My aunt Elizabeth and late uncle Arthur had finally realised he was dyslexic, and he’d worked hard to overcome those struggles to the point he now needed little help to run Bentley Manor, the huge estate he’d inherited at twenty-one after Uncle Arthur had a heart attack.
My father had taken him under his wing, taught him how to successfully run and expand the estate, and in a few short years, he’d leased several portions of twenty-acre plots to young, local farmers, with the view for them to create working farms for their families for years to come. He had everything from dairy farms to vegetable farms to chicken farms, including an allotment site he rented out for mere pennies to local people, especially those with disabilities or mental health struggles who struggled to upkeep the council-owned ones.
So the idea that my cousin of all people was out to fleece the working class man when he counted many of them among his best friends was laughable.
“We are not punching people, Alexander.” Aunt Cat poked his arm. “What are you doing here if Olympia is in school?”
“Ma is watching her for the night. I’m here to talk business with Uncle Henry. Is he back yet?”
“Still in Windsor,” she confirmed. “I think he will be until tomorrow morning as his meeting run over. Are you staying the night?”
“I suppose I’ll have to. I don’t fancy traveling back home just to return again in the morning. Checkmate!”
“Oh, balls!” I threw my pawn across the table, and it bounced off onto the floor. “Was I even checked?”
“Yes, dear, you didn’t notice. You’re awful at it.” Aunt Cat stood. “I’ll ask Jennifer to prepare your bedroom, Alexander, and I’ll call Elizabeth and let her know you’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”
There was no arguing with her tone, so he simply said, “Thank you, Aunt Cat. I appreciate it.”
“Of course you do. Now bring my great-niece with you next time. I’ll have new ducks next week.”
“You’ll what?” I did a double-take. “New ducks?”
“Yes, dear. I’ve managed to source some lovely Cayuga ducks along with some rare Welsh Harlequins.” She patted her skirt pockets for her phone. “I don’t have my phone to show you pictures, but they’re lovely.”
“Does Daddy know about this?”
“Whyever would he know? I’m not stupid enough to tell him.”
“You can’t just show up with more ducks.”
“I most certainly can.” She strolled to the door and looked over her shoulder. “You should all be thankful I’m not bringing home more goats.”
That was true. “Victoria and Albert are definitely enough.”
Alex snorted. “Victoria and Albert? You named your goats Victoria and Albert?”
“Technically, it’s Queen Victoria and Prince Albert,” I answered.
She blinked at him. “What else would I name them?”
“Billy?” Alex offered with a grin. “Gruff?”
I laughed.
“I do fancy another pair, though. I was thinking about Elizabeth and Philip.”
Alex composed himself. “Skipped a few monarchs there, haven’t you?”
“Well, yes.” She tapped her chin. “But the four kings between our queens are Edwards and Georges. I suppose George is an option, but Edward isn’t. Has rather a negative connotation to it, doesn’t it?”
I kicked Alex under the table.
We were not going to get my aunt started on Edward.
I’d hear nothing but her rants on him and Wallis Simpson for the next week, and I much preferred my sanity.
“Elizabeth and Philip are great names for goats,” I agreed. “Especially since the Queen is the GOAT.”
“Did you just call Her Majesty a goat?”
Alex’s shoulders shook with laughter.
“No, I said the GOAT.”
Aunt Cat pressed her hand against her chest in horror. “That’s your distant relative you’re besmirching!”
Jesus. How did I get here? “The greatest of all time,” I said quickly, before she could spiral any further. “It’s a compliment. GOAT. Greatest of all time. See?”
She frowned. “Why can’t you just say she’s the greatest of all time? You kids these days. You’re so lazy in your English. Never mind horticulture classes, Gabriella, you need some elocution lessons.”
Absolutely not. Two years of those in my teens was more than enough, thank you very much.
Aunt Cat disappeared on that bombshell, and I grimaced when I caught Alex’s eye. He was looking at me contemplatively with his head tilted to the side.
“What?” I said warily.
“Horticulture classes?”
“So?”
“Hey, no, it’s a good thing for you.” He touched my hand. “You’ve always loved to garden. What’s taken you so long?”
“What do you think?” I muttered, folding the chess board away. I wasn’t allowed to use the actual chess table because of the fact I was, apparently, a Very Bad Loser. See the pawn under the bookcase twenty feet away. “I doubt Dad would be very pleased with it. He’s on state banquet business and he’s trying to set me up with Steven.”
My cousin shuddered as he retrieved my wayward pawn. “Didn’t you go on a few dates in college?”
“Mhmm. He had a wandering eye.” I took the piece and put it in its spot in the box. “I understand Daddy’s desire for me to get married, and preferably to a future duke, but I’d prefer it to be to someone who can keep it in his pants, regardless of a title or not.”