were a couple of younger women standing by the grand piano. They were doing that party isolation thing, blocking off a conversational victim from the rest of the room, using their shoulders as a sort of vest-clad velvet rope. I wondered who they were talking to with such intensive flirtiness.
The taller of the two shifted as she made some tipsy gesture with her drink, and I spotted who it was: Robert McAndrew. He must have slunk in through one of the other doors. It was the sort of drawing room that boasted more than one entrance, so unseen staff could swoop in and out with trays and suchlike. He looked even more handsome in full light—but he seemed very uncomfortable—irritable, even. He kept fiddling with the silver-framed photos on the piano, rearranging them as if they were in his way.
Fraser was
much
more heirlike, I thought to myself. He’d have been leaning on that piano, holding forth about the relatives in the photos with charm, not looking as if he’d like to sweep everything off with one whoosh of his arm.
Robert lifted his glass to drain it, and caught me staring at him. He raised one eyebrow at the items cluttering the piano, as if to say,
See? Junk!
I made a big show of looking appreciatively at the oil next to me, a pile of dead pheasants next to an apple. It was a bit grisly, now I examined it closely, but I tried not to let that show.
Sheila made a low gurgling noise. “Ah, I’ll just … refresh my glass. Excuse me, Evie.”
“Sheila, no! Don’t—oh, thanks,” hissed Ingrid, just as Duncan approached with a lady who was far more what I’d had in mind for the chatelaine of the castle. She had a long nose, swept-back dark hair, and a silver Celtic knot brooch on her fluffless navy cardigan. She made it look like some kind of badge of state.
Ooh. Maybe it was.
“Evie, meet Janet Learmont!” boomed Duncan, presenting her to me with a flourish. “Janet’s the chairwoman of the Kettlesheer ball! What she doesn’t know about reeling isn’t worth knowing! Janet, this is Evie Nicholson, our antiques consultant.”
“The famous ball!” I said. “I’ve heard so much about it already. It sounds magical.”
“Yes, it is,” said Janet, without any shred of modesty. Her accent was so posh the Scottishness was almost undetectable. “The Learmonts have been on the committee for years, so it’s very much in the blood. My mother, and her mother, and her mother before, have all done their bit. And I’m hoping my daughter will be taking over soon enough.” She cast a meaningful look in Duncan’s direction. “It’s good for Catriona to learn the ropes now, before she has the rest of Kettlesheer to worry about!”
Ingrid let out a faint squawk.
“It
is
a responsibility, I know,” said Janet condescendingly. “Catriona’s had a wee bit more training than you, Ingrid. You’re doing very well.” She left a microscopic pause before adding, “Considering.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Ingrid, and I wished Sheila would come back.
Janet angled her long neck over our heads. “Where is Catriona? Now I’ve got you two, we should have a quick chat about the set reel. And Robert’s outfit.”
“I think she might have left already,” I said, trying to be helpful. “And it sounded like a no on the kilt front.”
“I managed to get him to agree to white tie, though,” blurted Ingrid, as Janet’s face darkened. “It was quite a struggle. Robert hates formal dress. He says it makes him look like a waiter. Not that there’s anything wrong with waiters.”
“Oh, I don’t know, these London types … Let’s get him over here to explain himself,” said Duncan. “Where is he?” He turned round and searched the room.
Robert had vanished.
“I do think he’s being a bit pigheaded about this.” Janet’s voice was clipped with disapproval. “He has a very important role to play as the heir. They’re first couple in the opening Reel of Luck,” she added to me.
“What’s the Reel
The taller of the two shifted as she made some tipsy gesture with her drink, and I spotted who it was: Robert McAndrew. He must have slunk in through one of the other doors. It was the sort of drawing room that boasted more than one entrance, so unseen staff could swoop in and out with trays and suchlike. He looked even more handsome in full light—but he seemed very uncomfortable—irritable, even. He kept fiddling with the silver-framed photos on the piano, rearranging them as if they were in his way.
Fraser was
much
more heirlike, I thought to myself. He’d have been leaning on that piano, holding forth about the relatives in the photos with charm, not looking as if he’d like to sweep everything off with one whoosh of his arm.
Robert lifted his glass to drain it, and caught me staring at him. He raised one eyebrow at the items cluttering the piano, as if to say,
See? Junk!
I made a big show of looking appreciatively at the oil next to me, a pile of dead pheasants next to an apple. It was a bit grisly, now I examined it closely, but I tried not to let that show.
Sheila made a low gurgling noise. “Ah, I’ll just … refresh my glass. Excuse me, Evie.”
“Sheila, no! Don’t—oh, thanks,” hissed Ingrid, just as Duncan approached with a lady who was far more what I’d had in mind for the chatelaine of the castle. She had a long nose, swept-back dark hair, and a silver Celtic knot brooch on her fluffless navy cardigan. She made it look like some kind of badge of state.
Ooh. Maybe it was.
“Evie, meet Janet Learmont!” boomed Duncan, presenting her to me with a flourish. “Janet’s the chairwoman of the Kettlesheer ball! What she doesn’t know about reeling isn’t worth knowing! Janet, this is Evie Nicholson, our antiques consultant.”
“The famous ball!” I said. “I’ve heard so much about it already. It sounds magical.”
“Yes, it is,” said Janet, without any shred of modesty. Her accent was so posh the Scottishness was almost undetectable. “The Learmonts have been on the committee for years, so it’s very much in the blood. My mother, and her mother, and her mother before, have all done their bit. And I’m hoping my daughter will be taking over soon enough.” She cast a meaningful look in Duncan’s direction. “It’s good for Catriona to learn the ropes now, before she has the rest of Kettlesheer to worry about!”
Ingrid let out a faint squawk.
“It
is
a responsibility, I know,” said Janet condescendingly. “Catriona’s had a wee bit more training than you, Ingrid. You’re doing very well.” She left a microscopic pause before adding, “Considering.”
“Thanks,” mumbled Ingrid, and I wished Sheila would come back.
Janet angled her long neck over our heads. “Where is Catriona? Now I’ve got you two, we should have a quick chat about the set reel. And Robert’s outfit.”
“I think she might have left already,” I said, trying to be helpful. “And it sounded like a no on the kilt front.”
“I managed to get him to agree to white tie, though,” blurted Ingrid, as Janet’s face darkened. “It was quite a struggle. Robert hates formal dress. He says it makes him look like a waiter. Not that there’s anything wrong with waiters.”
“Oh, I don’t know, these London types … Let’s get him over here to explain himself,” said Duncan. “Where is he?” He turned round and searched the room.
Robert had vanished.
“I do think he’s being a bit pigheaded about this.” Janet’s voice was clipped with disapproval. “He has a very important role to play as the heir. They’re first couple in the opening Reel of Luck,” she added to me.
“What’s the Reel
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