“What is this?” the deep voice called with fury.
“It is just a bit of fun, Papa! Just laugh it off!”
“Fun? You call tricking your father fun, son?”
Isla gathered her skirts and rushed toward the sound, leaving Mrs. Callahan frozen in the foyer.
She arrived just in time to see Oliver’s small figure scampering away down the servant’s stairwell, his limp making his escape hurried and uneven.
Above him, standing by the study doorway upstairs, was the Duke. His face was thunderous; his usually immaculate hair was stuck up like an isosceles triangle. He was wiping what looked suspiciously like sticky jam from the lapel of his coat, flicking it onto his handkerchief.
“Oliver! Come back here immediately!” the Duke roared, his voice nearly shaking the crystal fixtures that adorned Ealdwick’s ornate walls.
“Your Grace, I assure you I can quite easily remove the residue,” Flark said, his face red as he sought to catch up with the Duke.
“Away now, Flark! I can manage myself,” he said as the valet turned and went back down the servant’s staircase without a word.
Isla rushed up and then stepped in front of him, placing a hand on his tense forearm.
“Yer Grace, stop! Ye will only frighten him more. And I think poor Mr. Flark may have a heart attack from the way you talked to him just now.”
He shook off her touch, his blue eyes flashing as he turned on her.
“The boy smeared gooseberry jam all over my briefing notes and now it is on my clothing…”
“He did that?” Isla asked, her eyes widening. “Are ye serious? Oliver?”
“Did you put him up to this nonsense? Some sort of Highland trickery?” the Duke hissed.
“No, I didnae do any such thing,” Isla snorted, her own temper rising to match his. “But…”
“Out with it.”
“I may be able to tell ye exactly where the idea came from, or its inspiration, I suppose…”
“Now.”
“Oh, it was a terribly funny story about me brother. He was trying to be wicked, as Oliver put it and, he put porridge in me shoes.”
“You are teaching my son to be more likeyour brother? That is splendid work, and not at all what we discussed!” He said coolly.
She took a deep breath, lowering her voice. “He is six years old, Yer Grace. He is testin’ boundaries and explorin’ good humor. Two admirable qualities me dear brother has.”
“My son will comport himself with maturity. This is not how a future Duke should behave.”
“Oliver is nae a soldier to be disciplined, nor a disobedient dog to be shouted at. Ye cannot manage him with a tight rein.”
“I manage him by ensuring he is safe! That he falls in line,” he shot back. “His world needs structure, not reckless antics! He is already… so… so fragile. He must understand how the world truly works!”
“And ye are shatterin’ his spirit!” Isla countered. “He was happy a moment ago, and now he is terrified! Stop being a Duke for one moment and be his faither! Ye daenae need to scare him to teach him about the world!”
The Duke ran a frustrated hand through his comically messy hair, his hand sticking to the loose ends.
“Where is he then?” he demanded.
“I heard him go toward the servant’s staircase, but to where I daenae ken,” Isla said. “He will be hidin’ somewhere he feels safe.”
They rushed back to the servants’ steps, but the boy was nowhere to be seen.
