Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The grand dining room of the Ealdwick townhouse was bathed in the soft, wintry light filtering through tall, arched windows.
A crisp, white linen tablecloth draped the long mahogany table, set with gleaming silver and porcelain plates.
The air was filled with the comforting scents of freshly baked bread and strong coffee.
Benedict sat at the head of the table, looking notably less guarded than the previous day, yet kept his eyes carefully averted from Isla, who sat at the opposite end.
Oliver, on the other hand, was full of energy, spreading butter on a crumpet as he sat next to Matthew.
Across from them sat Hugo and Elspeth, with baby Fiona casually nestled in her arms.
“Matthew said Fiona can already smile!” Oliver declared, his voice a little loud as he looked to his newfound friend.
“It’s true,” Matthew said as he grabbed himself another crumpet and took the butter from Oliver. “Do you think she smiles just for me, Father?”
Hugo smiled at his son. “I am quite certain of it, Matthew. You have a very winning way about you. And I believe you will be an excellent teacher of noises, which she loves to imitate.”
“She really seemed quite taken with ye too, Master Oliver,” Elspeth said with a smile as she sipped on her coffee. “It was quite nice of ye to ask us to breakfast, Yer Graces.”
“The pleasure is ours and aye, everyone smiles for Master Oliver,” Isla confirmed with a wink. “And cooing is quite a feat, indeed. You’ll have to tell us more about it.”
A comfortable conversation fell as they ate, punctuated by the clink of silverware. Benedict watched Isla for a moment, her brow knitted in thought as she took a sip of her tea.
“I was up quite late last night, after we arrived back,” Isla finally said, setting down her cup. “I was thinking about the Arrowfells and all the lovely talk of the New Year. It has put an idea in my head, Your Grace.”
Benedict paused with a fork halfway to his mouth. “Oh? And what sort of idea would that be, Isla? Something to do with the new book Her Grace mentioned?”
“This is most intriguing,” Elspeth said.
Isla shook her head. “Better than a novel. I think we should host a ball here,” she announced. “A true, grand ball in the spring and to cement our place back in London society. It is the perfect time, with everyone returned from their holidays. It will be a statement.”
Oliver’s eyes widened, forgetting his crumpet. “A ball? Will there be music and sweets, Isla?!”
“Music and sweets and dancing, mo chridhe,” Isla said, patting his hand. “We will have the finest fiddlers, and a feast, and everyone in their best clothes.
“Oh, grand!” Oliver whispered, already imagining it.
“And the Arrowfells will be our guests of honor, for welcoming me so kindly in my new role as Duchess.” Isla turned her full attention to Benedict then, an expectant tilt to her head. “What say ye, husband? It is nay a grand idea for next year?”
Benedict observed her, the slight flush of enthusiasm on her cheeks. His initial impulse to refuse was now heavily tempered by his desire to provide a stable, social life for his son and to honor the woman who had protected his dignity yesterday.
“A ball,” Benedict repeated slowly, considering the logistics. “It is an immense undertaking, Isla, and we are not generally known for hosting grand events at Ealdwick. My calendar is already... complicated.”
“Aye, but that is the beauty of it,” Isla countered, leaning forward conspiratorially. “It will surprise everyone. I can handle the arrangements, the invitations, the catering—all of it. You only must stand beside me and nod occasionally.”
Hugo chuckled from across the table as he poured himself more coffee.
“She has you there, Your Grace. Elspeth makes the same argument every spring to force me into opening up the London house earlier and earlier. I cannot wait to go back to our own manor, but no one has grand parties in the country like we used to.”
“Marion and I can help ye plan it!” Elspeth said. “Ye will love her so much!”
Benedict leaned back, considering her argument and his need to keep her happy, given all that had come between them.
It will occupy her in the new year…
“Very well. Let us do it. You shall host the grandest ball of next season, Isla.”
Isla’s smile was brilliant. “Oh, thank you, Your Grace! This will be marvelous! We must work on mockup invitations! And I know just who should be the guest of honor.”
“Who is that?” he asked, taking another bite of his sausage.
“Well, you, of course, as the master of the house,” she said with a playful tilt of her chin. “But also, your new bride. I want to host the ball, but I want you to be the guest of honor. It is high time you were truly introduced to London.”
Before Benedict could offer his usual protest, Elspeth spoke up, her voice warm and decisive.
“Aye, Isla is entirely right about this,” Elspeth smiled at Isla.
“It is a marvelous idea, Yer Grace. When I first married Hugo and came south, I was only known as his bride. A ball in your honor is precisely the ticket to ensure you are known for your own merits and position. It will be your official London welcoming in the New Year. A chance for society to acknowledge the new Duchess. On her terms.”
“Well said,” Hugo said to his wife.
Elspeth shifted Fiona gently in her arms. “Ye must have the ball, Isla, and it must be for ye. It’s what everyone is waitin’ for, whether they admit it or not.”
Benedict shifted in his seat, the combined force of the two Duchesses leaving him little room for negotiation. He found himself looking at Isla with a new layer of respect. She had not only come up with the idea, but she had gained a powerful ally for it.
“Then it is settled,” Isla said. “Now, about the menu... I want a hint of the Highlands in every dish. Elspeth, perhaps ye can advise me on the best Highland dishes that will shock and delight the London palate?”
Elspeth’s eyes lit up. “Me dear, it would be me pleasure! We shall make this the talk of the season. What a grand thing to look forward to plannin’ after the holidays.”