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“Right. I’ll think about it.”
“Oh, William,” Mum said, turning to me. “Do try to find someone who your grandfather will deem suitable for you. He’s getting on a bit, and I fear you bringing home a commoner like your father will finish him off.” She stopped, tilted her head to the side, and looked at the bookcase contemplatively. “Then again…”
“Mother!” I just about fought back a laugh. “I’ll give Emily some consideration, all right? I’m not promising anything, though, and I will talk to him if not. Worst case scenario, I’ll humour him for the weekend with Caitlin, even if it might kill me.”
She pressed her lips together as if she was going to say something, but she turned away at the last moment and walked out of the living room.
I sighed and dropped my head back against the sofa cushions, throwing my arm over my eyes. I wasn’t going to go after her—she was going through her own emotions having to deal with the upcoming visit to Glenroch Castle, and I knew she was struggling.
I couldn’t blame her.
After all, she was the reason the Glenroch line had almost broken beyond repair.
Well, she wasn’t. My grandfather and his archaic feelings were, but her presence was the trigger.
The Dukedom of Glenroch—the one my family had held for hundreds of years—was one of the oldest in the entire United Kingdom, never mind Scotland. My grandfather, the current duke, was set in his ways, and I wasn’t surprised at all to find that he’d chosen someone he felt was suitable for me to marry.
Clearly, my father telling him to stuff it and marrying my mum instead hadn’t taught the old curmudgeon a thing.
He’d wanted my father to marry someone of a bloodline he deemed suitable, even going so far as to arrange a marriage, but the way my father tells it, they both scuppered that plan and married the people they wanted to.
It fractured their relationship almost to a point of no return, and although Grandpa denies it, I wonder if he would have disowned my dad if he’d had a second son instead of two daughters after him.
Especially since my sister was born first.
I truly believe that the only time my grandfather ever really liked my mother was the day I was born.
I wasn’t sure we’d have any relationship with them at all if not for my grandmother.
Grandma often said she’d all but lost her only son through Grandpa’s actions; she wasn’t going to lose her grandchildren, too. That didn’t mean she and Mum got along, necessarily, but it did mean we were able to foster some form of bond with them.
Mum believed that both me and Freya had a right to know our family, especially given that I would inherit the dukedom one day. She didn’t want to deprive us of the rich history of our ancestry, either, and I remembered fun summers in Glenroch at the castle.
We’d swim in the loch, run wild with the dogs, and learn all the history about our family and the castle.
I loved it there. I still visited once or twice a year when I was able to, but I much preferred the summer months to the winter ones.
I didn’t blame Freya for wanting to get married there at this time of year. There was a very good chance that Glenroch Castle, nestled deep in the Highlands, on the bank of Loch Duncree, surrounded by rolling hills and mountains, would in fact be covered in snow.
Naturally, my sister had very strict rules about theamountof snow she’d allow.
I’d tried pointing out that she didn’t particularly have much of a say in that matter. After she’d ranted at me for five minutes about how awful it was of me to shit all over her dreams, I’d not mentioned it again.
Neither had anyone else.
Freya was what one would call a bridezilla.
I’d managed to avoid as much of the wedding planning as possible. I wasn’t in the wedding party, thankfully, which meant I was simply a regular guest. I’d happily gone to a suit fitting with her fiancé, James, and agreed to wear the same tie and buttonhole and show up on time, and that was about it.
Bringing a date was far more involved than I wanted to be.
It would be the first time in forever we’d see extended family outside of our paternal aunts and cousins. There would be great-aunts and uncles, second cousins, probably someone who was a third cousin twice removed from a long-lost uncle and a Mongolian prison.
So, no.
I didn’t want a plus one.
Especially not one my grandfather deemed acceptable.
