Page 29 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

Uncle Lachlan seemed discomfited. He fidgeted from foot to foot. “Is there any message I can give Willouby for you?”

But before Lady Willouby could answer, the parlor was invaded by a horde of Mongols.

Though Papa was attempting to corral them, he was failing miserably.

They headed for the tea table and, like locusts, consumed everything in a heartbeat.

“Oh, dear,” said Lady Willouby, as there had been a lot of food there. She headed for the bell pull and rang for more.

Mama laughed. “Are you sure you still want us to stay for a few days?” she asked. “This lot will eat you out of house and home.”

Papa frowned. “I thought we were leaving directly.”

“We are, dear. As soon as our firstborn finishes packing.”

“She doesna appear to be packing.”

“She doesna want to leave.”

Before Isobel could respond, Papa turned to her with his fists on his hips and glowered. “You’re having your Season.”

“I—”

“If she doesna want her Season, I’ll take it.” This from Lileas, Aunt Lana’s youngest child. She smiled up at Papa and fluttered her lashes. Of all the Dounreay offspring, she was the only girl who was in the least interested in feminine things.

“You’re far too young,” her mother reminded her.

Lileas put out a lip. “I’m nearly six.”

“As your mother says,” Uncle Lachlan said, whipping her up into his arms and twirling around. “Far too young.”

Alexia, the third and final female of the brood—and Hannah’s eldest—crossed her arms and snorted. “I hope you’re no’ going to force me to go to London to find a husband when I’m old,” she said.

“I’m hardly old,” Isobel reminded her. “And I’m not going to find a husband.”

“What are we going all this way for, then?” Hannah’s Alexander—and Alexia’s twin—asked in a huff. There were two Alexanders, not counting Uncle Alexander. Isobel’s brother was named that as well. For some reason, Mama and her sister Hannah had both seen the need to name three of their boys Alexander, Andrew, and Lachlan, which was thoroughly confusing, but made things easy when one needed to yell a name in a hurry. One was likely to get it right one out of three times.

“This trip is not just for Isobel and Catriona,” Mama said. “We intend to expose all of you to the culture of England. Think of it as an educational opportunity.”

All of the Alexanders, Andrews, and Lachlans, as well as one Alexia and one William, groaned. For his part, Magnus, Isobel’s baby brother, who was just learning to walk, pounded the coffee table and cooed. Then he leaned over and drooled on the new cakes the maid had brought.

Mama sighed, scowled at Papa and scooped Magnus up. And then, of course, he drooled on her. “Isobel, dear. Please go pack.”

Indeed. Mama was ready to get to London.

And hire a governess, no doubt. Maybe more than one.

“Of course.” Isobel stood and glanced at Catriona, who nodded.

They had been birds of a feather since childhood, and barely needed to speak to be understood. Thank God Catriona had come along. Catriona never lectured or looked sour when Isobel had a brilliant idea. And vice versa.

“I’ll help,” Catriona said.

“I’ll help, too,” Mama said, handing Magnus off to Papa. She probably wanted to help just so she could hand Magnus off to Papa. Now that the little beastie was teething, he’d developed a proclivity to bite.

But damn.

Isobel and Catriona exchanged another speaking glance. They would have to wait to share the stories of their adventures, because it wouldn’t do to have Mama hear.