1
August 24, 1849
Muirford House
Montrose, Scotland
Tristan Gilbert, Duke of Kendall, found the entire concept of family somewhat unnerving.
Aside from his twin sister, Tristan had never had a family, not in any real sense. Oh, he had relatives to be sure. Aunt Whipple who had acted as his hostess in the years after his father’s death. Cousins like his heir, Mr. Aubrey Gilbert, who were always eager to demand money and favors of Tristan as thepaterfamilias.
But a large, boisterous family—the sort with nosy parents and teasing siblings and an endless supply of aunts and uncles and cousins who swapped gifts at Christmas and made merry over Easter and loved one another with unabashed affection . . .
Well, that had been non-existent in his life until—
“Your bonnet is slipping, Tristan,” Andrew Langston, Earl of Hadley and Tristan’s new father-in-law, said far too cheerfully. “Ye have to tie the ribbons secure-like.”
To emphasize the point, Hadley stepped in front of Tristan, frowned, and then tugged the bow under Tristan’s chin, cinching the bonnet tighter to his jaw.
Mr. Mac Langston, Hadley’s eldest son and Tristan’s newly-acquired brother, guffawed in delight. And itwasa guffaw—head back, teeth flashing, eyes glinting.
Mr. James Langston, Hadley’s second son, said “Meow” and fisted his hands into paws, miming pulling the edges of a bonnet brim to his cheeks like a cat.
Tristan looked away, swallowing a sigh.
So . . . family.
Thanks to his marriage, Tristan now had an overabundance of family.
Hadley’s family, to be specific.
The earl’s large, noisy, rambunctious, chaotic family. A family that bantered and joked and needled and made merry at every opportunity.
Hence, the bonnet currently tied to Tristan’s head.
Today, Hadley’s brood, as well as the tiny portion of Tristan’s own family that he liked, were gathered on the back lawn of Muirford House, Hadley’s home in Scotland.
They made up a large party.
Isolde, Tristan’s duchess.
Lady Allegra, Tristan’s twin sister, and her husband, Ethan Penn-Leith.
Malcolm Penn-Leith, Ethan’s older brother, and his wife Viola.
Lady Hadley, Isolde’s mother.
As well as Hadley’s two sons, Mac and James.
Currently, the ladies sat under a white canopy along the edge of an expanse of lawn watching as the men attempted to outdo each other in time-honored Scottish fashion—throwing heavy objects.
In this case, the heavy object was a stump-sized stone with a chain cemented to it, brought courtesy of Ethan Penn-Leith. The gentlemen were taking it in turn to see who could send the stoneflying the farthest—grasping the chain and spinning as if they were performing a hammer toss. The loser of each round drew a penalty from a hat.
Unfortunately, Tristan had lost the first round and had to don a monstrosity of a straw bonnet covered in fake pomegranates and figs. James had lost the second and had to complete the remaining rounds while meowing like a cat—a challenge he had taken to with ridiculous enthusiasm, much to everyone’s annoyance.
Ethan had lost the third round and was currently completing his penalty—milking a goat. His roots as a gentleman farmer’s son had become readily apparent as he hooked the milking stool with his foot to pull it underneath him and set to milking like a professional.
Mac and James called encouragement to Ethan as he milked. Or rather, Mac yelled, “Ethan, ye sure ye got yourself a nanny and not a billy goat there?! Ye don’t want to make that mistake again!” and James meowed in agreement. Everyone else had howled with laughter.
