,” she lied, knowing full well that Fiona was staying with her. She gave the father a piercing stare, praying he wouldn’t contradict her.

  He didn’t.

  “Is the evening over so quickly?” The priest put his empty cordial glass down onto a table. “Would you like an escort home, Ravenna?” he asked.

  She stood, and watched the gentlemen follow her lead. “Very much,” she said, relief in her voice.

  “Then it is my pleasure.” Father Nolan smiled.

  She said her farewells in the parlor doorway. Trevallyan growled something incoherent to Father Nolan, then he mysteriously disappeared, wounding her again with his rudeness.

  But there was always Chesham for flattery. He kissed her hand again and again, then his mouth brushed passed her ear and whispered, “Meet me tonight in the back staircase and we can finally be alone.”

  She must have hidden her revulsion well, for Chesham neatly stepped away and allowed Monsieur Guy to pose in front of her. Deep down, she was probably angry that Lord Chesham believed her so stupid and foolish as to desire an intrigue with him, but she didn’t feel angry. It was no surprise what he thought of her. How could he think well of her when his cousin Trevallyan made it clear she was nothing but rubbish, not even worthy of a decent send-off after being invited to dine at the castle.

  The count grunted farewell, and Greeves appeared in order to show her to the great hall. Ravenna followed the butler, glad to be rid of the evening’s company forever. She wouldn’t be meeting Chesham in the back staircase or anywhere else; it had been an insult to ask her. Though she’d been taught well in England how to hide her feelings, the men had raised her ire. Still, she wouldn’t waste her emotions on them. All she really wanted to do was go home and never see any of them again, especially Lord Niall Trevallyan.

  Nonetheless, she departed the drawing room with a lump in her throat. It hurt her to think that Trevallyan thought so little of her presence that he failed to give her a proper good-bye. He had so rudely exited that she hadn’t even been able to thank him for the dinner—not that she had wanted to thank him—but the fact that he didn’t even bother to wait for thanks irrationally wounded her.

  “The master will see you in the library, miss,” Greeves said as she and the father entered the great hall.

  “Are you speaking to me, Greeves?” she asked, taken aback.

  “Yes, miss. Lord Trevallyan would like to see you in the library. Father, may I serve you a whiskey while you wait?” Greeves bowed to Father Nolan.

  “Why, certainly, certainly!” Father Nolan said, taking a seat on an Elizabethan bench by the castle’s enormous doorway.

  She looked at the priest, wondering what had gotten into him. A man was requesting her presence alone, and the priest was not even offering chaperonage.

  “Miss?” Greeves repeated, with increasing superiority.

  She stole one last glance at Father Nolan. He merely smiled at her and waved his hands in a motion that said, “Run along with you, child, and whenever you should return, I’ll be here waiting.”

  As before, Greeves strode through the great hall, expecting her to follow. With no other choice, she lifted her skirts and walked at a quick clip to keep up with him. The library was only two doors from the great hall. A room warm and slightly shabby like the parlor.

  “Greeves said you wanted a word with me before I leave,” she said to Trevallyan who sat staring at the fire.

  Greeves departed, closing the mahogany library doors firmly behind him.

  “Yes. Have a seat.”

  She bristled. Trevallyan hadn’t even stood up at her entrance. She cursed an education that made her desire courtesies that were not given those of her class. He thought her a lowly peasant, and that was all he would ever think of her; still she wouldn’t let him treat her like one.

  “I should like to stand.” She had just the right amount of ice in her voice to draw his attention.

  His looked at her, but with a strange, unexpected emotion in his eyes. “Contrary to the end, aren’t you, Ravenna?”

  She refused to comment.

  His laughter was a black, brittle sound. “You stand there in your sorry little gown, looking like a wallflower with no gentleman to sign your dance card, but still you think to challenge me, don’t you?” He rose to his feet and took a menacing step toward her. “Sit down.”

  She wanted to refuse again, but one look at him told her it was pointless. For whatever the reason, he was in a foul mood. It was best to get this business done with and leave the castle with a minimal skirmish.

  “What is it you desire to speak to me about, my lord?” She lowered herself to the proffered seat.

  “I want to give you a few lessons.” His voice was tight with anger. “The first is that you are never to go walking in the woods unescorted again. You were lucky I found you when I did. Something terrible could have happened to you all alone in the forest and—”

  “Lord Trevallyan, if I may remind you: The only terrible thing done to me in those woods was the fact that your hounds—”

  “That is not the kind of tragedy I am trying to avoid here!”

  His shout set her back on her heels. She had never seen a man so angry. “What kind of business is this of yours?” she whispered incredulously.

  His eyes flashed with annoyance. “You’re a young and beautiful woman now. What do you think a man would do to you if he found you alone in the woods one day?”

  She stared at him, her heart beating heavily against her ribs. “I—I suppose he would do what you did when you saw me there.”

  His grim gaze held her. “I am no ravisher of women. I cannot speak for every man in this county.”

  “You imply the men of this county are untrustworthy, but what you speak of is a ‘gentleman’s’ problem. Are you accusing Lord Chesham of—?”

  “Lord Chesham is my cousin. My own blood relation. But you take him and his group of dissolute friends and put them in a certain kind of mood, throw in a poor, helpless girl like yourself … and I cannot say what would happen.”

  Though she gave no signs of it, she agreed with him about Chesham. Lord Chesham’s offer to meet in the scullery was an insult and an affront to her intelligence. Yet, the very thought that Trevallyan believed she needed this lecture was only further insulting. Her simmering anger came to a boil. “What you say about your cousin may be true, but let me correct you on one point, my lord,” she countered, lifting her chin. “I am not helpless.”

  His eyes lowered to her petite, shabbily adorned figure. He was not a giant of a man; still she knew he was thinking even he could overcome her should he ever want to. The message in his gaze was quite clear.

  “Why do you make this your concern?” she asked, the look in his eyes making her suddenly desperate to change the subject and even more desperate to leave.

  “I am saying this for your own good, you foolish girl.”

  She stood. “Fine, then. You have said it. Now if that is all—”

  “No, that is not all.” He stared her down with that unnerving aqua gaze. “Sit down.”

  Her bottom hit the leather seat once more. She almost hated him. “Are you angry over Lord Chesham’s attentions? Is that what this is all about? If so, you needn
’t be. I have no designs upon anyone in your family as I’m sure you would laugh at the folly of it if I did. So let me assure you that I will be happy to refuse Lord Chesham’s call, should he make one—which I don’t believe he will.”

  “He can get you one way or another if he tries hard enough,” Trevallyan snapped, then glanced away, as if he were hiding something even from himself. “Lord Chesham is smitten. Even I can see that. But I warn you: Any impropriety will not be tolerated.”

  Aghast, she just looked at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. His insults went beyond the pale. “Is it because I’m poor that you think I’ve no honor, no self-respect? Poverty is not synonymous with impropriety, my lord. And only a wretch would think so.”

  “You misunderstand—”

  “No,” she said solemnly, cutting him off. “Your meaning really doesn’t matter.” She stared at him, hurt and confusion written on her face. “Why is this your concern? You aren’t my guardian. You aren’t my father. My actions don’t reflect on you, yet you lecture me as if you have all the right to do so. And you dare to insult me by implying that my behavior might be disreputable. Apologize this instant.”

  He looked at her as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Anger crossed his face, clearly a common emotion with him, but another one filled his expression too. It was almost a begrudging respect.

  “You may go to the devil, my lord.” Hearing no apology, she stood and walked to the door, eager to be gone.

  He stopped her, capturing both her arms and holding them in a viselike grip to her sides. “You misunderstand, Ravenna. ’Tis not your impropriety I speak of. You’ve led a rather sheltered life. You’re thoroughly alone in this world and you have no guardian. It’s not uncommon for an English peer to make free with Irish girls, as you may well know. Any man might be tempted to interfere with you, given the lack of reprisals.”

  “But there are reprisals! There is the law—”

  He shook her until she was silent. “Did the law help your mother? Would you turn out like her? Have you the desire to whelp a bastard like yourself?”