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.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The vast dining hall, historically a mausoleum of decorum, was a different entity altogether that night. The polished wood and stern portraits seemed to shrink under the weight of joyful, unadulterated laughter. The heavy scents of roasted venison and mulled wine hung in the air, a warmth in the room’s ancient chill.
Callum loudly clapped Benedict on the shoulder as he took his seat near the head of the table next to him, causing Aunt Honoria to nearly drop her wine glass.
“Do not be so gruff,” Aunt Honoria clipped.
