the stage.”
Miss O’Flaherty looked at her plate with a stubborn set to her shoulders that Thomas knew well. He glanced at Julian, seated beside him, his shoulders likewise tensed.
“Miss O’Flaherty strikes me as being of an age and intelligence to know her mind,” Julian observed, his tone innocuous. “Should she not be free to make the choice herself?”
Mrs Flaherty transferred her disapproving gaze to him. “The life of an actress is much harder than it appears from the outside, Mr Westaway. As one well acquainted with the toil and hardship involved, I desire to spare my daughter that. A not unreasonable wish.”
“No,” Connaught cut in. “But is it reasonable to suppose one has a right to make the decisions of another? A man must have freedom, and that means he or she,” he nodded towards his cousin, “must be allowed to make mistakes. As a novice journalist, I made more than a few poor decisions. However, what I learned from those choices put me on the path to become the journalist I am today.”
Thomas stroked his beard. “You consider yourself a journalist first, and the Lord of Connaught second?”
Connaught gave him a startled glance. “Journalist seems more real to me,” he said, after a moment’s thought. “I suppose I earned it. This…” He motioned to the hall with its feudal trappings, “this seems like a colossal joke at my expense. I keep waiting for the punchline.”
Both his relatives stiffened, twin spots of red flaming in the cheeks of both his great-aunt and cousin.
Mrs O’Flaherty’s self-control came to the fore. “We’ve heard from the younger generation, but not from the old. Lord Cross, Mr Leighton, where do you stand on letting young people make their own mistakes?”
Pip leaped on the question with alacrity. “I’m on the side of youth. Times are changing. It is the role of those who have gone ahead to offer advice and protection, but also to understand that though they may offer guidance, they do not steer another’s carriage unless given the reins.”
“Oh?” Julian’s mild tone conveyed polite disbelief. “You have no hesitation removing my reins.”
Pip shot his son an exasperated look. “You’re the exception that proves the rule. Perhaps if you listened to my advice, I should not resort to more extreme measures.”
Connaught snorted. “It seems Mr Leighton approves of giving youth freedom in theory, but his practice leaves something to be desired. And you, Lord Cross?” His tone was mocking. “What is your opinion?”
Thomas laid down his cutlery. “It is a complex question with many considerations on either side. As Lord Connaught states, the mistakes a person makes shape their experience and may benefit them—although I’m sure we can all think of many promising careers blighted by a youthful error. My time as Lord of Foxwood has shown me that no man likes to be reminded that he has a master, and that nothing engenders satisfaction than the knowledge that one has a say in his employment, earnings and comfort. I try to walk the fine line of moderation between freedom and restraint, but in practice, I am no less flawed than any other man. There is another consideration we have not yet considered: the individual in question.”
Thomas nodded towards Mrs O’Flaherty. “My brief acquaintance with Lord Connaught leaves me with no compunctions about his ability to make his way in the world. Miss O’Flaherty has a much more sheltered experience of the world. Moreover, her mother is acquainted with the theatre in which Miss O’Flaherty expresses such interest. I imagine that it is not just her own experiences that inform Mrs O’Flaherty’s prohibition, but her knowledge of her daughter’s character and the particular challenges ahead.”
Thomas’s gaze rested for a moment on Miss O’Flaherty’s spectacles. He couldn't imagine a leading lady in glasses, no matter how talented. “I honour Mrs O’Flaherty’s care to shield her daughter from a career which involves much necessary hardship and disappointment.”
Mrs O’Flaherty inclined her head. “I thank you for your words, Lord Cross, and can only say that I think of my daughter first in every decision I make—as all parents must.” She glanced at the clock. “If the gentlemen will excuse us.”
Miss O’Flaherty followed her mother from the room, and a manservant entered to pour glasses of brandy and offer cigars to the gentlemen.
Thomas turned to their host. “Having heard so much of your banshee, I wonder if we might take our cigars onto the terrace? I should like to see the scene in which she made her appearance.”
Connaught