Page 4 of A Lady’s Rules for Seaside Romance (The Harp & Thistle #3)

W hen Victor arrived at the Duke of Invermark’s townhome in Mayfair, he was ushered in immediately.

The stout, bald butler led him quickly through the home instead of right into the receiving room.

As they hurried, Victor thought he heard weeping.

It was quiet, and muffled, but in the silence of the house, he could still hear it.

Victor stopped. “Is someone crying?”

The butler paused, too, and his mouth opened a bit, as if unsure what to say. But the man was saved from making that decision when double doors up ahead flew open. “Is that Victor?” a woman’s shaky voice called out.

Victor and the butler made eye contact, and the stoic man gave Victor a small nod, indicating he was allowed to go to that room.

Victor blew out a breath and headed to the room, his feet feeling like leaded weights.

The Duchess of Invermark was inside the room waiting for him.

She clutched a handkerchief close to her person, and her eyes were red.

It had been years since he had last seen her, and her eighty-some years were showing.

As long as he had known her, she had never been thin.

But she had lost considerable weight since he had seen her last, and the fullness in her face that had always given her a youthful look had lessened.

“Victor, you came.” She smiled through her tears.

“What’s happened? I received your note and came as soon as I was able to.”

The duchess opened her mouth to respond. But instead, she began to wail.

Victor took a hesitant step forward. “Marjory.”

She sniffed. “Your grandfather. He’s dying!” The wailing turned up.

Victor felt the blood drain from his face and he took a few stumbling steps before collapsing into a nearby chair.

He’d suspected that was the reason for the visit.

He and his grandparents had no relationship and otherwise would have had no reason for him to visit.

But he was not prepared for this day to come. “How sick is he?”

Marjory sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. “He’s not sick.”

Oh, blast. The duke was already dead! Victor’s heart rate shot up alarmingly and he slouched further into his chair.

Marjory set a fist on her hip. “I said he is not sick!”

But Victor hardly heard her. All he could think about was his pub. The Harp & Thistle. What was he going to do with it?

“Victor!” Marjory shouted the word and stomped a foot.

Victor’s thoughts immediately cut off, but he still couldn’t form words.

The door opened. “Marjory, are you crying again ?” A man’s voice came through the door.

Victor’s grandfather, the Duke of Invermark, sauntered in. Victor could hardly believe his eyes and jumped up to his feet. “What is the meaning of this?!” The duke was not dying. He was not sick, nor already dead. In fact, there seemed to be nothing wrong.

His grandmother had given him the fright of his life.

Victor was next in line to the dukedom, as his father had been dead since his childhood. Once the Duke of Invermark passed, Victor would become the duke himself.

It was as ominous as it sounded.

Victor didn’t know anything about being a duke. He was a pub owner—he worked on the docks. He’d grown up in Whitechapel. Well, for part of his life anyway.

Eventually, he’d made the decision to leave the aristocracy behind for good and embrace his working-class roots.

And ever since then, he had been in deep denial about the fact that one day he would have to take over the dukedom. Whether he wanted to or not.

He had been sure today was that day and had nearly expired from it. But his grandfather, though in his nineties, looked as healthy as one could be.

The Duke of Invermark took his wife’s hands in his. “We talked about this,” he said in a warning voice.

“I know.” She sniffed again and dabbed at her eyes. She then cleared her throat. “Now would be a good time, don’t you think?”

The duke looked over at Victor, who was still standing. “You’re right. Give us a moment?” the duke said. His duchess nodded and hurried out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Thank you for coming,” the duke said. Unlike Marjory, Fergus looked the same as Victor remembered except with a slightly more aged face.

Fergus had been gray as long as Victor could remember.

He also had a head of hair and a beard that was the envy of many men.

He was built how Victor imagined their ancient highlander ancestors had been built.

Tall, wide-shouldered, large torso, strong arms and legs.

Fergus’s wild, green eyes, the McNab green Victor and all his brothers had inherited, were as bright and lively as ever.

Nothing seemed wrong at all.

“Why have I been summoned?” Victor asked while forcing a bored expression. Finally, his heart was beginning to calm.

Fergus lifted his bushy, gray eyebrows and meandered over to a large portrait above the fireplace of the duke and duchess and their son. It had been painted when Victor’s father had been a boy. And he saw far too much of himself in that child.

He looked back at his grandfather.

“Have I ever told you how our line of McNabs came to be?”

Victor bit the inside of his cheek. Had he been summoned here for a blasted history lesson? “I don’t recall.”

Fergus put his full attention on his grandson. “One thousand years ago, our direct ancestor—let’s say our twentieth or so great-grandfather—was returning to shore after war. Probably a battle with those blasted Campbells.”

“You tried to get Ollie to marry a Campbell woman.” Victor couldn’t resist pointing this out.

Naturally, Fergus denied this and closed his eyes briefly for effect. “I would never do such a thing.”

Victor rubbed his temple. “Get on with the story.”

“As I was saying, our ancestor was returning from battle. There were many men pulling the boats and whatever else they had ashore. They were unloading their injured, their dead, what have you. As they were doing so, our grandfather noticed a woman on a rocky outcrop. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Curiously, she paid no mind to the filthy, hungry men. She was watching over the water, as if men returning from battle had no interest to her. Oddly, none of the other men seemed to notice her much, either, which he thought was strange. Eventually, her interest in the sea waned and she looked over at our grandfather and they made eye contact. She smiled at him and he fell in love immediately. But he couldn’t do anything about it at the time.

He forced himself to return to his task, to help his clan. ”

Fergus was on about some fairy tale. The man loved to tell stories, from what Victor remembered. But this was the first one he recalled where their family had been woven into it.

“That night,” Fergus continued, “our grandfather asked if anyone knew who she was. Unfortunately for him, no one did. Night after night, day after day, he went to the rocky outcrop, hoping to see her again. But he didn’t.”

Fergus stopped and watched Victor expectantly.

Victor lowered his eyelids, and in the most unaffected voice he could muster, said, “And then what happened?”

“Eventually, he gave up. But one year to the day later, he took one last hopeless chance and returned to the rocky outcrop.”

“Let me guess—she was there.” Christ, get to the point!

“Ah.” Fergus held up a finger and mischief glinted in his green eyes. “When he arrived, he scrambled across the rocks and became startled when a seal leapt out of the water, landing in front of him.”

Victor frowned. A seal?

“The seal lounged, as seals do.”

“Of course.”

“But then—” Fergus squinted, one eye more squinted than the other, and he shook his finger at Victor. “Then the seal took its skin off like a coat, flung it to the side, and out came the beautiful woman!”

Victor wrinkled his nose.

“They married and had ten children, all of whom lived to see one hundred years.”

This was a waste of time. “Fergus, I didn’t come here for fairy tales.”

“Och.” Fergus crossed his arms.

However, despite the fact that Victor knew he could leave, he couldn’t help but poke at his grandfather and his ridiculous story. “How did that even work? Was she nude or did she have clothing on beneath her seal coat?”

Fergus turned his eyes up to the ceiling and tapped his chin.

“And then, what, he brings this nude woman home with him to his clan and they all cheer and that’s it? They wouldn’t find it suspicious, think she was an enemy, or anything like that?”

“Well, those details have been lost to time.”

Victor sighed. “I should go.” And he took a few steps.

Despite his age, Fergus was able to scramble faster than Victor and stand in front of him to block him.

“I haven’t finished yet, laddie. They had a happy marriage, or so the story says.

But the day their youngest child turned seventeen, she was called back to the sea and left her husband and life behind. ”

“That’s a terrible ending.”

“The ending isn’t the point, Victor. The point is every single one of their children had a selkie for a mother. A creature with magical blood.”

Victor stepped to the side and again began walking to the door. “What in the blazes is a selkie?” He called over his shoulder as he began to pull the door open, but Fergus’s huge, meaty hand slammed it shut.

“A selkie is a woman who can shapeshift into a seal when she wears her seal skin. A woman with magic. My point, Victor, is that we descend from a magical creature.”

Victor checked his pocket watch. He would be expected at Anne’s soon. “Fantastic story. May I go now?”

“No.” Fergus then extended an inviting hand to a nearby chair.

With a sigh, Victor went over to it and sat. Fergus took a seat in another chair. “I asked you to come here to let you know I’m dying.”

Victor clenched a fist but otherwise didn’t show his distress outwardly. “You look and seem perfectly fine to me. Aside from your seal story.”