Lord, I don’t know. I don’t know anything!
I side my phone out from my pocket and flick to last night’s text exchange with my sister. Maybe it’s not my fault I’m terrible. Maybe it’s in my DNA.
Do you think being easy is a learned behaviour? Or could it be in the genes?
Her reply? I don’t have time for your existential crisis right now.
Kennedy hates talking about our mother. But that’s not the reason behind her harsh answer, so I make a mental note to call her this evening.
But seriously, could this be my issue? Maybe I just didn’t realise I had this in me. This disregard for what’s right. What’s healthy. Maybe this really is just selfishness.
“Holland?” My name precedes a light knock on my door. “It’s Isla. Do you have a minute?”
My stomach twists a little as I make for the door and swing it open. Would she be happy to leave me with her sons if she knew what I’d gotten up to with her brother last night?
“Sure, come in. Is everything okay?” I’d thought this weekend she’d looked less tired than she had before. Which is odd given the whirlwind of guests she’d hosted. Looking at the dark circles under her eyes, I’m wondering now if she’s just a whizz with was makeup.
“I’ve just spoken with Sandy.” My stomach flips, even if I can’t get used to hearing him called Sandy. It’s just far too cute a name for someone like him. His nickname should be something like Thor. Or Apollo. Except, I already have Apollo under my bed and his tiny penis and testicles in my nightstand. So not to Alexander scale.
“I’m so sorry, Holland.” The sound of Isla’s voice brings me back to the moment. She touches my arm before stepping into the room. “I don’t quite know how to tell you this,” she says, coming to a stop at the tall fireplace.
I know what’s coming, but I can’t tell her that. Because then I might need to explain that I saw Alexander, and then my cheeks will go red, and then this poor woman will know exactly what has gone on between the two of us. Again.
“I saw Sandy this morning, and he told me he’s not going back to London as planned. He’s given me some ridiculous reason about needing to be here for some survey or other, which is total rubbish.” She gives a frustrated huff, and I get the impression she might like to punch something. “Men can be such arseholes,” she fumes.
You’re preaching to the choir, sister. Also, now I know exactly which man she’d like to punch. Spoiler: it’s not her brother.
“What I said about sexual misconduct,” she begins carefully. “I didn’t mean to give you the impression that he might behave in that way.”
I wave away her words. “I know. He’s not that guy.” But maybe I’m that girl, so if you see him running through the hallways with his pants around his knees, keep an eye out for me coming up shortly behind him.
“He’s not.” He’s only responding to the signals I’m throwing out, my mind unhelpfully amends. And that is the root of our problem. “His opinion is that our family name has suffered more than its fair share of infamy.” Detailed on the Wikipedia page, I don’t add. Though strangely enough, there’s very little available on the internet about the current duke.
“It must be hard,” I agree, knowing already what it means to have people talking about your family. How it feels personally.
“He certainly feels it. He would do almost anything to keep us out of the press. Most families such as ours have at least one notorious ancestor. It beggars belief that ours seemed hell-bent collectively on besting their predecessor.”
“Except for the current duke.”
“Exactly. That’s why I know he’ll behave with honour towards you because Sandy has broken the family mould.” But then her eyes slide from mine. “Though I do worry what my divorce will mean to this.”
Oh, so she’s definitely made up her mind. Good for her.
“Whatever it means, you know he’ll stand by you.”
“In front, more like,” She smiles wryly. “Although my brother frustrates the life out of me sometimes, and apart from the fact he does have a tendency to think he knows better than anyone else, he is undoubtedly the best man I know. The best brother, the best uncle. The best duke this family has ever known, certainly. But my husband is a very unpleasant man, and he knows exactly how hard Sandy has worked to restore the estates and our name . . .” Her words trail off, her attention turning inward.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. We’ll both be fine.” I’m not sure where the reassurance comes from. Maybe it’s wishful thinking.
“Fingers crossed, I’ll find someone to help with the boys soon.” Her brief smile seems a little sad.