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He laughed. “She mentioned preferring to stay with her father.”
“Yes,” I muttered, not looking forward to telling her that staying with him would not be an option, given I’d not heard back from him, even after leaving an urgent message.
“What’s the story there?”
“Her father is Michael Alexander Whitby.”
“Whit?”
I nodded. “You know him.”
“Of him, and that makes sense. I hadn’t put it together. Isn’t he a famous wildlife photographer?”
“I believe so.”
“And her mum?”
“Kiki Buckley.” Kendra Astor Whitby Buckley, more accurately. Former débutante of the year, present socialite of equal merit, alcoholic, adulteress, and a ghastly parent. I couldn’t fault Kensington for not wanting to stay with her. “Kensington’s grandparents raised her in England.”
I didn’t know either well, but everything I’d heard indicated that William “Huck” Huxly Whitby and his wife, Beatrice, the sister of the Queen’s consort, were very good to their granddaughter.
“Are there no other options?”
I shook my head. Both Whit and Kiki were only children, so there were no aunts or uncles with whom Kensington could reside—other than the Queen, her great-aunt, and staying with her was not an option.
Not to mention, she was a grown woman, an adult who had lived on her own since her grandmother’s death several months ago.
“She’s twenty-six?” Grinder asked, looking at something on his laptop.
“That’s right.”
“Seems younger.”
I brushed my lower lip with my finger. “As I said earlier, your judgment is stifling.”
“Whenever you do that thing with your lip, it’s like you’re either reading someone’s mind or you’re getting a message from the ‘great beyond.’”
He had no idea the accuracy of his words, not that I would ever admit it to him or anyone else.
When the bedroom door opened, Grinder and I both stood.
“Good morning, Kensington.”
She padded over when I pulled the chair out for her.
“Tea?”
“Yes, please. When did you leave?” she asked when Grinder excused himself.
“Not more than an hour ago.” I looked into her amber-colored eyes, studied the perfect features of her face. She looked so young without makeup.
“Thank you for staying with me.”
I almost slipped and said it was my pleasure, which it was, but it would be a completely inappropriate thing for m
e to say.
Grinder walked over to the lift when it chimed and ushered a gentleman in who was wheeling what I assumed was breakfast. He removed the plate covers, revealing pastries, strudel, muesli, and fruit.
