Every day on the estate, being away from Caelmore, away from Eilidh and Lewis, my uneasiness grew. It wasn’t fair for me to just disappear out of their lives. While I didn’t know what I’d say to them, I finally texted Thane the morning of New Year’s Eve to arrange a time for me to see them. We decided on the third day of the new year at the play park near the school. I didn’t want it to be public, but Thane, for whatever reason, thought it was best. His texts were clipped and no-nonsense. I didn’t recognize him in them. In fact, I hadn’t recognized the Thane I knew and loved since Christmas Day.
Maybe that would make it easier for me to get over him.
Eventually.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Robyn asked me for the sixteenth time.
I stared at her, looking more glamorous than I’d ever seen her, in a long-sleeved, formfitting, sheer black dress that came to just above her knees. It was saved from being utterly scandalous by the stunning beadwork. The sequined embroidery created an explosion of golds, silvers, blues, and pinks that looked like fireworks. A perfect New Year’s Eve dress, an incredible work of art that had been a gift from Lachlan. Robyn wore her hair slicked back in a high ponytail that elongated her eyes, making them particularly sultry. Dark gold strappy heels that made her amazing legs look even more spectacular completed the ensemble.
She was a bona fide hottie.
“I’m sure,” I promised, answering her question. “Have I mentioned you look incredible?”
Robyn gave me a sad smile. “You have. And you look super cute in that uniform, but I will ask you again, and it will be the last time: Are you sure you want to work at this party rather than be a guest at it? Because frankly, it’s weird that my baby sister is serving people rather than standing at my side, showing all those Hollywood types what genuine beauty looks like.”
Tears brightened my eyes. “Have I also mentioned how you’re the best friend anyone could ever ask for?”
She smiled and came toward me, her arms outstretched, but I waved her off.
“No, I don’t want to rumple you or get my uniform caught on a sequin.” I was dressed in the server’s uniform. All the waitstaff wore the same traditional getup—white cravat, black waistcoat, coattails, flat-black dress shoes, and white gloves. Only Mr. Ramsay, the maître d’hôtel and my supervisor, and the butler, Wakefield, wore a dark green waistcoat to differentiate them from the rest of the staff. I thought girls in coattails were adorable and applauded Lachlan’s decision to be gender neutral rather than make the girls wear uncomfortable skirts and heels. The only thing that was a pain was the cravat. But I’d get used to it.
Robyn halted, her arms flopping to her sides. “Well, if I can’t convince you otherwise, I better let you get to work. I’ll see you at the party. No gawking at the famous people.”
I made a face. “I’ve seen plenty of famous faces the past forty-eight hours and have been totally cool, thank you very much.”
“But this is your first time serving them up close. Don’t be dazzled.”
“Believe me, Robbie,” I said, giving her a melancholy smile, “nothing can dazzle me right now.”
At the way her face fell, I hurried to say, “Except you in that dress.”
My sister didn’t buy my teasing. So I kissed her on the cheek before she could say anything else and hurried out of their private suite.
I couldn’t imagine the castle like Thane had once described it—cold and dreary—as I moved through the traditionally decorated hallways that were now warm and inviting. On the staircase, I approached the British actor Angeline Potter and some guy I didn’t recognize climbing the stairs hand in hand. They weren’t dressed yet for the party, though Angeline’s hair and makeup were certainly made up for it, so I assumed they’d be arriving “fashionably late.”
“Oi, you, come here,” she called as I descended toward them.
“Yes?” I asked as I slowed.
She narrowed her eyes at me as I stopped on the wide staircase beside them. “You’re new. I’d remember that face.”
“First night.”
“How nice for you. Could you be a dear and let Wakefield know I want a bottle of champagne sent to my suite?”
“Sure thing.” I moved to walk by her.
“Sure thing?” she called snottily at my back.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Pardon?”
“Darling, you’re new, so I’ll let it slide just this once. When you’re speaking to me, I expect you to be well-mannered. You don’t answer ‘sure thing.’ You reply, ‘Right away, Ms. Potter.’ Understood?”
Call it the rough week I’d just had or maybe fatigue of being condescended to, but I responded with, “I treat people how they treat me. If you’d like my attention in the future, instead of hailing me like a dog, you might try, ‘Excuse me, miss, can you help me, please?’”
Angeline gaped like a gulping fish while her companion covered a smirk with his hand.
“I’ll let Wakefield know you want that bottle sent up.” I hurried downstairs, my pulse racing a little.
Probably not the best start.
“We’re going to get this unpleasantness out of the way immediately.” Mr. Ramsay cornered me as I placed champagne flutes onto sterling silver serving trays.
At his agitated tone, I turned to him. “Is everything okay?”
“Mr. Wakefield has just informed me that our esteemed guest Ms. Angeline Potter has filed a complaint against you for your rudeness to her this evening.” His expression couldn’t be any more disapproving. “Now, I understand this is an unusual situation, as we’ve never had an extended member of the Adair family on staff before. However, I do not care if you are the Queen of Sheba, Ms. Penhaligon. You will not be rude to my guests because you think you can get away with it.”
Indignation fired through me, and I sought to stay calm. “I wasn’t rude because I think I’m immune to disciplinary action. I responded in kind to Ms. Potter.”
Some of Mr. Ramsay’s ire seemed to deflate. “It is your first night, Regan, and you are jumping into the deep end. There are more members here tonight than any night of the year. No one does Hogmanay like the Scots, and our members clamber to attend.”
I bit back a pithy reply about how only Scottish people technically did Hogmanay.
“During your time here, you will discover some members are more difficult to deal with than others. While no one gets away with outright disrespecting the staff, we cannot stop members from being generally ill-mannered or difficult to please. You must react in those situations with utmost professionalism. I suggest counting to ten in your head before responding.”
“Is that what you do?” I asked somewhat cheekily, grinning at him.
A gleam of amusement flickered in his eyes, and I knew he wasn’t immune to a little charm. “Back to work, Ms. Penhaligon. Best behavior, please.”
“Yes, Mr. Ramsay.”
Still, when he walked away, I huffed under my breath. I couldn’t believe the snot tattled on me.
An hour later, the dining room and humongous reception hall, transformed for the party, were filled with members. The band was set up on the staircase landing in front of the stained glass window. When I first glimpsed Ashton Solomon, lead singer of the famous indie-rock band High Voltage, I thought I was seeing things. Then I spotted the rest of the band.