“Relax, Aunt,” Callum said with a laugh, grabbing his wine. “His Grace is as big as an ox. He can take it! In fact, ye should have seen him in the alley!”
“That is enough, brother,” Isla said with a smile, not wanting him to push the matter further. “I think some things are better left unsaid.”
“Well… ye have outdone yerself, sister,” Callum recovered, gesturing around the great room with a piece of crusty bread. “I havenae seen this much polished wood since I helped Uncle Donald with his coffin.”
Aunt Honoria gasped again, quickly dabbing her mouth with a napkin as she forced a polite smile. “Callum! A coffin is hardly appropriate dinner conversation at a ducal table! You will mind yourself as a guest in their graces’ home!”
“I think we are still gettin’ used to all this grandeur,” Eilidh said softly. Ye have a beautiful home, Yer Grace. Thank ye so much for havin’ us.”
“Thank you, Lady Eilidh,” Benedict said as he took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine. “The pleasure is mine, I can assure you.”
“Give us a week and we will be speakin’ in hushed English tones and discussin’ the merits of huntin’ hounds,” Callum joked again, taking another sip of his goblet.
“I suspect I would prefer the stories of coffins, Callum. It is certainly a livelier topic than the usual parliamentary gossip, which I abhor,” Benedict said as he looked at Isla, a quiet appreciation in his eyes. “In fact, the entire atmosphere is quitea welcome change. I believe the room has breathed more tonight than it has in a decade, perhaps a century.”
Isla smiled back, reaching over her brother and across the massive table just to graze his sleeve. “It only needs a bit of life, Yer Grace. And some good food, of course.”
Eilidh, who was sitting beside Oliver, leaned down and whispered to the boy. “Yer faither is a hard man to please, Oliver. Did ye hear him? He prefers a coffin story to huntin’!”
Oliver, delighted, whispered back, “He knows how to read the stars now! Isla told him about Alistair MacDougal!”
Eilidh laughed, her voice as pleasant as a wind chime as the sound spread through the room. Her vivacious spirit was infectious. “Ah, the farmer! The only man to tell time by the rotation of the heavens for the quality of his cabbages.”
Kenneth leaned forward then, his eyes meeting Eildih’s.
“That sounds like a most interesting story, Lady Eilidh. Perhaps you could tell it to me over a digestif?”
“Watch yerself,” Callum said as he gave Lord Murkwood a look.
Kenneth turned to the Duke then, addressing Benedict with a serious expression. “On that note, Your Grace, I must know. Have you truly sworn off all London trips and society dinnersafter your last excursion? Have you discovered the merits of a quiet life?”
“I have discovered the merits of fact, my lord,” Benedict replied, setting his wine glass down. He looked pointedly at Isla. “London has its place for business matters that are required, but I care not for polite society.”
“Aye,” Isla said softly, much to Aunt Honoria’s chagrin.
“I spent many years believing that power, grandeur and duty were the only things that mattered in this world. It seems I was mistaken,” Benedict said softly.
The room grew so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.
“A country life is considerably more interesting when shared with the proper company,” he said as he raised his glass. “To present company.”
Isla felt a rush of warmth, and she watched as Aunt Honoria finally seemed to relax, patting Callum’s hand. Everyone raised their glasses and took a long sip as the footman arrived in perfect time to refresh their goblets.
“Well said, Your Grace,” Honoria declared, her voice regaining its firm clip. “A good wife is the only accessory a Duke truly needs. And a good cook, of course. My word, this venison is truly divine! I must have the recipe!”
Oliver watched them all, his small face alight with happiness, clutching a roast potato. “I doubt Mrs. Callahan will let the cook part with his secrets, but you can try, my lady!”
The group laughed as the soup course began then in relative quiet. The vichyssoise was so delicious, it was punctuated only by the clinking of silverware and Aunt Honoria’s sharp glances at Callum, who was in danger of using the wrong spoon.
“The drive was nae too brutal, then, Yer Grace?” Callum asked Benedict, his voice booming down the long table as he broke the silence.
Benedict paused, lifting his gaze from his vichyssoise. “The coach is excellent. It was a comfortable enough journey.”
“Good. Good,” Kenneth chimed in from the other side, leaning forward conspiratorially. “I will have to ride with you next time.”
“We took the faster road up. Ye should try it next time, but ye’d need to take a smaller rig, eh? Dinnae want to scratch yer ducal coach on those tight turns,” Callum said as he polished off his wine once more.
Aunt Honoria let out a choked gasp, quickly covering her mouth with her napkin. “Callum, must you advise His Grace on rigs? Honestly! You are a marquess, you must adhere to polite conversation even amongst family.”
