For some reason, Van has recently become a bigger part of my brother’s life. Invitations that were once gracefully turned down are now accepted. Lately, I can’t turn around without someone mentioning something he said or did. Or worse, turning around and setting eyes on him.
Back in the ballroom, I do a lap, stopping now and again to exchange small talk. And to surreptitiously look for my sons under the table linens. By the way they’re behaving lately, anything is possible. I compliment the color of a politician’s wife’s god-awful dress and make sure a long-distance uncle has his whisky topped up.
“Isla, my girl! Such a lovely, lovely name. Your father named you after Islay, of course.”
I smile tightly and nod. It’s more likely he couldn’t spell Lagavulin. My father liked whisky as fish like water. He named Alexander after himself and me after the island where his favorite tipple is distilled. If that doesn’t tell you about his parenting style, nothing else will. Not that my mother was much better. Never mind. At least they provided me with a wonderful parenting barometer. I only need to ask myself, “what would they do?” and then I do the opposite.
“It’s a pity your parents weren’t here to see you both settled,” he adds, staring morosely into his glass.
“I suppose I could get someone to drag them up from the mausoleum.”
“What?” Uncle Gerome blinks back at me. He looks like a wrinkled toddler.
“I said I’m sure Alexander would be happy to see ’em.” I smile widely, imagining just that. I’m sure they’d love the attention, dead or not. They’d probably insist on dragging their ghostly lovers along, of course.
Leaving the old codger, I dodge a couple of invitations to dance. And I do so with a smile on my face and resignation in my heart. No more dances for me. No more men. I need to concentrate on my family and my business, in that order.
“What are ye doin’ out here?”
On the way down to the basement kitchens, I turn to the sound of Chrissy’s voice. Some people refer to Chrissy as the housekeeper, when the reality is she’s the backbone of the castle. The person who knows where everything is, from the good linens to where the bodies are buried. And considering the castle is hundreds of years old, I don’t mean that figuratively.
“I was looking for the boys.” She seeks them here. She seeks them there. She seeks them every-bloody-where. In a castle this size, the game could go on for hours. “You haven’t seen them about, have you?”
“Aye. They’re watching something called The Goonies in the Great Hall.”
“How did that come about?”
“Holly, I mean her grace, said—”
“If Holly wants to be called Holly rather than Holland, her grace, the Duchess of Dalforth, who are we to go against her wishes?” Though I’ve begun to call her Holland rather than Holly just because Sandy does. It’s a bit more dignified. Like a hat she wears that doesn’t really suit her. God, I love her.
“But his grace—”
“Is far too clever a man to go against his wife’s wishes. Happy wife, happy life,” I add with a small shrug.
“Ah, well,” she answers with an amused twist to her lips, “his grace’s wife, her grace, dragged the old projector from the castle’s education center. Then she put up a tent with dozens of pillows and some sleepin’ bags. She told the wee ones that they could have their own party because a wedding was bound to get boring after a while and that The Goonies is a cult classic that every cool kid needs to watch at least twice. Then she asked Mari to keep an eye on them.”
I smile to myself. And here I thought she’d spent the day being pampered. Holland really is a gem. She’ll be a wonderful mother, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that happening sooner rather than later. At least, I hope so. Babies are so delicious. Especially when you can hand them back after a cuddle.
“She even suggested young Archie bring his football and set up the goal at the far end of the hall.”
Oof. Holly is kind and sweet and all kinds of wonderful. But I’m not sure she fully understands the gravity of her new situation. Not marriage to my brother—she’s a natural at that. I meant as guardian of Kilblair Castle. The current keeper of all its history. But she’ll get there.
Meanwhile…
“That doesn’t sound like the best of plans. One wrong kick and we’ll be trying to fit those suits of armor back for weeks.” Like a bag of mismatched Legos.
“You know this from experience, I ken.” Chrissy smirks.
“Sadly, so do I.” Alexander and I were spanked with a slipper by our father for knocking one over years and years ago.