Until now, Lydia had resembled a sleeping volcano, quiet but gathering steam. Now, much as he anticipated, she erupted, “Do you mean to tell me some scrawny little whey faced urchin from Ireland is to inherit Charles’s estate?”
Walter shrugged. “It would appear so.”
She glared at him, transmitting a mixture of incredulity, rage, and stupefaction. “Well, don’t just sit there. Do something.”
He felt a nudge of guilt because that tiny part of him that was enjoying this debacle refused to be squelched. He shrugged again, fully aware his seeming indifference would drive her mad. “Not much I can do.”
“But what of us?” She gestured dramatically around the table. “Are we to be thrown out into the cold and snow?”
The devil got the better of him again. With great deliberation he peered toward the window. “I do believe Spring has arrived. I don’t recall it snowed once this past month. Now, last month—”
“Oh... oh.” Her little pursed mouth kept opening and closing but nothing came out.
At last feeling a modicum of guilt, Walter hastened to say, “Charles won’t throw us out. We are welcome to stay as long as we like, although of course after his demise, I cannot speak for what the new heir might do. But do remember, Lydia, I do have an income of my own. Small it might be, but enough to sustain us, although not anywhere near”—his gaze swept around the luxurious dining room—”this grand a fashion.”
She glowered at him. “Don’t even bother to mention that paltry sum.”
Oh dear. He glanced at each of his stunned daughters and remarked, “Also, Charles has assured me those generous dowries will remain the same.” He could not resist adding—the devil again—”If the need ever arises, which it has not thus far.”
Lydia rose to the bait. “You know full well the girls have so many proposals they don’t know what to do with them.”
“Oh, do they now?” He ventured a slight raise of one eyebrow.
Lydia turned beet red. “This is not to be borne. If you think for one minute I’ll give up my rights to this house for one of Randall’s by-blows, you are much mistaken.”
“Not a by-blow, madam. He and Patrick’s mother were legally married.”
“Oh, Mama,” Charlotte suddenly wailed, “I wanted to be called Lady Charlotte and now I cannot.”
“And I wanted to be the daughter of an earl,” cried Bettina.
“But we still have each other,” Amanda near whispered, but no one except her father heard.
“Oh, one more thing,” said Walter, acting as if he’d forgot, but really he hadn’t. Knowing how this next would be received, he wanted to delay the revelation of this additional outrage as long as possible.
Lydia regarded him with eyes that gleamed like glassy volcanic rock. “And what might one more thing be, Walter?”
“The boy is not coming alone.”
There was a chorus of, “What?”
“My brother has informed me the young lad will be accompanied by his half sister. I believe her name is Evleen.”
Another shocked silence. Oh dear, oh dear.
“Irish trash in this house?” asked Lydia in a voice like ice.
“Er... the boy is only ten. He needed—”
“The Irish are low and common,” said Lydia, “no better than savages, the lot of them.”
“I have heard they live in mud huts and eat dirt,” Charlotte contributed.
Bettina giggled. “Then it won’t cost much to feed them, will it?”
Charlotte grimly smiled. “Perhaps we can clean her up and make a servant of her.”
Lydia spoke again. “This Evleen... Walter, does she even speak English?”
“Er... I’m not sure. Charles did mention, however, that her family on her father’s side is descended directly from the Kings of Ireland. Her mother is descended from royalty, too.”
Lydia sneered. “Who gives a fig for Irish royalty?”
“Oh, I know,” proclaimed Bettina with another giggle, “We shall call her the Irish Princess.”
“Quiet, all of you,” commanded Lydia. “This is no time for frivolity, Bettina. Walter, you must do something.”
“But—”
“I mean it. I’ll not have this. There’s nothing you can do at the moment, but after Patrick arrives, we shall wait and we shall see. And as for the half-sister...” Lydia’s small eyes squinted in concentration. “How old did you say she was?”
“I didn’t say. She’s a grown woman, apparently.”
“Grown, eh? Well, mark my words, I shall not be outdone by the likes of some greedy, grasping little peasant from Ireland.”
“On the contrary, Charles told me Lord Thomas spoke quite highly of her.”
“She’ll be after Thomas if she isn’t already.”
“Perhaps even Montague,” Charlotte chimed in alarm.
Walter threw up his hands. “Please, ladies. You must not