Total pages in book: 192
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 183663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 918(@200wpm)___ 735(@250wpm)___ 612(@300wpm)
Ivy Duffy trips down the velvety carpet, her dark hair pinned in braids to the top of her head and dressed in a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a painter’s smock. Arm outstretched, she seems genuinely pleased to see us. “It’s so lovely to see you all again. Lady Isla,” she adds, beaming.
“It’s just Isla,” she insists in her usual way.
Greetings and admirations are exchanged before Ivy moves her attention to me, and Isla moves hers to her sons.
“Holly, I’m so pleased you could come.” Her eyes sparkle with a mixture of what seems like delight and mischief as she adds, “Though I didn’t know you and the duke’s brother were a thing.”
“What?” How does she know? “It’s kind of recent.”
“I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Or maybe you could come and find me later, and I’ll tell you all about my observations from our stay at Kilblair.”
“Sure,” I answer uncertainly because whatever she’s offering is about as clear as a cup of mud.
“And you’ll have to forgive me for not putting you and Griffin in a room together,” she says, sliding her arm through mine and turning us in the direction of the door. “I mean, I’m no prude, but when he mentioned it when he arrived a little while ago, I apologised to him, too.”
“Apologised to him for what?” I ask warily.
“I had to tell him I couldn’t put you in a room together.” She adds a tinkling laugh and an inconsequential wave of her hand. “But the rooms were allotted last week in this grand housekeeping plan and obviously made up accordingly.”
“Oh, well. What can I say?” Except I’m glad. And I might kill him.
“From your expression, it looks like you’ll have quite a bit to say about it. At least, when you see the man himself.”
“I think I might find one or two words for him.” Rude ones.
At the door, Ivy directs us to follow a pair of guys in khakis and polo shirts to our rooms as she turns to greet more arriving guests. Isla and the boys are in the suite a couple of doors down from mine, though as the boys are quick to point out, they’ll actually be sleeping in Alistair’s playroom tonight in tepee-style tents.
“A quick refresh and I’ll take them to find the nanny,” Isla says.
“Do you want me to do it?”
She waves the offer away. “No, that’s fine. They’re about to explode with excitement, so I should probably do it soon.” She turns in the direction of her room, where the boys are almost hopping with anticipation at the already open door.
“Hurry up, Mummy,” Archie complains.
“Oh, Isla?” She half turns as I call out to her. “I forgot to say thank you for the dress. It really is beautiful.” Too beautiful for a loaner, that’s for sure. “I’ll have it dry cleaned during the week and—”
“I’m sorry, Holly, but I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“There was a garment bag left on my bed yesterday. I thought—we spoke about it, didn’t we?”
“I got the impression it was all taken care of,” she says, taking two steps closer. “And now I feel awful because I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My bad,” I reply. “Sorry. Don’t worry about it.”
“Perhaps Griffin . . .”
“Yeah, that must be it.” And now I feel uncomfortable. Griffin bought me a dress?
I guess that’s a conversation we need to have.
Dress = good deed ≠ sex
Maybe that’s why he thought to wrangle a room together. Kudos to Ivy for seeing that scenario for what it is. Namely bullshizzle.
If Vogue is a style bible, then my room is one of its verses. It’s beautiful. I mean, my room in Kilblair is beautiful, but in an old money, well-worn but built to last forever and filled with family heirlooms kind of way. This room could be straight from the interiors page of Vogue—the Parisienne version. Original plaster panelled walls painted a shade of white I imagine would be called wheaten or something just as artistic sounding. The queen bed looks French, the linens pinstriped in more shades of white with accents of Toile du Jouy in a bright raspberry colour dotted around the place. Cushions, a fabric modesty screen, and in the dainty Louis style sofa and single chair.
I unpack my case and unzip the garment bag, hanging up a dress that seems far too sophisticated for Griffin to have chosen. It doesn’t flash a lot of flesh to begin with.
Maybe he got a little help from a female perspective when he went shopping for this.
Midnight blue, high-necked, and long-sleeved, this exquisite piece of tailoring is deeply cuffed at the wrists and waist and falls in a soft ruffle to mid thigh. At least, from the front. From the back it drapes dramatically from the shoulders in a waterfall effect, forming a billowing, ruffled train that stops at my heels. My four-inch gold heels.