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Eleanor continued, “At least I can count on you to continue being a thorn in my side ‘til the day I die.”

Tia sipped her water, surprised by the emotions that rolled through her. Perhaps she hadn’t recovered her equilibrium as well as she’d thought. But what she’d taken for all-out hostility she now saw as something else entirely. Kindness. By treating his mother as he always had, Hamish was allowing her a dignity that mattered.

“You certainly can. And if you don’t treat my wife as she deserves, we’ll go away again, and this time, it will be for good.”

Tia startled at his tone. She presumed he was slipping back into their apparent pattern of sparring but nonetheless, his defence caught her off balance.

“What do you expect? You surprised me. None of us knew anything about her⁠—”

“Tia,” he reminded, voice short. “And do you blame me?”

Eleanor rolled her lips, a slight fidget of her fingers the only sign that perhaps she was weighing up her life choices and wishing she had done things differently.

“Not necessarily,” she said, crisply. “You should have at least told us it was happening. I can forgive you for keeping it small, but⁠—”

“It was also very private,” he said. “I worried you’d have difficulties with that.”

Eleanor expelled a breath. “That one hurt,” she muttered.

“You and I have always been able to call a spade a spade, haven’t we?”

Eleanor’s fine-boned throat shifted as she swallowed. “It will just take some time to get used to the changes.”

“I presumed you’d be thrilled,” Hamish said. “A wife, and everything that implies.”

Eleanor’s eyes were wide when they met Tia’s. “You’re with child?”

Tia almost burst out laughing. It was such an old-fashioned phrase, but she held it together. Just. “Not yet,” she said, then, glancing up at Hamish, smiling in what she hoped passed for ‘coy’, “But we’re trying.”

Eleanor didn’t smile as any other mother might, but she did nod with something like approval. “I am thrilled,” she admitted. “Only, some warning might have allowed us to handle the delicacy of the situation a little better. Your brother and Cressie, you know⁠—”

“My preference was not to see them,” Hamish pointed out, leaning forward to reach for his scotch. A generous measure, courtesy of the understanding Benson. “Had they followed my instructions, you and Dad could have given the good news to them however you wished. Managing the delicacy of their situation is not my concern.”

Silence fell.

Hamish drank his scotch, and stood, cradling the glass as he moved across the room, to the large window framing a spectacular view of the gardens. More silence, and Tia was conscious of Eleanor and herself forming matching bookends as they both turned their heads to follow him, eyes resting on him as he studied the view.

“After we’ve eaten, I’ll take Tia out to see the property.”

“Benson can do that,” Eleanor suggested. “Why don’t you stay and try to talk to Ewan, to⁠—”

Hamish turned, a sardonic expression on his face that sent shivers down Tia’s spine. “No, thank you,” was all he said. He drank his scotch then replaced the glass on the table. “On second thoughts, would you have the sandwiches sent up to our suite? Tia and I will get changed before we head out.”

The air sparked with a tension she gathered was normal for them, and a moment later, to her surprise, Hamish bent down and kissed her cheek. “I’m glad to see you looking so well.”

“I intend to go to the grave in couture.”

“I’d be disappointed to think anything else.” He stroked her cheek lovingly then straightened, holding out a hand to Tia. She was utterly fascinated by their relationship. Her own with her parents had been dysfunctional but she knew this wasn’t normal.

“I have something for you,” Tia said, belatedly recalling the gift. She wondered if it was silly now, but having gone this far, she reached into the pocket of her pants and removed the small, black velvet pouch. She took Hamish’s hand and moved towards Eleanor, offering her the gift.

“That’s quite unnecessary,” she said. But she opened it anyway, and shook the pouch into her palm so a delicate platinum chain fell out, connected to an ornately inscribed round locket.

“A locket?” Eleanor asked, glancing at it.

“It’s vintage, a gift to Queen Victoria,” she explained. Eleanor’s eyes widened in surprise. She cracked open the locket to see a photo of Tia and Hamish—the photograph Kate had insisted on taking on their wedding day. “From our wedding,” she added, unnecessarily. “I know we’re going to be over in the States, but I wanted you to have a piece of us here with you over the next few months. I understand your treatment will be quite gruelling.”

She had taken her lead from Hamish and decided not to sugarcoat her words. Eleanor was someone who apparently valued honesty and upfrontness.