“I promise I’ll take my cues from you.” For now, at least. “So, Holland came to Kilblair as your nanny?”
“No, not even.” Isla laughs, dropping to the sofa arm again. “Sarah rang me from the agency. She knew we were looking for someone for the education centre.”
“We were?” I take my place on the sofa arm this time. If Chrissy comes in, we’ll both be in trouble.
Arms aren’t for arses, I can almost hear her say.
“Anne went on maternity leave. She probably won’t return. Anyway,” she adds, pushing a harried hand through her hair. “I employed Holland after Sarah interviewed her and spoke with her previous employers. And then I badgered her into helping me out with the boys.”
“In addition to running the education centre?”
“Yes, but you’re paying her for that. I’m paying her salary for helping me.”
“I don’t care about that—I don’t care about any of it.”
“But you care about her?” she asks carefully. “Or is it . . . something else?” Something else like casual fucking she means. “Because I need her, Sandy. I won’t have you frightening her off.”
“A minute ago, you were threatening to send her to live with the Duffys, and now you’re telling me she’s indispensable?”
“Yes, she is. And while we’re speaking about the children, the school told me Thomas hadn’t paid the school fees for two terms until you stepped in. Thank you,” she adds simply.
“I didn’t take over for him,” I mutter uncomfortably.
“No, but he came to you, didn’t he? Has he tried to involve you in his schemes?”
“Don’t worry, Izzy. It’s fine.”
“Please tell me you haven’t.” She presses a hand to her mouth, almost as though to prevent her troubles from spilling out.
“I haven’t. I told him I’d pay the school fees, and that was it.” And set the wheels into motion to make sure he gets no support from anyone else I know. At least until I found out from Isla what the hell was going on. And now I know.
“Well, that’s something,” she murmurs, her arm dropping to her side as though it were made of lead.
“What about the rest? Has he asked you for money from your trust fund?” Our mother left her small trust fund on her death. Money she was able to keep from our father.
“Oh, Sandy. I gave him that years ago. There’s nothing left. The mortgage is in arrears, and my Range Rover was about to be repossessed. So getting back to Holland, yes, she’s indispensable. She has entertained the boys, taken them to the cinema and for ice cream so I could deal with this mess, visit the bank, and so on. She’s basically taken over the school run and homework and all that entails. Meanwhile, I have begun to get my family back on their feet. Thomas excluded, obviously. His cock-ups are his own. And that’s in addition to tweaking some things here and running my own business, I might add.”
Isla has a clothing line of Scottish fashion. E-commerce. I’ve teased her that it’s mostly tweed and sheepskin products for middle-aged matrons, but I know it’s doing well since it has recently broken even. But she doesn’t take a salary, as far as I know.
“You didn’t need to do it all on your own.”
“I haven’t. I’ve had Chrissy. And I’ve had Holland. And now I don’t even know if she’ll stay, so . . . you’d better get yourself back to London after this weekend.”
“What?” Now it’s my turn for wavery amusement.
“You heard me. You have to leave, Sandy.”
“In case she tells you it’s her or me?”
“Yes, and after last night, I wouldn’t blame her. Whatever possessed you to strong-arm her into dinner and embarrass her like that? It’s unforgivable.”
“Holland already forgave me.” I atoned between her legs. “But you’re right. I am an arse.” I look away, not able to hold my sister’s gaze. “I just didn’t want her anywhere else.”
“Well, unless you want to look after Hugh and Archie, leave the girl alone.”
“It’s nice to know where I stand in the order of things,” I answer, amused. On the surface, at least.
“Sandy, you are a duke. And even if you weren’t, you’d have women everywhere fawning all over you.”
“That doesn’t sound like my life at all.”
“Then I suggest you smile more and scowl less. I need Holly here. I want you to promise you won’t frighten her away.”
“What on earth do you take me for? I’m not an ogre, Izzy.” But my childhood nickname for her doesn’t warm her to me.
“You’re too much for most women. I want you to consider that before you run after a woman not—not of our world,” she adds a little uncomfortably. “A woman who is far too young for you.”
“That’s a little old-fashioned, isn’t it? Them and us.” And isn’t age just a number? I didn’t feel too old for her last night, and she felt just perfect.
“Don’t play with words. And don’t play with her.”
“I have no intention of—”
“Of what? Making her dance to your tune? Working her out of your system? Because that worked so well with poor Portia.”
“Poor Portia?” I scoff. Isla can barely stand her. “There’s nothing poor about Portia. She knew exactly what she was getting herself into. And truthfully, I don’t know why she’s still hanging around.”
“Because she fancies being a duchess, no doubt. But I imagine she didn’t count on falling in love, and that’s why I feel sorry for her. You won’t marry her, and you won’t ever love her back.”
“I could marry her,” I retort. “I’ve thought about it.” Briefly. Very briefly. We’ll call it a moment of madness brought on by tedium. Isla is both right and wrong. Portia doesn’t love me. She’s certainly never said so, and we’ve never had what you might call a loving connection. Or even a passionate one, despite her sad doe-eyed moment last night at the dinner table. “She is of our world. Would you allow me to marry her?”
Even as I’m goading my sister, I’m mentally preparing what I have to say to Portia. An apology is due, and I’ll need to set her straight. End what little there is between us.
“Don’t be a callous arse,” she retorts vehemently. “Just leave Holly alone. I can’t imagine she’s hung up on you, not when she told me she had a date this weekend.”
“Did she?” My answer is mild. Internally, I don’t feel so sanguine. “Anyone I know?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised if last night didn’t drive her into his arms,” she says, choosing not to answer my question. Perhaps she doesn’t know. “I can only imagine what she must be feeling this morning.”
A little sore, I should think. A little achy, I consider as I rub a hand over my abs.
“If I were her, I wouldn’t let you within two feet of me.”
“It’s a good thing you’re not her then,” I say, pushing to my feet.
Maybe I am my father’s son, after all. Debauchery may be in my blood, but I’ve never behaved this way so close to home. But Holland isn’t just a flash in the pan. I’m not sure what she is, but she’s old enough to understand my feelings on forever and young enough for them not to mean throwing away her future.