Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Iam glad our journey is over,” Isla said quietly.
She sighed as the coach came to a final halt in front of the door to the manor, leaning her head against the velvet cushion.
Benedict reached across the small gap to lay his hand briefly over Isla’s, running his fingers on her palm. “London has its uses, but I much prefer the country as well.”
“Thank goodness! As much as I loved London and our walks in the city, and of course the theatre, I missed my room and my toys!” Oliver said as he hurried out of the carriage with help from the footman.
“Let us head inside. I think you will be quite happy with what you find there,” Benedict whispered to Isla.
“Whatever do ye mean?” She asked curiously.
“You will see,” he said as the massive oak doors of the main entrance swung open, revealing the high, vaulted ceiling and grandeur of the foyer.
It was usually a cold, echoing space, lined with stern portraits of Dukes and duchesses past. Yet today, the atmosphere was different.
Clustered in the center of the vast hall, looking wonderfully familiar in this new place, was Isla’s family and Benedict’s friend, Lord Murkwood.
“And I told the bloody arse, if ye cannae listen to reason, I will show ye reason with me own two hands!” Callum said to Lord Murkwood.
Eilidh stood near them listening, her face radiant with youthful health and the kind of good cheer the holidays bring.
Lastly, standing stiffly apart yet unable to suppress a pleased smile at their entrance, was her Aunt Honoria.
Isla gasped, pulling her hand free from Benedict’s as she hurried toward them. Before a single footman could move, Callum spotted them crossing the threshold and clapped his hands together.
“Isla! Ye sly thing! Ye snuck in on us!” Callum’s voice boomed through the hall. He took quick strides and swept his sister into a bone-crushing hug. “Some duchess!”
“Callum! Ye are crushin’ me stays, ye great lummox!” Isla laughed, clutching him tightly, tears of joy springing to her eyes. “It is so nice to see ye all here!”
Eilidh rushed over to her, her face alight. “Oh, look at ye! We wanted to surprise ye… but it was all His Grace’s idea.”
“Was it now?” Isla said, bringing her hands to her cheeks.
Benedict, who had been removing his gloves, stopped, a genuine smile touching his lips. The sight of Isla engulfed in her brother’s bear hug, her laughter loud and unrestrained, was all he had hoped for. He watched the joyous chaos with deep satisfaction.
“Is it true?” Isla said with a wide grin, pulling back from Callum just enough to look up at her husband. “Did ye really invite them early just to surprise me?”
He nodded without a word.
At that moment, Aunt Honoria hurried forward to embrace her niece with the customary kiss on each cheek, then turned to the Duke.
“Your Grace, I am so pleased you have arrived safely! Are you quite sure it is all right that we arrived early? You must be so tired and in need of some rest!”
“It is an excellent surprise for my wife, Lady Honoria. And one I planned,” Benedict said, his tone dismissing any staff inconvenience. “We will be ready for dinner this evening after a wash up.”
“Of course,” Aunt Honoria replied. “I should have no doubts!”
Benedict turned to Kenneth and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “My Lord, I trust the wine cellar survived your inspection?”
“It is intact, Your Grace,” Kenneth replied with a laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Barely, but intact. I secured several bottles for tonight that would melt ice from the most stubborn heart.”
“Good,” Benedict said.
“It is a great joy to see you, Oliver,” Kenneth said as the boy approached him with a wide grin. “Oh wait! Is this the first time you are meeting Her Grace’s family?”
Oliver, who had been observing the flurry of activity with a mixture of shyness and curiosity from the periphery, suddenly registered the question.
A spark of recognition flashed in his eyes.
Benedict knew that Isla had told him all about her beloved brother and sister.
He ran straight to her, his small boots echoing on the marble floor as he ignored the marquess.
“Is it really you, Lady Eilidh!” he exclaimed, his shyness dissolving instantly as he hobbled to her. “Wow!”
“It sure is, sweet lad! I have heard so much about ye in me sister’s letters! I wish we had been able to meet ye formally in London, but ye hadnae attended the party with their graces!”
“Me too! Oh! Did you know that I get to ride my pony again! His name is Atlas, and he’s very, very fast! I am very good at riding horses now that Isla helps me. She told me that you like to ride horses, too!”
“I surely do—”
“Oh! And Isla says you can teach me how to play shinty, Lord Callum!” He said as he looked up over at the towering figure of Callum, his small face alight.
“That is all so wonderful!” Eilidh beamed, kneeling gracefully to take his small hands in hers as she also looked up at her brother. “We must take Atlas out first thing tomorrow before the snow comes back, and I am sure Callum will be happy to help ye!”
“Aye, I shall tell ye all about the best shinty sticks,” Callum said as he clapped the lad on the back, the force of it making Oliver stumble only slightly.
“I feel as if we will all be great friends. I would be happy to play with ye, but ye must be quick. Shinty is not for wee English lads who are afraid of a bit of a scrape!”
Oliver puffed out his chest. “I am not afraid!”
Benedict smiled at the man who ordinarily irritated him on the best of days with his loudness and lack of regard for proper etiquette.
He was slowly learning to put more faith in his son’s abilities and not limit him out of fear.
Here, though, on his own ground, he was simply a source of warmth and laughter.
The sight of his son, Oliver, blossoming instantly under the attention of his wife’s family, and so fast, was a source of pride.
Perhaps I have done well with the lad…
No, this was what Isla brought to their lives. An uncomplicated joy without pretense. He stepped forward, putting a possessive arm around his wife’s shoulder and pulling her close into him, drawing the eyes of her family.
“I believe this house has needed a decent shinty lesson for a very long time,” Benedict announced, his voice carrying clearly over the fading noise. “Welcome to Ealdwick, all of you. Now, let’s have that wine, Lord Murkwood, and prepare for a proper, though likely loud, supper.”
The next hour was a flurry of activity as the Duke and Duchess settled in, and the household prepared for a grand family dinner.
The staff, accustomed to the Duke’s quiet, disciplined routine, were thrown into a delightfully hectic scramble, fetching hot water and making fires in every available room for their assorted guests to ensure comfort.
Isla was ushered into her personal suite by Mrs. Callahan, where a roaring fire offered a comforting welcome. Lydia was also waiting, ready to attend to her every need.
“Aye, much as I was well cared for in London, I missed ye assistance, Margie,” Isla said with a smile.
“And I you, Your Grace,” she said with a smile.
“I will leave you to it, Margie,” Mrs. Callahan said with a smile. “And welcome back Your Grace.”
As her maid helped her out of her traveling clothes, she felt the last of the London stiffness melt away.
Oh, how I missed the country air…
Aunt Honoria entered then with a soft knock and held up a newly acquired silk gown of rich, deep blue.
“This will do nicely for you, my dear. It is Venetian silk. A duchess must look the part, even when receiving her… more rustic relatives.”
“Aye, Aunt,” Isla said with a smile. “It is a most beautiful gown indeed. Thank ye.”
The dress was magnificent, the color bringing out the auburn highlights in her dark blonde hair, and the rich weight of the fabric settled on her shoulders like a mantle of happiness.
As the maid finished the last of her fastening, a light knock sounded. “Isla? May I come in?”
It was Benedict.
“Aye, Yer Grace. Come in.”
He entered and stopped, his eyes fixed on her. He had changed into formal black attire, looking every inch the powerful, handsome Duke. Her breath hitched in her throat at the sight of him so perfectly coiffed, her thoughts instantly thinking of how fun it would be to see him disheveled.
“You are breathtaking, my duchess,” he said. “Is this the gown your aunt got for you?”
“Thank you, Yer Grace. The color is very fine and aye.”
“It was my pleasure, Your Graces,” Aunt Honoria said with a knowing smile. “A small gift for your hospitality.”
He crossed the room and offered her his arm, his gaze holding Isla’s. “I confess, I had forgotten how much life your family brings to you. It is quite astonishing.”
“We are happy to be of service, Your Grace,” Aunt Honoria said with a small curtsy and nursing a small flute of champagne, as she often did before supper.
“It is a welcome thing after weeks of polite society,” she said, her heart swelling with affection.
“Indeed. Shall we?
Isla took his arm, and Aunt Honoria took his other.
Together, the trio exited the room and descended the grand staircase toward the warm, unmistakable sound of unrestrained Scottish laughter.
“Are they always this loud?” Benedict asked Aunt Honoria.
“Does the pope wear a funny hat, Your Grace?”
“Just as I thought.”