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“And yer oldest brother—that would bethe laird—agrees with me,” Angus triumphantly added. “Yer frettin’ aboot all the things ye’ll be havin’ to do once Royal leaves.”
Royal’s wife, Ainsley, had recently inherited a tidy estate up near Cairndow. Since Royal had always favored the country over the city, and since Ainsley would love nothing more than managing an estate, they’d decided it was time to quit Glasgow and move north. The family was happy for them, though it meant responsibility for the Scottish end of the business would fall entirely on Grant until Logan returned.
Grant felt more than up to the task. Yet itwouldrequire a great deal of hard work—something his family seemed unable to comprehend.
“Is that why Nick sent you to fetch me? He thinks I’m working too hard?”
Angus pulled out his battered claymore pipe. “Nae, that’s not the reason he sent me.”
Grant waited patiently while his grandfather got a light from a street vendor with a brazier. Then he took Angus by the elbow and hurried him across Queen Street.
“If ye were in such an all-fired hurry, we could have fetched a hackney,” Angus protested.
Grant threw him a disbelieving look. “You’re the one dragging me out of the office, presumably because I’m late for something. But if you want me to flag a coach, I’m happy to do so.”
“Och, ye need the fresh air after bein’ cooped up all day. Yer practically growin’ moldy.”
Lately, Grant did find himself longing for good mountain air, and a visit to Kinglas, the family’s ancestral home on the shores of Loch Long, was overdue. Caught between water, sky, and snowcapped peaks, Kinglas was the most beautiful place in the world to him.
Gloriously beautiful, but haunted by memories, many of them desperately unhappy. Those memories were ones he’d rather avoid right now.
“What’s amiss, son? Yer lookin’ a bit squirrely now,” his grandfather quietly said.
“Nothing’s wrong, Grandda.”
Angus blew out a cloud of smoke. “I know everything about ye, so dinna be pretendin’ with me.”
“All right, I’m squirrely because I still don’t know why we’re rushing home.”
“Have ye forgotten the guests arrivin’ today? Yer brother wanted us all on hand when the duchess made her appearance.”
Grant sighed. “Oh, hell.”
He’d completely forgotten about the Duchess of Leverton. Vicky had never met her royal cousin and was as nervous as a cat in a thunderstorm. And whenever Vicky got fashed, Nick got fashed. That meanteveryonegot fashed, if they knew what was good for them.
“Vicky wants us all to make a good impression. Yer brother is nae happy yer late.”
They turned into a quiet side street. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, though my absence could not possibly have made a worse impression than your outfit. You look like you’ve been rolling about in a patch of thistle.”
“Nae, I was dressed right and proper for the grand arrival. I changed when Nick sent me out to fetch ye home. Ye ken I canna stand wearing fancy dudes for long.”
“Well, you can’t sit down to dinner looking like that.” A nearby church tower began to toll out the hour. “I’ll have to change, too. It’s already seven o’clock.”
He’d also have to perform the appropriate amount of groveling for his late showing. The duchess’s visit would no doubt prove to be massively inconvenient, since Nick would expect Grant to do his bit by squiring Vicky and her cousin around Glasgow, since most of the brothers were out of town.
“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered as he hurried his grandfather along.
“Dinna fret. Vicky pushed dinner back an hour.”
Grant shot him a glare. “And you couldn’t think to tell me that?”
“Just keepin’ ye on yer toes, laddie boy.”
“You are a pain in the arse sometimes, Grandda.”
Angus snickered. “Somebody has to keep life interestin’ around here.”
“In future, when such is required I will alert you immediately,” Grant said as they entered the small square that fronted Kendrick House. “In any case, Vicky didn’t need to push dinner back on my account.”
