For a split second, he saw a distortion in the glass, a vague silhouette that seemed a little too dark in the distant street. Something about it was a little too angular against the weak, distant glow of the London gaslight.
But then, it was gone instantly, like a trick of the eye caused by the firelight and the liquor.
Father?he thought, dismissing it with a weary sigh, and took another drink.
Meanwhile, in the separate wing of the house, Isla was preparing for bed. She donned her nightdress and pulled the thick curtains across her own large window to stave off the cold. As she secured the fabric, she paused and looked down at the lonely street, shocked to see a figure looking up at her.
What in the devil is that? The Cailleach Bheur!
She squinted her eyes for a better view across the quiet, moonlit street. In the deep shadow cast by the corner pillar of the abandoned townhouse opposite them, she saw another almostimperceptible flicker of movement. It had an odd shape, dark and bulky. It looked like a hunched human, watching her.
A shiver traced its way down her spine. The city was a place of shadows, surely, and she was not spooked easily. Yet, she was a country woman and not used to the relentless presence of strangers. She dismissed it.
Must be a night watchman or a stray beggar looking up for a fleetin’ moment, pulling the curtains tightly shut with a sharp whoosh and double-checking the latch.
I have bigger dangers to worry about inside these walls than outside them, she thought with a huff as she walked into bed and threw herself under the covers.
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 hostinggrandevents 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.”
