Page 13 of The Mad Marchams

His brother Freddy grinned. “It’s just an expression. It means that it’s good to meet you.”

“Then why can’t one simply say that?”

“Because she’s American?” Freddy winked at Mabel and glanced at their grandmother. “Come on, Gran, lighten up. Your mother was a bloody American. Her trunk-loads of cash were the only reason the Marchams managed to keep it together for this long.”

Freddy turned back to Mabel, his gaze assessing, his blue eyes beguiling. “I’m Freddy. It’s nice to meet you.”

“And this is my sister, Felicity,” Colin interrupted his brother who remained undeterred and continued talking.

“The Viz doesn’t usually bring his ladies home with him. I have no idea why.”

“Oh, I can take a wild guess,” Mabel said. “Families can be very intimidating, can’t they?”

Colin wanted to kiss her. Instead, he pulled out a chair for her. “We thought we’d join you for breakfast before I show Mabel around.”

His grandmother sniffed. “I assume you will find time to speak to your father before you go gadding off far and wide enjoying yourself.”

“Of course, I will. That is the reason I’m here.” Colin reached for the teapot and poured himself and Mabel a cup. “How is he?”

“Worried about the estate.”

“Well, nothing new there, then,” Colin murmured. “I meant how is he feeling?”

“I suggest you ask him that. This is hardly an appropriate conversation to be having at the breakfast table in front of a guest.”

Freddy passed Mabel a plate of bacon and the toast rack. “There is another reason why Colin doesn’t usually bring his birds home. They don’t usually last for more than a week or two.”

Colin shot his brother a dirty look. “Thanks, Freddy.”

“Well, Mabel should take it as a huge vote of confidence that you brought her down here. How long has it been since you last graced us with your august presence, Viz? Six months?”

“I have a job and a limited amount of vacation time,” Colin said evenly.

“Oh, come off it. We all know that you have Stephen Falke in your pocket and can get all the time off you need. He’s a snob who loves having your name on his letterhead. You used to spend three months on the slopes every winter. I don’t remember you having to rush back to work then.”

“That was a long time ago.” Colin smiled through his teeth at his brother. “At twenty I behaved very selfishly, but I’ve⁠—”

“My dear, if you are an American, how did you come to have such a very English name?”

“It’s hardly unique to the British Isles, Grandmother,” Colin objected. He’d never been so pleased to have his grandmother interrupt him before in his life. “I’m sure there are Mabels in America.”

“Oh, that was my father’s fault.” Mabel smiled. “My mother wanted to call me May Belle after her two grandmothers. My father was in a rush to leave the hospital and jumbled the names together for the registrar who happened to be English and assumed he meant Mabel.” She shrugged. “My mom still calls me May, but everyone else goes with the British pronunciation.”

“How very odd.”

“It could’ve been worse. One of my half-sisters ended up with the name Rogeria.”

Freddy snorted his tea. “After your dad?”

“Exactly.” Mabel took some toast and buttered it before adding some of the very crispy bacon to her plate. “She prefers to be called Ria.”

“I’m not very fond of my name either.”

Colin raised his eyebrows at his sister who sat quietly next to his grandmother. “What’s wrong with Felicity?”

“People insist on calling me Flicka or Fee.”

Mabel nodded. “I had a boyfriend who insisted on calling me Mabe. I hated it.”