A vast building rose in stately splendor amidst intricate formal knot gardens. The flowerbeds were bare and frost-touched at this time of year, but the low hedges were still immaculately pruned into eye-waveringly complex mazes. The setting sun glittered from dozens upon dozens of tall, elegant windows, and gilded the warm yellow stones of the ancient manor house.
If it was a manor house. Quite possibly it was technically a castle. It had honest-to-God turrets.
Speechless, Ivy stared from the towering building to Hugh. He looked moderately embarrassed, as if he’d just been forced to reveal that he had foot fungus.
“My real name is Hugh Montgomery Fitzroy Silver,” he said as they passed under an ornate archway with huge, open iron gates topped with a heraldic crest. “And my father is the fourteenth Earl of Hereford.”
Chapter 15
We should have told her, Hugh’s unicorn murmured reproachfully.
You think I don’t know that? Hugh retorted in annoyance as he helped Ivy carry Hope’s wheelchair up the steep front steps and into the manor house.
He’d been fretting for the past fifty miles about how to break the news. Oh, by the way, when you meet my parents you should technically address them as Lord and Lady Hereford wasn’t exactly an easy thing to drop into casual conversation. Especially not when he’d been trying to avoid thinking about what going back home was going to mean. In the end, his mounting dread had kept him tongue-tied until the absolute last minute.
He watched anxiously as Hope and Ivy stared around the cavernous entrance hall, trying to gauge their expressions. Hope looked frankly shell-shocked. Ivy maintained a better poker face, but she had a death-grip on the handlebars of Hope’s wheelchair, as if she was having to lean on it for support.
“Now that is a Christmas tree,” Hope said faintly, staring up at the twenty-foot gold-decked monstrosity that took pride of place between the two sweeping curves of the double staircase.
“It’s too early,” Ivy muttered. “By Christmas Day, that sucker’s going to be bare twigs and a mountain of needles.”
“Oh, my dear, this one is just for show,” said a familiar voice. “We always replace it with another one for Christmas itself.”
“Mother,” Hugh said warmly, stepping forward to take her outstretched hands.
Her familiar lilac perfume enfolded him as she kissed his cheek. “Welcome home, my son.”
As always, the touch of her long, elegant fingers sent an odd vibration through his own. It wasn’t uncomfortable, precisely; just a disconcerting awareness of deeply-buried but still powerful energies, something like walking over a cold, dormant volcano.
It was probably odd to be disappointed by the fact that one’s own mother was still celibate.
Not that he wanted her to give him a migraine, but he did want her to be happy—whether it was with his father or not. Preferably not, in fact.
But judging by his mother’s touch and aura, she was still living like a nun. With a slight sigh, Hugh released her hands with a parting squeeze.
“Thank you for accommodating us at such short notice,” he said.
“This is your house as much as ours, Hugh. You’re the future fifteenth Earl, after all.” She looked past him at Ivy and Hope. “Won’t you introduce me to your…friends?”
Hugh noticed the slight hesitation, and the small crease that appeared between her eyebrows as she looked Ivy in particular up and down. He’d never brought anyone back to the estate before, let alone an undeniably beautiful young woman. Even though he hadn’t told his mother what Ivy truly meant to him, she was fully capable of reading between the lines.
His unicorn stamped a hoof in irritation. Our dam should not have to infer the truth. We should not be trying to hide our mate. She is our mate! We should proclaim that to the whole world with pride!
Oh, shut up, he snapped back. I’m not ashamed of Ivy. It’s just…private.
It would only worry his mother if he told her that he’d found his mate. She knew all too well what it meant.
Plus, it might lead to a discussion of feelings, and that was just too mortifying to contemplate.
“This is Hope, the girl that I’m treating,” he said. “And this is her sister and caretaker, Ivy.”
Damn. Despite his best efforts, his voice had softened on Ivy’s name. His mother cast him a sharp sideways glance, her eyebrows drawing down still further. Her forehead smoothed out as she turned back to her guests, though, her perfect hostess smile sliding back into place.
“Hugh mentioned that you were, shall we say, in something of a predicament,” his mother said to Ivy and Hope. “You are of course very welcome to stay here for as long as you like. Though,” she added, her gaze flicking down over Hope’s wheelchair, “I am afraid that this house is not the most accessible of buildings. I do hope you will not be too inconvenienced. Is there anything I can do to make your visit more comfortable, Hope?”
Hope stared up at his mother in tongue-tied awe. She looked as though the Queen herself had inquired after her well-being. Her wide eyes flicked to him, silently begging for rescue.
“I’m sure we’ll be f