“You.” Geoffrey’s entire face pinches together as if he’s sucked a lemon. “What are you doing home?”

I certainly don’t answer to him, but when Nan drops the spade and runs to me with open arms, I hug her and answer as she asks the same thing. “Home for business, and wanted to see you, of course.”

Nan beams. Geoffrey sniffs as though something smells dank. Lizzie smiles. And Elle . . . watches it all play out like a show on the telly.

Geoffrey tries to interrogate me again, but Nan has had enough now. “Geoffrey Blackwire, you hear me proper . . . get out of my garden and don’t touch my roses or I’ll have you in a row house on your arse.” She points, and though he grumbles, Geoffrey does comply this time. Nan tsks. “That man is going to destroy my hard work.”

To be clear, Nan’s rose garden is her favorite place in the world. She reads books about roses, strolls the rows of blooming flowers, and even goes so far as to prune them on occasion. With gloves on, of course. She would never deign to actually touch the soil to plant them, but she oversees the gardeners and has a tight-knit relationship with each of them.

“He’s messing with the roses again?” Lizzie asks, letting me know this isn’t the first time this has happened.

Nan sighs, anger replaced by sadness. “Poor sod, so forgetful these days. Thinks the garden’s his, tells me about planting it himself. To be fair, he did plant a bit. But he comes to cut flowers for his bedroom several times a day, having forgotten that he’s done it already twice before tea.”

With that drama handled, for now, at least, Nan seems to see Elle for the first time. “And who might you be, love?”

Lizzie jumps in. “Coltie’s got himself a sweetie. He works with her.”

She’s sacrificed me like the fatted calf on my own return. Nan’s eyes are sharp. “Are you, now? Colton’s sweetie. Well, isn’t that the bee’s knees?”

“Elle Stryker, this is my grandmother, Dorothy. Nan, this is Elle.” I swallow, but the damage is already done, so I drive the final nail in the coffin with a confirmation. “My girlfriend.”

I feel Elle tense, and I know we’re going to have a conversation about this later tonight. But perhaps I can talk her down with apologies for my presumptiveness on my knees. Or by letting her offer a dare of her choice.

Elle fumbles, trying to be polite through her shock. She fetches a pretty poor curtsy, her foot slipping on the grass as she does and causing me to catch her.

“Hello, madam. It’s a pleasure.”

Nan waves Elle off. “Bollocks, Elle! I’m far to old to faff around with all that bowing and curtsying codswallop. I’m not Queen Lizzy. Call me Nan as Coltie does and come over here so I can get a good look at what he’s got himself into.”

Nan looks Elle up and down boldly, having no reason or care to be subtle. “Lovely child. You must be a special lass to have captured my Coltie’s heart.” Under her breath, she mutters, “Better than the harlots his brother brings home, for sure.”

“What?” I exclaim. “What’s Eddie doing now?”

Lizzie rolls her eyes again, something that’s apparently a habit now. “What isn’t he doing? Or more like, who isn’t he doing? He’s shagged half of London by now, I’d bet.”

“Hush, Lizzie,” Nan scolds, but I can see the truth in her eyes. Lizzie’s right, and Eddie’s even more of a git than I’d thought. “Have you seen any of them yet?”

Them. We are a family divided, always have been. On one side, Nan sits with Lizzie and me. On the other, Dad and Eddie hold court as though their shit smells like Nan’s roses. And somewhere floating in the middle is Mum, pulled this way and that by whichever way the tide is going.

“Not yet. I didn’t call first, didn’t want to give them warning that I was coming. You know Dad would’ve had Mum coached and worked up over what a tosser I am.”

Elle’s touch on my arm is so soft but meaningful. She doesn’t know the storm we’re walking into, but she’s supporting me. I adjust my mental image of the battlefield, adding her to my team with Nan and Lizzie.

“I don’t know what rubbish has gotten into that daughter of mine.”

Nan’s bite is unexpected. She’s usually a bit more genteel with her turn of phrase, but perhaps she’s as fed up with Mum as she is with Mr. Blackwire.

“She’s allowed that prat, Eddie, to make this entire family miserable and treated you so badly, it made you leave not just your home, but the entire country.” Nan looks at me sadly, as if apologizing for all the years of hell I went through. “I don’t know where I went wrong with Mary. She was such a happy girl when she was young. There are times I wonder if she traded in her brains for her fanny when she got married to your father.”

“Nan!” Lizzie says, aghast. I know while she can hardly tolerate Eddie, Lizzie still gets along to some degree with our mother. “Mum is doing her best. It’s not all on her.”

“Her best is not enough. Not when she lets your father run feral all over the country. And Eddie is even worse, his father exponentially degraded.”

Bollocks. I’m not sure what to say. I hate Eddie with the very fibers of my being, but he is Nan’s grandchild, and Mum is her daughter. I wonder how much I’ve missed if it’s gotten so severe as to warrant Nan’s ugliness. Or maybe it’s Nan herself. Perhaps she’s gone off her rocker a bit? Or at the minimum, permanently damaged her mouth’s filter?

Alfred reappears, interrupting Nan’s rant. “Master and Lady Wolfe have arrived and are prepared for guests now. They are waiting in the parlor and request your presence.”

All formality. All business. We are family. That should mean something other than this coldness. But though my heart wishes it were different, I’m well-versed in this song and dance.

“Let’s get this over with.”

Chapter 23

Elle

The hallway stretches on, dark oak paneling and maroon walls pressing in on me as Alfred leads us through the gigantic mansion. We pass a set of stone stairs, surrounded by stained glass windows that let multicolored light pour in.

Our feet don’t make a sound on the plush rugs as Colton and I follow Alfred. Lizzie is in front of us, offering Nan a stabilizing elbow. Though she’s leaning on Lizzie, Nan is strong, with a presence about her, an edge to her regality. I get the feeling she’d verbally fillet you with a smile, all the while sipping brandy with her pinkie out.

“How are you holding up?” Colton whispers out the side of his mouth as his hand clenches my waist stiffly.

I step closer to his side, keeping my voice low too. “Overwhelmed. Interested. And I hate to say it because I know this is your family, but a little bit entertained. It’s like getting thrown into the middle of a Downtown Abbey scene, though that might be the accents, mostly. But the family drama, fights in the garden, the estranged son’s return . . . it’s definitely not what I thought meeting your family would be like.”

Mindlessly, Colton corrects me. “It’s Downton Abbey.”

I shrug. “I know, but it’s habit to say it wrong because it drives Tiff nuts. Sometimes it’s the little things that say ‘friendship,’ you know?”