Page 77 of The First Taste

“Of course. Come on. Henri should have the parlor ready soon.”

Ella follows me closely enough to step on my heels as we walk to the room. I step back, waving everyone through into parlor. James sticks out his tongue as he passes me, looking every bit the prick as he heads over to one of the long, uncomfortable yellow couches. My father and mother sit on the other one, leaving the overstuffed red leather armchairs to be filled by Ella and Isla. I purse my lips and lean against the wall by the fireplace, my eyes roving over those assembled.

Ella clears her throat, sitting stiffly in her chair. “Mrs. Wolf mentioned she needed Isla to help her earlier. Would now be a good time for that?”

Raising my eyebrows, I start to open my mouth. I don’t remember the cook telling me anything about that. But Ella looks at me with a determined expression. And I realize that she’s just making up an excuse to let my daughter escape the room.

“—yes…” I reply. “Isla, go find Mrs. Wolf.”

Isla is on her feet in a second, racing out of the room. Mum looks less than impressed at Isla’s hurried movement. But what else is new?

“Your daughter is unruly.” Her lips tighten and she brushes off an invisible fleck of dirt from her skirt.

“She’s a free spirit,” Ella responds.

My head whips around to Ella and I try not to look as surprised as I am that she jumped into a conversation with my mother, of all people.

“If she’s a free spirit, I’m a three ring circus. Complete with a trapeze artist, a dancing bear, and a sad clown.” Mum folds her hands on her lap and narrows her gaze at Ella. “You are supposed to be her au pair. How can you just let her run around here unchecked? She was wearing a grubby dress and her hair was unbrushed, I’m certain of it. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Ella flushes, seeming a little uncomfortable. But I don’t have to jump in and save her.

“Isla is figuring things out right now while she is out here in the middle of nowhere. The very last thing she needs is to feel like she’s being judged by her own family. I’m sure you will want to support her as best you can while you are here. You’re her grandmother, after all.”

Mum blinks, taken aback by Ella’s firm yet gentle tone.

“I’m concerned about her spending so much time with you, frankly. It’s all very well for Kieran to pay you to be Isla’s nanny. According to James, that’s not why he brought you here in the first place, anyway. But I won’t have you here, raising my grandchild to be a savage like you.”

James, my father, and I all give my mother a look of surprise. Ella blinks slowly, her fingers digging into the arms of her chair.

“I’m sorry?” Ella says, giving my mother a quizzical glance. “You’re not referring to my skin tone, are you?”

A tiny flush appears high in my mother’s cheeks. “Of course not,” she retorts. “Don’t be silly.”

My father steps in. “I’m sure that Maura didn’t mean the remark as it sounded, Ella.”

“Of course not!” Mum protests. “I meant because you are American, not because you’re… different in other ways.”

Ella doesn’t show any real emotion other than confusion. “That’s good. Because I think we can all agree that referring to my skin color as savage would be a horrible thing to say to anyone. Not to mention it would clearly mark you as being quite racist. Not a good look for someone with your wealth and privilege.”

I can’t help the small smile that appears on my face just then. Ella isn’t a girl that needs saving, not from anybody. She’s made that more than apparent just now.

Mum looks practically apoplectic.

“Well!” She shoots to her feet, her entire face glowing red. “Keiran, I think I might need a little lie down. I’m quite tired from all the traveling I’ve done in the last days.”

I wave a hand to the doorway. “Henri can take you to a bedroom. Right, Henri?”

The butler pokes his head in and nods. But my mother sniffs at him. “No. I want my son to accompany me.”

James starts to stand up, but my mother waves him off. “My older son!” She corrects him.

James sinks back down to the couch, firing a glare my way. I stand and walk to my mother, sticking an elbow out. She takes it and I walk her out, eyeing Ella as I go.

In the few seconds I can still see her, Ella straightens her dress and tries but fails not to look miserable. Holding my breath until I pass out of the room, I wince at my mother’s fingernails digging into my arm.

“Stop overreacting,” I say.

She glares at me, pulling me to a stop.