Kitabı oku: «The Legacy», sayfa 4

CHAPTER FOUR

“BONJOUR, MONSIEUR PROFESSEUR. Comment allez-vous aujourd’hui?”

“Trés bien, merci, Mademoiselle Grace. I see you are anxious to begin your lesson for today.”

Grace smiled at her tutor. Professor was so simple to please. Though he’d been a bit chilly to her at first, she managed to charm him after only a few weeks of lessons. She’d suspected he’d felt it beneath his station to tutor an Irish Catholic girl, considering his proper British breeding. But Geneva had stepped in after only a few lessons and made certain that he was giving his full attention to their work together.

“I’ve studied my verbs,” she said. “Would you like to hear them?”

“Very well. The future indicative of ‘to have.’”

“J’aurai, tu auras, il aura, nous aurons, vous aurez, ils auront.”

“Très bien, mademoiselle. We have worked together for how long now?”

“Since I was six,” Grace said. “Four years now, Professor.”

“I will tell you, you have far surpassed Master Malcolm in your studies.” He leaned closer, as if to impart a very interesting secret. “I helped him study for his entrance exams to university and he is a rather unremarkable student. His Latin is atrocious, his penmanship is illegible and he can barely cipher. Master Edward, however, is the opposite. Since I’ve been teaching him, he has embraced his education. He will always excel, I am sure of it.”

“Grace!” Edward burst into the room, his color high, his dark hair tousled. He was growing into a very handsome young man, Grace mused. Nearly fourteen years old. If she didn’t consider him a brother, she might actually fancy him— when she got a bit older. “You have to come. Right now.”

“Miss Grace is having her French lesson,” Professor said. “And when she’s done, you and I have a rendezvous with your mathematics book.”

“This is much more important.” Edward crossed the room and grabbed Grace’s hand, then dragged her to her feet. “We have to go now. Lesson over.”

They ran out of the room, Grace’s hand clutched in Edward’s. He led her out the back door, then across the courtyard toward the stables. The old stone building was a fair distance from the house and by the time they reached it, Grace was out of breath. She bent over and placed her hands on her knees, gasping. “What is it?”

“Lily has had her colt,” he said. “Rawley came up to the house to tell me and I wanted to show you.” He pulled open the heavy wooden door of the stable and they stepped inside. The interior was dark and dusty and Grace crinkled her nose as they walked down the row of stalls.

When they reached the end, Edward jumped up on the gate, then held his hand out to her. “She’s in here,” he said.

Grace climbed up beside him and stared down at the newborn colt, curled up in a pile of straw in the corner. Like its mother, it was a rich, chocolate brown with a white blaze on its forehead. “It’s a girl?”

Edward nodded. “And it’s yours,” he said.

She gasped. “Mine? Whatever will I do with a horse?”

“You’ll learn to ride. You’re a young lady and Mother said Lily’s colt was to be a Christmas gift for you.”

“Isn’t the colt a little small to ride?”

Edward gave her a playful punch to the shoulder. “Don’t be a ninny. Of course, you can’t ride her now. You’ll ride a pony first and then one of the gentler mares. And by the time she’s old enough to ride, you’ll be an expert.”

“What will we call her?” Grace asked.

“That’s up to you,” he said. “Mother asked that you name her.”

Grace thought about it for a long time, trying to come up with the perfect name for the baby horse. The colt’s mother was called Lily, so perhaps she ought to be named after a flower as well. “How about Daisy?” she said. “Or Violet. I like Violet. Or maybe Sweet Pea?” She sighed. “How am I supposed to decide?”

“You don’t have to decide now,” he said.

“No, she should have a name. She’s been born and everyone gets a name when they are born. It will be Violet. Violet is her name.”

Edward grinned. “It’s a fine name. The one I would have chosen.” He jumped off the gate and held out his hand to her. “Come. Mother asked that I bring you to her after you’d seen the colt.”

“I should go back to my French lesson.”

“Bugger your French lesson. She has a surprise for you.”

They walked back to the house, Edward chatting about riding lessons and saddles and stirrups. She’d never thought to learn to ride. It didn’t seem of much use, considering most people were replacing their horses and carriages with motorcars these days. “You know, I’d much rather learn to drive than ride,” she said. “How old must I be to drive?”

“You want to drive a motorcar?” Edward laughed. “Don’t be silly. We have a chauffeur. If we drove ourselves, we’d have no use for Farrell.”

“But wouldn’t it be fun?” she said. “We could fly down the road as fast as the car would take us. You will teach me how to drive, won’t you Edward? Just as soon as possible.”

“Only after you learn to ride,” Edward said.

When they entered the house, they went straight to Geneva’s parlor. She was sitting where she did most mornings, at the pretty desk in the corner by the window. Her correspondence was stacked around her and when Grace stepped up to the desk, she looked up and smiled.

“And what do you think of your gift, Miss Grace?”

“Thank you, Lady Porter. It’s a wonderful gift. But I’ll have to ask Mama if it’s all right to keep it.”

“One does not turn down a gift like that,” Geneva said. “It shows bad breeding. You will graciously accept and tell your mother I will hear no complaints about it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Grace said. “Now, I must go back to my studies. The professor is waiting for me.”

“No, you should come back to the stables,” Edward said. “I’ll introduce you to your pony and then I’ll give you your first riding lesson. Can we, Mother? Surely Grace can leave her studies for one day.”

Geneva glanced back and forth between the two of them, an odd expression on her face. But then it passed, and she nodded. “I’ll let him know you’re taking a short holiday from your books.” She set her pen down on the desk and stood. “Come. If you’re going to ride, you’ll have to have proper clothes.”

Grace followed Geneva upstairs to the room that had once been Charlotte’s. The door had always been closed whenever Grace was in the house. The servants had warned her that the only person allowed inside was Lady Porter.

“My daughter had a lovely riding costume,” she said. “It would probably fit you perfectly. She was nine when we bought it, but you’re a bit smaller than she was.”

“I couldn’t think of wearing—”

“Nonsense. There is plenty of wear left in it.”

Lady Porter opened the door and walked inside the room, but Grace hung back, waiting to be invited in. “It’s a lovely room,” she murmured.

Lady Porter turned around. “Yes, it is. I took great care in decorating it.”

“You must miss her terribly.”

Her expression grew wistful. “Every moment of every day. A daughter is a precious jewel, a reflection of all the dreams that I had as a young girl. Sons belong to their fathers, until they go off and make a life of their own. But there is a connection between mothers and daughters that can never be broken.” She forced a smile, then turned back to the wardrobe.

The wide cabinet was filled with clothes but Geneva found the blue velvet habit right off. She held it out in front of her, slowly stroking the fabric. “I remember when we bought this,” she said. “Charlotte was so pleased with the way she looked.” Geneva held it out. “Go ahead. Try it on.”

“Now?”

She nodded. The look in her eyes was so hopeful, so melancholy that Grace was afraid to refuse. She slowly stripped off her dress until she stood in her chemise and pantalets. Then, she pulled the skirt up over her hips and fastened the buttons at the waist. A fine linen blouse with ruffled cuffs came next, followed by a matching velvet jacket. Grace turned her attention to the buttons and when she was finished, she looked up to find Geneva staring at her with a frightened look in her eyes.

“Lady Porter? Are you all right?”

Slowly, the woman sank to her knees, her hands clutched against her chest. A low moan slipped from her throat and a moment later, she bent forward and began to wail. Grace glanced around the room, uncertain of how to react. She reached out and touched Geneva on the shoulder, but the woman was so distraught that she didn’t notice.

Grace backed out of the room, then raced downstairs to find Edward. He was in his father’s library and when she entered, he knew immediately that something was wrong. “It’s your mother,” Grace said.

They hurried upstairs to Charlotte’s chamber and Edward immediately dropped to the floor next to his mother. He held her elbows, forcing her to sit up, and when he’d caught her gaze, he spoke to her in a soft but firm voice. “Stop. Mother, you must stop now. Listen to me. If you don’t stop now, you won’t be able to stop later.”

“I can’t do this,” she sobbed. “Everywhere I look, I see her. She’s crying out to me and I can’t reach her.”

“If you don’t control yourself, Father will send you away again. And I won’t be able to rescue you. Please, Mother, try to stop.”

“Where is she? Where is Charlotte?” She glanced up at Grace and through her tears, a smile broke across her face. “There you are, my darling.” She held out her hand and it trembled.

Grace looked to Edward for guidance and he shook his head. But Geneva was insistent and finally, Grace bent down on the other side of her and took her hand. “You have to stop now…Mother,” she murmured. “Listen to Edward. He knows what’s best.”

“Oh, my darling. Look how pretty you are. That color suits you. It always has.”

“Let’s get her to her bedchamber,” Edward said.

They both took an arm and drew her to her feet, then walked her down the hall to her room. When they got inside, Edward settled his mother on the bed, then picked up a small bottle from a tray beside the bed. “This always seems to calm her,” he said, mixing a spoonful of the medicine with a glass of water. He handed it to Grace. “You do it.”

Grace drew a deep breath and held the glass out to Geneva. “Here, Mother, drink this. It will make you feel better.”

She gulped the liquid down, then slowly lay back on the bed. When she closed her eyes, Grace moved away from her, her own hands trembling. There were times when life seemed so good at Porter Hall, the days so bright and carefree. But then something would scratch the shiny surface and expose the darkness beneath. They were all teetering on the edge of disaster. And Grace felt as though she was the only one who could hold them all together.

“Do I resemble her?” she murmured.

Edward shook his head. “Charlotte was fair, like my mother. She had light brown hair.” He looked at her. “Your eyes are the very same color, though. I don’t know why she doesn’t see the difference.” He took a ragged breath. “She frightens me sometimes.”

Grace took Edward’s hand and held it tight. It was such a burden to carry for a young man of fourteen. And even more so for Grace, whose own loyalties seemed to be tested at every turn. She’d found a home here with the Porters and though she didn’t remember a life before this, she knew from her mother that it had been desperate.

She would do whatever was needed to keep her place at Porter Hall. And if that meant pretending to be Charlotte Porter on occasion, then she’d learn to play the part well.

GENEVA’S HEAD THROBBED. She pressed the cool cloth to her brow and sank back into the pillows. It had been nearly a week since she’d ventured out of her bedroom, but gradually she was beginning to drag herself from her stupor.

She’d grown accustomed to the drugs she took and as of late, it required more and more of the tonic to make her mind go quiet enough for her to sleep. And then, when her thoughts were finally silenced, it took longer to recover.

The bottle of medicine sat on a silver tray next to her bed and she reached out for it. But her hand shook as she tried to grab it and Geneva closed her eyes. She couldn’t allow herself the luxury of sleep any longer. The rational part of her mind told her that there was a limit to her husband’s patience and it was usually reached after a week in bed.

Edward had spent most of his time watching over her, making sure she was protected from the prying eyes of the servants. He brought her meals, gave her medicine and read to her from the poems of Keats and Browning. And when he wasn’t reading, he spoke to her in soft tones, drawing her back to a world that had become so difficult to face. It was more than a boy his age ought to bear, but Geneva had no one else to depend upon.

A soft knock sounded on the door and she called out, expecting Edward to come in. But Rose stepped into the room and softly closed the door behind her. She wore the plain gray uniform that all the servants at Porter Hall wore and her dark hair was drawn back into a severe knot at the nape of her neck. She looked thin and very pale.

“Lady Porter, I’ve brought some fresh linens. Master Edward asked that I bring them right up.”

“Leave them on the chair,” she said, her voice filled with all the exhaustion she felt.

“And I’ve also returned the riding habit you gave to Mary Grace. I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to learn to ride. It’s so…dangerous.”

Geneva stared at her for a long moment, trying to make sense of her words. “Riding habit? What riding habit?”

Rose cocked her head, confusion marring her somber expression. “I’ll—I’ll just put the linens here.” She set the bedsheets on the chair, then turned back to the bed.

“How are you feeling? Mary Grace has been very worried.” She paused. “Sometimes grief is a terrible thing to bear. Especially the grief of a mother.”

Geneva closed her eyes. She felt so numb, as if every ounce of emotion inside her had evaporated. This was the way it went, the lows and then the highs, the plummeting descent and the slow, gradual rise back to happiness. “A mother should never have to watch her child die.”

“Do you not believe she’s in a better place?” Rose asked.

“How can I think any place is better than her home, with her mother and her father?” Geneva sighed. “Is your faith that strong?”

Rose shook her head. “Not all the time. In the middle of my own grief, when I needed it most, it seemed to vanish. But then, I realized that I was not grieving for my husband or for the life he might have had. I was grieving for myself, for everything I’d lost.”

“And I suppose you’ll tell me that it was God’s will that my Charlotte died? That he was the one who struck her down with scarlet fever? I cannot believe in a god who would take such a precious child from this world. From me.”

“I lost two babies before I gave birth to Mary Grace,” Rose said. “The first was stillborn, a son, a beautiful child with the face of an angel. I would like to think they’re all in heaven with Jamie, though my priest tells me they are not.”

“You don’t believe dead babies go to heaven?”

“They weren’t baptized. Babies who aren’t baptized remain in limbo, in neither heaven nor hell. Since they cannot be baptized, they cannot be cleansed of their original sin.”

“So their souls just float there forever.”

Rose nodded. “It is a difficult thought to bear and one I struggle with. But I try to think of limbo as a place that’s pure and simple and innocent, where the babies know nothing of God or heaven, so they can’t know what they’re missing.”

“Believe what you need to believe,” Geneva said, flopping back into the pillows and throwing her arm over her eyes.

“At least you know she’s in heaven,” Rose said. “There must be some comfort in that.”

“I’m tired,” Geneva muttered. “Leave me now.”

Rose walked to the door, but she didn’t leave. “You can’t have her,” she murmured. “She’s all I have. I’ve lost everything.”

Geneva pushed up on her elbows. “What are you babbling about?”

“Mary Grace. She’s my daughter, not yours. Nothing you do for her, nothing you give her, will ever change that.”

“Get out!” Geneva screamed. “Get out! You have no right to speak to me that way.” She sat up and a blinding pain shot through her head, turning everything around her black. Geneva swallowed back a wave of nausea. “Pack your bags,” she muttered. “I’ll give you a month’s severance. But I want you out by the end of the day.”

Rose stared at her for a long moment and Geneva waited for her to plead for her job, knowing the satisfaction she’d take in putting Rose Byrne in her place. Since the day she’d brought Rose and Grace to Porter Hall, the woman had always been just a bit too proud and haughty for a servant.

But to Geneva’s surprise, Rose didn’t rise to the bait. She simply tipped her chin up and nodded. “I think that would be for the best, Lady Porter.”

She turned and walked out. A few moments later, Edward came in, carrying a tea tray. He glanced back over his shoulder, then studied Geneva for a long moment. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Geneva said, straightening the bedclothes over her lap. “I—I just sacked Rose.”

Edward gasped. “What?”

“You heard me. She was getting entirely too comfortable here. She had the audacity to imply that I wasn’t grieving Charlotte’s death in a proper way. That I ought to be happy that she’s in heaven and not here with me.”

“What have you done?” Edward accused. “You can’t send them away.”

“I have every right to do just that. I’m in charge of the household staff. I hired her and I can sack her.”

“You’re just tired,” he said. “I know Rose speaks her mind, but she’s a proud woman. And there are times when you do treat Grace more like she’s yours than Rose’s. Mother, please. Let me go to her, let me try to convince her to stay.”

“I will not be spoken to in that way,” Geneva said, her anger growing.

“Then you will put Grace out on the street,” Edward said. “And they will wander about until they both get sick and die. You’ll allow Rose’s daughter to die, simply to make you feel better about Charlotte. Where is your Christian charity, Mother? Does it disappear simply because you have a headache or you’ve taken too much of your tonic?”

Geneva opened her mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut. Emotion welled up inside of her as the reality of what she’d done sunk in. She’d managed to keep herself on an even keel since Grace had arrived. The dark moods were far less frequent and she felt as though she was beginning to climb out of the depths of her grief.

Was that because time had passed or was it because she’d had Grace to raise? For that’s what she was doing, behind Rose’s back. She’d given Grace everything that had been meant for Charlotte, all the womanly wisdom that she possessed. And had Rose Byrne been any other mother, she might have had a right to be jealous.

But Geneva had saved their lives. She’d picked them up off the street and given them a place to live, fed them and clothed them and even educated Grace at no small cost. Rose at least owed her a little understanding and gratitude. Unbidden tears began to roll down her cheeks and Geneva found it difficult to breathe.

“Bring her here,” she said in a strangled voice. “Tell her I must speak with her again.”

She closed her eyes and laid back, drawing in slow, deep breaths to try to quell the pain that was now pounding in her brain. There had been a time, in the not too distant past, when her life had been so right, when she’d had everything she’d ever wanted. Now, it was filled with confusion and regret, fear and loss. Would she ever feel happy again?

CHAPTER FIVE

EDWARD DRAGGED THE TRUNK INTO his bed chamber and left it at the foot of his bed. His mother stared at it critically, her hands hitched on her waist. “We really ought to buy a new trunk for you. It wouldn’t do to have you arrive at Harrow with that tatty old thing.”

He shook his head. “Mother, it doesn’t need to be all shiny and new. This trunk has seen a lot of the world. I’d prefer it. It will make me appear well-traveled.”

“But Malcolm had a new trunk when he went to off to school. You should, too.”

“Malcolm has always been more concerned with appearances,” Edward murmured. When his brother had left for university last fall, he’d required an entirely new wardrobe, including six suits, eight pairs of shoes, three hats and a cashmere overcoat. And not one trunk, but two. Edward assumed the fine clothes were to make up for his brother’s lack of academic acuity.

He ran his hand over the scarred surface of the trunk, examining the stickers that told the trunk’s history. “When did you go to Istanbul?” he asked.

“Your father went there when he was just out of university. He did the grand tour. My parents only allowed me Italy and France. And here is our honeymoon,” she said, pointing to another sticker for New York. “We went to America on the maiden voyage of the Olympic, Titanic’s sister ship. Your aunt Fanny and uncle Richard lived there before they moved to California. I was seasick the entire way, but it was a wonderful trip. Your father nearly decided to stay and find his fortunes there. Just think, you could have been born an American.”

Geneva crossed the room to the wardrobe and flung open the doors. She studied the contents, kept tidy by the upstairs maid, then shook her head. “This will never do. You’ll need new clothes.” She turned and faced him. “We’ll just have to leave a bit early and do some shopping in London before we deliver you to school.”

“We could always just go to Dublin and find what I need at Clery’s.”

“At a department store? No matter how much your father complains, our family fortunes have not sunk so low that we are forced to shop at a Dublin department store for your wardrobe. Your father will take you to his tailors on Savile Row, and have suits made for you. We can have them delivered to you at school when they’re finished.”

Edward forced a smile. “I don’t think Father will have time for a trip to London.”

His father had been even more preoccupied with business since the spring elections and Edward doubted that he’d accompany them. De Valera was now in charge of the government and he advocated a complete break with Britain and a sovereign Irish nation including those counties in the north. He abolished the oath of allegiance to Great Britain and withheld British land annuities. In turn, Britain imposed a twenty-percent duty on all Irish imports—including wool. The coal business still flourished, however, since Ireland had in turn imposed a tariff on the imports of English coal.

“And I certainly don’t need a new wardrobe. One or two suits will do. We wear uniforms most of the time.”

They hadn’t traveled to London for years, not since his mother had been caught up in the world of spiritualists and psychics. Once Grace had come to live with them, Geneva had seemed content to remain at Porter Hall.

She pulled a jacket out of the wardrobe and held it out in front of her. “There is an exhibit of French paintings at the National Gallery that I’m wild to see. And, of course, we must attend a concert or two. We’ll do some shopping and—” She smiled as if struck by a sudden idea. “Since your father won’t go, we’ll take Grace. Oh, it will be a wonderful trip, the three of us. Edward, go fetch her. Now. We’ll tell her all about it.”

“Mother, I’m not sure that Rose would agree. You know how she can be.” His mother had been much more careful with Rose’s feelings since she had nearly walked out two years ago and taken Grace with her. But lately, Geneva had become obsessed with Grace again and Edward sensed that another confrontation was just on the horizon. He had hoped it might happen before he left for school. That way, he would have the chance to smooth it over and soothe hurt feelings before either party took drastic measures.

“She agreed to let me hire a tutor for Grace, didn’t she? This is just another educational experience. Every young lady should see the great capitals of the world. And Dublin does not count,” she added, wagging her finger at Edward. “Now go. And bring her back. I want to give her the good news myself.”

Edward wandered out of the room, convinced that he wouldn’t be able to change Geneva’s mind. When it came to Grace and what she believed the girl needed, Geneva could not be dissuaded.

After the last row, it had taken nearly a year for Grace to feel comfortable again at Porter Hall. Her mother had gone so far as to pack their belongings and convince Farrell to drive them to Dublin. Grace had been hysterical, begging her mother to relent. It had taken Edward an entire day of pleading before Rose had finally accepted Geneva’s apology and agreed to stay—with a substantial raise in pay.

Taking Grace to London was a bold move. Unless… Edward smiled. Unless the invitation came from him. Perhaps if he presented his case, then Rose might agree. And since he was going away to school, it would be a chance for the two of them to have one last adventure together.

He found Grace in the yard, hanging bedsheets to dry in the warm breeze. Her dark hair was pulled back and tied with a ribbon and she wore a simple cotton dress. “I know my love and well he knows,” she sang softly. “I love the grass where on he goes.” She continued to hum as she reached into the basket and withdrew another sheet.

He snuck up behind her and grabbed her around the waist, causing Grace to scream in surprise. She turned and punched him in the shoulder. “I’ll die of fright one of these fine days,” she said. “And you will stand at my grave and weep, Edward Porter.”

“I will not,” Edward teased. “I’ll be glad when you’re gone. You’re a right pain in the arse, Grace Byrne. And I haven’t a clue why my mother would even consider taking you to London.”

She blinked in surprise, her mouth hanging open. Edward reached out and hooked his finger beneath her chin to close it. “Well?”

“London? Your mother wants to take me to London?” Her bright expression slowly faded. “I—I don’t think my mother will allow me to go,” Grace said. “And I can’t leave her. There’s so much work and she needs my help.”

“She can do without you for five or six days. And Mother will make sure she has help with the laundry and the mending while you’re gone.”

“I suppose I could ask,” Grace said.

“Now, there’s the tricky part. You must say it was my invitation, not my mother’s. Do you understand? That way, I’ll help to convince her. I will say it does you no good to study art history and then never visit a museum, or to study piano and never hear a great concert. It’s my wish that we have one last adventure before I go off to school. And she will agree.”

“Then let’s go ask her now,” Grace said anxiously.

Suddenly, the trip seemed so much more exciting. To explore a city as grand and as wonderful as London with his best friend would be an adventure to remember for a lifetime. He’d shown her all the pictures in the books, told her stories of his previous trips, the museums, the parks, the shops. But it wouldn’t be the same as experiencing it together.

When they reached the carriage house, they found Rose sitting near the window, darning stockings. She was hunched over her work, trying to see the tiny stitches through a pair of spectacles she’d purchased from a passing tinker. She looked up as Grace crossed the room. Edward waited by the door for an invitation to enter.

“Are you all right then?” A frown furrowed Rose’s brow. “You look as though the devil has been chasing you.”

“It’s the most wonderful news,” Grace said, trying to catch her breath. She glanced back at Edward and motioned him inside.

“What is it?”

“I’ve been invited to go to London. With Edward and Lady Porter. Isn’t that wonderful, Mama? I’m to see London.”

Rose’s expression turned cold and she stared down at her work, her fingers nervously toying with the needle and thread. “No,” she murmured. “I won’t have it.”

“But why?”

“I just won’t. You’ll not leave Ireland, not as long as I have breath in my body.”

Grace took a step back, as if stunned by the anger in her mother’s voice. “But why?”

Rose stood, tossing her darning to the floor, then crossed the room. She grabbed a linen towel and folded it smartly, then grabbed another. “You don’t think I know what Geneva Porter is about? She thinks she’s very clever, sending her son to convince me. But I see through her ways.”

“Mama, I don’t understand.”

“Tell her, Edward,” Rose said. “Tell her why your mother spends so much time and money on a servant girl.”

Edward shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, refusing to rise to her challenge. This battle for Grace’s soul had gone on since the very first day Geneva had held Grace. And it would continue until his mother or Grace’s departed this world.

“She has found a replacement for her dead daughter,” Rose continued. “And now, she’s decided to turn you into her daughter. The lessons and the clothes, the gifts. And now London. They’re all given at a price, Mary Grace.”

“She’s just generous,” Grace said. “It wouldn’t do to refuse. It would show that I have bad breeding.”

“Bad breeding?” She shook her head. “Tell me your name,” her mother demanded. “Say it. Say your name to me now.”

“Grace,” she replied. “I’m Grace Byrne.”

Tears flooded her mother’s eyes and she shook her head. “No. You’re Mary Grace Byrne. Mary is your given name. But because Lady Porter preferred Grace, I allowed you to be called that. But I won’t have her putting all these fancy ideas in your head. You’re a simple Irish girl who doesn’t need to be puffed up with silly dreams.”