Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
But from the moment my little sister’s mother took the millions my father offered, she disappeared without the barest shadow of a care of what became of her daughter after her absence, and I’d slid in to do the best I could in that role.
Which was what I endeavored to do now.
“I know there was a castle here before Duncroft, but when was this home built?”
“Mason work started in 1617, and the house was finished in 1632,” Daniel answered swiftly.
“Fascinating,” I said.
And that was the end of my attempt at an interesting conversational gambit.
Ian made a noise in his throat that was part amusement, part something else, and the something else part I felt in my nipples.
He was bent over his soup.
I glared at his profile.
He ignored me, continued eating and, I decided, doing both knowing perfectly well not only that I was inept at salvaging a dinner party gone awry, but also what he did to my nipples.
“Was the castle razed before Duncroft was built?” Lou asked.
Ian answered her. “Yes. It and the murder and mayhem within its walls were swept clean away. Except the house might have been new, but the bent toward murder and mayhem remained.”
“Ian!” his father snapped.
“If they have Google, Dad, they know the history of the house,” Ian reminded him.
“We don’t talk about such things,” his father bit off.
“No, you don’t. Everyone else in Great Britain and beyond does,” Ian retorted.
“You goad him on purpose,” Daniel accused.
“And?” Ian asked his brother.
I almost laughed, but not with amusement (well, not entirely).
And I thought Dad and his marital high jinks, Lou being my stepmother and young enough to be my older sister, Portia and her shenanigans, and me with my rabid bent toward cynicism were a mess.
These people put the dys in dysfunction.
It was my experience it was always the ones who thought they were superior who were, in reality, anything but.
And I still didn’t know where my car was.
“Do you think that perhaps this dinner might mean something to me…and Portia?” Daniel asked.
“Portia, my love, I forgot about you,” Ian drawled.
Oh…hell no.
“You may be the future king of all you survey, but that’s my little sister, so be careful,” I warned.
Ian turned instantly to me.
“Daphne, no,” Portia begged.
My eyes clashed with pure blue.
And I didn’t fucking back down.
It took some time before he said, genuinely this time, “My apologies.” He looked to Portia. “Apologies, petal.”
Her cheeks turned pink.
I harrumphed.
“Can we please just enjoy our dinner?” Jane requested.
At that point, it was an impossible request.
But I exchanged a glance with Lou, and we both sent careful smiles in Portia’s direction.
Which meant we were going to try.
It ended up an epic fail.
But we gave it our best shot.
Five
THE CARNATION ROOM
“I think we should find a way to get Portia and leave.”
I was standing at the window, cradling my snifter of Amaretto, and staring out at the shadowed landscape that, yes…was all but obscured by mist.
Britain’s reputation for fog wasn’t quite as true as everyone not in Britain thought it was, just as it didn’t always rain. Frequent gray days and drizzle was more in keeping with the truth, and fog didn’t happen often.
But when it settled, it didn’t mess around.
And still, this was the worst I’d ever seen it.
Even with my foreboding about that fact, my attention cut directly to Lou at what she said about all of us leaving.
We were back in the Wine Room. She was seated in a leather wingback chair drinking port.
After-dinner drinks didn’t happen for anyone but me and Lou. The minute we exited the Turquoise Room, an irked-looking Richard claimed an aggravated-looking Ian, and they disappeared somewhere. Portia and Daniel said quick goodnights, and they disappeared like they were advanced in age, it was midnight, well past their bedtime, not nine thirty and they were young and spry.
Jane just disappeared.
So now it was again Lou and me.
I walked to the chair at angles with hers and gladly sat in it, giving my feet the rest they needed. As worth it as they were, beautiful shoes could be a pain.
“I know. Dinner was a lot,” I agreed.
“It’s not that,”—she stared moodily into her port—“I just don’t feel good about this place, this visit…these people.”
My reception hadn’t been exactly warm, but it’d been better than hers.
And she’d come into this week with trepidation, and nothing had happened since to make things better for her.
“Do you want me to take you to the train station tomorrow?” I offered.
Her head snapped up, an abrupt and even violent movement that alarmed me, and what she said alarmed me more.
“I think we three should stick together.”
It had been a trying day, but unusually, in my opinion, Lou was overreacting to it.
“They’re just dysfunctional, Lou. We aren’t the soul of adjusted familial relationships either.”
“Daniel is trying too hard. So hard, I don’t trust him one whit. Richard and Jane are…” she trailed off with that, like the walls could hear us talking about our hosts, and she wasn’t comfortable uttering her thoughts out loud. “And Ian is unbearable.”