Chapter 21
“What in the Bridgerton is this email?” I ask, flipping my phone around to show Caro. We’re back in the gift shop today because the royal family,
Finn included, is in Glasgow. Inveresk Castle and our gift shop are open to the public while they’re away.
“That,” Caro says, tapping the phone screen, “is a reminder about the Ghillies Ball.” I look at her blankly and she grabs my arm
dramatically. “Hannah!”
“What?” I’m so confused and incredibly tired from the late night at the beach, my reading-comprehension skills are that of
a snail. “Can you explain this email to me like I’m five?”
“Late night with a certain prince?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows at me.
“And his ex-girlfriend,” I point out. I haven’t told Caro much of anything about the time I’ve spent with Finn. She knows
the bare minimum (and the PG version, at that). I want to tell her everything, I really do.
But.
I know what it’s like to trust someone and have them throw that trust back in my face. People can surprise you in good ways
and bad. Besides, talking to Caro, a person who works at the castle and knows everyone else who works here, about my relationship
with Finn is just about as risky as it gets. All it would take is one slipup for this to become front-page news. Literally.
Thankfully, pointing out Beatrice’s presence at the castle is enough for Caro to stop teasing me about my feelings for Finn.
She grabs one of the coffee-table books about Inveresk Castle off the display shelf and flips through it until she finds the
page on the Ghillies Ball. Cracking the book wide, Caro puts it on the counter for me to look at.
“The Ghillies Ball is an annual tradition started by Queen Victoria and her husband, Prince Albert,” she tells me, pointing
to an artist’s rendering of one of the earliest examples of the celebration.
“Wait—why was Victoria called the queen, and her husband referred to as a prince?” I squint at the picture and reach for the
travel mug of instant coffee mixed with hot chocolate I brought in with me today. “Doesn’t that make it sound like she married
her son?”
“Don’t be daft,” Caro says, rolling her eyes at me. “If people around here knew how little you know about the royals . . .”
I’m actually quite intimately acquainted with them, I think, smiling into my mug.
“What are you cheesing about?” Caro gives me a hip-check.
“I just think your accent is cute,” I tell Caro and give her a hip-check back. “Now, tell me about this ball—and promise me
we can get ready for it together.”
“You’re the one with the accent here,” she reminds me. “And you bet. I’d love to get all gussied up with you! Okay, so. Back
to your Scottish history lesson. Queen Victoria purchased this castle in 1852. In the summer, she threw a party to thank her
staff for all their hard work. It’s been an annual tradition ever since then.”
Caro explains to me that “ghillie” is Gaelic for gamekeeper, but Ghillies are also what the Highland dancers I saw wore on
their feet.
“It’s dead brilliant,” she says. “The staff get all dressed up and party it up with the royal family, and for one night, we’re
all the same. It’s my single favorite day of the year. Oh! We should go into town tomorrow after work and shop for dresses
together.”
“Yes, I’d love that,” I tell her, already imagining myself slow-dancing with Finn in a ballroom.
“Good morning, lasses,” Beverly says, entering the store. “How are we faring today?”
“I’m just telling Hannah here about Ghillies,” Caro tells her.
“Ghillies,” Beverly responds, beaming. “My favorite day of the year.”
“Duffie and I are going to give you and Ethel a run for your money for cutest couple this year,” Caro declares.
I beam at Beverly. “You and Ethel are together? I had no idea. I love her.”
“So do I,” Beverly says with a wink. “Even if she’ll one day be the death of me with her nagging about my getting in her way
in the kitchen.”
While Caro and Beverly relive some Ghillies and gowns from the past, I let my mind wander again to the ball. I picture myself
leaving the party, arm in arm with Finn, making him laugh, having him lean down to kiss me—being a couple out in the open.
My thoughts are interrupted by two adorable new customers.
“Eileen! Bill!” I exclaim. When my temporary landlords promised to visit me, I wasn’t sure they really meant it. I introduce
them to Caro and Beverly, who talk me up.
“She’s lighting up the place, and selling all sorts of trinkets,” Beverly says.
“Good on ya, lass,” Bill says to me with a wink.
“It’s been an age since we’ve been here,” Eileen says, looking around the store.
“Souvenirs have certainly changed since then,” Bill agrees, picking up one of the Finn bobbleheads.
“Are you in the market for something today?” I ask them, still unable to believe they came to see me. “Or just having a look
around? Hey, how’s the pub doing?”
“It’s as busy as ever,” Bill tells me, shaking his head in wonder. He leans in conspiratorially. “I wouldn’t mind getting a wee gift for Eileen. Surprise her, eh?”
“I’m on it,” I tell him, and shoot Caro a text to distract Eileen while Bill and I shop. Caro starts telling Eileen about
Ghillies, taking her full attention, while Bill manages to purchase her a pair of lovely floral slippers, patterned after
the gardens here. I give Bill a fist bump and we share a conspiratorial chuckle as he tucks the tissue-wrapped slippers into
his bag.
“Don’t be a stranger, bonny,” Eileen says. “We love to see how you’re getting on.”
“Aye, come to the pub and we’ll treat you to a pie and a pint,” Bill adds.
“I’ll visit as soon as I can,” I promise, walking them out.
“They’re a right cute couple,” Caro muses once they’re gone. “I hope Duffie and I grow up to be like them.”
“Couple goals for sure,” I agree.
When she and Beverly go back to talking about Ghillies, I think about Eileen and Bill and wanting what they have too, but
a shadow is hanging over my head. The image of Finn and me dancing at the ball . . . how realistic is it? At what point will
he tell his family about us? When can we stop hiding and start being Bill and Eileen, or Caro and Duffie, or Ethel and Beverly?
The prospect of Ghillies, the point of which is to celebrate the staff and make us all equals for a night, is starting to
remind me how impossible my feelings for Prince Finneas are.
It’s taken time and more research than I expected, but I’m finally hitting my stride with my book.
After work, I sit down at the kitchen table in my cottage and start typing.
I’m so lost in the world of my story I don’t even realize how long I’ve been at it until there’s a tap at the back window of my cottage.
I try to temper my hopes, knowing Finn’s in Glasgow with his family, but when I peek through the lace curtain, my hopes turn
into pure excitement. I slip on my shoes and run out the front door and around the cottage to meet him in the back. Before
he can even say hello, I throw my arms around him.
“I’ve missed you too,” he says, resting his cheek on my hair. “My pocket-sized American pinup girl.”
“My parents call me ‘Tinkerbell,’ you know,” I say, as we pull away to grin at each other like fools. “Because I’m so short.”
He holds my hands. “Do you miss them?”
“Yes and no. Hey, how was Glasgow?”
He winces comically. “Did you just call it ‘Glass-gow’? My darling, it’s ‘Glas-go.’ You’re not only making up words, you’re
making up pronunciations now. Not even Shakespeare did that.”
I try to scowl at him, but his use of “darling” has turned my insides into goo.
“Speaking of the bard,” he says. “Grab your coat and your purse. I’m taking you on a date.”
“What does this date have to do with Shakespeare?” I ask, walking back around the cottage to get my things. Once inside, I
save my document and freshen up my makeup. I debate changing into something more date-ish. Quickly, I throw on a casual dress,
a cardigan, and my pink Chucks, and pull my hair out of its braid. It’s wavy, falling around my face in a thankfully flattering
way. Yanking out a braid can go either way. I lock my cottage door behind me and join him in the back.
He eyes me appreciatively. “I’ve a mind to cancel this spectacular evening I’ve planned for us and just snog you all night
in the woods instead.”
“Either one works for me.” I take his hand. He squeezes it and leads me down the road where a sleek black car is parked.
As he drives us toward Edinburgh, he talks to me about his day. Instead of the business aspects of the trip to Glasgow, he
explains some of his complicated family dynamics, and I learn to read him better: The corners of his eyes crinkle as he tells
me that Poppy kept gushing about how much she loved spending time with me yesterday. His brows lower when he mentions the
pressure his dad is putting on him to be more involved with the family, even though he basically exiled Finn this summer.
“He can’t have it both ways,” Finn says, his jaw flexing in consternation. “You can’t say ‘Be more involved with the family’ and then bugger off to the South of France, leaving me behind.”
“I’m sorry. That’s completely unfair to you. I get that there’s this immense pressure on all of you to keep up appearances,
but you’re also a twenty-year-old who got his heart broken and wanted to make some bad decisions to get over it. You should
be allowed to do that without the commonwealth falling apart at your antics.”
Finn exhales, a wry smile slowly stretching across his face. “I feel like a top-tier asshat whenever I complain about my life,
considering the privilege that comes with all this.”
“Both things can be true. You can be a top-tier asshat and deserve compassion.”
Finn starts to say something and stops himself.
“What is it? You can tell me anything.”
“When I asked you if you missed your parents, you said yes and no. I don’t want to pry, but if you want to talk about that . . .”