[Declan O'Dwyer]

The time had come again for everybody who was anybody to descend upon the small village of Castle Combe in Wiltshire for the annual granian, aethonan and abraxan races. The area had been secured with so many Muggle repelling charms that the air crackled with magical charge. Everything was set for the main event, the prestigious Emerald Cup race. This year's favourite to win, a granian called Gillywater, had impressed and amazed winged horse lovers all over the British Isles.

The afternoon sun was surprisingly intense and Declan had just fetched another round of refreshments for himself an his mother, Eithne.

"Do you think Lorcan has a chance of placing on the podium this year?" she asked her eldest as he handed her a glass of chilled fruit punch.

"Perhaps," Declan said carefully. "Lorcan and Coireall are in great form, but the competition is tight this year." Though he was cheering for his younger brother, he didn't want to excite their mother's anticipation too much. A lot could go wrong during the race, even despite the many hours of training Lorcan had put in. "I don't think he can keep up with Gillywater, but perhaps he has a chance at second..."

Declan's voice trailed off as he spotted a familiar face near the track. Oh, she was here! Of course she was. Why would that even be a surprise? Naturally, the Abercrombie heiress would be in attendance. Her family had probably published more books on horse racing than any other publishing house; and didn't they have a stable at Dalemain too? He couldn't remember for sure, but it sounded likely.

"Who's that?" his mother asked, entirely too observant for Declan's taste.

"Really? You don't know who that is?" he responded incredulously. Leave it to his curse breaker mother not to recognise any of the stars and starlets of British high society. Normally, he wouldn't have minded her ignorance, but it irked him that she didn't know his best friend of many years. How could she have paid so little attention?

Declan let out a theatrical sigh. "That's Farren Ambercrombie-Rosier heiress to Abercrombie publishing."

His mother nodded vaguely, trying to place this new bit of information. "Snooty Farren?" she asked eventually. "As in that high strung girl you went to school with?"

Declan frowned. Where had she gotten that impression? "The very one."

"Well, as disagreeable as she might be, she's grown up into a fine young woman." Even though the words had clearly come out of his mother's mouth, they didn't sound like something Eithne O'Dwyer would usually say. Since when did she care about young ladies? Declan's frown deepened and he knitted his brows together.

"She's actually really nice. Maybe, a little standoffish at first, but..." He didn't quite know how he wanted to put it.

His mother, Eithne, meanwhile had handed his glass of punch back to Declan to take off her glasses and clean them with a soft cloth. "...you like her," she tried to finish the sentence for her son. Well, he supposed she was right, albeit 'like' was quite the understatement.

"Why don't I introduce you? I was thinking of inviting Farren round to Deilginis for tea. Unless you'd rather come up to Glenbally..."

"Not Glenbally," she interjected swiftly. "It's in no state to receive guests." Her seeming calm rather unnerved Declan. He never invited anybody for tea. Did his mother not notice how serious and unusual this was? Instead, she was worried about the estate at Glenbally. How ridiculous. Part of him wanted to tell her that Farren had already seen it, but of course that was a secret better kept to himself. It was hardly appropriate to have received a single lady without a chaperone. Though with Farren being a widow, it technically didn't matter.

"Anyway, shall we?"

His mother had put her glasses back on and nodded.

"Should we let your father know where we are going?"

Declan cast a quick glance to the promenade. Fintan O'Dwyer was still in animated discussion with Professor Montgomery and they would probably continue to be for the rest of the day. The two duelling professionals and aficionados weren't in any danger of running out of material for conversation.

"Oh I see, he's chewing Sid's ear off again." Eithne rolled her eyes. "It's a good thing we don't work together anymore or I'd never hear the end off it."

Declan snorted. "Let's make the most of it and enjoy the afternoon."

He offered his arm to his mother and she elegantly put her gloved hand on his forearm. Declan couldn't help but think that out of all the pureblood matriarchs in attendance she looked quite stunning. Eithne was a tall and slender woman and her sleeveless cream and green cummerbund dress fit her perfectly. The little green pillbox hat she had accessorised her outfit with contrasted sharply with her ash blonde hair. Declan himself matched her almost perfectly, wearing a dark green three-piece suit himself and of course the obligatory hat mandated by the dress code. It felt old fashioned even to him and he frequently looked as though he had time-travelled straight from the 1860s.

"Remember not to talk about work too much," Declan reminded his mother as they were almost at the tracks themselves.

"You're worse than you're father," Eithne muttered under her breath.

"You mean better," Declan quipped flippantly.

Before he knew it, his mother's elbow had embedded itself in his side and he gave a loud wince.

"You should keep your countenance in public, my dear son," she commented sweetly.

Oh Merlin, just what had he signed up for? Had Farren heard him wince? It didn't matter. They had arrived. Declan produced a little smile and bowed elegantly.

"Good afternoon, Farren. How do you do?" He could feel the hair on his arms standing up straight. It was very strange to be so formal and distant with her when only a few days ago they'd lain in the same bed discussing a future together. "Allow me to introduce my mother, Eithne O'Dwyer." The older woman gave a small smile.

"Well, it's nice to meet you. Are you enjoying the races?" The phrase sounded a little rehearsed. Mother and son were very much alike in not being very good with casual smalltalk.

[Farren Abercrombie]

The races were an exciting annual event that Farren usually looked forward to. However this year was turning out more odd than pleasant. Typically her family all sat in a box together and stayed there the majority of the day enjoying the races, drinking, gambling, and in general having as good a time as could be had in formal clothing and full public view.
For many various reasons this year everything had gone sideways. The Bennetts had largely left England for the summer on various holidays doubling as international business trips. The extended Abercrombie clan were attending local events in Scotland for some kind of village jubilee. Pyxis was somehow detained on some business from the ministry - taxation audit or something he'd shodily explained. Her grandfather for the first time owned multiple aethonan that had raced earlier in the day and most of his time thus far had been consumed with related business outside the box. Her mother and grandmother, though technically with them, had spent the majority of the day in the Lestrange family box with their little gang of Death Eater friends.

Farren and her father, Rawdon, had been sat in the box alone more than not. This left them vulnerable to constant social attack from anyone who pleased to wander past their box. While some of the company was welcome most of it was not. Rawdon despised most human contact and Farren hated being forced to converse with people she didn't know or care about for the sake of appearance alone. Business and social climbers stayed the longest and were the most annoying. Drinking their champagne and eating their fine foods, undoubtedly subject to lesser quality fare in their own seats. All in all neither of them were having very much fun and Farren was quite sure they'd end up in the Rosier box sooner rather than later. Better their company than none or the dull droning of upper middle class social climbers seated in some kind of company box.

"Rennie, didn't you go to school with this chap?" Rawdon asked absently as he thumbed through the program for today's races.

Farren leaned over looking over his shoulder. A picture of Lorcan O'Dwyer and his steed were on the page, moving slowly in a regal manner. Her father bringing up the O'Dwyers at all made her pulse quicken ever so slightly. Of course it made sense, Lorcan did this, professionally, but for a moment it made her wonder if all the security that had been forced on her house was not just external.

"No. The brother," she said simply looking away from the book hoping that would end this topic. Though now she was thinking, surely Declan was here. Obviously with them not being public it would have been impossible to attend together but she was now starting to think about all these things which plagued her about the burden of going public.

"Aha. Right," Rawdon said flipping the page to read Lorcan's odds in the betting guide, "Darren was it? No. Donald."

"Declan. His name is Declan," Farren responded curtly.

Rawdon chuckled, "Leave it to the bloody O'Dwyers to come up with a name more Irish than rubbish beer and a green potato."

Farren's eyebrow arched and she glanced sideways at her father. "Hilarious," she said softly with a little sigh, "Where is Pyxis when you need him to laugh at low punches at the Irish?"

He was amused with himself and reached out to pick up her wager slips she'd left on the ledge in front of them. Smirking a little he thumbed through them reviewing her bets, "Fifty galleons on Kiteworks Ferry? Farren, are you joking? His ods are 9/1, you're losing money there my dearest."

"I know. He's a rubbish mount but my friend Lottie Bulstrode's father owns him. Put a lot of family money into starting a abraxan program himself. She's all in as well. So...at least this way I can say I was supportive? It's just fifty galleons," Farren shrugged a little. It was a stupid wager but Lottie and her family were decent enough people and the kind that kept tabs on your level of dedication as a friend.

"Oy, leave it up to Fitzgibbons Bulstrode to put all his spare time into owning a rubbish horse," Rawdon said with a sly smirk.

"Part of a rubbish horse," Farren corrected him matter of factly. Her father laughed and threw back the remainder of his drink before slamming down his glass joyfully.

"Probably the rump, not even the good bit of the horse," he snarked, clearly deeply amused at his own jokes. Farren smiled, unable to not snigger at the low hanging fruit.

"As thrilled as I am to listen to you desmearch the Irish and other people's horses, I'm feeling a bit stiff. I think I'll go for a walk along the concourse before the next race," Farren rose from her seat and started pulling her little black lace gloves on. Per usual she was decked out in a stunning couture ensemble, a structural blue brocade midi skirt dress with an elegantly defined black bodice with wide shoulder straps. Her hair was done up neatly and simply, an elegant avant garde black hat perched on the side of her head. She'd accessorized with tasteful vintage topaz and citrine stone jewelry, the yellow citrine bringing a pop to the blue and black ensemble. Her father patted her hand, sending her on her merry way before waving over the poor house elf standing bored in the corner of the box to doll him out more drink.


Somehow when she was outside her box social rules seemed flipped. Why this was so she didn't understand but such was the case that as she moved along the concourse behind the boxes of prominent people she was not to be addressed by just anyone. It was assumed she was a lady on a mission, making a specified social call at another box or tending to personal needs. People nodded politely if they happened to catch each other's gaze as she passed but no one approached her directly. She made it down the stairs at the center of the elevated rows of boxes, descending to the lower concourse of the fancy boxes they sat in. This ledge provided a wide walkway, extending out over the cheaper seats below them where the spectators were forced to look upwards at the flying race action just above them. Along this wide concourse, the railing decorated with fine flowers and greenery, people could stand as close to the tracks as a spectator could safely get while still having a prime view.

People milled about here, chatting, drinking, and passing time between races. Thankfully with the early races well over and big events yet to come it was rather quiet and she easily found herself an isolated spot along the railing to gaze out into the space before her and stare at nothing or turn her gaze down to the cheap seats below her. She had entirely spaced out, fixated on the workers setting up the spells on the gates where the abraxan would load to start the race when she realized someone was closing in on her directly. Glancing over her shoulder she used the brim of her hat largely concealing her face to take stock of who was approaching her and if she should plan a swift move or not.

The figure was unmistakable, his walk and form instantly recognizable, even out of the corner of her eye. She turned to face him, beaming under the brim of her stylish hat, a warm, genuine smile. But he was with someone, escorting someone, for a second she panicked before quickly realizing who the woman with him was. Merlin's beard, was he mad? She wasn't sure if it was brilliant or daft to introduce her to his mother like this. Perhaps being in public in a neutral place was a wise choice but this was the way she'd meet literally anyone. Shouldn't they be meeting in private if she was to be introduced as the future Mrs. O'Dwyer? Was he having second thoughts? Her mind ran down ten tracks at once as they approached her. Certainly that was impossible. They were in love, she could feel it so certainly, he was setting up a longer play.

"Hello," she said in a silky pleasant voice as he greeted her. "I'm quite well thank you," she said, her eyes landing on his for a split second and she was sure she felt a kind of charge between them not too dissimilar from the magic in the air at the race park around them. His mother was elegant, stately even, she did not know much about her other than what she'd known in school. Curse breaker, stern seeming, and rather sharp looking in an elegant manner. "Mrs. O'Dwyer," she said, bowing her head and giving a tiny polite curtsy at the witch she knew would soon enough be her mother in law. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance ma'am," she smiled politely at her and nodded, "Indeed, I enjoy the races. My family are what I believe you might call 'horse people', grew up with them, love them very much, even if my childhood gelding is more of a pasture pony than not these days."

From under the brim of her hat she cautioned a quick glance at Declan. How would Mrs. O'Dwyer find her? Would she pass muster and win over a new mother in law? Surely she would, she was highly agreeable so far as mums went. "You both must be thrilled to be watching Lorcan later today. Declan has always said nice things about him."

[Declan O'Dwyer]

Farren Abercrombie. Eithne O'Dwyer looked the young woman in front of her over and found herself mildly surprised. She was fashionable, well put together and exactly the kind of woman her son Declan usually gave a wide berth. Not a family occasion went by without Declan pointing out just how tedious he found society and how much he despised young women and their shallow conversation. Clearly, this girl was an exception. It probably helped her case that she was quite beautiful and had fine, elegant features. Declan had always appreciated beauty.

And she was well spoken too. Perfectly polite and amiable and not at all what she had imagined a friend of her son's to be like. It was a pleasant surprise and much preferable to having a dry conversation with some stuffy scholar. Eithne smiled and comfortably continued to chat. "Oh, very much so. We're all so excited for him and of course we are all very proud no matter the outcome today. It's a great honour to be competing."

Declan meanwhile shifted his weight from one leg to the other and lightly bit his lower lip. Was this going well? He had no idea. What was his mother thinking and more importantly what was Farren making of the situation? This wasn't exactly planned and suddenly he started to worry that introducing Farren might have been a mistake. On the other hand, it was time that Farren got to know his family and his mother was probably one of the easier first meetings on their agenda. Meeting his father would likely be unpleasant and Farren's mother, well, she certainly had an interesting reputation.

"Is your grandfather pleased with how the races went earlier?" he asked Farren, though what he really wanted to know was if she was doing okay. He had to stop himself from reaching out to touch her hand. Even though it hadn't been long since they'd last seen each other, he'd missed her quite a lot. He very much wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but of course that was completely out of the question. They had an audience, which of course meant that everybody had to play their part flawlessly.

It was getting busier along the railing which probably meant another race would start soon.

"Who is up next?" Eithne asked, trying to elegantly step out of the way of a middle-aged gentleman who was attempting to squeeze past them.

"Not sure," Declan had to confess. "I left the program up in the box, but I think it's the one for the older fillies. Did you place a bet?"

"Maybe," Eithne hesitated. "I just checked a couple of the boxes at random. I do remember one was called Kiteworks Ferry."

Declan sighed. "You mean you just made a kind donation to the bookmaker," he joked. "And how about you Farren, who are your favourites for the afternoon? I'd not be surprised if Blue Zephyr did well."

Declan's mother gestured with her hands, trying to interrupt the conversation. "Oh, let's not talk about horses. You know I only care about how Lorcan is going to do." She gave Farren a bit of a conspiring wink and leaned closer. "So, has my son told you where he is spending all his time lately? He's blown me off for lunch twice. I'm starting to think he might be up to something." Her tone was cheerful and teasing, clearly trying her luck at extracting some information while presented with an opportunity to potentially do so.

[Farren Abercrombie]

Farren smiled politely and nodded as Mrs. O'Dwyer gushed over her younger son. She wasn't sure what she'd expected but it wasn't this. Then again perhaps this is exactly what Declan meant when he said Lorcan was preferred? Did his mother gush over him this way? Was she just as proud that he was a potions genius as she was that her other child was a sportsman? Mentally she made a note of this, if she was going to be part of this family she had to learn the way it worked. Even if Declan swore their opinions hardly mattered and everyone was always fighting it mattered a great deal to Farren. She had every intention of running their homes, their family, their lives as successfully as humanly possible - that meant understanding the games she would be playing.

Nodding she looked over at Declan, "Indeed, quite pleased, his filly won her race. He's buying a colt this afternoon I believe, I am starting to think in his retirement he shall take up an all new profession in horses and winged horse racing. There is certainly space for them at Dalemain in Cumbria." It was so tempting to be this close to him. A brush of her hand against his wouldn't be hard to make look accidental but would not come close to satisfying what she wanted.

Scowling slightly at the way people began stepping so close to them as to force Mrs. O'Dwyer out of their way Farren glanced up at her family's nearly empty box. Her father was sitting alone, drink in hand, it would be easy to ask them back to the box but that would certainly be too much too soon wouldn't it? Afterall her father was several drinks in and making jokes about horse asses and potatoes. While he was well trained enough to conduct himself perfectly respectably under most circumstances this was too risky to leave it up to him running out of stupid puns and having not yet consumed an entire bottle of whisky.

"If I remember correctly it'll be the half mile sprint for the two year old fillies," Farren suggested quite certain she was actually right. When Mrs. O'Dwyer mentioned Kiteworks Ferry she couldn't help but snicker. Pursing her lips she bowed her head smirking, "I'm sorry, I just couldn't help myself, my father's reaction to Kiteworks Ferry was equally harsh. Her odds are quite terrible but I am good friends with the daughter of the part owner of Kiteworks so I felt obligated to place a bet out of support. I'm afraid I will never see those Galleons again."

Smiling with a sort of sympathetic appreciation for Mrs. O'Dwyer she grinned with gritted teeth as Declan asked about her bet choices. "Well...I'm afraid my style of betting is quite similar to your mothers. I put a lot on the favorites and a little on the worst prospects for most of the races. Quite a poor strategy I suppose but who has time to worry about such details when race days are so busy?"

It was certainly a relief when Mrs. O'Dwyer moved to change the subject. While she knew all there was to possibly know about country horses and the horse habits of gentry when it came to proper sporting she was a social spectator at best. She was surprised when Mrs. O'Dwyer winked at her and gave her a grin, it would be too obvious to glance at Declan and make sure he saw what was going on, he surely did, knowing him he was on pins and needles watching every twitch either of them made.

The question was deeply amusing though. She couldn't help but smile, her eyes flickering to Declan. "Oh my...." she said arching her eyebrow. Looking back at Mrs. O'Dwyer she spotted her opportunity. Leaning closer to the woman, mirroring her conspiratorial expression, she smirked. "I'll be honest Mrs. O'Dwyer, I haven't the foggiest of where he'd be going during lunch time, very curious indeed." It was true, she hardly saw him during the day time, but she was willing to bet not so long ago he would work late into the evening. Now she was occupying those evenings more and more. How amusing it would be to shock them both -- Well Ma'am, you see, since he is now spending his evenings in my bed kissing and touching me he's taken to working more through lunch to make up for lost evening work time. Perhaps it wouldn't be so poorly recieved? Perhaps Mrs. O'Dwyer would be thrilled her son finally had found a woman and could start producing grandchildren for her? Who knew, she was unsure what to fully make of the woman yet.

"Declan, what in the world could be so important you'd stand up your own mother? If I ever have a son I can think of nothing more devastating than him standing up his beloved mummy for lunch. Your poor mother," her tone was light and clearly teasing.

Smiling at Mrs. O'Dwyer she giggled a little. "She must be quite fascinating whomever she is, to keep him from your company ma'am. Either that or he's coming up with something truly genius in his workshop. Hard to say which is more likely."


"Which reminds me, I never had that full write up of your shops put into the Prophet as I'd promised, I'll have to come by soon to arrange it all. Though, not if it disrupts your mystery plans or lunch dates with your mother," she smiled sweetly at him.

"I don't know if you know much about me ma'am, but I am the culture and arts editor at the Prophet. Quite unconventional I'm sure but after my late husband's passing I had to come up with something constructive to do. I've previously studied with and played professionally with the European Magical Conservatory Orchestra based in Austria. Naturally with my background and the many finer arts, fashion, and cultural skills required of ladies in society the Prophet job has been a perfect use of my free time."

There. It was all out. Farren knew she played well with parents, she'd been trained to do so since birth. However her life story was rather eventful for someone not yet thirty. Most in England knew she was Clive Rosier's widow and all of that lot but Mrs. O'Dwyer was not so much a London socialite. Either way it was all out now for her to judge. Though, Farren knew apart from subjective preferences there was nothing for the older woman to dislike.

[Declan O'Dwyer]

"It only counts as standing you up if I agreed to attend in the first place," Declan protested. "And I most certainly didn't. You know the business needs me, especially now that grandfather is trying to cut down on his workload."

He could tell that his mother wasn't listening to a word he was saying. She seemed more interested in studying Farren's expression and her answers. An amused chuckle escaped her when Farren speculated that a woman had entered her son's life. Could that be?

"Oh, do you think a young lady is to blame? I didn't know anyone had taken his interest since that Russian ballerina."

Declan winced. Farren really didn't need to hear about this. Would she be jealous? Well, he supposed she knew that he hadn't been a monk in the last ten years, but it was still uncomfortable to hear his mother bring up a former relationship of his. Was she testing if Farren would betray some kind of reaction? It was a distinct possibility in his mind. While Eithne O'Dwyer often played innocent, she was well capable of a bit of intrigue.

"How about lunch next week?" Declan attempted to deflect, but it seemed Farren was coming to his rescue already telling his mother about her work. Eithne seemed visibly delighted at what she was hearing.

"I'm ever glad to hear," she said to Farren and gave her a warm smile. "There are too few of us witches making an impact in the workplace. Why should we leave all the glory to the men when we are their equal in every single respect and, well, their superior in a good number of things." All things considered, she quite liked this woman and was beginning to understand how she might have befriended her son. Declan had always been interested in the arts and, clearly, she was an expert on the subject.

Something though gave her pause. "You don't play anymore?" Yes, Farren had definitely said 'played' -  in the past. "What made you give it up?" She had an inkling that it was probably related to that late husband of hers. The notion bugged Eithne, but it was common story in their social circle. Good for Farren that she had reclaimed a part of her independence of ambition.

"What instrument do you play?" Eithne asked while trying to remember if Declan had told her before. Probably. She knew she was terrible at remembering what her son told. "Perhaps, you'd care to join us in Dublin some time. Declan's father is quite the pianist."

Declan shifted uncomfortably. Even though he'd instigated this, he felt nervous at the idea of Farren meeting his father. It was bound to go poorly.

[Farren Abercrombie]

Farren couldn't help but smirk when his mum said Declan hadn't taken a fancy since the Russian ballerina. Her eyes darted to Declan with a mischevious glint behind them. "Really? An heir and a communist, I can see why that didn't end up in marriage," she said arching her eyebrow slightly, teasing him. Lucky for Declan his mum seemed genuinely curious about her job at the Prophet and previous career and schooling with the orchestra. He lucked out this time but she would be bringing up this Russian at some point.


Farren smiled politely. She knew that many women had started to feel the way Mrs. O'Dwyer did about ladies working. While she certainly agreed that women were equal to if not better than men in many, really most, things it was not her goal in life to work of have a career per say. Sitting at home all day was dreadfully boring when one was a single woman be it a maiden or widow. She needed something to fill her time. Once she was married and had children and multiple house holds to run she assumed work would cease to be her primary duty. Once she was married her primary duty would be to manager her family into the most advantageous places in society she could put them. Ensuring her offspring inherited as much as she could personally accumulate for them, landed in the most prominent positions possible, and had as much sway over society as possible. She wasn't about to say that here though, Mrs. O'Dwyer clearly had strong feelings about this.


"Well....no I don't have the occasion to play professionally very often anymore," she answered with a hint of intentional solemnity. Mrs. O'Dwyer clearly had feelings about this and she was happy to play along. Of course there was some genuine sadness in this. She more than anyone realized how ridiculous was to make it to the highest level of something extremely difficult and then just stop doing it. It was her fingers that had bled to the bone every week for two years in conservatory. It was she who had spent hours learning the most difficult and complex of spells to repair and maintain her priceless collection of violins. It was hundreds, probably thousands of hours of her life spent on this but marriage had always been her first duty. The music and orchestra were just something respectful to do while she'd waited for a husband in the eyes of all those around her.

"I married about a year after finishing conservatory. The European Magical Orchestra has quite a demanding international schedule. My late husband didn't find it agreeable with our married life for me to retain my seat. He played Quidditch professionally and was on the English national team as well, so his own travel schedule was rigorous. If I'd stayed with the orchestra we might have only seen each other one weekend a month or so." In retrospect she would have preferred that.

"I play the violin as my specialty. I also specialized in composition with piano and stings, so really, I suppose I can play almost anything with a string on it I'm asked to." 

"I'd be delighted to join you in Dublin anytime you'd please Ma'am," she said a hint of glee in her tone. She dared a glance of Declan that was almost triumphant. Then she dared to take it even a step further, "I'd be honored to give Mr. O'Dwyer some pointers and feedback if it'd please him. Might as well put that conservatory education to use where I can," her tone was so sweet it was impossible to think she meant any slight to Declan's father but for his own benefit and amusement she most certainly meant just that. At least she hoped that watching his future wife play his father under the table and through the floor would please him immensely.

"Now I better understand Declan's appreciation for the classics at least. He was always incredibly tolerant of me playing the same concerto over and over and over again while he diligently studied for actual classes we were in at Hogwarts. I'm sure deep down he was desperate to find another empty room to work in but didn't want to hurt my feelings."

[Declan O'Dwyer]

Declan still didn't know how to feel about all of this. On the one hand it seemed to be going well, but on the other he felt somewhat mortified. His father was an amateur musician at best, and yet his mother made it sound like he was a great talent. It would forever remain a mystery to Declan how a woman as educated and independent as his mother could be so enamoured with his father. It didn't seem to make any sense, but he supposed that love rarely did.

"Why don't you come by next week," Declan suggested. "Deilginis is beautiful this time of year and of course my parents' estate is situated very happily right at the sea front. It's quite different to Glenbally." Oh, maybe he'd just said too much, but if his mother had noticed she certainly didn't show any indication of it. Instead she nodded enthusiastically, pleasantly surprised that her son didn't seem opposed to a social get together.

"If Thursday suits you I think that would be lovely," she continued. "My husband should be back from his tournament in France. It's one of the qualifying rounds for the world championship so we're hoping for a successful season." Declan wanted to roll his eyes at her words. While he didn't think much of his father, there was no denying he was a force of nature any time he stepped onto the duelling platform. There really wasn't much of a chance that he wouldn't qualify. And he'd probably tell Farren and him all about it when they visited. In great detail. Merlin have mercy!

Another patron squeezed past, accidentally bumping into Declan.

Eithne gave the man a rather unimpressed look. "Perhaps, we should retire to our box. Farren, if you are here by yourself, would you care to join us for the rest of the afternoon? Obviously we don't want to keep you from friends and family, but you'd be very welcome with us."

Declan nodded, torn between wanting this to be over and somewhat enjoying the moment. Farren seemed to get on with his mother, so why not let them have some more time together? He didn't like how nervous this was making him feel though. Despite his frequent claims that he didn't care what his family had to say, he was certainly concerned about it now. What would his mother say later on when they were alone? Would she approve of Farren? He supposed her inviting Farren was a good sign.

"I would be happy as well," Declan pitched in. Unlike his mother he thought it was fairly likely Farren would decline. There was next to no chance that she was attending on her own. Casting a surreptitious glance around he was sure he could see her mother in one of the boxes having an in-depth conversation with one of the Rosiers. Sooner or later he'd have to meet her and deal with her expectations, but he hoped to avoid doing so today.